#and they probably will pity the poor spinster that I seem to be- well no most people treat me like I'm younger and likely dumber

[artemismatchalatte]

Okay am I imagining it or is way easier to find gay men than lesbians? I feel like I see gay men all over the place when I’m just out in the world but almost no lesbians at all. I do but it’s very rare and they’re usually together (and much older than me).

[jojo-oc-simmer]

Belladonna Zeppeli (Backstory part 1)

Created with Artbreeder. This was the first character I created for JJBA. There was so much backstory I created for her that I had to divide it into parts. This part goes into her family history and her childhood friendship with Pannacotta Fugo.

Warning: Mentions of abuse, imbalance of power between employer and employee, domestic abuse, and past mention of implied child abuse (Fugo's backstory)

Family lineage

Donna's NOT from Caesar. She's from Caeser littlest sister, who I named Panini Zepelli. Just a guess, she was probably born in 1927 because Caesar looks about 12 and she looks about 3.

Panini Zepelli

When she was a young lady, she worked for an aristocrat that horribly abused her for years. It only stopped when she became pregnant and her abuser's wife connected the dots. Panini never talks about it. Just that the man "mysteriously died" and his (happily) widowed wife pressured Panini to take a severance package and never come back or even MENTION their names. Decades later, Panini still held up that agreement.

Keep in mind, that 'severance package' came with the equivalent of 2 million Euro. This brought her and her remaining siblings out of poverty and into upper-middle class.

Adrian Zepelli (and Alina Zepelli)

Born in 1950, Adrian grew up with his mother and two uncles. He was raised amongst the rich, but still considered a poor nobody amongst them, especially since he's the "bastard child of a money-grabbing mistress". He worked hard and became a successful lawyer. Only problem is that he became a bitter incel. He went through his youth single and avoided by women. He even considered just living his life as a spinster, but he knew it'd sadden his mother to never have any grandchildren. By a strange twist of fate, he found a wife.

In the year 1980, there was an uproar about a Russian immigrant that slaughtered a mafia family and some Russian gangsters. When Adrian first laid eyes on the killer, Natalia, he was smitten. He's never met a woman more beautiful and in need of a savior. Would he have bothered being her attorney for free if she was a guy or deemed ugly? No, but that's not the point! Though shallow, he truly thought she didn't deserve to go to jail. The people she killed abused her and murdered her family in cold blood as a child. Also, they were scum that no one would miss. She did Italy a huge favor.

Adrian worked his ass off. Finding dirt on the gangsters (and their family), asking for favors, getting favors repaid from old clients, playing the sympathy card, and twisting the story of the events to make Natalia seem she did nothing illegal, only trying to escape psychos who have a history of exploiting poor migrants. In the end, she was found not guilty of most charges, except for a felony that gave her a short jail sentence (which became even shorter due to good behavior and Adrian). It was a very controversial case that left Italy in an uproar.

Fortunately, she was wearing contacts and hair dye the entire time. After her sentence, she laid low in the Zeppeli residence as a maid and went by her middle name "Alina". In 1982, she became Alina Zepelli, the wife of Adrian. In 1983, they had their firstborn, Luigi Zeppeli.

Luigi Zepelli

Despite the fact Luigi was born into a "happy" and rich family, it was not very stable. His father Adrian is an alcoholic asshole that verbally abuses and "occasionally" physically abuses his mother. Due to her horrific past, Alina never really saw the problem. Adrian's insults to her intelligence never bothered her ("They're just words. He never truly means it.") and she knocks him out when he strikes her ("He only hits me twice a year and then I get him to stop. No big deal. I've had worse."), but they never act like this in front of the children. Well, as far as they know.

Luigi sees what an abusive shit his father is and resents him. While he pissed that his mother doesn't leave him, he pities the fact she is kind of alone in Italy. Worse, when he told the other Zeppelis about the situation, they tried to "fix" the relationship instead of getting his mother out of there. "You need your mother and father" or some toxic bullshit like that. Luigi's childhood was filled with his parents having an on and off relationship, mainly because of his dad's antics. BUT his dad can proudly say he NEVER cheated on his mom. Because THAT was the issue, not the abuse.

The only man Luigi sees as a father is his uncle, Anthony Zeppeli. Anthony isn't a Zeppeli by blood, but he's loved like he is. He's a great police officer, brave, loving, caring, and teaches Luigi how to be a good man. His uncle is the reason Luigi wants to be a police officer, wanting to protect people like his uncle does.

Luigi's very protective of his little sister and wished she wouldn't admire their father. He, his mother, and their uncle at least teaches his sister self-defense and to never let a man push her around. In fact, Alina taught them Harmon, just in case. "You never know when life takes a turn," she would say. Later on, she was sadly right.

Belladonna Zepelli

Luigi was born 1983. Belladonna was born 1985. Adrian only wanted 1 child, but Alina insists "If anything were to happen to us, at least they'd have each other. Going through life alone is truly a hell on earth." and remembering his harsh lonely childhood, Adrian would have to agree. Hence, Donna was conceived. They nickname her "Bella", but she'd rather go by "Donna" since there's so many girls called "Bella".

Donna grew up more naive to her family's instability, and genuinely grateful she was raised in a happy family. She's a daddy's girl who always sympathized with Adrian and always offered a shoulder to cry on when drunk rants about his hardships of being a lawyer and having the high society look down on him.

Created by @nevui-penim-miruvorrr

In the summer of 1990, there was a posh party for Adrian's coworkers showing off their kids like prized poodles. Little Donna found a boy her age reading a cool book! It was math, but it was big kid math! She begged him to teach her big kid math. That boy was Pannacotta Fugo, the son of Adrian's boss. When Signor Fugo and Adrian caught sight of the kids, Signor Fugo was very impressed. He felt proud that a 5 year old could admire his child prodigy. Adrian was ecstatic to finally be acknowledged by his boss in a jovial manner.

Now, Adrian came up with a plan to keep brown nosing Signor Fugo, doing everything the man wanted, even if it was corrupt and fucked over innocent people. After all, if Adrian didn't do it, someone else would do it anyways AND get the reward. After everything he and Panini went through, the family deserves happiness, everyone else be damned! Adrian's reputation improved greatly throughout the 90s thanks to Belladonna. He had already planned on Donna having an arranged marriage with Pannacotta when they're older. Adrian would finally be considered part of the Old Money class and get the respect he deserves!

Donna, being pure hearted and naive, just wanted to be friends with Panna! He’s always so lonely and never plays with the other kids! He just studies all day! He look so sad! Unbeknownst to the little girl, the boy found her annoying. However, it’s highly effective learning to be able to explain his teachings to another person to prove that he has mastery over these subjects. Besides, she was a good listener. She absorbs the information well, and she apologizes when she asks a stupid question. He doesn’t want to admit it, but it eventually became fun to tutor her for 5 years.

Sadly, when they were 10, Panna’s family didn’t want Donna around him anymore. He needed to focus on his studies and he’s far exceeded Donna’s academic capabilities by then. Donna was sad, but she understands. Adrian explained the situation to her. He and Signor Fugo were still buddy-buddy. "They adore you," he tells her, "They're not doing this to punish you". She wouldn’t want to get in the way of Panna’s future. Going to high school and college at such a young age is impressive! Besides, when he graduates, she’ll see him again!

Things take a dark turn.

Things take a horribly dark turn at age 12. Donna was NOT going to believe the 'official story' that stress caused Pannacotta to snap and attempt murder. She asked around. From what she gathered, Panna was preyed upon and everyone was trying to cover it up at his expense. By the time she figured it out, Pannacotta was already disowned and on the streets.

Saying Donna was hysterical about the news was putting it lightly. She came home and everyone in the house had to hold her down to get her to calm down and explain the situation. "THEY RUINED HIM! THEY RUINED HIS LIFE! PANNA!"

Adrian was the most distraught. He remembered helping that Professor win against a 'false allegation case'. Adrian swears to God and on his mother's life that he thought the man was innocent. He would have never taken the case if he thought he was guilty, especially if he was Pannacotta's Professor! Then he realized that Signor Fugo wanted him to take up the Professor's case. Why didn't his boss feel guilty about helping his son's attacker?! Adrian threw up. He became sick to his stomach at a disturbing realization. The reason Adrian thought it was a false allegation is because the accuser's parents were infamous extortionists. Signor Fugo said "They got a little too greedy". Were they asking for more hush money?! Could it be that influential parents were selling their young boys for favors?! He called his cousin Anthony about the case and asked him to do some digging.

Fortunately (and unfortunately), Anthony suspected that Adrian was right. There was 12 boys connected to the Professor, all their parents friendly with him and got some sort of favor out of him. Anthony demanded Adrian do something about this, but Adrian got scared. Not only did the University not see these obvious red flags, the media never even covered that young boys were always at his house. Anthony didn't understand that they have uncovered something massive.

Adrian had a discussion with the family.

Adrian: We're not looking further into this.

Donna: What?!

Alina: Did you find nothing?

Adrian: *highly distressed*

Luigi: *scoffs* You're not pursuing it to protect your precious job-

Adrian: SHUT THE FUCK UP! I'M DOING IT TO PROTECT YOU!

Luigi: YOU'RE HELPING PREDATORS ROAM FREE! DON'T USE US AS AN EXCUSE!

Adrian: *grimace* You don't understand-

Alina: Then atleast help us understand.

Adrian: This isn't about keeping my job at all. I will not sell my soul for this. However, this monster is influential and has friends in high places. If I expose him, we will never have a normal life. We would have to leave everything behind and go into hiding for the rest of our lives. I don't want to burden you guys-

Alina: No one can serve two masters, You can’t serve both God and money, Adrian. No amount is worth the abuse of children. You know this.

Adrian: But everything we’ve built-

Alima: God will find a way. *smiles.* I’ve been through worse. I’ll know how to get us through it.

Adrian: *Turns to his kids.*

Luigi: So everything about that man….is true?

Adrian: Yes.

Luigi: Then he’s hurt people in my class. Uncle said you identified 12, but I think there’s many more we havent found.

Donna: *sobbing.*

Adrian: Mimma, you dont have to be scared. This is an all or nothing decision.

Donna: Im scared, but Im more scared for everyone else. Panna didnt deserve this! Neither did anyone else! I want it to stop, daddy! I dont care that I have to leave school! It’s not fair that bad guys get away with this!

Adrian/Alina: *giving a sad smile, being sad that they couldn’t give their kids a perfect life, but grateful that they’ve raised courageous children.*

Adrian and Alina went on to explain the situation further to make absolutely sure Donna and Luigi understand the ramifications of what comes next.

[mor-beck-more-problems]

Friend Fail || Skylar and Morgan

@theskyeandsea

Don’t do blood magic in front of the baby seal. 

Morgan stopped her work for the third time this hour to make sure she really did have everything she needed. The crystals were all made, the bath salt jars were freshly clean and ready. She had her measuring cups and postage boxes so Skylar could help. She had even gotten through half her grading. There really was no reason not to make use of her new chalkboard and try another summoning. She’d gotten Sean with a birthday cake--sort of. Who was to say she couldn’t get Constance with a proper circle and a little blood? At least, practice getting the circle, right? The board had even come with chalk in three different colors, just waiting, begging to be used. Morgan checked her phone to see where the planets were. Still Aquarius season, so not great for her, but her Mercury was almost in a water sign. It was all so...promising. Enough to give her pause and make her look around the room once more. It didn’t feel very much like skirting around the curse if the universe was setting everything up so nicely for her. But if she waited until things were more dire, what would that achieve? Morgan pulled up the spell on her phone again. This was not Cassie approved, but at least she had salt this time. She could line the place if she decided to get serious. Which, she wouldn’t. Probably. (What if this was her one door and she was missing the good kind of signal? Or what if that was just what the curse wanted her to think?)

A knock at the door startled her out of her thought loop. Right. Skylar was stopping by the house to visit. Good for her! Making friends with grownups was kind of pitiful, but she’d been there before herself. Sometimes you had to take what you could get. “Hey, come on in!” She stepped back and signed, Good afternoon! Happy to see you. She’d watched a couple of videos online and had mostly memorized the greeting, plus two other words. Work there, Magic there. 

Skylar really, really, really didn’t want to be here. Her head had been aching all day, she’d barely been able to eat anything, and her body just felt run down, even though she’d slept ten hours the previous night. And… what made it worse was she knew exactly why she was feeling this way. Ricky had told her as much. It was because she hadn’t transformed. Apparently, all her problems were a direct result of not turning into a seal, which she didn’t quite follow. She wasn’t a seal who could sometimes be human. She was a human, a normal human. With… quirks. Taking a long drink from her thermos of coffee, Skylar sighed as she walked up to Morgan’s house. This was going to be good for her. This was going to be something good and helpful and nice. Because Morgan had been nothing but nice and helpful, even after Skylar had been dismissive of the whole magic situation. Knocking on the door, Skylar offered what she hoped was a bright smile as Morgan opened the door.

The signing threw her for a second. For one thing, she was going way too fast for her fingers, so they came out garbled. Skylar could tell what she meant, but it wasn’t the best use of sign. “Hi! Thanks for having me.” She said. Setting her coffee down, she let out a small laugh and signed, What do you mean by work there, magic here? 

Oh, thank god Skylar could talk just fine, maybe (probably) even read lips! Morgan saw the two whole words she’d learned outside of the basic greeting repeated in a new way, one she had no idea how to answer. She winced. “Sorry. Just--different tasks I have going on today! Um, I’ve got some bath salts that need to go into those very uh, hashtag aesthetic jars, and I have this shiny new chalkboard that has a lot of magic potential! I’m not going to do anything to it, I should clarify, I’m going to use it to make some more elaborate circles that I’m using right now.” Only after she finished did she realize just how fast she was prone to talking sometimes. Sorry, she signed, the only other word she’d thought make handy use of. “I talk fast sometimes, and I don’t always realize. Can I get you some sweet tea?”

“No problem.” Skylar said, waving it off with a laugh. “I was joking. Sorry, I didn’t mean to make fun.” She said as she took look around Morgan’s house curiously. There were a lot of odds and ends, and a lot of jars as well. What were the jars for? Watching Morgan intently, Skylar did her best to match the lip movements with what she was hearing, but it wasn’t easy. Morgan was speaking just a bit too quickly for her. “Ah. It’s okay, really! You said something about aesthetic jars? Is that what these are for?” She said, gesturing to the mason jars that were set up. “Tea? No, no, I’m good. Thank you though.” Skylar said as she picked up her thermos from where she’d set it down. Being around other people usually helped take her mind off what troubled her, so hopefully helping Morgan would do the same.

“No, I think you earn the right to tease,” Morgan said, trying to reassure her. “I tried to be competent in your language over the course of forty-eight hours maybe, with nothing but youtube and willpower. But, grab a pillow! Make yourself cozy!” She grabbed some tea for herself and sat on the floor with her shiny new board. It was so smooth it didn’t even look real. Morgan broke the seal on the chalk. It was good to practice, right? “You can put the TV on and make yourself at home if you want, but if you really want to help, You can use the measuring cup to put two scoops into the jars.” Morgan beamed over at the girl,who, now that she wasn’t moving quite so fast, really did seem in need of some kind of pick-me-up, poor kid. 

Shaking her head, Skylar shrugged. “I appreciate you trying at the very least. It’s more than a lot of people do.” She said, the thought making her slightly melancholy. Ack. No, no, no. Watching as Morgan picked up a neat little chalkboard, she settled down on the proffered pillow, her legs curling under her. “Oh, that’s okay. I’d much rather do something productive than just use your cable.” She said with a smile. Looking at the set up in front of her, Skylar set to work doing as she was told, putting two scoops of… stuff into the jars and screwing the lids on. “What are these jars full of anyways? Magic salt or something?” She asked curiously.

Morgan began drawing the circle. After so many years of alchemy, she was pretty good at freehand, though everything that went in would need more precision. She couldn’t help but smile at the tingle that went up her hand from that new-supply feeling. She looked up at Skylar to make sure she could see what she was saying alright. “Salt, lavender oil, dry roses and yarrow, and ground crystals. Very relaxing, but less real magic and more mind over matter fluffy magic,” she admitted. She got up and went for her chalk compass. “This, on the other hand, will hopefully be real magic someday. Thank you for deciding to help me out, by the way.” 

All of the things Morgan rattled off sounded just like normal herbal stuff that you could find in any shop, which Skylar realized was exactly the case as the woman finished speaking. Hm. So there were still some parts of “magic” that weren’t exactly flame throwers and turning garbage into candles. At least some things still made sense. Lavender was just relaxing because it smelled nice, not because it had any crazy property to it. “No, don’t worry about it. I needed to get out of the house anyways.” She said as she filled another jar with salt mixture. She watched as Morgan grabbed a small instrument and tilted her head, intrigued. “What’s all of that for? The chalkboard and things.”

Morgan hesitated, compass in hand, as she started to section off her array, making room for each of the runes and sigils she would need to make this work. And, terrifying as the feeling was, she couldn’t help but feel excited. She had a name. Constance Bachman. She had to be related to Sean and Agnes, even if she hadn’t been able to find her name in the geneology list. Maybe a spinster aunt? Or a lost sister? Either way, she was findable. And if Morgan actually managed to hack herself a successful, specific, ghost summoning with this, it would be the craziest and most amazing feat of magic she’d ever accomplished. Which meant she definitely wouldn’t today. Or that if she did, she’d get some static-y bitter brother of Sean’s. Or maybe some minor pesky demon. But she had to thread the needle between knowing the curse wanted to screw her over and manifesting some progress. It could work. And, well, who was Skylar going to talk about it with anyway? “Reason A for getting a big board is so I can make my crystals faster. The more material I can fit and work with, the more I can pop out at a time. My pop socket lid is great, but really not practical. But this,” she explained. “Is something different than my normal bag of tricks. I’ve got this project about spirits and their living descendants.” She began marking out the basic runes for summoning, then constructing the smaller circle she had designed to get Constance. Hopefully, anyway. She reached over for the version she’d sketched out on paper. She smudged away one of the sigils and drew it over again, clearer this time. “If it works, I might be able to bring someone over. Wanna see?”

Skylar watched as Morgan divied up the board with chalk, still not quite sure what she was looking it. Magic seemed to be a bit different than she thought it was. Winston had just kinda… done magic when they’d done it. But, she supposed that there was probably some method to the madness. Continuing to screw the lids on jars, she listened as Morgan offered an explanation. She wasn’t really sure what she meant by pop socket lid-- was she talking about the thing on the back of phones? Not wanting to interupt, she continued to listen. “So… you’re using a chalk board to summon a ghost?” She repeat, just trying to wrap her head around all of that. Ghosts. Ghosts were real. Okay. And you could use chalk and weird little doodles to make them appear? Mmmm, that was less okay. Even though she didn’t really want to see the odd little circle, Skylar scooted closer, “That’s interesting. They look like something out of Skyrim, honestly.”

Morgan was almost finished. She laid it down on the floor and examined her handiwork, then knelt down to add in the minor markings of the array. “What’s a Skyrim?” She asked. “Wait, don’t tell me--it’s that new show on Netflix right?” No, that sounded wrong. Morgan was more preoccupied with getting all the connecting lines just right anyway. “Sorry,” she said, looking up again. “I’m old. Like way old. I follow Grey’s Anatomy, and I have my supernatural crime shows, and food network. But tell me about Skyrim! I’m just going to grab some salt from the kitchen real quick.”

Raising an eyebrow, Skylar tilted her head in surprise. Mm. Well, after Alain had sent her the weird old French music, it shouldn’t be that surprising that some people weren’t as in the know with video games and stuff. “It’s a video game. You play as a Dragonborn, someone who’s got the spirit of a dragon, and can read and speak the ancient language of dragons. It’s…” She paused, realizing that she had no idea if dragons were a real thing. Were they real? Was Skyrim real? “It’s a fun game!” She finished, offering a slightly stressed smile. Oh dear. “Are you using table salt..” She asked. So, magic consisted of weird little runes on a chalkboard and table salt. Good to know, good to know. 

Video games. Morgan probably should have guessed something like that. There hadn’t been time or money to that when she was a kid, and though now, as far as she could tell, you could download one off the internet for thirty dollars, it seemed like an alien existence. “It sounds like fun!” She said brightly. “Fantasy conception is one of my favorite interests. Oh--and it’s not table salt, or not just table salt. It’s a mix this exorcist friend of mine told me about.” She came back out with the mix and started shifting around some objects in the room. She would need to get the real estate for this eventually. And maybe--maybe this could happen. “Hey, Skylar, do you think you can write the alphabet out for me real quick? 

“It’s a neat game, mhm.” Skylar said with a smile before taking a long sip of coffee. Thank God for this new thermos, honestly. Alain had been right about investing in one of these. And she honestly needed it now more than ever. As Morgan explained the mix of salt, Skylar watched with interest as she moved things around. Was this a big spell..? She had been under the assumption that the… spirit would just pop out of the chalk board kinda like a hologram in Star Wars or something. But then again, what did she know about magic anyways? “Huh? Oh, sure. On the chalkboard or somewhere else?” She asked, picking up one of the pieces of chalk from where Morgan had left them.

“Huh?” Morgan looked up from her work distractedly. “No, just grab a pen and paper from my grading pile over there. If I do, hypothetically, get a ghost in here, it’s going to need a way to talk to me. Especially, uh, since I can’t see them!” She was finished. She was finished and she felt like she’d stolen a cookie from her mom’s jar. Like she should run and enjoy her spoils or stay and get as many into her hand before she was caught. Morgan started to work on the salt circle, was going to fetch her dad’s old athame, just cleaned, before she realized just how this might look to someone who just learned that half the mythical creatures they’d read about as a kid were real. “Um, you don’t have to stick around for this part if it’s too much,” she said. “My cat is around somewhere if you’d like to meet her, or I can take it from here,” she offered. “Unless you can secretly see ghosts, in which case I will literally pay you to stick around.”

The back of her neck burning in embarrassment, Skylar nodded and did as Morgan told her. “Sure! Will do!” She said, hoping her tone sounded bright and not mortified. Mmm, yeah the alphabet made more sense to be written on a piece of paper. Writing out the alphabet in clean, large letters, Skylar tilted her head in surprise. “You can’t see ghosts? I thought that if you summoned them you’d be able to see them. But, um, sorry. Dumb assumption, I guess.” She said as she printed out a large Z. When Morgan offered her an out, Skylar chewed on the inside of her cheek. A big part of her wanted nothing more than to just… pretend that this wasn’t real. She wanted to forget everything about this. But, she couldn’t just run away from magic. It was here and she should know more about it. “Um, sorry. I don’t think I can see ghosts, but… I’d like to stay, if that’s okay. I just, I want to know more about all of this.”

“Oh, gosh, I wish,” Morgan confessed. “I honestly thought that too, but as it turns out you need some kind of special ability for that. And, for the record, not a dumb question. Didn’t you only learn all this weird shit was real two weeks ago? You’re harder on yourself than I am on actual students. There’s a lot to learn. Too much, really. I’ve known magic was real my whole life and I just figured out the ghost thing a while ago.” She smiled brightly at Skylar, hoping she felt better and went for the athame. She’d laid the salt thick. If, even, anything happened, they would be safe, and she could vacuum away the evidence before Cece came home to ask questions. And maybe if she was lucky Skylar would be willing to help with that too. She grabbed one of her novelty bowls, a tragic indulgence from the dollar store during her Traveler’s Rest stay, the happy faces of the Disney princesses already peeling away, and positioned herself over the circle. Then she put Skylar’s alphabet paper and pen in where it wouldn’t disturb the runes. “Let’s just hope this doesn’t turn out really anticlimactic, huh?” She raised the ritual knife and began to chant. So far so good. Then came the time for her blood offering. Morgan pressed the knife into her arm, voice hiccuping only a little as the pain sliced into her. So far, so good. Then she looked down into the bowl to make sure she had enough and the world shrank down to the size of a single drop of blood. She went silent and the rising magic and the knife both went whizzing away from her. 

“I… Yeah, only the last two weeks, with the karkinoids.” Skylar said with a shrug as she moved over to the side, letting Morgan do all the final preparation work on the spell that she had laid out. But… No, Morgan didn’t need to know about her situation. Not after she mentioned how there were people going around trying to steal teeth for potions and stuff. Skylar watched, curiously as Morgan pulled out a weird little disney princess bowl and set it down. Were princesses important for this? Fingers curling up at her side, she forced herself to watch as Morgan began to say words she’d never heard before and then draw the knife blade-- What the fuuuuuuck was she doing? Before Skylar could react, tremors began to fill the room, the bowl of blood shaking violently-- A sharp pain lanced through her right shoulder, searing and hot, as the knife flew towards her and lodged itself into her body. Letting out a scream of pain, Skylar fell to the ground, a large spout of blood splattering across the room. “MORGAN!” She cried out, panic threatening to overwhelm her as she stared at the knife sticking out of her.

Morgan didn’t hear or notice anything except the blood in the bowl. She shoved the plastic into her mouth with both hands, guzzling the liquid ravenously and licking the sides where it had stuck. And there was more, streaks puddling on the floor and the coffee table. Morgan dropped the bowl and threw herself down to lap them all up. When she pulled away at last, panting and dizzy, her face stained from nose to chin, and saw her dad’s knife lodged in Skylar’s arm. “Oh fuck.” She licked her lips in spite of herself and scrambled to her feet. Keys. She needed her phone and her keys so they could get to the car so they could drive to the hospital. Fuck. The fucking blood clinger. She should’ve known it wouldn’t have worn off that quickly. “It’s okay, it’s okay!” She cried, her voice jumping higher each time she said it. The edges of her vision felt blurry and she grabbed an empty mason jar while she was at it. “Come on, we’re taking you to the hospital, okay! Also, hold this to collect any blood you lose! This is fine, you’re gonna be fine!” She, on the other hand, looked like a walking crime scene, but maybe if she bulldozed ahead on the knife inside the girl’s arm they wouldn’t have to go into it. 

Skylar began to hyperventilate as she stared at the knife in her arm, her vision narrowing at the edges as she tried to focus on anything other than the knife-- “What the fuck are you doing?!” Skylar screamed, pointing at the bowl of blood that Morgan had just drank from. Scrambling away across the floor, she let out a cry of pain as she tried to put as much distance from her and Morgan, who was apparently some kinda vampire? “G-get away from me!” Skylar said, rivulets of blood running down her arm to pool on the floor. The more she struggled, the more and more blood poured from around the knife still lodged in her arm. “I’m not going anywhere with a vampire! An-And I’m not,” She let out a groan of pain as her arm screamed in pain, “Going to make you a to-go cup!”

“Oh my god you’re making it worse!” Morgan shrieked, starting to panic herself. She screwed her eyes shut. Maybe if she didn’t see the blood she wouldn’t have some weird blood-clinger blackout. “I’m not a vampire, it was a magic tick! I thought it had worn off  but apparently not! I mean, would you rather be the juice box? Come on!” But no sooner did she settle this in her head than did she slip on the floor and come face to face with the fresh streams of blood from Skylar. Morgan forgot everything she was talking about and licked them up like her life depended on it.

As Morgan tried to convince her that she wasn’t some kind of vampire out to suck her blood, Skylar remembered what Ricky had told her. Selkies had more blood than other people, making them prime targets for vampires. “A magic tick? That’s, that’s a thing? WHAT THE FUCK!” Skylar screeched as Morgan dropped down and began to lap up her blood from the floor. Skylar watched in horror and reached behind her to pull herself up to her feet-- she needed to get out of her, she needed too… As she stood up, what blood was in her head, immediately rushed out and her vision went white around the edges as fell back to the ground, woozy. “I… I… I’m…” She couldn’t fully make out words any more, all she could do was grasp at a nearby mason jar and hold it to her still bleeding shoulder.

Morgan slithered her way over the floor, lapping every drop until her tongue felt rough and every drop had been siphoned. She groaned, still thirsty, and made a grab for Skylar, but missed as the girl stood up. Her head hit the wall and she lost her balance, going splat and rolling onto her back Slowly, her brain cleared again. Maybe anticlimactic would’ve been better after all. “Skylar??” She asked. “Are you still there? Can you drive yourself maybe? Or, I don’t know, call an Uber? There’s Uber in White Crest, right?” She was afraid to get up again. Afraid the floor would fall out from under herself. Afraid of the red, tangy blood. It was still on her rough-scraped tongue and in the back of her, hateful and terrifying. But in the moment it hadn’t been. God she was so screwed. “Skylar--?” She croaked.

“Mmmnot good. No’ good.” Skylar said thickly, her head heavy as she continued to try and get away from Morgan. Holding the mason jar in her hand, she did her best to siphon some of the blood that clung to her skin into the jar. “Don’ eat me… ’m… fishy. Wouldn’t tas’ good.” Her words slurred together as she slid the mason jar towards Morgan. Uber? Her phone. Her phone! Pulling her phone out of her pocket, Skylar swiped her thumb across the screen to send a garbled text before setting it down on the ground, “Please don’t eat me.” She mumbled.

This was not going to be a good day. And really, Morgan should’ve known better than to hope for getting away with anything for long. She reached across the floor and grabbed the jar, stomach-lurching at the precaution and inched, achingly, to a sit. “I promise on whatever will make you feel better I do not want to eat you!” Never the less she sipped the blood. It didn’t soothe her like it did earlier, so maybe she was past the worst of this. “Come on, Uber’s going to take too long and you need help.” She was unsteady on her feet, but she had what she needed and she could just about make it to the door, to-go cup in hand as Skylar had so kindly put it. She staggered out and took a deep lung full of fresh air. She had no idea how she was going to explain this to Ricky, or anyone else for that matter. How far was the hospital again?

“Not an Uber… Ricky, he’s gonna… gonna help me. Can’ go hospital.” Skylar said, shaking her head back and forth. As she continued to struggle away, she fell flat on her back onto Morgan’s floor, the knife still sticking out of her shoulder. Fatigue and blood loss overtook her and Skylar passed out right in the entryway of the front door.

Morgan heard the thump of Skylar’s body on the floor and went more or less splat herself on Cece’s porch in defeat. The was no way she was getting her in the car by herself, or answering any questions EMTs might have. And Skylar didn’t want that stuff anyways, though whether it was because health insurance was a curse on everyone, or because of some supernatural bullshit she didn’t know about yet, she had no clue. But in the end, it didn’t matter. Morgan sent off some messages and waited for everything, as usual, to get worse.

[dabard]

Immortality Is Wasted On Oneself

It was 1348 and London was in shambles. I had not been here since the time of the Romans and I had sought it out hoping for a final resting place, for a way to die here where the great Republic began to fall. People were sitting in the streets, either dying or already dead, nobles hurried by clutching perfumed cloths to their noses in an attempt to mask the scent and stop the spread of the disease. I was dressed modestly, but people still glanced at me nervously as I walked among the bodies of those that were not long for the grave without a care. My leg caught on something and to my surprise it was not an errant stick or wayward bramble. It was a child. “Water.” The girl croaked, her neck was swollen with the tell-tale lumps of the Black Death yet her grip held firm on my ankle. “Please, water.” For a moment I considered simply walking away, she would die anyway, if not today then in a few years when she took a wrong turn down a dark alley, or sometime after that when age got her. These people can’t help but perish. And yet I didn’t. There was a well nearby and although I was unfit from the apathy of my last few centuries, I hauled a bucket from the local smithy to the waterhole and filled it to the brim. No doubt I looked a fool as I struggled to drag that laden container from one side of the square to the other, but when I reached the girl she surprised me with a genuine, heartfelt smile. “Thank you m’lord.” She coughed, before almost plunging her head into the water and gulping down great amounts. “Woah, wait a moment.” I admonished, much to my own surprise. I pulled her back from the water and gently leaned her against a wall so that she was upright. “You need to drink it slowly, or you’ll just be sick and throw it up everywhere.” “I’m already sick sir.” The girl said, her wry laugh dissolving into another fit of coughs. “Then there’s no sense in making it worse.” Came my stern reproach, cupping some water in my hands and offering it to her. “Drink it slowly this time.” Her name was Emily, and underneath the grime of her days on the street she was a fetching young woman. I helped her first out of pity, but as hours turned into days, and days turned into weeks, I found myself worrying over her eating eating habits, her sleep schedule, whether she was being treated kindly by the other teenagers. When my ministrations brought her from sickness to health I thought my part in things was over, but a realization took that thought from my plans. “Where are your parents Em?” I had asked not long after “Borrowing” a blanket from a royal’s house down the street for her. “Dead.” She had replied simply, avoiding my gaze. “Rats got them. Where are yours?” “Dead.” I replied, already standing as the next half century or so of my life suddenly had a purpose. “Sumerians got them. Why don’t we find somewhere better for you to sleep? There’s plenty of empty houses around, there’s no sense in letting them rot with no one inside.” She was a curious creature, wry and laconic with a good sense of when to leave certain topics alone. We squatted in a house near the Thames for a time, I began working as a doctor to bring in some money so that she wouldn’t starve. Weeks became months and she finally broke the golden rule. “Why don’t you eat?” Emily had asked at the breakfast table, toast and oatmeal in front of her while I read a book on herbs rumored to be cures for the plague. “Can’t afford to feed two people.” I said with a shrug. “But you don’t eat at all.” She pushed, curiosity burning behind her eyes. That wit I admired so much in her now pointed directly at me. “That isn’t normal.” “I suppose it isn’t.” I admitted, resolving to give her at least a partial truth. “I don’t need to eat, I can if I want, but it isn’t necessary. That’s just how I am.” She accepted that with a nod, biting into her toast with a thoughtful expression. “Are you the devil?” I snorted, turning a page in my book. “Even if I was, what makes you think I wouldn’t just lie about it?” Months became years, and Emily grew nervous around me, at first I believed she still suspected me of being the devil, or a demon in some capacity, but that suspicion was dashed when she finally broke her peace while we sat in the living room. “When are you going to do it?” She had blurted, slightly fearful. “Do what?” I had asked gently, afraid of startling her. Tears welled in her eyes and I panicked slightly, worried that somehow I had upset her with some action or lack thereof during our time together. “You know what!” She had accused. “Girls don’t just get given dresses and a house and food and love. Not without something in return.” Realization dawned on me, along with a horror at the implication my new ward was making. “Emily. I’m not going to… To force you to do anything. You aren’t some prisoner or servant here, you aren’t some investment I’ve made. You’re my friend.” Those tears finally broke over her cheeks, relief and guilt mixing in her eyes and spilling down her face. “I am?” I stood, but made no move towards her, simply opening my arms and waiting. She lurched forwards and hugged me tightly, her face buried in my shirt for the longest of moments.

Months became years, and a new person joined our home. Her name was Christine, and her father was a drunkard named Thomas that I had no patience for. When Thomas’s wife had died of consumption the poor girl found out why her mother never went a day without “Falling down”. Emily and Christine were fast friends and often spent the night in Emily’s room gossiping and playing checkers, or so my young friend would have me believe. I hadn’t realized Christine had spent almost a week living in our house until Thomas came to my door. He was a foul tempered brute and the swill he had been drinking didn’t help that fact at all. “Give her ‘ere doctor!” He had yelled, red faced with anger and balled fists at his side. “She ain’t been doing her chores and I’ve had enough of it!” “Tom, you’re making a scene.” I said calmly, glancing up the stairs to find the girls watching. Christine was all but cowering with fear, while Emily gave me a simple, single shake of her head. “I don’t give a fuck what you think of what I’m making!” The drunk bellowed, trying to force his way past me. “CHRISTINE, GET YOUR ARSE DOWN HERE NOW!” I put my hand on Thomas’s chest and my leg swept behind him as I gave a slight push. The other man went tumbling into the street as I descended my front steps and rolled up my sleeves. “I think she’s perfectly fine where she is thank you Thomas.” “You’re gonna fight me doc?” Slurred the slovenly brute with a laugh before he brought up his fists. “Man like you probably never seen a real fight in your life.” I could describe for you what happened next, but if you had never seen the Visigoths lay siege to Rome, or the Persian invasions of Greece then you’d have no context for how my experiences played a part in the struggle. Needless to say however, that it was not my first or last fight. With Thomas squared away Christine moved into the house permanently, the girls would have liked me to believe they were living in separate rooms but I had visited the Isle of Lesbos and spoken with Sappho herself. They eventually came to realize that I understood their relationship and after years became decades we moved from London to the country, where Christine became my “Wife” and Emily became my “Widowed Sister” so that the girls could get by with relatively little problem. My appearance soon raised further questions with Emily, but at that point she accepted my vague answers with a small smile and a wry joke. It was when we had to move the third time, where Christine became my spinster aunt, and I became Emily’s son that I finally sat down with them and revealed what I was. It went over fairly well, but at that stage they had already accepted my divergence from mainstream humanity. “You’re my friend.” Emily had repeated, over four decades separating my words from hers. “Nothing changes that.” It was 1598 and I had just cleaned Emily and Christine’s grave stones. They seemed at peace beside one another in the churchyard, a fact I found solace in before returning to the task I had set myself. The Irish were trying to throw off the yolk of English oppression and there on the battlefield I put to work the skills I had honed in caring for my two friends throughout their life. I sewed the wounds of an English pikeman that had fallen victim to the claymore of a scottish mercenary. I treated the broken arm of an Irishman that had been separated from his kinsmen and run through with a spear. I shepherded villagers out from their town before the army of Robert Devereux could trample them into the mud. It was 1701 and I was headed for the New World with a ship full of others escaping the Spanish Inquisition, who had began a renewed hunt for those bearing the devil’s touch. Again I tend to the sick, because it has become a habit for me. If only the poor could afford the medicines of rich men. It was 1850 and I was running. We just needed to reach the border, where my Comanche friends would take over, but on our heels was a US Marshal that didn’t take kindly to people who freed slaves. I fired behind with my revolver, missing the Marshal by mere inches and forcing him to pull his horse to the side so that trees would give him cover. We were approaching the site and I could taste the freedom my friends deserved. I stopped in my tracks and waved them on, hoping to keep the Marshall busy while they escaped with the Natives and made their way to Canada. A few bullets weren’t enough to take me down, and it would be worth the reward. It was 1999 and Lana was talking to one of the boom operators. “I don’t know how to do it, I’m just not earning enough to put Casey through school and with my wife’s scoliosis acting up our medical bills are just…” Jack sighed. “It’s all just a little much right now.” “We’ll sort something out.” Lana promised, patting his shoulder. It was 1999 and I was in Lana and Lilly’s office. “You want us to do what?” Lilly asks with a gobsmacked expression. “Donate it all to the crew.” I repeated. “I’ve made enough right now, I can go without another ten million, especially if it means they earn what they’re worth.” “This is just… You don’t really see this happen in Hollywood.” Lana said, shaking her head. “Especially not from someone so young.” “Oh, it’s nothing.” I said, waving it off. “People my age should know better by now.” It was 1999 and a letter had been left in my trailer. Work on the movie had closed down for the last time and I was just going to fetch my laptop. Curiously I opened the letter, the writer had left out their name, but I had a feeling I knew who had left this two word note for me to find. The cursive letters were in an almost completely different language, but they reminded me of a study in London, where I taught a young girl to write. Now, thousands of years and miles apart, I found the same satisfaction in how I ended up spending my immortal life. “Thanks, Keanu.” Read the note.

[masked-fox-creations]

When the Strangers Blew In, Ch. 21

Whoo! Been a bit, huh? Sorry about that, this would have been up last Saturday but I was too busy visiting my boyfriend in New York. (He was great, the subway was shit.) And this is up on a Monday because, hey, go easy on me I've been really sick. But now here it is, the third to last chapter!

Summary: Stanford and Stanley Pines dream of a different life. One where they’re not just tidying their pa’s shop or helping ma take care of the baby. Where they can live freely as the men they know they are, instead of pa hounding them to marry before they become spinsters. They get a taste of that possibility when two strangers blow into town, but with them comes a heap of trouble.

Pairings: Rick/Stan (stanchez); Fiddleford/Stanford (fiddauthor)

Warnings for this chapter: some transphobia, general misgendering, more child abuse, and choking.

ao3 link

Chapter 21— Watch the Fires Rise Under My Skin

The twins hadn’t spoken a single word since they had started off. Several times Preston and Bud tried to strike up conversation, and several times the twins stared ahead without acknowledging them. When the sun set the group stopped for the night. Stanley and Stanford sat close together, backs against a tree trunk and as far away from the other men as their captors would allow. They still didn’t say a thing.

Rick and Fiddleford were tied in an unpleasant looking position, on their knees and hands behind their backs. They seemed exhausted and miserable. Rick in particular had a perpetual wince and, while both were slouched, he was nearly doubled over.

Of course the twins weren’t allowed within several feet of the pair.

Eventually Preston and Bud approached them. They stared stonily ahead, ignoring the offered waterskins.

“You really should drink something,” Bud insisted.

“Dehydration is awful for the skin.”

Stanley pinched the bridge of his nose, but otherwise the twins didn’t respond.

“You ladies are probably mad,” Bud commented, and the twins snorted. Almost frantically he added, “And I can understand!”

“Yes, we can,” Preston agreed. Both brothers quirked a disbelieving eyebrow. “It must be difficult for you, so confused by your gentle hearts that you can’t bare to leave the banditos who tricked you into loving them. Even as you deep down crave to be wed to real men.”

The twins narrowed their eyes.

Bud, eyes oddly wide in either shock or fear, said, “I can imagine why you’d want to get away from home. Your pa is…intense.”

A similar look came over Preston and he nodded.

The twins glanced at each other. Well, at lest they were catching on to something. Didn’t change that they were narcissistic, power hungry scum that were partially responsible for their current predicament. Neither twin could muster up any sympathy for them.

“Anyway!” Bud said far too cheerily. “Best drink up. You girls must be thirsty.”

Stanford turned his head, glaring at the fire that had just started up. Stanley looked from the waterskin to Bud. Staring right at the other man’s eyes he pointedly shoved the waterskin away.

“Don’t be like that. You have to drink something.”

“Perhaps they’re just waiting until they eat,” Preston suggested. “Don’t worry, ladies, something will be whipped up momentarily!”

Thankfully the pair finally left them alone. The twins snuck a glance at their partners. They liked to think that Rick and Fidds were looking a bit better now that they weren’t walking, but the poor men were still drooped like a heavy weight was on their shoulders.

The scent of cooking meat hit the twins and their stomaches rumbled in unison. Soon Preston and Bud returned, this time offering cooked rabbit. Just as before the twins refused.

“Well now this is just getting ridiculous,” Preston huffed, voiced laced with irritation.

“Don’t be silly girls, you have to eat something.”

The twins glared up at the other men. Finally Stanley spoke.

“We ain’t eating until they eat.”

He jerked a thumb towards Rick and Fiddleford. Preston and Bud turned to them as the pair in question looked up curiously.

“I see now!” Bud sighed admiringly. “Ah, you girls and your bleeding hearts.”

“Is that all you wanted?” Preston gave a fond shake of his head. “How will we ever understand their womanly ways, Bud?”

Stanley and Stanford’s brows pinched together, but the other men headed towards their partners so they held back their retorts.

With how the pair were bound they obviously could not feed themselves. Bud lifted a slice of meat and brought it towards Fiddleford’s mouth.

“What the hell are you doing?”

Everyone paused and looked at Filbrick like children caught breaking the rules.

“Just feeding these criminals,” Preston answered, an uncertain tilt to his voice. “No,” Filbrick said simply.

“No?” Preston repeated, sounding very much like he had never had that word said to him.

“But the girls refuse to eat until these two do.”

“We’re not wasting our supplies on those good for nothing varmints.”

Stanley shot up, his brother following suit.

“What the hell do you plan on doing? Starve them?”

Filbrick settled his stoney gaze on the twins.

“Leah, Leanne. Sit down and eat.”

It was impressive how Filbrick could make such an innocuous command sound ominous. There was an unsaid threat to his words, yet the twins didn’t back down.

“You’ve pushed them to exhaustion already,” Stanford pointed out. “Without food or water you’ll kill them.”

No pity appeared on Filbrick’s face.

“I’m not telling you again. Eat.”

Wordlessly the twins stomped over to Preston and Bud, Stanley snatching the waterskin from the former. Staring Filbrick right in the eye he pressed the spout to Rick’s lips. Even though there was wariness all over his face Rick still drunk greedily. Then Stanley passed it to Stanford who did the same for his partner. Similarly Fiddleford seemed trepidatious but Stanford urged him to drink.

Filbrick stood and stalked over to the twins; they staid their ground, chins held high. Until Filbrick’s fist collided with Stanford’s face, knocking him backwards. Before Stanley could react there were unrelenting hands squeezing his neck.

“Don’t you touch him!” Stanford snarled, getting back on his feet.

Without turning away from Stanley, Filbrick whipped out his pistol and cocked it at their bound partners. Preston and Bud took several steps back.

“For once you two are going to be quiet and you are going to be obedient. Or else. Do I make myself clear?”

The twins caught each other’s eyes and their defiance instantly deflated. In unison they said, “Yes, sir.”

Filbrick released his grip on Stanley and holstered his gun. Without another word he returned to the fire were Powers was roasting another rabbit. The sheriff hadn’t at all paid attention to the scene, but now called Preston and Bud back over. The pair walked past them, not even glancing at the twins. They were pale. Once again the twins couldn’t summon up any pity.

Stanley and Stanford returned to their spot, as well, before Filbrick’s ire was ignited again. Their partners were watching them closely but the twins couldn’t bare to look back.

——

After the sun set fully, when a chill settled over the land, Preston and Bud came over to them once more. This time they handed the twins a blanket. Their initial reaction was to refuse it; a sudden wind blew in, the trees shielding them little from the cold, and begrudgingly they huddled into its warmth.

“See how much nicer it is when you girls comply?” Preston commented.

“No more nastiness needed at all.”

Briefly they considered throwing the blanket right back in those dirtbags’ faces. Instead Stanley snapped, “Get the fuck away from us now before I sock you both.”

That shut them up quickly, Preston looking especially affronted. After the initial shock Bud simply shrugged, heading back towards the fire and taking his partner with him.

“I’m really gettin’ fed up with those two,” Stanley grouched.

“I was fed up the first time they talked to us as children.”

“I wish I could just push them into the mud like I did back then.”

“That wouldn’t solve anything now. In fact, I think that might have been what enamored them to us in the first place.” Stanley’s face scrunched up, and Stanford patted his arm. “Anyway, you should get some rest. It’ll be a long day tomorrow.”

“I don’t trust any of these crooked bastards enough to take our eyes off ‘em.”

“That’s why I’ll stay up,” Stanford told him. Stanley looked ready to argue and he quickly continued. “It would be wiser for one of us to get full rest, should anything happen. I wouldn’t be able to sleep for a while anyway, you know how I am. Besides, I can sleep some while we ride.”

Stanley considered this a moment before reluctantly nodding. Stanford squeezed his arm.

“If any of them tries something wake me up,” Stanley told him, already closing his eyes and settling in.

It wasn’t long before he was snoring. He didn’t look very restful, but Stanford didn’t believe in miracles anyway.

He glanced first at the men around the fire. Powers was talking quietly, words too low for him to catch. Filbrick was staring right at him and Stanford quickly averted his gaze, instead focusing on Rick and Fiddleford. Awful was the best word he could find to describe how they looked. At least they seemed to be asleep, as well, Rick slumped against Fiddleford.

Guilt welled up in Stanford’s chest. Filbrick was brutalizing them to punish Stanley and himself. Rick and Fiddleford didn’t deserve to suffer for their foolheaded, desperate defiance.

Eventually the other men slept, Filbrick taking first shift. Not once did he take his eyes off Stanford. He was eternally grateful when Powers relieved him. Still, it was a very long night.

——

They set out with the rise of the sun. This time the twins rode on Astra, Stanford’s head falling against his brother’s back almost as soon as they started moving.

Powers saddled up next to the pair. Stanford didn’t stir, too exhausted and apparently feeling safe enough in his twin’s presence.

“How are you ladies doing?”

“Fuck off, lawman,” Stanley spat, staring straight ahead.

The man frowned.

“You may not fully realize this, Ms. Pines, but those men are dangerous criminals.”

Stanley turned slowly, meeting the sheriff’s eyes with a steely look, then motioned towards Filbrick and the other two.

“Trust me, I know.”

He hurried Astra’s pace just enough to leave the sheriff a horse-space behind.

It was hardly an hour after they started riding that something none of them had prepared for, or even thought about, happened.

Of course it was Preston’s fault. While Filbrick would have been fine with letting Fiddleford and Rick soil themselves as they walked, Preston had declared that inhumane. Not to them, but to him if he had to deal with the smell and uncouthness of it all.

So Powers had taken the pair to relieve themselves. The twins gripped each other hard, anxiously waiting. For yelling, or maybe a gunshot, or something. All they got was the men returning a few minutes later.

They held their breath, expecting the sheriff to reveal the truth about Rick and Fiddleford’s bodies at any moment. Instead he gave them a brief look before they all set out again.

The twins shared a glance of confusion, then tried to catch their partners’ eyes. Rick and Fiddleford could only shrug.

Eventually Powers slowed his horse to ride side-by-side with the twins. Watching the other men to make sure they weren’t looking back he told them, “Your boys’ secret is safe with me, ladies.”

“Redemption is not a brief, mild kindness in a slew of horrors and oppression,” Stanford hissed in lieu of thanks.

“Pardon?”

“This doesn’t make you a good man, Powers,” Stanley translated, and then the twins refused to give him another word.

——

For several days they continued on like this. Each mile closer to Gravity Falls added a new bundle of dread to the twins’ hearts. Every attempt by Preston and Bud to win their favor fanned the fires brewing inside them.

They watched their partners carefully. The men were somehow still going. They seemed ready to keel over any second, but by some force—resilience, hope, spite—staid upright and moving. Rick was especially pale, but thankfully the salve’s magic had worked its wonders well enough to keep his wound from reopening. The twins had a feeling Filbrick would let him bleed out otherwise.

Every day and every night was about the same. The twins hardly spoke a word. Preston and Bud kept pestering them, regardless of the cold reception. Filbrick allowed Fiddleford and Rick the barest amount of water a day, and every other day a single meal that wouldn’t fill up an ant. Each night the twins switched off who would guard them until morning. They were quickly getting worn down.

It was Stanford’s night to stay on watch. Stanley had already passed out as had the majority of the party, leaving him alone with Bud. Which was slightly better than if it had been Preston. Much better than if it had been both.

By himself Bud was bearable. Not pleasurable by any means, but at least he spoke less—and the words that came out weren’t as offensive.

Right now he was using the tip of a knife blade to scratch dirt out from under his fingernails. The metal glinted in the firelight enticingly, and Stanford couldn’t tear his eyes away. A plan was forming in his head. Not necessarily a good one; it was incredibly risky and the chances of failure were high. And the consequences could easily put them in an even worse position than they were already in.

Yet it seemed once again foolhardiness was all they had.

Stanford took a deep breath and glanced at their sleeping partners. The sight of the worn pair steeled his nerves. After a brief check on Stanley, he called out softly to Bud.

The other man jumped, nicking the top of his middle finger. He stuck it in his mouth and came over. “My apologies, I didn’t mean for you to hurt yourself,” Stanford said with as much faux concern as he could muster. His voice wavered just a bit; Stanley was the one who had skills in deception, not him. But he had to try.

Bud took his finger out with a pop and grinned. “No worries, little lady. Just a scratch.”

Stanford smiled faintly and replied, “That’s good.”

“I admit I’m a bit surprised you called me over. What do you need, Leanne? Water? Or if you’re hungry I’m sure I could—”

Stanford put a hand up and said, “No, nothing like that. I simply—” he eyed the knife as Bud slid it into a pocket, “wished to talk.”

Bud’s eyes lit up. He sat down in front of Stanford, leaning in eagerly. Low, as though he was afraid speaking too loud would make Stanford change his mind, he said, “Whatever’s on your mind, I’m willing to listen.”

Stanford licked his suddenly dry lips. It didn’t help.

“I…I hope I don’t come across as too forward.” Even half shadowed Stanford didn’t miss the hopeful gleam in Bud’s eyes. “It’s just that I’ve been doing some thinking.”

“Whatever’s on your mind, dear, you can tell me.”

The term of endearment made him wince.

“It’s just…you’re very different, Bud. From the others, I mean. Especially Preston.”

“Preston is certainly his own type of fellow.”

Stanford nodded adamantly.

“He’s a different breed. A richer breed. He has a particular lifestyle I feel more suited to St—my twin.”

“Leanne, what are you saying?” Bud whispered, drawing even closer.

Choking down bile Stanford asked, “Bud, if…if we were to marry you two, would you take me as your bride?”

Bud placed a hand on his cheek and Stanford tried not to flinch away. His thumb brushed gently against Stanford’s bottom lip.

“Leanne Pines, I would be honored to call you my wife.”

Then he was kissing Stanford. Again Stanford swallowed back down bile, thankful Fiddleford wasn’t awake to see this.

Sure Bud’s eyes were closed, Stanford put his hands on him. He started at the other man’s chest and slowly brought them lower, fearful that should he go straight for what he wanted Bud might catch on. It was an agonizing few minutes. Bud kissed him furiously. It made Stanford’s skin crawl, but he steeled himself, continuing the trek towards what he desperately needed.

There. He could feel the knife in Bud’s pocket. Very carefully Stanford’s hands roamed up and down his sides and thighs, trying to ease it out. After a moment it peeked out of the pocket and Stanford quickly snatched it up, hiding it under his dress.

Finally he pulled away. Stanford felt both victorious and dirty; whatever freed them was worth it, however.

A sour look came over Bud, and Stanford’s heart stopped.

“Forgive me for doubting you, Leanne, but it all seems a little too good to be true.”

“Ah, well, the best things in life often seem that way?”

Brow furrowing Bud said, “I’m sorry, Leanne, but I just don’t buy that. I see what you’re trying to do here.”

“Bud, I swear—”

He held up a hand, silencing Stanford.

“You’re just trying to blind me with your wiles and lower my defenses so you can find a way to escape. Now I don’t blame you, but I’m certainly none too happy.” He stood up, not looking at Stanford. “I think I’ll wake the sheriff up for his shift.”

As he turned, Stanford was filled with a fiery anger. He couldn’t stop the heated words that lashed out of him like a whip.

“Don’t you try to guilt me, Bud Gleeful! You and the rest of those bastards over there have done nothing but harass me and my brother! Yes, Bud, brother. You may not understand or accept it but we are both men, and we are not nor will we ever be in love with you. We will never be your wives.”

“You’re a very confused girl, Leanne Pines. You should get some sleep.”

Seething, Stanford watched Bud go back over to the fire and shake Powers awake. He gripped the knife tightly beneath his dress, hoping that their chance to use it would come soon.