#i think I made this post when I was drunk

[delilahsturniolo]

— ୨୧ wildflower . . . m.s

in which . . . matt takes care of his drunk ex girlfriend at a party, not expecting you to confess feelings you shouldn’t have.

warnings . . . unresolved angst, mentions of a break up, alcohol mentions, honestly really sad.

written by @delilahsturniolo. do not copy, steal, or modify my works. if you are taking any inspiration from this, please ask me first before posting and credit me in your description. happy reading! :)

matt had never expected to see you again, especially not like this.

the bass of the music pulsed through the floor as he made his way through the crowd of intoxicated strangers. matt wasn’t even sure why he had come. maybe out of obligation to his friends, the feeling of being left out, or maybe because deep down, he still searched for you in every room he walked into. matt told himself he was over you. It had been six months since you both ended things. six months of forced smiles, of avoiding old songs that reminded him of the way you used to hum along, of ignoring the aching loneliness that crept into his chest when he least expected it.

and then, just as he turned the corner—he saw you.

you were slumped on a couch in the corner of the crowded living room that flashed with colorful lights, a half-empty red plastic cup dangling lazily from your hand. your hair, which was perfect a few moments ago—was now a disheveled mess, your makeup was also smudged unintentionally. you were laughing with a guy, a guy you didn’t even know, a guy you met 10 minutes ago. and that pissed matt off.

the random teenage boy giggled at whatever drunken nonsense slipped out of your mouth, but when matt looked into your glassy eyes—he saw nothing but sadness, and hurt. it was absolutely breaking his heart to see you in this state, something twisted in his gut, you never ever drank like this, at least the old y/n wouldn’t.

without thinking, matt stepped forward, brushing past people until he reached you. he stepped in front of the guy you were talking to, not giving the slightest fuck that he interrupted your conversation with him. how could that boy just—stand there and let you do this to yourself? matt leaned down, delicately tapping your cheek and placing that same hand on your shoulder afterward. “y/n.” he spoke.

you slowly lifted your head, squinting at him as if he was a mirage or hallucination of some sort, your mind was foggy. your lips parted, “matt?” you slurred. matt swallowed thickly. “yeah, it’s me.” he reassured. your face crumpled, and for a moment—he thought you were going to cry. instead, you let out a breathless laugh and reached for his face, your fingers clumsily grazing matt’s jaw. “i misssseddd youuu, i knew you’d be hereee!” you laughed stupidly, slurring your words. matt frowned, noticing how you were barely able to sit upright. he touched your arm, rubbing it soothingly, suddenly you felt a familiar sensation of warmth and comfort again, even when you were drunk. “come on, let’s get you some water.”

you immediately pouted at him. “nooo, i like it here! ‘cause you’re here!” matt ignored the way your words sent a sharp pang through his chest, he crouched beside you. “you’re drunk, love.” he cursed himself in his head for letting that familiar name slip out, he was just so used to calling you that. “so what? it’s fun when i’m drunk!” you giggled, swaying slightly.

“no, y/n. you’re hurting. you’re coping with alcohol.” matt spoke, his voice breaking slightly. for a second, something flickered in your eyes—like a moment of clarity cutting through the haze. but then, you let out a dramatic sigh, letting your head fall against matt’s shoulder. “i miss you.” you whispered weakly. matt’s breath caught. he should have let it slide, brushed it off as drunk talk. but the way you said it—like it was something you had been holding in for so long, something too painful to admit sober, made it absolutely impossible to ignore. “y/n…” matt hesitated.

you lifted your head, your expression hazy yet heartbreakingly sincere. “do you ever think about us?” you murmured. all the time, he wanted to say. every damn day. he thought about you so much it killed him, you were the only thing that consumed his thoughts, and his heart. but instead of responding to your drunken question, he looked away. “let’s get you home, yeah?”

you whined in protest but didn’t resist as he helped you up. you were very unsteady, leaning heavily against him as the two of you navigated through the party. people stared, some whispering, but matt didn’t care at the slightest. all that mattered was getting you out of there safely. the cold night air hit you guys as he led you outside. you shivered, and without thinking, matt shrugged off his hoodie and draped it over your shoulders instinctively. you blinked up at him, eyes wide, like he had just done something earth-shattering.

“thank you for taking care of me, you always do.” you said. matt looked away, “old habits.” he shrugged. you reached for his hand, your fingers lacing through his. it was instinctual, natural, like muscle memory. and gosh, he wanted to pull away. he wanted to tell you that this—whatever this was, wasn’t fair. but you looked at him with so much raw vulnerability that he couldn’t bring himself to move.

“i still love you,” you confessed, your voice barely above a whisper. his heart stopped upon hearing this. “every single day,” you continued. “and it sucks. it really, really sucks, because i see you everywhere. i hear your stupid favorite songs in coffee shops, and i still order your dumb vanilla lattes because they remind me of you. and i know i messed up, but, i don’t know how to stop loving you.” matt clenched his jaw, forcing himself to stay still, to not let his emotions take control. “you’re drunk, y/n. you don’t mean that shit.”

you let out a humorless, dry laugh. “drunk words are sober thoughts, right?” more like—drunk words, sober heart. matt closed his eyes. he wanted to believe that you were just saying these things because of the alcohol, but deep down, he knew better than that. and you were right, these were things you were truly feeling.

you were hurting. just like he was.

and for a brief, fleeting moment, he considered telling you the truth—that he still loved you too, that he had spent every night wondering if you missed him even half as much as he missed you. that maybe, just maybe, you guys could find your way back to each other. but then he remembered why the both of you broke up in the first place. the late-night fights. the misunderstandings. the way you guys tore each other apart even when you swore you both wouldn’t. so instead, he exhaled shakily and forced himself to say, “you just need to sleep this off.”

a tear slipped down your cheek, but you nodded. “okay..” your voice broke. matt’s gaze softened as he wiped your tears, feeling a pang of sympathy and guilt within him. he helped you into the passenger seat of his car, buckled you in, and drove in silence. every now and then, he’d glance at you, at the girl he once called his forever, and silently wondered in solemn if love alone had ever been enough.

when matt finally reached your apartment, he walked you to your door, making sure you got inside safely. you turned to him, looking heartbreakingly sad in his oversized hoodie. “will i remember this in the morning?” you asked softly. he forced a small smile. “i don’t know.” you hesitated, then whispered, “would you…want me to?” matt swallowed the lump in his throat. every part of him screamed to say yes, clawing at his brain to just grab you and kiss you tightly, break down in tears and apologize for everything.

but he knew better.

“goodnight, y/n. get some sleep for me okay?”

and with that, matt turned and walked away—leaving behind the only girl he had ever loved, even when it broke him to do so. some people weren’t meant to stay.

just like wildflowers, they were beautiful, but they didn’t last forever.

© delilahsturniolo do not copy, re use, or modify any of my works.

taglist

[jjscrybaby]

jj maybank x sweetheart!reader | hurt & comfort | (gun violence, anxious!reader, comforting!jj.)

this is based on season 1 episode 1 but i did get the idea to write it from @blueheron15 !! i’m gonna write more scenes from the show with this pairing i think but as always keep sending reqs!

i went back and changed some things to do with sarah and john b in the first thing i posted for sweetheart!reader because i want it all to make sense timeline wise so it wouldn’t add up for reader to meet jj through sarah!

︶︶︶ ⊹ ︶︶︶ ୨♡୧ ︶︶︶ ⊹ ︶︶︶

The entire day had felt like torture for you. The others had enjoyed themselves, a day of adventure and excitement which you hadn’t all felt for a while, you felt the opposite. All of it was too much, the gun, the money, the dead body showing up. It was too much, maybe that’s why you’d agreed to the kegger so easily. Getting drunk can do nothing but calm you down.

“Okay, baby?” JJ asked softly as you came and sat down on his lap halfway through the night.

“Mhm,” you hummed, sipping on your bitter beer; there weren’t any other options and you weren’t in a complaining mood.

“Yeah? Why you lookin’ at me all grumpy then, huh?” He teased, poking your cheek.

You pretended to bite his finger, causing him to let out a mock gasp which had you giggling in his arms. He smiled sweetly at you, pressing a kiss to your cheek. “Just an overwhelming day.”

“Yeah, but it was fun,” JJ replied.

“For you.”

“Maybe, but you had fun earlier when we were on the boat. And I know you liked bein’ pressed up against me on the ledge,” he teased, making your cheeks heat up at the memory.

“Shut it, Jayj. Didn’t have a choice, you forced me to come along,” you pouted.

He ran his finger over your lip, mocking you with the same expression. “C’mon, cheer up baby. Nothin’ else out of the ordinary is gonna happen, okay? We’re just havin’ a drink with our friends, and people we hate.” He pointed to the group of Kooks on the far end of the beach.

“Sarah’s nice,” you murmured, resting your head on his shoulder.

“Is she?” He’d never really heard you talk about her, all he knew was what Kiara had told him about her so he assumed that meant that you weren’t a fan of the blonde also.

“She hangs out with me at school sometimes. Kie doesn’t mind, I already checked,” you explained. JJ smiled softly at you, of course you’d made sure Kiara was okay with you talking to Sarah. You were just too sweet.

“She hangs with you at school?” JJ knew you weren’t a huge fan of school. A lot of the Kook’s used to take advantage of your kindness, and that lead to him having some serious conversations with them. No one bothers you anymore, but most also don’t make an effort to even get to know you.

You nodded your head, sipping your drink again. You weren’t feeling the buzz that you wanted. “We eat lunch together sometimes, or, like, we partner up for projects.”

“That’s nice, sweetheart,” he said, kissing your temple.

It was nice, and that was probably why later that night, when he’d had enough drinks to last a lifetime, he offered Sarah his spare drink. He meant no harm, he was just happy that someone at school was making you happy. It only took a minute for things to go wrong.

John B had saved JJ from a fight with Topper, something that’s happened more times than he could count, but Topper just had to have the last word. “Dirty Pogues!” It had sent John B reeling, turning around to shove him.

From there, it just spiralled. One moment Topper was winning, the next John B was, and soon enough the Kook had one of your best friend’s heads held under water.

“He’s drowning him!” Pope exclaimed.

JJ saw red. You watched as the blonde rushed over, and then the click of the gun safety echoed through your ears. That damn gun. It was held to Topper’s head, everyone seemed to freeze as they realised what was going on.

“Yeah, you know what that is. Your move, broski,” you could hear JJ threaten.

You were frozen. On one hand, you weren’t sure he had much other choice? If he hadn’t stepped in then there’s a high likelihood Topper wouldn’t have stopped until John B was dead. On the other hand, he was holding a gun to someone’s head; that spoke for itself.

The crowd dispersed, terrified of the mad man with the gun, leaving just your group of friends and Sarah and Kelce to deal with the aftermath.

“JJ! Put the gun down,” Sarah pleaded.

“Did you say somethin’, Princess?” JJ asked, not even turning to look at her.

“We’re good, we’re good,” Topper exclaimed, holding his hands up in surrender as he slowly started to stand up.

“Kie! Can you check your psycho friend, please?” You didn’t necessarily like Sarah calling JJ a psycho, but he was sort of acting like one. You’d be the same if it was Topper holding a gun to JJ’s head; you’d probably be worse.

“Okay, everyone, listen up! Get the hell off our side of the island!” JJ yelled, holding the gun in the air as he shot it off twice.

That was what did it. The waterworks were set off and you started to panic. You weren’t scared of JJ, you were scared for him. He just fired a gun, he could go to jail! You couldn’t help but to start crying as the overwhelming situation took over.

“Are you crazy? You idiot!” Pope exclaimed as both him and Kiara shoved JJ. “Why would you do that?”

“It’s not worth it!” Kie added.

“I’m saying his life, okay?” JJ argued.

It took only a few seconds for him to look at you. He was expecting you to be angry, not crying.

“You’re gonna jeopardise everything!” Pope carried on, but JJ wasn’t listening to the lecture anymore.

“Hey, hey, baby.” JJ rushed to your side, cupping your face in his hands. “Are you hurt? What’s wrong? Talk to me.”

“You’re gonna get in trouble,” you whispered, afraid of Pope and Kiara’s reactions to what you were worried about.

JJ’s eyebrows furrowed, he grabbed your hand in his as Kie and Pope ran over to help John B. He dragged you — gently — down the beach and away from the still lingering party-goers. His hands found your waist, tugging you so you were chest to chest.

“You don’t gotta worry about me getting in trouble, okay?” He soothed, stroking your hair.

“I don’t want you to go to jail!” You argued, sobs still leaving your mouth just at the thought.

“Alright, alright.” He was trying his best to not let the amusement show on his face. He couldn’t help it, you were just so cute. “No one’s going to jail, okay? I promise. I’m fine. Now, do you want to stand here crying or do you want to go home?”

“With you?” You checked, wiping the tears from your face.

He smiled down at you, pressing a kiss to your cheek. “Yeah, sweetheart. With me.”

[b0n3s-is-gay]

Could I request how the gang are the first time they share a bed with reader? (First sleepover)

Of course! (Post divider credits go to @thecutestgrotto)

Darrel Shaynne Curtis:

I can see this going quite a few different ways depending on when you meet him/how long you've known him.

Say if you knew him from diapers, yeah. It's no big deal, he's fallen asleep on the floor with you while doing high school projects when you were 16-17. It's no different than any bump in your friendship.

If it's a romantic relationship with the added context of old friendship like the hc above, it's no different. He'll pull you in for a hug, your head on his chest and just fall asleep with you like that.

Now if you're new to his life, think 19 to present, he's going to be a bit more cautious as he now has his brothers to worry and care for.

For friendship, I can see him offering you his bed (maybe you work together or you're staying over while your house is getting worked on) but you feel bad about taking it. So you say it's okay to share the bed and you go to sleep. You fall asleep apart and wake up with Darry's arms around your waist and his face in your neck.

Romantic Darry with someone who's new into his life is different. He'll let you stay in his bed when his brothers are out. You'll do your things and when you fall asleep, you're cuddling. When you wake up, you see Darry relaxed. Like full on mouth-hanging open, drool dripping down his chin as he sleeps, relaxed.

Keith Two-Bit Mathews:

Clingy! He's clingy!

Like it doesn't matter who's bed you're sleeping in, where you're both at, and who's in the room. You're going to be cuddled by him in his sleepy glory.

He's not nervous, not at all. You'll be laying awake with him, playing with his hair as the Sandman lures you to sleep with the promise of sweet dreams, and Two-bit will start joking with you.

He'll have his head on your chest or vice versa, he lives for physical contact. It's no different than anything you've done before, like cuddling on the couch or at the drive in.

In my personal opinion, Two-bit is a great option for this prompt.

Dallas Dally Winston:

Arguably the worst on this list. He was reluctant to even share a bed with you. Not that he didn't want to, but because it made him feel weird.

The only night you'll get to sleep with him is if you're hurt, he's hurt, or you're both drunk. Dally doesn't trust easily.

When you're hurt, he's going to lay you down on his bed and clean up your scratches and shit. If it's the inverse of the situation then the same follows, it all ends up the same.

When you sleep in the same bed, you're going to fall asleep apart from him unless he's really comfortable with you. If you want cuddles, you have to do that yourself.

Dally moves a lot in his sleep, so do be warned about that. You'll fall asleep apart and you'll wake up with his legs draped across your lap and his head mushed against the wall.

Sodapop Patrick Curtis:

Another really good one to share a bed with. He's not nervous at all because he BREATHES, nigh, LIVES for physical contact.

How you met, how long he's known you, and your relatioship doesn't fucking matter to this man. If you're going to share a bed with him, he's going to be holding onto you and loving every minute of it.

When you both get a chance to lay down with each other, it's going to be when Darry and Ponyboy are out of the house. Either that or you're at your house.

He'll loop his arms around your waist and rest his chin on his shoulder while you sleep. He's not going to let you up.

Much like Dally, Soda also moves a lot in his sleep. You'll sleep with him really close by and wake up with him on top of you. He's just drawn to warmth.

Steve Randle:

He's nervous. SPELL IT PEOPLE, N-E-R-V-O-U-S! The first time you share a bed/sleep together, it's after a fight with his father resulting in him getting kicked out.

He's going to stay up after you sleep, both nervous and stewing in his silent rage. Nervous for taking away the sleeping space, so nervous and guilty feeling that he nearly sleeps on the floor. Rage filled due to his father because what the shit?

Not really touchy, not that he doesn't love it, but he worries that he'll hurt you while sleeping. He's a bit harsher than Soda when it comes to physical contact, so he's afraid of hurting you.

Will only fall asleep after you do and he's calmed down. He'll close his eyes and fall asleep on his back. He's a still sleeper, so no need to worry about waking up under a sleeping human.

Steve does have small nightmares, they're rare but they do happen. He'll toss and turn just a bit before settling down. Don't hold it against him.

Johnny Cade:

The first time you sleep together is either at the Curtis House, the Lot, or at your house after he gets kicked out by his mom. Point is, the first time you sleep together is because he trusts you and because his folks are being abusive as shit.

He's okay with cuddling while you sleep. He cuddles with Ponyboy and Dally all the time so you're no different. You'll lay down and get ready to sleep, not before Johnny slips under your arm and starts leeching the warmth from you.

Johnny is warm, like heater warm. Everything about him is warm BUT his feet. So if you're at the Curtis Home or your home and he has his shoes off, it's like someone put a piece of ice on your skin.

He doesn't move when he sleeps, he'll only move if you move. It's like fluid moving with fluid. No need to worry about him being on the floor when you wake up but there is the concern of him somehow being partially under, again, just to leech off your warmth.

Just like Steve, Johnny does have some nightmares. He'll shake, small tears will escape his eyes. Don't worry though, he won't wake up. Just rub his back and play with his hair, it'll help a lot.

Ponyboy Michael Curtis:

The door will be open. Don't fucking try and close it unless it's your house. At the Curtis House, the door stays open. It doesn't matter the relation, the door stays open. Why the door stays open? Ask Darry and Soda, closed doors are bad choices.

When Ponyboy sleeps, he's okay with you touching and cuddling him as Sodapop and Johnny basically use him as a teddy bear. If you cuddle up to him, it's no different than a regular Tuesday for him.

Doesn't move that much in his sleep. Like he's really fucking still. If you think he's dead, don't. He's just really, really still. So still that Sodapop has had to take his pulse in the past to make sure his brother hadn't died in his sleep.

If you're sleeping in the same bed as him pre or post book makes all the difference. If it's pre book, he's quiet and hard to wake up when he sleeps. But if it's post book, Ponyboy wakes up really easy as he's afraid that you'll slip from his life if he lets go.

Both Pre and Post book Pony have bad dreams. Pre book, it's a rare dream about his parents and how they died. The sounds of trains. Post book, it's the sound of those guns spitting fire across the lot, the sight of Dally hitting the ground like a crumpled paper. He'll wake up, shooting out of bed with sweat running down his face as the words "Stay Gold" echo in his head. If he cries, don't shame him and don't comment, just hold him and lull him back to sleep.

[smilingformoney]

Die With a Smile

Chapter VI. Never Tear Us Apart

Summary: Every action has a reaction, but nothing lasts forever.

Read on Ao3 or below the cut:

Mary had never expected to get married, but of course, she’d fantasised about it. When she was fixing a hand-me-down wedding dress, she’d wonder about the kind of dress she might wear. She thought about children, and the sort of things married couples did to create them, and though she yearned for a brood of her own, she never thought she’d have one. She’d accepted long ago that her purpose in life was to protect Tommy, and maybe one day he’d be the one to find a nice girl to marry.

She’d thought about a wedding day, the first night, the life that comes after. She’d fantasised about what life would be like to live amongst the gentry.

She’d never imagined it would be like this.

Elliott was right. Turpin only wanted her for her body. He filled her up with his seed at every opportunity, at minimum every morning and every night. He’d mutter filth into her ear as he fucked her, telling her how good she’d look once her belly began to grow with his child.

The rest of the time, he ignored her. He spent most of the day at court, and if his evenings weren’t spent socialising with his peers, he sat at his desk and worked on his paperwork. Sometimes he’d have visitors over, other important-looking men who sat around drinking gin and smoking cigars, talking about whatever men talked about.

Mary always had to stay out of sight when visitors came over. She didn’t mind that. Turpin’s friends frightened her almost as much as he did. And sometimes he’d be too drunk for sex, so she’d have a night of respite, and sometimes a morning too if his hangover was too troublesome.

At least when he was out, Mary could see Tommy. They’d go out into the courtyard and play games, and because he was acting under orders of the Lady of the House, the butler who bossed him around couldn’t tell him off.

She had a weekly allowance, which she used to buy materials, as Turpin had allowed her to turn Johanna’s old room into a makeshift workshop. She wasn’t to sell anything she made - Lord Turpin couldn’t have anyone thinking his wife had to make her own money - but he allowed her to do it as it kept her busy and out of the way. She mostly made children’s clothes, and at night Tommy would sneak out with them and give them to Mrs Harris to hand them out to the children who lived on the street, those who had once been Mary and Tommy’s friends.

After the first month, Mary worked up the courage to ask Turpin about the promise he’d made.

She knew she had to get him in a good mood first. Some days he ordered her to visit him at court during lunch, so when he sat at his desk with a sigh of frustration, Mary obediently knelt between his legs and took him in her mouth.

When he finished, she licked him clean, then sat on his lap as he tucked into the sandwich she’d brought him.

“Sir, might I ask you about something?”

Turpin grunted through a mouthful of sandwich.

“When you proposed to me, you said you’d put Tommy into school. Did you really mean that?”

Turpin snorted derisively, then swallowed.

“Yes, I did. But surely you don’t expect me to follow through on that, do you?”

Mary blinked in surprise. “Oh - um —”

“You also told me you’d marry me, then promptly made every effort not to do so. I don’t see why I should follow through on my promise when you tried so ardently not to follow through on yours. He’s working in the kitchens, that’ll teach him everything he needs, and I’ll hear no more on the subject.”

“…Right. Of course. Sorry, sir.”

After Turpin returned to court, Mary went down to the Post Office.

She was learning to read and write, but her progress was slow. All she had were the letters Elliott had taught her. She had to put words together bit by bit, and no doubt her spelling was atrocious. Fortunately, since very few people in London could read or write, the Post Office offered a scribe to write out dictated letters to those who could pay. And thanks to her allowance from Turpin, Mary could pay.

Once the letter was written, she almost cried when the scribe read it back to her.

Dearest Elliott,

I know you must hate me, but I beg of you not to throw this letter in the fire. When I first accepted William’s proposal, before I knew of your feelings for me, he promised an education for Tommy. I know now he has no intention of following through on that promise. I cannot stand the thought of him spending his life in the kitchens, but it seems William is determined to leave him there. I know he would thrive with you. I don’t ask you to adopt him as you said. Employ him as you would any other, if you must. But please, I beg of you, take him away with you. I know I would never see him again. But I’d rather he leave forever, and know he’ll thrive, than have him by my side but wasting away in the kitchens. I know I ask a lot. But Tommy is only a boy. None of this is his fault. I won’t ask you to forgive me, and if you refuse, I’ll understand. But please, if you truly loved me, do this one thing for me. For Tommy.

All my love, Mary

She gave the return address as Mrs Harris’ shop, and waited anxiously for a reply. Even just to hear a “no.” And when the night came that Tommy delivered the weekly bundle of children’s clothes to Mrs Harris, Mary waited for his return, hoping he’d come back before Turpin woke up and found her missing from the bed.

The response she received was worse than a no.

Tommy handed her an envelope addressed to her, and inside was another envelope - her own letter returned, unopened. With it a note. By candlelight, and with much difficulty, Mary managed to read:

Lady Turpin,

I return your letter unopened. Although curious, it’s not for me to interrupt the communiqué of lovers. My nephew left for Australia mere hours after you left for London. He’ll be almost to Cape Town by now. Below is his address in Australia. Though I warn you, you may wait six months before receiving any reply. Good luck.

Sincerely, Duke R. Beaumont

Mary tore off the bottom part of the letter containing Elliott’s address, stashed it away between the pages of her sketchbook, and promptly burnt both her unopened letter and the body of the Duke’s response.

It was another hour before she went back to bed, once her tears had dried. She knew Turpin would never stand for her crying in bed, much less if he knew the reason for her tears.

It was about two months into the marriage that Mary realised one day that she hadn’t yet had her monthly - not, she realised, since the week before she’d met Elliott. The only bleeding she had was after sex, when Turpin hadn’t prepared her properly.

She tried not to think too much of it. But when she began bringing her food back up for no apparent reason, she couldn’t deny the truth.

She told Turpin her suspicions one night after he’d finished, and in a rare display of emotion other than irritation or lust, he grinned with excitement and kissed her.

“Oh, darling, I knew you’d be able to give me a son! Such a good, dutiful wife.”

He took her again, the news apparently springing his cock back to life, and held her close against his body as he thrust into her.

“What a good wife you are, taking my seed so well… mhm, yes, I can’t wait to see you swell. My perfect wife, carrying my son…”

He’s not your son.

The thought came unbidden, but Mary knew it was true. Logically, she couldn’t. She couldn’t even know it was a boy, let alone that Elliott would be the father. But something deep inside her - perhaps her mother’s instinct, or perhaps something deeper, something in her soul - it told her the truth. Yes, she was carrying a son, but not her husband’s son.

She swore to herself, there and then, as her husband spilled his seed inside her for the second time that night, that he would never learn the truth.

She was already lying to him. He still thought that he’d taken her virginity the night he’d snuck into her bed and raped her. What harm could it do to let him think the child was his?

When the baby was born, Mary had little choice over the name. He was William Turpin’s first son, so tradition dictated he would also be William Turpin.

It felt strange, though, to call her son the same name as her husband, so she nicknamed the child Billy.

Turpin wasted no time trying to get Mary pregnant again. She was exhausted from spending all day looking after the baby, too tired for sex, so she simply laid there and let her husband do what he needed to do. He quickly got bored of that, though, so he hired a nanny to help look after the child, giving Mary some time to rest.

Not because he loved her, or because he cared about her needs. Mary had accepted a long time ago that things like care and kindness were things she’d never get from him. But it was because, he told her, she had a duty to her husband. And, despite everything, she was still attracted to him, so when she had the energy for sex again, she was an eager participant.

It was really the only connection they had. And because he kept her inside, it was pretty much the only connection she had at all other than Tommy. So Mary took what Turpin would give her, and if that was nothing but sexual chemistry, then so be it.

It wasn’t long before she was pregnant again. She recognised the symptoms straight away this time, but there were some other symptoms she was more concerned about than her own.

Turpin was sick.

The doctor threw every treatment he could think of at him, but sickness was even more powerful than the great Judge Turpin, and he died within a week of falling ill.

Mary sat dutifully by his bed every day, nursing him the best she could, making sure he got as much time with little Billy as he could.

He must have known when he was about to pass. He’d been stubbornly trying to get up and go to work all week, even flirting with Mary as if he was in any state to do anything. But that day, he’d been lethargic and quiet, not like himself at all. And as Mary rocked Billy to sleep in her arms, Turpin just watched her.

“Mary,” he croaked when she returned from putting the boy in his crib. “Mary. Mary…”

“Yes, I’m here, Will,” Mary said softly as she sat back down and took his hand in hers. His hand that looked nothing like his hand, now it was ghostly pale and thin, hardly capable of moving.

“Mary… I need you to tell me the truth. I know… I know you loved Elliott. Tell me… is the boy his?”

Lying to him was almost second nature to her now.

“No. No, he’s not, Will. I’ve only ever been with you. You know that.”

Turpin let out a long sigh.

“I’m sorry,” he wheezed. “Mary, I’m so sorry. For taking your innocence as I did, for forcing you to marry me. Elliott was right. You can tell him that, from me. He said so, didn’t he? He said I’d die miserable and alone, that no one could ever love me.”

“You’re not alone,” Mary said earnestly. “I’m here.”

Turpin looked at her and smiled.

“I couldn’t help falling in love with you.”

Mary wiped away a tear.

When she looked back at him, he was gone.

She cried. She didn’t know why. She hated him, didn’t she? He’d trapped her, hadn’t he?

But he was her husband, and he’d been alive, and now he was neither of those things.

So she cried.

- - -

Elliott was having a lot of fun playing with his food.

Ever since his return to Australia, his men had noticed a change in him. He’d always been ruthless; he’d slaughter an Aborigine camp without a second thought just to get a nice spot to build a new pigsty. But something had changed, and nobody dared ask why, because just the slightest change in the wind was enough to set him off.

He had a vendetta, but the source of his ire was back in London, so he took his frustrations out on anyone who pissed him off.

And for the last few weeks, that someone had been Matthew Quigley.

Now, he had his prize in front of him. The great Quigley, the hero of the Aborigines, the fucking pain in Elliott’s backside. He thought he could show up, take Elliott’s money, and refuse him. Well, nobody said no to Elliott Marston. Certainly no one who lived to tell the tale.

“Now you’re right in front of my old pistol target,” Elliott laughed. How many times had he practised shooting here, imagining himself in a duel with some outlaw? Now here he was, laying down the law - his law, on his land - and the American cowboy was no match for his quick draw.

“Some men —” Elliott began, but he cut himself off when he heard the familiar sound of a horse’s hooves on the ground, the creaking of wooden wheels turning.

Elliott frowned as he looked in the distance at the approaching carriage. He wasn’t expecting any visitors.

“O’Flynn, get the gate,” Elliott commanded. “Dobkin — take back the revolver, make sure he can’t do anything while my back is turned.”

His two remaining men ran to follow Elliott’s command, both well trained by now to obey him without question.

Elliott watched as the carriage came closer and passed through his gate. He thought it intriguing that it was a carriage, not a wagon. The visitor must be someone important, or unused to Australian heat, or both, with very little luggage.

The driver finally pulled to a stop and hopped down to open the carriage door. Elliott approached with a mixture of caution and curiosity. The door opened, the driver gave a small bow, and held out his hand to help the mysterious occupant down.

It was a good thing Elliott’s gun was still in its holster. He might have dropped it in shock.

He never thought he’d see her again. He’d resigned himself to a life without her, come to terms with the fact she’d been a fleeting light in the darkness. He’d neither love nor marry again, and that was something he’d accepted months ago.

Yet here she was, as beautiful as the day she’d left for London, despite his begging and his promises. She’d left with a cloud of misery hanging over her shoulders, and leaving another hanging over him too.

She reached back into the carriage for something. She pulled back, and the driver closed the door as Mary straightened up, holding…

A baby.

She had a baby.

She turned, her eyes searching, and when she spotted him, she smiled. A true, radiant smile that, although Elliott didn’t know it, she hadn’t sported in a very long time.

“Mary…” Elliott croaked. He took a few steps towards her, then jogged the rest of the way, too impatient to walk.

“Mary, what - what are you doing here?”

Elliott glanced around, wondering who else might be in the carriage, but he saw no sign of the man who’d torn them apart.

“You said you’d wait for me,” Mary said hesitantly. “…Did you?”

“Yes! Yes, of course I did, I… oh, Mary, look at you.” Elliott took her face in his hands as if to check she were real. “I could never love anyone but you. But why — where —?”

“He died,” Mary said, answering the question he was hesitating to ask. “Some sickness, it took him quick. I sold everything and bought us passage to Australia. I don’t expect anything from you, Elliott, but… I wanted you to meet your son.”

“My —?”

Elliott looked down at the baby in her arms, one hand carefully reaching out to cradle the boy’s round, bald head.

“The moment I knew he was there, I knew he was yours. I just knew.”

She didn’t have to explain. There was no science to prove it, the timing told them nothing, but Elliott knew it too. He could tell, looking at this tiny human clinging to his mother, that he was his son.

“What’s his name?”

“I didn’t dare tell him he was yours, so I didn’t have much choice. Everyone calls him Billy, though.”

“Hello, Billy,” Elliott said softly. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“Buh,” said Billy, and his tiny fingers wrapped around Elliott’s thumb.

“What a gentleman, he’s shaking your hand!” Mary laughed.

“He certainly is. Oh, Mary, he’s perfect.”

He looked up at her, a grin on his face and the threat of tears in his eyes.

“Just like his mother.”

Mary smiled coyly. Over her shoulder, Elliott saw the driver unloading the bags from the back of the carriage. And with him, a few inches taller than Elliott remembered, was Tommy.

“Tommy!” Elliott called. “I’m glad to see you’re alright!”

Tommy waved back, then turned his attention to the bag he was lifting. Elliott turned back towards his men, who were both standing guard over Quigley, watching with no doubt a lot of confusion.

“O’Flynn, keep an eye on him. Dobkin - put the boy’s bags in the lodge, and Mary’s in my house.”

“You’ll - you’ll let us stay?” Mary said cautiously.

“Mr Marston, what’re we doing with him?” O’Flynn called over, interrupting before Elliott could respond.

Elliott rolled his eyes. He glanced lazily over at Quigley, who was still standing by the fencepost, not daring to move with no gun to defend himself with and O’Flynn standing guard.

He’d spent the last few weeks obsessing over capturing Quigley, and now, Elliott found he didn’t care about playing with his food. The man had to be executed, and Elliott would certainly not be giving him a gun for a duel, not with three precious lives so close.

He whipped his pistol out and shot Quigley clean in the head.

Mary yelped in surprise, and her hand flew to cover Billy’s exposed ear, the other already pressed against her chest.

“Chuck him in a ditch somewhere,” Elliott called back to O’Flynn before reholstering his gun and turning back to Mary, who was staring in shock at Quigley’s dead body.

“Elliott, you killed him!”

“Sorry, darling, you came right in the middle of his execution. He’s a dangerous man — or was, anyway,” Elliott smirked. “He killed almost all of my men. Dobkin and O’Flynn are all that’s left. I can’t have him free, especially not with you here. Come on — let’s get you out of the sun. Dobkin will get your bags.”

Elliott put an arm around Mary’s waist and guided her towards his house.

“I know you told me how big Australia is, Elliott, but it’s hard to comprehend until you see it. It’s enormous! I thought we must have been going in circles with how long it took to get here from Perth. And the driver told me most of the land we crossed is yours!”

“It certainly is,” Elliott said with pride. “And I took about another 200 acres of farmland after I came back. Here we are. Do you want some water? You must be parched.”

Once inside, he guided her to the sofa, and gestured to his butler to bring her some water. Elliott sat down next to Mary and rubbed her back gently as she adjusted Billy to sit on her lap.

“Was the journey okay for you? I know how arduous that boat journey can be, and the ride here from Perth isn’t exactly fun either.”

The butler set down a tray on the side table and Elliott dismissed him with a wave of his hand so he could pour Mary a drink himself.

“Honestly, Elliott, it was awful. As it turns out, I get horribly seasick. I was so worried for the baby, but everybody was so lovely to me. People would give me portions of their food to make sure I ate enough, even though most of it ended up coming back out again.”

“Well, you’ll just have to make sure you never make that journey again,” Elliott said cheekily. “Good thing everything you need is here. And how’s Tommy? I’m glad to see he seems to be alright, I was worried that even if you married William, he’d still harm him.”

Mary smiled gratefully as she took the glass of water from Elliott.

“Oh, Elliott. You really worried about Tommy?”

“Of course I did. I’ve been worried for both of you. Trapped in a house with him — I can’t imagine what it must have been like for you.”

Mary took a long drink of her water.

“It wasn’t too awful. He ignored me most of the time except when he wanted sex. He could be callous, but he wasn’t cruel, not really. He never wanted to hurt me — he just didn’t care if he did. So long as I was obedient, he treated me well enough. I had an allowance and he even let me set up a workshop in Johanna’s old room. And I taught myself to read! I used the letters you taught me to figure out words in books. I’m not so good at writing, though.”

“Then I suppose I ought to teach you. Tommy, too. And Billy, once he’s old enough. Would you like that, Billy?”

“Ga ba da ga!” Billy replied when Elliott looked down at him with a smile.

“What about you, Elliott? Are you alright? I tried to write to you after a month or so, but your uncle told me you’d left soon after I did, and I was too ashamed to write to you here.”

“You’re the one who was forced into a loveless marriage, and you’re worried if I’m alright?”

“I broke your heart, Elliott,” Mary said in a small voice, hanging her head slightly in shame. “It’s haunted me every day.”

“Hey.” Elliott took her chin between his fingers and forced her to look up at him. “It wasn’t your fault.”

Tears welled in her eyes, and her lip began to wobble.

“It - it is my fault, though. Oh, Elliott, I’m so sorry!” Mary sobbed, and Elliott immediately wrapped an arm around her and held her close, rubbing her arm soothingly.

“It’s not your fault, Mary,” Elliott said again. “It was his. He took Tommy hostage and forced you to marry him. You had no choice. I know that.”

Billy seemed to notice his mother’s distress, because he started crying too.

Elliott was at a bit of a loss. He was exhausted from being awake all night watching out for Quigley, and now he had a crying woman and a crying child in his lounge.

Fortunately, at that moment Tommy and Dobkin came in with the bags. Dobkin was as confused as Elliott, but Tommy simply put down the bags he was carrying and came over to pick Billy up.

The child clung to him, and Elliott realised that Billy must recognise Tommy as caregiver just as much as he did Mary.

Tommy carried Billy outside to soothe him, and Mary took the opportunity of being babyless to wrap her arms around Elliott’s waist and bury her head against his chest. Tears were still streaming down her face, but Elliott realised he didn’t give two figs if she got his shirt wet.

“Take her bags to my room,” Elliott said to Dobkin, then turned his attention back to Mary. He didn’t know what to do or say, but she seemed to want to be held, so he wrapped his arms tight around her and held her close, rubbing her back and muttering words of sympathy against the top of her head as she sobbed.

After Dobkin left, not without another uneasy glance at the mysterious crying woman who’d suddenly appeared, Elliott and Mary were left alone for a little while — that was, until the door opened again, and one of the Aborigine women backed into the room, apparently carrying something.

“What do you want?” Elliott snapped.

Mary looked up, curious, still sniffling although her sobs had subsided.

The woman didn’t respond. She just carried on into the house, followed by another of the women, who was carrying the other end of —

“A cot!” Mary gasped.

It was rudimentary, and Elliott would definitely have to send someone to Perth to get a good and proper one made, but it was a cot.

“Put it in the bedroom,” Elliott commanded when the women hesitated, unsure where he would want it. They obeyed, and when they emerged, they kept their heads bowed respectfully as they passed back through the lounge to leave.

“Thank you!” Mary called after them. They paused, evidently surprised to be thanked, then curtsied clumsily towards her before leaving.

“Oh, Elliott, they gave us a cot! How kind! I must see it!”

Mary sprung to her feet, her tears apparently forgotten, and Elliott had to hurry to follow her into his bedroom, where the cot had been placed against a wall.

She examined it with a grin on her face. It was literally made of sticks stuck together with resin, the most basic, clumsy cot that Elliott could have imagined. Billy had probably had a significantly fancier cot back in London.

And yet, Mary loved it. Something about the rudimentary cot that had been made by an Aborigine whore for her halfling child was magical to Mary, and that was what Elliott loved so much about her. She saw wonder in everything — even him.

He couldn’t resist her.

“Mary…”

Elliott crossed the room in a few long strides and took her in his arms, pulling her in for a kiss. Their lips met, and Mary reciprocated eagerly. Her lips were still a little wet with tears, but Elliott didn’t care. She was here, she was real, and she was his. That was all that mattered.

He placed his hands on her waist, ready to encourage her out of her dress, when he felt a strange fluttering coming from her belly.

Mary broke the kiss and looked down, laughing. She took Elliott’s hand and guided it over her belly.

“Someone’s saying hello.”

He’d been so focused on her, he hadn’t looked at her belly. Hadn’t noticed the way it protruded just a little. Not obviously, easily missed, but now that he looked, it was clear as day.

She was pregnant.

Pregnant with his cousin’s child.

The thought didn’t anger Elliott as he would have expected it to. So what if he was a Turpin by blood? Elliott would make sure he was a Marston by name. Billy and Tommy too. He’d adopt them both, and if Mary wanted more children, he’d give her more. They were her sons, and that was enough for Elliott — they’d be his too.

“Marry me.”

Mary looked up at him, eyes wide.

“You’re certain? Even after everything that’s happened? Even - even with a child that’s not yours?”

“But he is mine. Because he’s part of you, and you are mine. I told you that a long time ago, didn’t I? I’ll adopt Billy, Tommy too, and we’ll have more if you want more. I’ve got plenty of space. We’ll have a whole litter if you want. Just say yes, Mary. Say you’ll marry me.”

She beamed up at him with the most adorable smile he’d ever seen. It lit up not just her face, but the entire room, and Elliott’s heart with it.

“Oh, Elliott, of course I’ll marry you! I won’t let anybody come between us this time, I swear it!”

“Perhaps we should do it quickly, just in case,” Elliott said, only half-joking.

“I know you jest, Elliott, but let’s do it! I don’t need a big fancy ceremony, I already had one of those and I hated it. All I want is to pledge my heart to you.”

“Alright, then,” Elliott agreed. “There’s a chapel in Meekathanga nearby. Let’s see if the chaplain’s at home, shall we?”

Elliott barked some orders at his men outside, instructing one of them to clean up the bodies that Mary hadn’t even noticed were scattered around, and he sent the other to Meekathanga to bring back the chaplain.

“Oh, and if you find any men looking for work, tell them I’ve got plenty of work and gold for them,” Elliott added as an afterthought. “I can’t be picky, so take deserters if you must. I’m sure Ashley-Pitt will forgive me, given the circumstances.”

“Elliott, why are there so many dead bodies around here?” Mary asked with trepidation as Tommy handed a now calmed Billy back to her to feed.

“Thank God you didn’t arrive earlier. Quigley, the man I shot earlier - he’s been on a rampage across the Outback recently. Murdered nearly all my men last night. Fortunately I - bloody hell, darling, warn me before you get your tits out, won’t you? I’m as weak a man as any.”

Mary laughed as she held Billy up to her breast and he eagerly latched onto her nipple to feed.

“This is what they’re made for, you know.”

“They can have two purposes. There are two of them, after all. One for him and one for me.”

He grinned cheekily, leaning against the pillar of his porch as Mary sat in the shade with Billy in her arms, and Mary thought he looked particularly handsome out here, in his natural environment. London had never suited him. It was too cramped, too stuffy. Someone like Turpin might thrive there, but Elliott, he belonged out here, in his home country. It was very easy to believe that he owned the ground he walked on.

“What are you smiling at?” Elliott asked with a smirk.

“I was just thinking about how handsome you are.”

“Oh, really? And how handsome am I, exactly?”

“Handsome enough that I sailed halfway around the world just to see your face again.”

“Ah, so you’re only here for my looks!” Elliott put his hand to his heart in an imaginary wounded gesture. “What if I’d had a horrible accident that disfigured me, hm? Would you turn around and run back to London?”

Mary laughed. “No, of course not! I’d love you just the same no matter what. Even if you shaved!”

“Now that is love,” Elliott teased. “Maybe I’ll shave just to test that theory.”

“Oh, no, please don’t!” Mary said in alarm, and Elliott laughed to see just how much the thought of him shaving panicked her. “You look perfect just the way you are.”

“I’m joking, I’d never shave it off. It makes me look powerful, don’t you think?”

“Oh, yes,” Mary agreed earnestly. “And I like the way it feels against my lips when we kiss.”

“Oh, you do, do you? So something like this?”

He crossed the gap between them, then leant down to kiss her — and cheekily grabbed her spare breast while he was at it.

“Elliott!” Mary laughed as he fondled her breast brazenly, for all to see — not that there was really anyone left to see.

“God, look at them, they’re so fucking full,” Elliott growled. “I knew pregnancy would suit you.”

“Elliott, stop it,” Mary blushed, covering up her breast again as she batted his hand away. “Not while I’m feeding, please. They get very sensitive.”

“Of course, darling,” Elliott said, and he kissed her gently on the head before pulling another chair over to sit next to her. He looked away for only a moment to grab the chair, and when he sat himself down and looked back at her, she had tears in her eyes. “Oh, Mary — did I do something wrong?”

Mary shook her head as she wiped a tear from her face.

“No. No, quite the opposite. Oh, Elliott, I’m sorry. That’s twice now I’ve cried since getting here.”

“Hey, it’s alright. You’re pregnant. If women weren’t unpredictable enough as it is, pregnant women are even worse. Is there something I can do?”

“No, Elliott, there’s nothing you can do. It’s just… oh, but I shouldn’t speak of William, it’s uncouth…”

“Nonsense. Tell me what you’re thinking, Mary. Tell me what’s got those pretty eyes all wet.”

He wiped away a tear from her cheek, and she smiled as she leaned into his touch.

“Well, it’s just… he used to do that too, he’d grab my breasts and - and even when I said it hurt, he didn’t care. He said that because we were married, they were his to play with as he pleased.”

Elliott sighed. There was no doubt about the fact that his cousin had left Mary with a lot of trauma. It was going to take him a long time to help her heal — and fortunately, they had the rest of their lives to do exactly that.

- - -

It was a good few hours to Meekathanga, and the same again in return. That left Mary and Elliott waiting all day for Dobkin to return with the chaplain — and, Elliott hoped, some new men looking for work. He wasn’t sure he’d be able to manage with just Dobkin and O’Flynn around.

Fortunately, they had a lot to entertain themselves with. Elliott introduced Mary to the horses in the stable, and the cattle in their pen, and he promised that when he next went out to tend to the sheep, she could come with him. He earned himself an extra kiss for that promise.

When the heat became too much for Mary, she said goodbye to the farm animals, and Elliott brought her back inside. Billy was getting restless in her arms, so she opened up one of her bags in the middle of the lounge and Elliott moved some furniture around to make some space for a little play area.

“I couldn’t bring much with me, but I brought his favourite toys,” Mary explained as Elliott rolled out a woollen blanket for her to lay Billy down. “He doesn’t really play with them as much as he tries to eat them.”

She put him on his back and placed his favourite coloured blocks just out of arm’s reach.

“You’re not going to give them to him?” Elliott asked with amusement.

“It’s important that he gets them himself so he learns to move. Look, see!”

She watched with a grin of pride on her face as Billy spotted the colourful blocks, reached out for them, and when he couldn’t grab them, he rolled over to his front to bring himself closer.

“Good boy!” Mary cheered. “Isn’t he clever, Elliott?”

“A veritable genius,” Elliott replied sarcastically as Billy began trying to put the square blocks in his mouth.

“Oh, shush,” Mary laughed. “It’s been difficult to teach him to roll over when he’s spent half his life on a moving boat. I imagine it must feel rather odd to him now to be on dry land.”

“Gahhh baya!” Billy exclaimed excitedly, holding up a blue block and showing it to Elliott.

“Do you want to play with papa, Billy?”

“Baga!” Billy replied, still trying to give Elliott the block.

“Alright. Christ, I can’t believe I’m doing this,” Elliott sighed. He looked the block from Billy. “Now what do I do?”

“Show him how to play with it!”

“It’s a cube, Mary, I don’t know how to play with it. Unless I’m supposed to eat it too?”

Mary plucked another block from the pile and placed it in front of Billy.

“Show him how to make a stack.”

“…Alright.”

Elliott placed the block he was holding on top of the other. Billy looked up at it, eyes wide and curious, then reached out and knocked it over with a squeal of joy.

“Hey, I built that!” Elliott protested indignantly, but Mary just laughed.

Billy, catching onto his mother’s mirth, laughed too, and he began banging the two blocks together, enjoying the clacking noise they made.

Mary turned to Elliott and looked up at him with a grin.

“He likes you! He doesn’t share his blocks with just anyone, you know. Do you think he can tell that you’re his papa?”

“Maybe. Did William ever play with him?”

Mary’s face dropped and she glanced away.

“No. He wouldn’t even hold him. He said he didn’t know what to do with a baby. As if any of us know… I certainly didn’t when Tommy was a baby, and I figured it out. He didn’t even try…”

Elliott rubbed her back soothingly. “It’s his loss, Mary. You won’t be doing any of this alone anymore. Tommy’s clearly good with him, and you’ve got me now. I can hire a nanny to come from Perth as well, if you like. You might need the help when Elliott Junior comes along and we’re trying to juggle two babies.”

“Elliott Junior?” Mary laughed. “Is that what we’re calling him, is it?”

“Well, why not? William named my son after himself. I might as well return the favour.”

“Well, I — I did have another name in mind. But if you really want to call him Elliott —”

“No, no, tell me,” Elliott said, placing his hand over hers. “What did you have in mind?”

Mary threaded her fingers through his.

“Well… your uncle was so kind to us. And after William died, I went to him, and he refused to listen to arguments when he proposed to buy everything from me. It was his idea, you know — he insisted on buying the house, the furniture, everything, under the condition I use the money to buy our transport here. I’m not sure he even wanted the house — I think he just knew I wouldn’t accept it as a gift. So, well, I was wondering… maybe we could call him Rupert.”

Elliott smiled. “You’re right, he was very kind to us. A byproduct of having nothing but daughters, I think, it turns a man soft. I’ll have to write to him and thank him for everything. But, I’ll be honest with you, Mary…”

“You don’t like the name?”

“It’s an awful name.”

Mary laughed. “Alright, alright, not Rupert. But maybe as a middle name?”

“A middle name, yes. What’s Billy’s middle name, by the way?”

“Sinclair Alexander Lionel. Why do rich people have so many names?”

“God knows. I think my father asked the same question, so I ended up with just the one.”

“Which is?”

“Elliott James Marston, at your service, milady,” Elliott said with a mock bow.

“Oh, James, that’s a lovely name! My parents didn’t even give me a surname, let alone a middle name. I was always just Mary. I added the Taylor on myself.”

“Sounds better than Mary Seamstress, I suppose.”

“Or Mary Theapprentice, that’s how Mrs Harris used to introduce me.”

“You know what name does sound good? Mary Marston.”

Mary blushed. “Yes, it does, doesn’t it? Oh, but I do like James. Maybe we can give him your middle name.”

“Well, James was my father. I wouldn’t mind naming him for my father.”

“And if it’s a girl? What was your mother’s name?”

“God, no, we’re not naming her after my mother. I adored her, of course, but her name was Eunice.”

“Oh, Lord, the Beaumonts didn’t have the best taste in names, did they?”

Elliott laughed. “No, they certainly didn’t. Is Mary Junior out of the question?”

“I’m not giving her my own name! What about Victoria, for the Queen?”

Elliott hesitated.

“Well, ah… I never told you this, but… I was married once before. Her name was Victoria.”

“Oh.” Mary bit her lip. “What - what happened?”

“The sickness took her. Too much sun can make you sick, and… well, it made her sick. This was… it must have been five years ago now that she died.”

“Oh, Elliott, I’m so sorry,” Mary said softly, stroking her thumb gently over the hand she was still holding. “How long were you married?”

“A year.” He frowned. “Strange, that we both were married for a year before they got sick. But Victoria was nothing like William, she was amazing. She really got stuck into farming the land, it was a matter of pride for her not to ask the men for help. That was her downfall, I think — she’d rather stay out working on something alone for hours than get it done in half the time with help. So she’d spend much longer in the sun than she should have… and it took her in the end.”

“She sounds wonderful. I wish I could have met her.”

“As fun as it might be in bed, I think two wives might be a little much to handle.”

Mary slapped Elliott playfully. “Get your mind out of the gutter, El! Honestly.”

“I’m just teasing you, Mary,” Elliott replied, tickling her back to make her squirm. “I have you now, and you’re all I want.”

“Well, back to the actual topic at hand! If we have a girl, I’ll gladly call her Victoria. Both for the Queen and for your first wife.”

“Really? You’d do that?”

“Of course. It’s a lovely name. And Victoria Marston deserves to live on, don’t you think?”

“Oh, Mary. Your good heart knows no bounds.” He gave her a quick kiss. “Alright, then. James for a boy and Victoria for a girl. You don’t want to use your parents’ names?”

“I… don’t know what their names were. I always just called them mama and papa. Maybe they were Mary and Tommy too, who knows?”

“Well, Mama and Papa Taylor made two wonderful children. Strong, resilient, hardworking, and very, very brave. I especially like the daughter, she’s ever so beautiful.”

“Sounds like you have a bit of a thing for her,” Mary teased.

“I most certainly do,” Elliott teased back, wrapping an arm around her waist to hold her close. “I think I might marry her, actually. Do you think she’ll say yes?”

“It’s not her you’ll have to ask.”

Mary picked Billy up off the floor, where he was still trying to eat his blocks, and sat him on her lap.

“What do you think, Billy? Should mama and papa get married?”

Elliott uncrossed his legs to lay down on the floor, propped up on his elbows, so that he was face-level with Billy.

“Oh, please say yes, Billy, I’ll treat her ever so well,” he pleaded. “I’ll show her that I love her every single day, and I’ll give you as many little brothers and sisters as you want. What do you say?”

“Bah nana!” Billy said confidently.

“…Did he just respond to my proposal with ‘banana’?”

Mary laughed. “I think he’s calling you bananas. But it sounds like a yes to me.”

“Oh, Billy, you’ve made me the happiest man in Australia,” Elliott grinned.

He leaned forward to give his son a peck on the forehead, and Billy laughed to feel Elliott’s moustache tickling his skin. He reached up and grabbed at Elliott’s face, curious and amused by the funny hair on his face.

“You like it too, hm? Yes, mama likes it, so I’ll be keeping it. Maybe one day you’ll grow a nice strong moustache like mine, hm?”

“Gabada!” Billy replied.

There was a knock on the door, and Elliott reluctantly pulled away from his son’s grip to answer it.

Dobkin looked over his shoulder, still flummoxed by Mary’s presence, but decided against questioning who this woman was and why she had suddenly appeared.

“Just got back from town, Mr Marston. The chaplain’s here, and I managed to pick up half a dozen men. I can get more from Perth.”

“Excellent. Get them settled in the men’s quarters, then put them to work. I want a count of all the outer pens, I wouldn’t put it past Quigley to murder my livestock as well as my men.”

“Yes, sir.” Dobkin hesitated, glancing again at Mary, who was standing up now with Billy in her arms. “Mr Marston, can I ask —”

“What? Oh, right. Introductions.” Elliott beckoned Mary over. “Mary, this is Mr Dobkin. He’s the best of my men, even before they were all slaughtered. He kept the place going while I was away. In fact, if I weren’t able to trust him, I’d have never gone to London.”

“Oh, in that case, I must thank you, Mr Dobkin!”

“Er - no problem?” Dobkin replied with confusion.

“Dobkin, this is Mary. She’s to be my wife. She’s to be treated with nothing but respect, so make sure those new men know it, alright? She has just as much authority as me. More, in fact, because I do what she says.”

“Elliott!” Mary laughed.

“Pleased to meet you, miss,” Dobkin said with a tip of his hat. “And who’s the little one?”

“This is our son, Billy,” Elliott said. “And the lad you met earlier, that’s Mary’s brother, Tommy.”

“Your —?”

“Our son, yes. I’ll tell you the whole story later, but I need those headcounts. And where’s the chaplain? He has a wedding to officiate.”

- - -

All that time Mary had spent imagining what getting married would be like, she’d never imagined this.

Her wedding to Turpin had been large, opulent, the pews of St Dunstan’s filled to the brim.

It had also been terrifying. Mary was miserable, she didn’t know a single one of the guests, and any affection she might have harboured for her groom had dissipated the night he’d threatened to hang her brother if she didn’t marry him.

But her wedding to Elliott was everything the first hadn’t been.

It was small, intimate, with only Tommy and Elliott’s trusted worker, Mr Dobkin, in attendance — and Billy, of course, in Tommy’s arms. Mary had married Turpin in a church and become a Lady — now, she was marrying Elliott in the middle of the desert, and she didn’t care that she was relinquishing her title as Lady Turpin. She’d rather be Mrs Marston any day.

Mary hardly heard what the chaplain was saying. She recognised the prayers and the blessings she’d heard at her first wedding, but she didn’t really listen. All she could do was look at Elliott, so handsome in the Australian sun, and when he recited his vow to her, she began to cry.

She just about managed to hold it together as she repeated the vow back to him.

There was no wedding ring, but neither of them cared for that. That could come another day. All that mattered was that the other was there.

More prayers, more blabbing from the chaplain. Mary began to get impatient. Then, finally, she heard the words she wanted to hear.

“I now pronounce you man and wife.”

“Finally,” Elliott growled. He wrapped his arms around Mary’s waist, pulled her in close, and kissed her fiercely.

Somewhere, Tommy and Dobkin were applauding, but Mary didn’t pay them any mind.

She was married! To Elliott! She was married to Elliott! She was Mrs Mary Marston, and nobody could change that.

Elliott eventually pulled away, and quickly scooped Mary up in his arms, causing her to squeal with surprise.

“Right, nobody disturb us for at least an hour. I need to spend some time alone with my wife.”

“Er - just a moment, Mr Marston,” the chaplain said, hesitant to interrupt Elliott’s enthusiasm. “The certificate first, please.”

“Oh, right, right. Quickly!”

Elliott set Mary back down to her feet and the chaplain unrolled the certificate onto the table on the porch.

“Right, then, here we are. Names… Elliott James Marston… Mary Turpin… ages?”

“Forty-three,” Elliott replied.

“Nineteen,” said Mary. Not that she was certain, but it was her best guess.

“Condition - both widowed. Rank or profession. Pastoralist, I suppose, Mr Marston?”

“Yes, fine.”

“Father’s name and profession?”

“James Marston. Merchant.”

The chaplain looked at Mary expectantly, and she hesitated.

“Oh, um… I don’t know.”

“That’s alright, we can leave it blank. Mr Marston, sign here — Mrs Marston, there. Then these two can sign as witnesses and we can leave you two to, uh… celebrate.”

Elliott had never signed anything so fast or with such certainty. Mary did her best attempt at a signature, though it looked childish next to Elliott’s, and Tommy’s was just a cross.

“Come on, Dobkin, hurry up,” Elliott snapped as Dobkin signed the last signature. “Right, is that it?”

“Yes, I’ll get this registered back in town and send it back to you,” the chaplain said, but Elliott hardly heard anything after “yes.” He swept Mary up in his arms again, grinning, and practically kicked the front door down.

“No interruptions!” he barked back at Dobkin. “And I want those headcounts!”

The door slammed shut behind him, and Mary laughed as he practically sprinted to the bedroom, kicked that door open too, and threw her quite unceremoniously onto the bed.

“Clothes off,” he commanded, already shrugging his waistcoat off, and Mary eagerly stood to undress. “I’ve waited too fucking long for this. You have no idea - no idea… you ruined whores for me, you know? I tried, but they were all disappointments. I’d rather my own hand than a cunt that’s not yours.”

“I… thought of you,” Mary admitted with a blush as she loosened her dress and let it fall to the floor to reveal her undergarments. “When I was with William, I’d… think of you.”

Elliott grinned with pride. “I bet you did. Thinking of my cock while taking his. The little one might as well be mine. Go on, let me see him.”

Mary pulled her vest over her head, revealing her swollen breasts and her slightly protruding stomach, and Elliott groaned. The sight of Mary - his wife - round with child… it touched something primal within him.

He knelt down and placed both hands on Mary’s belly, his lips ghosting her skin softly.

“Hello, James. Or Victoria. But hopefully James.”

Mary laughed.

“Another man may have planted his seed, but make no mistake, I am your father. And once you’re out, I’ll put another one in there, as many as your mama wants.”

“Two more,” Mary told him. “I’d like two more, if that’s alright with you.”

Elliott looked up at her with a grin. “Oh, I will very happily keep impregnating you. Let’s practice, shall we? Get these bloody things off.”

He hooked his fingers under the waistband of her bloomers and pulled them down, leaving her fully nude in front of him.

“God, I missed this,” Elliott groaned. He guided Mary to sit on the edge of the bed, instructed her to lie on her back, and promptly buried his face between her legs.

“Elliott!” Mary gasped as his tongue began exploring her folds, hungrily lapping at her like a man starved.

It had been a long time since she’d felt his mouth down there. Turpin had certainly never seen the point, since it wasn’t for his pleasure. And Elliott had never eaten a whore’s pussy — he didn’t pay to give her pleasure, only to take his own. So he really was a man starved, not having tasted a cunt since he’d last brought Mary to orgasm with his tongue in Sussex a million years ago.

Not that he seemed out of practice. He easily recalled the way she liked his tongue to circle her clit, and when he slid his fingers inside her, he knew exactly where to go to find that inner sweet spot.

He showed no mercy to her, continuing his precise movements as she came, and only when she mumbled, “Stop… too much…” did he pull away, grinning victoriously with a face covered in her juices.

“I could stay buried in there all day,” he said as he wiped his face on the back of his hand. “I’d gladly die suffocating between your thighs.”

“Mmm, well, I think it’s time you put something else between my thighs, don’t you agree?”

Mary shuffled up the bed as if to prove her point, laying her head against the pillow as she spread her legs for him.

“Oh, someone’s grown bold,” Elliott purred. He gladly climbed on top of her, rubbing his cock between her legs to spread her slick along it. “All that time I spent trying to get you out of your shell, and all I had to do was marry you.”

“I spent over a year without you, El. I thought I’d never see you again. I don’t want to wait any longer.”

Elliott leant over her, their torsos pressed together, though he tried not to put too much weight on her belly. He kissed her neck and nibbled on her earlobe, then muttered in her ear, “Tell me what you want, Mary. I’m yours to command.”

She wrapped her legs around his waist, her arms around his shoulders, desperately trying to pull him close.

“Fuck me, Elliott.”

There was no way he could resist that.

He lined himself up with her entrance and pushed, and her cunt gladly let him in. It gave him all the wetness he needed to move without resistance, and her walls easily acquiesced to him, stretching around his cock as he moved deeper inside her.

Mary had never felt the pull of any drug, but she suspected that the first hit of an addict’s substance after a long time without it felt something like this. Like she’d been missing something, and finally she was whole again.

Pregnancy made her cunt more sensitive, she’d learnt this last time, and so she felt every inch of her stretching around him, every nerve on fire as his cock filled her up so perfectly. And when he began to thrust, Mary felt like she might just die of pleasure as his cock dragged along her walls and pushed against that sweet spot inside her.

“More, Elliott, please,” Mary begged, desperate with frustration at his slow pace. “I can take it. I won’t break, I promise.”

He chuckled, and looked at her with his amber eyes darkened with lust.

“Anything you wish, my love.”

Mary clung to Elliott as he fucked her harder, his hips pummelling into hers as if trying to make up for lost time. The bed began to creak — Elliott had had this bed for a long time, and he’d never known it to creak. He’d taken plenty of whores here, his first wife too, and none of them had ever made the bed creak. Maybe it was getting old. Or maybe he just hadn’t ever desired someone as much as he did Mary.

The creaking of the bed was matched only by their moans. Mary was sure she’d never heard a sound so beautiful, so arousing, as the noises Elliott was making right now.

“Elliott…” Mary panted between moans. “Elliott, I love you.”

He grinned, full of pride. “Of course you do. I love you too, Mary. I love you so - fucking - much. Fuck! Mary… Mary, I’m afraid I won’t - ah! - last long.”

“Fill me up, El,” she begged. “Please, El, please, I wanna feel it inside me…”

“Oh, I’ll fill you up. Gonna fucking - mhm - fill you up with my cum. ‘Til you’re leaking. You want that, huh? You wanna be full of my cum?”

“Yes, yes, please, Elliott, I need it, need to be full of you…”

“Say it,” he commanded, his eyes flashing dangerously. “Say you want my cum, Mary.”

“I want your cum, Elliott, please, I need it, need your cum…”

He exploded with a roar of pleasure, his cries loud enough to be heard back in Perth, and Mary felt his cock pulsing inside her as, just as he promised, he filled her cunt up with his seed.

He’d barely finished when he was kissing her again, his tongue demanding entrance, as if he needed to follow his cock fucking her cunt with his tongue fucking her mouth.

His cock was softening inside her, but it was only a temporary reprieve. Elliott knew he had more in him. Oh, he’d fill her up alright. Again and again until his balls were expended and he had nothing more to give.

They finally parted for breath, and Elliott propped himself up on his elbows, gazing down at her with a possessive pride.

“I hope you don’t think that was all I have for you,” he purred. “You wanted my cum, you’re gonna get it.”

Before Mary could answer, Elliott pulled out of her and shuffled down the bed to position his head between her legs again. He used his fingers to push apart her lips, gazing with pride at the way his seed was leaking out of her.

“This is what this cunt was made for. Being stuffed full of cum. Fuck, you take it so well, Mary. Better keep it all inside, though, hm?”

He used his fingers to scoop up the cum that had leaked out and pushed it back inside.

“Gotta keep it all in there,” Elliott said, as if he needed a reason to push his fingers up inside her. “Mmm, such an obedient cunt… it deserves a reward, no?”

He pressed his lips against her clit, which was still swollen and sensitive, and Mary moaned his name as he licked her again, his fingers fucking her cunt as fiercely as his cock had.

He could feel it twitching to life again against the mattress, but Elliott ignored it. He was enjoying this, savouring every moment of his wife’s pussy against his face. Besides, the way she was gripping his head now, her fingers tugging on his hair, he couldn’t have moved away even if he wanted to.

To his surprise, just when he thought she was about to reach her peak again, Mary pulled his head back, and he looked up at her.

“Lie on your back,” she said.

She didn’t need to tell him twice. Elliott moved over to lie on the other side of the bed, his cock fully awake again now, and Mary took full advantage of it. She swung her leg over his waist, took his cock in her hand, and sank onto it with ease.

“Oh, Mary,” Elliott groaned. The short time they’d had together, she’d never done this. Never taken control — never owned her pleasure. She was too shy, too eager to please. She had no idea how to do anything for herself, only for others.

And she rode like an expert. She’d definitely had practice — it seemed Turpin had been good for something, at least.

Lord, she was beautiful like this. Her belly round with child, her tits swollen with milk. She was already pregnant, she had no need to take his seed. No, she was taking it because she wanted it. She was riding him for the pleasure of it, for the intimacy, for the sheer decadence of bringing herself to orgasm. And when that orgasm began to build, Elliott grabbed hold of her hips and took over thrusting, letting her lose control of her body as she came around his cock, her tight walls squeezing him. He had no choice but to follow suit, another round of seed exploding inside her as they both cried out, Mary’s cunt milking his cock for all he had left.

She collapsed, exhausted, on top of him, and Elliott gently rolled her to her side, ever wary of her belly.

They laid there together in silence for a little while, Mary comfortably snuggled up in Elliott’s arms, as they both caught their breath.

“When you said you wanted to learn to ride, I thought you meant a horse,” Elliott murmured eventually. “But I think I like this better.”

Mary giggled and looked up at him. “Well, I definitely didn’t sail halfway around the world to ride a horse. There are plenty of them in England.”

“Plenty of men, too. And I’m sure they’d happily let you ride them.”

“Mmm, but none of them are you.”

Elliott smiled at her.

“I’m so proud of you, Mary. I know how difficult it is for you to do anything for yourself. And yet, here you are, following your heart half a world away.”

Mary shook her head. “No, I - I didn’t do it for me. I did it for Tommy, so he could have a better life, away from the class system that keeps him from achieving so much. I did it for Billy, so he could know his real father, and for the baby, so he can live without ever having known the struggles Tommy and I faced.”

“You don’t have to justify yourself, Mary. Not to me, never to me. Yes, I swear it, your sons - our sons - they will have a better life here. But if it weren’t for them - if you were all alone, with no home and no family in England, just your late husband’s inheritance - would you not have come anyway?”

“I - I guess,” Mary admitted. “If there was truly no reason to stay in England, and I knew you were out here… I suppose, yes, I would have come to find you.”

“Then I am truly honoured to be the first thing you ever chose for yourself.”

Mary blushed. Elliott tucked her hair behind her ear, and kissed her on the forehead, before letting her settle back against his chest.

“I think you might be my soulmate,” she whispered.

Elliott thought back to the day they met, the way she instantly felt so familiar to him, so comfortable. Like home was within her… as if the homesickness he thought he felt for Australia had been for her all along.

He remembered the day he’d decided to visit England. Nothing in particular had triggered it. It was something he’d wanted to do, but the timing had never felt right — until it did. As if fate itself had whispered in his ear: She’s waiting for you. Go and get her.

Mary giggled at something, interrupting Elliott’s train of thought.

“You know, we only met because you were pickpocketed,” she said, looking up at him with amusement. “If you hadn’t been in the right place, at the right time, you may never have walked into the shop. Isn’t it lucky you were?”

“I don’t think it was luck, Mary… I believe it was fate.”

“Do you think we find each other in every life?”

Elliott cupped her face with his hand and looked deep into her eyes, as if trying to communicate with her very soul.

“Mary Taylor-Turpin-Marston —”

She giggled at the silly name.

“— with God as my witness, I promise you this. Whatever happens in the next life… I’ll find you. I will always find you.”

Mary grinned.

“Not if I find you first.”

[coffeeman777]

Heya.

So, I took the time to think through whether I should respond to your last post or not. I'm not on the hunt for the last word, and I generally don't care to defend myself when someone insults me. I prayed about responding, because I don't want this to be about my ego. After reading your post a few times, I decided I needed to respond to portions of what you wrote, for your sake, as well as for the sake of the silent readers of this exchange.

The point I really want to drive home is the distinction between struggling with sin, and embracing sin as a lifestyle. These are very different things, and they each can indicate a completely different state of relationship with God. False converts are very real; I was one for years. I was raised in the Church (my dad is a pastor, as is my uncle; my grandpa was a pastor, as were several of his brothers; and my great-grandpa was a pastor also). My grandma was a Sunday school teacher for my entire childhood. Everything about my life growing up was ensconced in the faith. I made a profession of faith when I was 15, but I didn't actually come to know the Lord for real until I was 26. For more than a decade, I was a false convert. I would have told anyone that asked that I was a Christian. I always honored the Lord in word. I genuinely believed that I was saved. But I wasn't.

I had a porn habit from the time I was 13 that only got worse as I got older. When I was 15, I lost my virginity to my first girlfriend. I had sex with my next girlfriend as well. Once I was out of the house, I joined the Marines. While in the military, I jumped into the party lifestyle. I was drunk every weekend and chasing skirts with my friends. When I got out of the Marines, I brought the lifestyle with me. I had several booty-call relationships going, including one with a married woman. I knew she was married, but I rationalized it in my mind. Throughout this time, I would have proudly declared that I was a Christian. I had this fantasy in my head that I was like the second coming of David, best friends with God.

One morning in November of 2009, I woke up terrified. Out of nowhere, like I'd been struck with a bolt of lightning, I saw myself. I realized with crystal clarity that I was not God's friend, I was His enemy; as lost as lost gets. God opened my eyes. I rolled out of bed and laid on the floor, on my face, weeping and crying out to the Lord for mercy. After that, God saved me for real.

I threw myself into the Scriptures. I read the whole Bible through many times, and the New Testament by itself more times than I can count. I've earned my ordination as a minister. Through all that study, I confirmed what the Lord revealed to me the day He saved me: genuine salvation produces genuine repentance.

The Scriptures are quite clear. The passages I quoted in my above response (and others) make the conclusion that genuine Christians will not continue in intentional, deliberate sin absolutely inescapable. Christians can and do struggle with sin; I'm certainly not perfect. We make mistakes, or experience moral failures in the heat of the moment. We battle addictions with varying degrees of success, constantly confessing our failures and continuing a lifestyle of repentance. And as we go along, God's grace attends us. The Holy Spirit intercedes for us, and pulls us along through the messy and brutal process of sanctification. This is the normal Christian life. What a huge difference there is between that and deliberately living in sin.

Based on your last response, you fail to see this distinction. You accuse me of being self-righteous, of being harsh and unmerciful, and of assuming that I know your heart. All I have done is judge what you've said about yourself and your opinions by the Scriptures. The Bible is the final arbiter of truth; it is the light by which we walk, and the rule by which we judge. You have said that you are in a same-sex marriage; by that alone, everything I said is appropriate. Nothing I wrote came from a place of malice. My goal is to warn you. I want you to turn from your sin and come to know the Lord for real. I want to see you genuinely saved. It is the honest desire of my heart to see you in the Resurrection.

We are commanded to preach the truth, to warn, exhort, and rebuke with patience and correct teaching. This is what I've tried to do. You may not like it; you may be offended by it. And I'm sorry if any unnecessary offense was caused by something I've done or failed to do, outside of simply pointing out what the Scripture says. But I don't apologize for warning you. Yes, you are in error, and yes, you need to repent.

This will be it from me. Feel free to take the last word. Regardless of how you may feel now, I genuinely hope that you eventually realize your error, turn away from your sin, and sincerely surrender to the Lord.

Be blessed!

What does god say about lgbt stuff? Is it really a sin?

It really is.

Any sexual expression other than between a man and his wife is sinful. Adultery, heterosexual and homosexual sex outside of marriage, use of pornography, pedophilia, and every other aberrant sexual practice is an abuse of the body's capacity for sex and a desecration of God's image (which all humans bear).

I wrote a post all about this years ago, check it out. Be blessed!

[alaskan-wallflower]

I wanna know ur opinion on self destructive behaviors you think the greasers have aside from the obvious (eg Two-bits alcoholism, Ponyboys smoking) :]

for sure! tw for alcoholism, drugs, addiction, s/h—you can make your assumptions with this post

firstly is pony’s addiction—i believe that pony started taking aspirins as sleep aid after his parents died. it was after his very first big nightmare, and he literally did not sleep for three days. he had taken the aspirin to alleviate the headaches and such caused by lack of sleep but was delighted to find that when he took about five or six, they put him to sleep—a dreamless sleep. hence why he takes so many. he obviously knows it’s bad since in the book he makes a point to say he avoids darry and soda and anyone else in the gang while doing this. he obviously has an addiction to nicotine too, but i don’t think there’s too much to be said on that since literally everyone in the sixties was a nic fiend so it’s not too uncommon.

additionally, may be a hot take but soda’s recklessness is a coping mechanism. obviously he’s probably partially reckless due to his personality and the fact he’s a teenage boy and will do stupid things like any sixteen year old boy would, but something that kinda sticks out to me is the fact he still likes and participates in drag races after his parents died. i don’t know too much about drag races but i feel like that would be something anyone who lost a parent in a car accident would be wary of. soda “getting high on life” is probably soda needing the adrenaline boost, needing that spike of dopamine caused by driving way past the speed limit, or going out drinking with steve, or shagging sandy, or stealing, or causing public disturbances, or getting in trouble with the cops, or whatever. he needs that validation of being able to feel something that isn’t pure anguish because day in and day out he’s tormented by his parents death and then has to come home and play mediator.

darry’s self destructive behavior in my head is good restriction. he used to be a really chubby kid, until middle school or so when he started genuinely working out and got muscular, but he was scared of reverting back to his old body, so he started food restricting. it got better for about a year until his parents died to which he ended up food restricting out of grief. he physically cannot stomach food when he’s upset, and he doesn’t feel worthy of it. he struggles with not feeling worthy. he really does.

two-bit started drinking when he was maybe fifteen. he snuck into the kitchen one night because of teenage curiosity and tried it—and he liked it a lot. a bit too much. it blocked eddy thing from his head and it made him feel more sociable and likable because underneath the alcohol, he is pretty self conscious of himself and doesn’t eek like he can be liked vy the gang or girls if he’s sober, so he uses alcohol as a mask because to him, drunk two-bit is better than sober two-bit. he’s funny, charming, reckless…and when he’s sober he’s just tired, he’s sad, he’s reckless…he doesn’t like himself sober and he doesn’t think anyone else will either.

not really self destructive but kinda goes with the theme—steve’s love language is gift giving and not in a good way. the only love he’s been shown as a child is having his dad give him money as an apology, and he takes that to heart, and whenever he’s fighting with evie, or if soda is upset, his immediate response is to give them money or to buy them something. it’s the only love he knows, therefore the only love he can regurgitate and apply to real relationships

[chaotic-for-good]

luigi fic request: you cheated on lu at a party while being super drunk (as if that'd ever happen in real life pls who'd cheat on him 🙄, but its just for the plot) and he finds out, gets super mad. So he kidnaps you in like a random cabin in the forest, 'punishes' you by overstimulating your nipples and clit while you keep apologizing to him with tears streaming down your face but he just does not give a ff.

You all really made my day yesterday! Thank you for all the kind words. I was really nervous posting that, but you’ve made me excited to keep giving it a try :)

In the process of taking a stab at this request with some minor tweaks. Hope you’ll forgive me that she doesn’t actually cheat (but Luigi most certainly thinks she does). They’re at winter formal in the woods (is formal what those frat weekends away are called? Was not a frat rat in college lol)

A little taste of ropes and rumors below the fold :) Trigger warning, another character gets pretty pushy and corners her.

Usually when you black out at a party, you take it as a sign to sit the next weekend out. Half as punishment for the inevitable embarrassment (though who can really say what happened?), half to recover from the damage you surely did to your developing brain. A little reset after behaving badly.

You spend the weekend alone, or at least mostly alone. Journaling, meditating, reading. Sometimes, you even let Luigi join for parts of your reflective time, if he promises to be quiet and keep his hands to himself (he’s not always great at the latter). You grocery shop, cook, clean, get your apartment back in order. Cuddle up and watch movies. Stop paying attention to the movie entirely when more naked activities prove to be a better cure for your frazzled nerves.

But this weekend is the exception.

It’s winter formal, and despite the way your stomach pitched the whole ride up, despite still being wracked with hangxiety a full week after a few too many at Phi Psi, you’d never back out of a commitment you made to him.

Now, sipping Prosecco out of a red solo cup in the hot tub, snow falling gently as the other girlfriends gossip and laugh, you’re actually grateful your usual weekend reset had to be postponed. Sinking into a pure moment of girlhood always has that effect on you. It’s nice to be out here, convening with nature, under the stars—especially knowing Luigi still hasn’t seen you’re wearing the flowered bikini that drives him crazy.

Inside, Luigi is running the beer pong table with his partner, Ryan, when that jackass Tyler calls winner. Luigi throws Ryan an irritable look.

Normally, Luigi is about as chill and easygoing as they come. It was rare, if ever, that he had an issue with anyone, least of all one of his fraternity brothers.

But Tyler? Tyler gets under his skin.

It’s the way he looks at you—like you’re a piece of meat. The way he’s always finding excuses to put his hands on you—a graze of your arm, a half-hug, a too-playful shove. And he gets bolder when you’re drunk.

To Luigi, you were his vulnerable baby girl he’d protect at all costs, but you weren’t oblivious. You knew what Tyler was playing at, and you didn’t let it slide. The time he had the balls to crack a joke about how he’d “keep you up late that night”, you told him in no uncertain terms to fuck off—with enough heat to make him steer clear of you for a few peaceful weeks. Good thing Luigi wasn’t there for that exchange, or you surmise he would have gotten in the first fight of his life.

So, when Luigi hears Tyler’s idiot friend pumping him up across the table about how you finally made it back to his room last weekend—and that you were in there for over an hour—something inside him snaps.

His blood runs cold.

And for the first time in Luigi’s calculated, careful, methodical life—he doesn’t think at all.

He just acts.

In some kind of predatory haze, Luigi pushes back from the table, shoving past anyone unlucky enough to be in his way. He barely hears Ryan call after him about being in the middle of a game. He pulls on his coat, laces up his sneakers and steps out into the frigid cold, heading straight for the hot tub.

He hears you before he sees you—your warm giggle, the little squeak punctuating the end of it giving away how tipsy and light you’re feeling.

Any other time, he’d find it endearing.

But after finding out what you did? It makes his skin prickle with rage.

It fills him with hunger, need—a feral desire to take what’s his and crush all of the foul feelings bubbling up inside of him until they don’t exist anymore.

You think he’s joking when he plucks you out of the hot tub under the armpits, throws you over his shoulder, and storms down the side of the house like you weigh nothing. A cacophony of laughter, what the fuck?’s and oh my god, Mangione’s follow you as he strides into the woods.

“Luigi! It’s COLD!” You squeal, giggling and swatting against his back.

But Luigi isn’t laughing. Not at all.

Instead, he grips your wrists behind your back, voice raw and rough as he growls something about the party last week. About how he knows everything.

Your heart drops.

Foggy memories bubble up as you shiver over his shoulder, yelping when he smacks the back of your thigh, grabbing your flesh and squeezing hard.

Your prosecco-fuzzy brain fights to fill in the blanks.

Jello shots with Jenny and Rachel (far, far too many). Losing at rage cage, dancing under the galaxy light one of the brothers always brings out.

And then—Tyler.

Tyler pestering you. Like he always fucking does.

Tyler herding you into a room, cornering you. Even wasted, you shoved at him, slurring something about how you wanted Luigi, telling him to get the fuck out of your way.

But what did it look like from the outside?

Your stomach lurches.

Because now, you’re being dragged into the woods by the only man you’ve ever wanted—and he thinks you betrayed him.

To be continued

[dialup-dragon]

Cherik my beloved ☺️💕🌸✨

Ik if nobody got me, Cherik got me

[boarloved-art]

Wei Wuxian should be able to get drunk for once. I think he'd either be singing bawdy drinking songs on the roof of the Jingshi or he'd be getting irrevocably lost no matter where he is. He's found in the bushes behind the mountains like a cryptid, and then he's like "I can't believe you all got lost" (extremely slurred) as if he didn't get embarrassed by something Lan Wangji had said and just somehow disappeared when everyone looked back at him

oh ABSOLUTELY im walking with u and nodding and agreeing, i can see him becoming an absolute menace to keep track of at his drunkest.

anyway heres wonderwall The Gang (Wangxian & their fave group of ducklings) in a city known for its STRONG wine and wuxian being like well. ur all grown now, youre technically not juniors anymore. we have to see whos lasting the longest against this stuff!, smash cut to a suspiciously wei ying-less group of the worlds drunkest cultivators being wrangled through the woods by designated driver hanguang-jun, with at least 2 of them clinging to his robes at all times.

[tea-cat-arts]

I simply think this fandom doesn't give Wei Wuxian enough credit for the various ways in which he saved Lan Wangji

[j1g-s4w]

GUUUUYYYSSSS!!!!! I MET COSTAS MANDYLOR AND HE WAS SO SWEET!! Genuinely the most amazing and beautiful man I’ve ever met and I hold so much gratitude for being able to see him! I was blessed with not one, not two but THREE kisses from him and so many hugs it was incredible. Such a good and 10/10 man ♥️🌀

Also the larger rosary in the pictures (black and tigers eye) was a gift I made him!!

[yourcrumblingsaikiisnotmyproblem]

Kaeya, drunk: You're like the hot girl that everyone wants.

Diluc, also kinda drunk: I'm the hot girl?

Kaeya: You're the hottest girl

Diluc: I'm the hot girl

Venti, always drunk: Yes you are.

[sforzesco]

CAIUS TREBONIUS AND MARK ANTONY, MARCH 15th

The Hetairia of Cassius, Luciano Canfora

Cic. Phil. 2

(taps mic) so as we all know, conspiracy is a kind of seduction, and actions not taken can be just as loud as the ones that are. so. uh. fellas! hey fellas. heyyyyyy.

like, I was looking at the Dolabella-Caesar-Antony mess yesterday, but something really fun and vicious happened here and I will be rotating it around in my head at maximum volume for the foreseeable future

the red panels are the Assassination of Julius Caesar by Vincenzo Camuccini (the pen and ink drawing, not the painting)

[twildflower]

[teenietinytangerine]

I'm gonna adress what happened just one time, to get it off my chest.

What Yoongi did was stupid, irresponsible and a mistake. I always took Yoongi as an extremely honest person, and I fully believe him when he says he didn't know it was illegal.

He took immediate responsibility, apologized and he will face consequences (which non-koreans shouldn't comment on whether or not they are fair - laws, culture and context are different). I believe 100% he will learn the lesson there and that is all I could ever ask of him.

Now I don't blame some that are coping with this with humor as long as it's respectful and in good taste.

But for those on the other spectrum that are mad and refuse BTS to take any kind of responsibility for anything, this is dehumanizing him. He's human, he messed up, it's not the first time, it's just the first time we know about something on this level. Also don't use it to bash on South Korea.

At the same time, I feel worried for him because he is about to have terrible media coverage that will be unfair because of his status alone, and you know it will be brought up by antis forever. I also feel bad because he wanted to be as invisible as possible during his military service and now he's in the complete opposite of it.

In the end, the mistake could have had bad consequences, which is why it's important it's adressed, but in facts remains small. It's all about how he deals with it from now on, and so far he's been doing everything I expected from the man he's shown us.

Finally, Min Yoongi, I'm so glad you're safe. Please, stay that way.

[cookie-shmookie]

A sketch of Sol drinking cognac I made while drinking cognac :)8

Because I like it well enough to post and not feel shame... Much.