#Isaac's goin through it

[thepaintedlady00]

Nightshade Chapter 18 Sneak Peek

The Peter peek turned out waaayy shorter than I expected (I gotta keep some stuff secret), so I'll include a second peek for y'all to make up for the long wait! 🥰

Peter:

“What if…” he didn’t even want to vocalize the words. “What if I get sick again? What if I die? I don’t wanna leave him like that, torn up over some lost love.”

Oz nodded, gently reassuring him that those concerns were valid without needing to add words to it. “That is a very difficult thing to get through. Death is always hard. But, there is something worse than losing a love… it’s realizing too late that they were the love of your life. It’s wasting all the time you could’ve had together.”

Peter sighed. “He and I… we tried this already, and it’s too complicated.”

“Life’s complicated, my boy,” Ozzy laughed. “To have someone you love along for the ride is all anyone can hope for. And you love that boy. I can see it. He loves you too, by the way.”

“He does?”

“Course he does,” the old man pinched his cheek. “You’re your father's son, after all.”

Peter felt the tears stinging his eyes as he looked at Ozzy and shook his head. “I’m scared, Dad…”

Eddie:

The phone rang three times before a grunting voice picked up. "This better be important," I could hear a female voice in the background, moaning as she demanded to know why the hell he answered a call. "I'm in the middle of something."

"Eddie," I replied. "It's me."

"Lena!" He cheered with another grunt. "Been a while, kid."

"Yeah, yeah, pull your dick out of whatever hooker you've got tonight and meet me at Ozzy's."

The man laughed. "Bossy, bossy! I take it this isn't a social call."

I sighed, pinching the bridge of my nose. "Bring Alexi and Igor."

He shushed the woman. "This is serious, then? Give me a name."

"Aaron Walsh." I looked over my shoulder at Jake as he helped Isaac pack his bag. "I want to be there."

"Is the big bad Lena coming out of her shell?" Eddie mocked before he continued in Russian, sifter than before. "You know what tonight will be. Are you sure you're up for that?"

"I'm not stupid. Get your shit and meet me at Ozzy's." I replied.

"What about him?" Eddie asked, his voice growing tense. "You know it'll be war if he sees me."

"Just do it. I'll deal with Dom."

"At your command," he said with another laugh. "See you soon."

"See you soon."

[newagederpderp]

bottom left is a mood

I CANT STOP DRAWING HIS STUPID ASS

[its-time-to-write]

mine of you with me

Been busy this week bc my ex is getting married and I have to go to the wedding. His fiancée (wife?) asked me to be there and I love her, so I said yes, but I regret it big time. Requests are still open! I’m working on the requests in my inbox, but wrote this to get it out of my system. It goes with/happens before “three times ‘cause I’ve waited my whole life.” Anyway. Here ya go. mine of you with me

You love going to Jamie’s games. You love watching him play his heart out on the pitch. It’s fun, being in the stands and screaming for Richmond. You wear his jersey (his actual jersey, one that he owns) and deck yourself out in Richmond gear. You think your favorite part, however, is sneaking around.

You’re dating Jamie Tartt, star footballer, and no one knows.  

Today is a game against Crystal Palace. Jamie had left before you with a single “Bye babe,” and a kiss. 

After he leaves, you debate stealing one of his orange kits (they’re the most comfortable) but decide against it. Too obvious to be in a sea of red and blue. You settle for a regular “Bantr” shirt and head out the door to meet Keeley. 

Keeley and Rebecca were aware that you were with Jamie. Keeley, because Jamie swore you’d be best friends. Rebecca, because there was a ticket mixup and Keeley was busy so she sent Rebecca to the ticket booth to sort things out with “Jamie’s special guest,” which led Rebecca to be very surprised when she saw you instead of one of his family members. 

It made things easier, really, to show up on Nelson Road under the guise of seeing Rebecca and/or Keeley. Time passed and it became less of a guise. You really enjoyed their company, and having someone to talk to about Jamie. 

But here you are, back in the present, with Rebecca trying to convince you to sit in the box while Keeley threads blue, red, and gold through your hair. 

You just laugh and hug them goodbye, heading your separate ways. Them, up; you, down. 

You settle into your seat right up to the pitch, and wait for the game to begin. Jamie’s picked a seat that’s right where the teams line up, so you’ll get a good view of him before it starts. 

Shortly after, the teams begin to walk out onto the pitch. You look for Jamie and catch his eye. 

I like your hair, he mouths, pointing slightly to his own. 

Thanks, you reply with a small grin. 

Jamie gives you a look that says I’m going to be pulling it later so you return with one that means I was counting on it.

Is it bad that you two understand each others expressions that well?

No time to dwell on that, because the game’s beginning. 

—

Richmond’s done alright, they haven’t lost necessarily, but they did tie. You can feel the tension through the building as you weave your way through players and staff, carrying a stack of papers from Higgins to Rebecca. You’re almost to the stairs leading up to her office when someone crashes into you, sending papers flying. 

“I’m so sorry!” you say, “that is totally my fault, I wasn’t looking where I was going.”

“No it isn’t,” a voice replies indignantly. “He was walking backwards!”

Jamie mumbles, “Shut up, Isaac,” while bending down to help you shuffle your papers together. 

“Sorry about that,” he says softly. “Weren’t looking where I was goin’. I’m Jamie, by the way.”

He holds out his hand and you shake it, mentally commending his presence-of-mind to act like a stranger. “Nice to meet you, Jamie,” you reply. “I’m a friend of Rebecca’s.”

“He knows,” Colin pipes up, followed by an “Oi,” because Isaac smacked him. 

“I’ve uh, got to go,” you say. “See you around.”

“See ya,” the lads chorus, Jamie watching you and Colin and Isaac watching Jamie. 

Jamie turns around to see them grinning at him. 

“Oi, what,” he says, hands in the air. 

Isaac states, “You like her.”

Colin interjects, “Don’t even try to deny it, boyo, we saw how you looked at her. You think she’s fit.”

Jamie is sure he played it cooler than that. Maybe they just know him too well. 

He laughs it off all the way to the locker room, changes, showers, and waits for Dani to walk out the door. They leave in a group, him, Isaac, Dani, and Colin, and as they turn the corner past the boot room you appear with Rebecca.

“Ladies,” Dani grins. Dani has a bit of a crush on you. 

You and Rebecca smile back. 

“Oi,” says Isaac, “do you want to join us tonight at the club? Trying to forget our tie streak.”

You open your mouth to decline when Rebecca replies, “We’d love to. I’m assuming Keeley will be there as well?”

“Becca,” you hiss, “I can’t go the club tonight.”

“Whyever not?”

You blush slightly. “I was planning on spending the evening with my boyfriend.”

The boys share furtive looks amongst themselves and not-so-subtly poke Jamie.

Rebecca says, “I’m sure he’d be more than happy to join you at the club. It’s settled, we’ll be there,” with a smile to the lads. 

It takes every ounce of your willpower not to look at Jamie and to walk away with dignity. 

“Did you hear that, Jamie?” Isaac asks, “She’s got a boyfriend. Sorry, mate.”

Jamie shrugs and does his best to look disappointed. “Must be a lucky man,” he says. “Now can we please go? My hair’s a fuckin wreck.”

“Mine too,” Dani says with a sorrowful shake of his head. They boys laugh and head out the door. 

—

You’re at the club, standing at the bar with Rebecca. Jamie is there too, with the Richmond boys. Trent and Beard are there too, but Ted has opted to stay home. He’s not big into the club scene. Jamie’s sitting and laughing with the boys, but his eyes keep flicking over to you. Isaac notices and thumps him on the chest. 

“Oi. She’s got a boyfriend, remember?”

Jamie nods and tears his eyes away from you. 

“Dani, mate, you need a drink?” Jamie doesn’t even wait for a response before he’s out of his seat and headed over to the bar. Headed over to you. 

Colin rolls his eyes, Isaac shakes his head, and Dani shrugs. “I cannot say no to a free drink,” he says. 

Meanwhile, Jamie leans against the bar, holds up two fingers, then turns to you while waiting for his drinks. “Boyfriend didn’t show up?”

You grin and look around the room. “He’s here somewhere. We came separately. Not really sure where he’s gone off to.”

Jamie smiles back. “Not much of a boyfriend if he leaves someone as fuckin’ pretty as you at the bar all by herself.”

You shrug. “I’m with Rebecca. And he’s ok, I guess. When I find him, I’m going to tell him I’m leaving in fifteen minutes, and ask if he wants to meet at his place or mine.”

Jamie’s eyes become hungry. “His place. Definitely his. In fact, I think I just saw him slip out the door. D’you mind taking Dani his drink? You can have mine.”

You nod, unable to speak. Just a glint in his eye, and he’s become almost feral. You swear his teeth are pointier and your mouth goes dry.

Nice hair. I’m going to be pulling it later.

He’s gone before you can say anything else, and you have to press your hands to your face to cool down your cheeks.

Rebecca has been graciously pretending as though she can’t hear while scrolling on her phone. She looks up only when you grab Jamie’s drink, down it in a single gulp, and then pick up Dani’s.

She raises an eyebrow. “I take it I’m on my own for the rest of the night?”

You shake your head. “Isn’t Keeley here?”

There’s a ghost of a smile on Rebecca’s face. “Pretty sure she’s trying to take Roy home, so she is here in body but not so much in mind.”

You make what you hope is a neutral face. “Bec, you could get a man.”

She laughs. “Let’s get Dani his drink, shall we? I believe you’re leaving in twelve minutes.”

You set Dani’s drink down in front of him as Isaac asks, “Where’s your boyfriend? I thought he was supposed to be here.” 

You shrug for the second time that night. “He had to go. I think I’ll be leaving soon too.”

There’s a chorus of wolf-whistles and you blush, again.

“Where did Jamie go?” Sam asks. “Did you break his heart that badly when he was flirting with you?”

You shake your head. You can feel Rebecca, poised as ever, next to you. It’s taking all your composure to maintain a straight face. 

“I don’t- I’m not sure. He said something about training and sleep and I think he had to go? And I didn’t break his heart. He’s not into me.”

“Oh please,” Jan Maas speaks up, “His eyes follow you whenever you come to see Ms. Welton.”

You’re positive your face has caught on fire. “He just- he must- I don’t know. I have a boyfriend… He’s really great, and- I mean- I’ll talk to Jamie.”

“I did not mean to make you uncomfortable,” Jan Maas shrugs. “It is just the facts.”

Sam puts his hand on your shoulder. “It is alright. We will take care of it. Jamie is the type of person who falls hard and fast, and sometimes he does not care if the other person is unavailable. He sees what he wants and just goes for it. It’s why he is such a good footballer.”

You smile. “Thanks, Sam. I should probably go.” You turn to Isaac and Colin. “Thanks for inviting me. I really did have a great time. And maybe next time you can actually meet my boyfriend.”

They wave, you poke Rebecca and glance at Sam, then head out, pretending you don’t see her panicked absolutely not face.

—

You text Jamie, I’m on my way, and he taps back with a heart.

Door’s unlocked he replies, and then you’re off.

He doesn’t live very far, so you’re at his house in no time at all. You can see a few dim lights on inside, so you walk up the steps and push the door open.

“Jamie?” you call, “I’m here!”

You hear his footsteps clamoring down the stairs and in a moment he’s on you, fingers threaded through your hair as you kiss. He’s pulling you close, impossibly close, then without warning he picks you up, bridal style. He’s still in his clothes from the club.

He kisses you all the way up the stairs, then places you on the edge of the bed.

“I meant what I said earlier,” he says, voice pitched low. “I fucking loved your hair.”

You shiver as he lifts your dress over your head and runs his knuckles along your sides. You note that the room is bathed in dim light, from candles Jamie has lit and placed around. There’s soft music playing somewhere and you’re honestly surprised he pulled this together in fifteen minutes. You look at him on his knees in front of you, one hand on your waist and the other on your thigh. You fumble with the buttons on his shirt then settle for lifting it over his head. 

“God,” you say, “you’re beautiful.”

He smiles, eyes hungry again. He gently pushes you back down on the bed and climbs on top of you. “Pretty sure that’s my line, babe.”

—

You don’t really talk until you’re both laying under the sheets, hours later, arms wrapped around waists and shoulders and legs intertwined.

Jamie’s kissing a trail from your shoulder to your inner elbow when you whisper, “Babe.”

He hums softly. “Yeah?”

“Do you think- do you think you should tell the team about us?”

Jamie pulls back slightly so he can look into your eyes. “Where’s this coming from?”

You shrug as best you can between his arms. “I just think it would make things easier, you know? I mean, I still think sneaking around is sexy and all, but like- it’s just getting harder and harder around Nelson Road.”

Jamie kisses the tip of your nose. “Whatever you fucking want babe. I’d give you the keys to me house if you asked.”

You smile, then let yourself drift to sleep.

—

The next morning, Jamie makes his way to his locker and tapes up a new photo. He’s holding a girl in front of Big Ben, and they’re both laughing. It’s his favorite photo. Sam sneaks a look and then does a double take.

“Jamie,” he says, disbelief written on his face, “Is that Rebecca’s friend? When did you take that?”

There’s a clamor while the team crowds around Jamie’s locker, Jamie grinning smugly.

“She’s me girlfriend. Been dating for months now. Didn’t want her to be harassed by press and you lot, so we kept it a secret.”

“I fucking knew you liked her!” Isaac says. “Body language doesn’t fucking lie.”

Jamie shrugs. “Never said I didn’t.”

“What about her boyfriend?” Dani interjects. “Does he know?”

Jamie turns to look at him, trying to gauge if he’s serious or not. “Muchacho, I’m the boyfriend.”

“Ohhh,” Dani replies, “that makes much more sense!”

“Oi, you lot!” Roy shouts. “You can discuss Tartt’s love life after fucking training. Get on the fucking pitch!”

There’s a chorus of “Yes coach, sorry coach!”

Jamie takes one last look at your picture, grins, then follows the rest of the team out the door.

[searchingforgravity]

Graceland Experience - PART 10

Fandom: Elvis/Elvis (2022)

Prompt: You are more confused than ever before when you find something you can't explain. You wonder if you will ever get back to your own time, or if you are forever destined to live in the past.

TW: Kissing, mentions of unwanted sexual activity, brief sex, smut

Rating: Mature

Word Count: ~4000

A/N: Sorry for the long wait with this one! I hope you guys enjoy!

"A beam expanding in a straight line could travel several miles before the Earth’s curvature made the surface fall away from it sufficiently to prevent further damage, and then it would be ten feet across. After that, flashing emptily into space, expanding and weakening, a queer strain in the fabric of the cosmos."

Well, this book won't seem to be of much help to you. Sighing, you close the book as you lean against a tree outside. You've just started reading Pebble in the Sky by Isaac Asimov, but it seems you'll have more luck with The Sound of Thunder. This book starts of with a scientist and his apprentice accidentally creating a whole in space and time with chemicals. That is not how you got here, at least you don't think so.

Looking back to the Graceland house, you admire its beauty. You still haven't fully accepted that you're here. Or that you drunkenly hooked up with Elvis last night. The more you think about last night, the more you question if it was a good decision or not.

Was Sonny just being jealous this morning, did last night not mean anything to Elvis? You aren't sure, but you decide that's not what's important right now. Looking back into the yard, you gaze at the stables in thought. How in the world are you going to get back home?

Maybe Elvis could help you get back...but how? You've explained to him how you just kind of showed up here on his couch. Maybe it was a chemical thing, maybe the couch is the key to getting back. Maybe there was some sort of electric charge that happened when you sat down that forced you back to 1961...

You sigh in frustration. You face the fact that you just don't know how you've gotten here, and maybe you never will.

"Hey, how's it goin' out here?" a voice calls suddenly, causing you to nearly jump out of your skin as your hands move to hide your book before realizing it's just Elvis.

"You scared me," you breathe, your clutch on the book loosening.

Elvis chuckles as he comes to sit beside you, his body heat instantly making you feel less anxious. Safer.

He hums as he lightly grips the book in your hand, causing you to release it.

"Any luck with this book?"

You sigh.

"Nope. Just a scientist figuring out time travel through chemicals. I don't think that's how I got here."

He opens it as his brow furrows thoughtfully, reading the same passage you did.

"Yeah, I agree with you there," he hums as he turns the book over in his hands in thought.

You look out in the yard, feeling the late summer breeze on your face, glancing over at the stables. The grass is a vibrant green around it as you imagine what the grand horses look inside. Your mind is taken back to when you watched Elvis mount the horse from your room. How beautiful he had looked.

"I spoke to Sonny," Elvis says suddenly, pulling you out of your thoughts before you could get to wrapped up in them.

You turn your head back to him, searching his face.

"What happened?"

He hesitates for a moment, and your heart sinks. You search his face for any signs of a fight but couldn't find any. Elvis sees you searching him and waves his hand, dismissing your concern.

"It wasn't like that, we didn't fight or nothin'. But...well did you know he liked you so much?"

A shock runs through you like a lightning bolt. Your brows furrow as you can only imagine what Sonny had said to Elvis.

"I thought he might've liked me a little bit, but he never told me he did. He didn't try to make a move on me or anything."

"And you didn't- uh..." he starts, but is finding it difficult to finish his thought.

His face flushes slightly as he looks away from you for a moment.

"I didn't what?" you encourage, your curiosity peaking.

"Well, uh- you never...did you ever like Sonny?"

You're taken aback by this.

"You think I like Sonny?" you question, disbelief evident in your voice.

He instantly backtracks.

"Well, no! I mean, it's just that- you know Sonny's not a bad lookin' guy and- and he you know got you that gift and everything. He said he thought or maybe he hoped that you'd liked him," Elvis rambles, his hand coming to toy with a button on his shirt.

"I don't like Sonny, Elvis. I wasn't even planning to like you."

It comes out harsher than you intend it too, but it's the truth. You're kicking yourself for getting yourself caught in a situation with Elvis, but if you're being completely honest, you don't see a timeline where you wouldn't become involved with him given the opportunity.

"So you do like me, do you?" he questions, a small smirk appearing on his face, his embarrassment disappearing as it's replaced with a certain smugness.

"I think last night proved that well enough," you groan in feigned exasperation, waving away his cocky smile.

He hums.

"Oh, I'm not too sure, darlin'. I might need a little reminder. I can get a little insecure sometimes, you know?" he breathes as he inches his body closer to yours, turning so he faces you.

A warmth spreads down your body as he leans in, his eyes softening on yours before looking down to your lips. Reaching his hand out, he caresses your cheek and you lean into it, savouring the feeling. You feel his warm breath washing over your face, causing you to relax further as you lean into him.

"Remind me, honey," he mumbles, his lips centimeters away from yours, you can feel the buzz of electricity between them.

Your mouth opens slightly as a sigh tumbles from you. Leaning forward the slightest bit, your lips connect with his. You release a small sound of pleasure as you feel his warm, soft lips press up against yours, slow and sensual. He hums lowly as he presses his lips to yours with more intent, his body inching all the more closer as his hands come to thread through your hair, grasping your head gently to keep you from pulling away.

"It's startin' to come back to me," he groans, causing you to scoff playfully, pulling him back in for another kiss.

His hands leave your head as he roams them down your body, feeling the smooth fabric of your dress before landing on your hips, giving them a soft squeeze. Sighing into his mouth, you lean into his further, your tongue licking his bottom lip as you ask for entrance.

He instantly lets you into, groaning when he feels your tongue connect with his. Unlike last night, he lets you explore him, allowing you to take control of the kiss as he gives you access to himself. You don't think you will ever get tired of his taste on your tongue as it dances slowly with yours.

You feel yourself warming as the two of you continue, his hands coming back up to your face, slipping his tongue into your mouth now as you move closer, pressing him up against the tree as you move to sit on him, your head spinning. He moans.

"Mhh, be careful. I might have to take you to my room," he grunts, his hips lifting up to meet yours.

Your about to respond as you pull away, your cheeks flushed. You're about to say maybe he should, when out of the corner of your eye, something grabs your attention. Looking to a spot against the tree, your brows furrow. Then your blood runs cold. You pull away from Elvis, shock running through your system.

"Baby, what? Did I say somethin' wrong?" he questions, confusion on his face as he looks to you.

You shake your head, your eyes stuck on the spot on the tree.

"Elvis, look."

He follows your gaze as he turns, looking at the tree. At first, his brows furrow in puzzlement, not understanding what it is he's looking at.

"When did you do that?" he asks, looking back to you.

You heart feels like it's in your throat. There, etched into the tree is your name in bold capital letters, like a message. It doesn't look fresh, it looks like it had been there for at least a few years. Maybe longer. And it's your handwriting.

---

Bringing you inside, he tries to calm you down. Not much is helping as you sit on a chair in his room. You keep getting up, and pacing before sitting back down.

"Honey, I'm sure we can come to some sort of explanation."

"How?" you question, your gaze meeting his.

"Well, maybe there was someone else who lived here by that name years ago."

You shake your head.

"Elvis...it's my handwriting."

At this, he doesn't say anything. He can't argue with that. The slope of your lines in the wood, however old and weathered, were indeed in the same style you write. There was no denying you had written that on the tree. But How? And how long had it been there?

"Alright, well let's not freak out yet. We can-we'll figure this out," he says, but his usual confidence fails him.

"How is this even possible? I mean, that was written years ago. How can we figure this out, I don't even know what's going on!" your voice raises, fear striking you.

Would you ever make it back to your own time or will you be trapped in the past, and maybe go back further in the past? You don't even know what to think with this information.

"(Y/N), you're gonna hafta lower your voice," Elvis states, his voice dropping.

"Why?? Because I'm being hysterical? Well, I'm sorry but I have no idea what I just saw-" you start, a defensiveness creeping into your voice before he interjects.

"No! Because Sonny is in the house, that's why!" Elvis hisses, bringing you back to reality.

Shit. You've become so wrapped up in your own thoughts, you forgot that someone might hear you.

"Oh yeah, sorry," you say sheepishly as you sit back down on the chair, your eyes closing in contemplation.

You hear him sigh as he makes his way over to you, sitting on the chair opposite yours. Leaning forward in his seat, he takes your hands in his, causing you to open your eyes, looking to him for support. You need him to tell you something, anything to help you feel better.

"Right now, we don't know what it means, but if we freak out about it, that won't get us anywhere, right? So we just need to take a minute and relax."

You nod your head as you let a sigh tumble from your lips. He's right, you can't keep freaking out over everything that happens. Maybe you seeing this is a good thing. Future you must've figured out something in order to travel back in the past. At least it's not a step backwards.

At seeing you calm down a bit, he brings your hand up to his lips, kissing it affectionately.

"Good, now what do you say we relax a little bit? We can think about this crazy stuff tomorrow. I'm sure not much will change in a day," he chuckles, trying to lighten the mood.

You agree, but you aren't so sure about not much changing. You have no idea how long that tree was bear outside before your name appeared, etching into it with big, ominous letters.

---

"Oh (y/n), don't stop. That feels real nice sweetheart. I told ya' Elvis couldn't fuck you like me," Sonny groans, his eyes closed in ecstasy.

You find yourself sitting on top of Sonny, he cock out of view inside you. Bile creeps up in your stomach as you try to get off of him. You're body only latches onto him more, moving up and down on him swiftly. Your face contorts in disgust as you press against his chest, trying to push him away from you.

"Did you ever find that letter?" he groans, his hands coming to guide your hips on him.

Before you have time to question what he means, you lurch forward in bed, a cold sweat covering you. Elvis immediately stirs awake beside you, turning to face you.

"What's wrong, honey? Is it a nightmare?" Elvis croaks, his eyes opening as he tries to adjust to the darkness.

You are disoriented as it takes you a moment to remember where you are. After you and Elvis had a talk about the tree, you relaxed with him that day, ordering dinner and watching movies. He asked you to spend the night in his room with him. You said yes.

"Yes, God I'm sorry," you groan, the dream flooding your mind as you try to rid yourself of Sonny's face.

"What was it about?" he murmurs, his hands feeling for you blindly.

You hesitate as you allow him to wrap his arms around you, his lips searching yours as he pulls you back to lay down, leaving a soft peck on your lips.

"I don't remember," you lie after a long moment of silence.

His hand comes to smooth out your hair as he leaves a small kiss on your forehead. You're not sure how Elvis would react to you having a sex dream about Sonny, even if it had been a nightmare. You imagine nothing good would come out of you telling him. He doesn't push you on the subject as his arms come to wrap around your waist.

"I'm sorry baby, I wish you didn't have so many nightmares," he hums, sympathy lacing his voice as he waits for you to get comfortable in his arms.

"It's okay. I wish it would stop happening," you sigh your hands coming to thread through his hair, finding comfort in the action as he sighs softly.

"Let me hold you a while," he murmurs, sleep suddenly riddling his voice as you imagine how tired he is.

You turn around in his arms as he glues his chest to your back, his hand brushing the hair from your neck so he can leave a gentle kiss on it. You sigh as you lean back into him, trying to get comfortable.

He hums softly as he snuggles his face into your hair.

"I'm not gonna let anything happen to ya', you know that right?" he murmurs, the words getting lost in your hair.

"Okay," you whisper, weaker than you intend as you lace your fingers through his.

Bringing your hand to his lips, he gently kisses your hand. Looking into the dark room, you listen as his breathing pattern becomes slower, until he starts snoring softly. You only wish it could be that easy for you. As you look into the darkness, a lump starts to form in your throat. Why is this happening?

You snuggle your body back into his, trying to get some sleep, but you get the feeling you won't be getting much of it.

---

Waking up in the morning, you are surprised you were able to fall back to sleep. Stretching, you look over to see Elvis still sleeping, a peaceful expression on his face as his palm rests on his chest, his other reaching out in your direction. You admire his face as you scoot closer to him, his outstretched arm instantly wrapping around you. You smile as you see his eye flutter open at your movements, instantly looking into yours.

"Good morning," you breathe, snuggling into him further.

He smiles.

"Good morning, sweet heart. Were you able to get some sleep last night?" he rasps, his morning voice causing a warm feeling to surround you.

His grip tightens around you.

"Yeah, I got a little sleep," you nod, your eyes traveling to his lips as he moistens them with his tongue.

"That's good to hear, baby," he mumbles, his eyes drooping as he looks down at you.

He looks at your lips before dipping his eyes down to your chest which is pressed up against him. You don't have to read his mind to know what he's thinking about. He shifts on the bed as he looks up to your eyes again.

"It's nice to have you in my bed," he mumbles softly, his hands coming to cup your face and his lips dip down to yours, kissing you softly.

You hum into the kiss as you lean into him, a pooling quickly forming in your core.

“It’s nice being in your bed,” you respond, your hands roaming his body before softly landing on his bare chest, feeling his body react to your touch.

“You like being in my bed do you?” He mumbles, that smirk forming on his face. “I wonder if there’s anything else you would enjoy doing with me…in my bed.”

You hum in thought.

“I can think of a few things.”

He laughs softly, his grip tightening on your face before pulling you to him, his lips connecting with yours. He kisses you slow and sensually, with intent. You sigh into the kiss as you bring yourself closer to him, softly licking his bottom lip as you ask for entrance.

Immediately he opens his mouth to you. As your tongue makes its way into his mouth, the kiss is unlike the ones yesterday. This time, he let’s you take the lead as you explore him, your tongue swirling around his with curiosity. He groans as his hands Travel their way down to your waist.

Wanting to be closer to him, you move your body as you sit on him, your core coming to rest on top of his growing erection. Cautiously, your swirl your hips around him, earning a groan from his lips as he brings his hands from your waist to rest on your thighs.

Grinding down on him again, a small whine erupts from you as his erection brushes against your clit in such a way it has you breaking the kiss, your head coming to rest on his shoulder.

“Tell me what makes you feel good, baby. I wanna hear you make that sound again,” he groans, his hips coming to meet yours as you grind on him once more.

You blush. Never had a man you’d been with put in the amount of effort to make you feel good that Elvis has, just by asking you what you like in bed. You’re not sure how to respond. He notes your hesitation.

“I’ll tell you what. Why don’t I try a few things, and you tell me what feels good for you,” he suggests, the rasp in his voice going straight to your core.

“Okay,” you whisper, breathless.

Bringing his hands back to your face, he leans up in bed, capturing your lips in his once more. You sigh at the taste of him. Humming, he gently works his tongue into your mouth, swirling his tongue around your slowly, with intent. You moan quietly.

After a moment of this, his tongue retreats back into his mouth, his teeth biting on your bottom lip softly, tugging. You moan louder as you grind down on him again, the feeling adding to the wetness in your panties.

“Did you like that?” He mumbles breathlessly, his lips coming to kiss your cheek.

“Yes, I liked the biting,” you whisper, your cheeks flushing at the admission.

He hums quietly at this.

“Good girl.”

The comment goes straight to your core. Your a little embarrassed with how turned on you are, you’re not sure why. Hiding your face in his neck, you kiss it softly. His hands find their way to your hair, leaning his neck into your lips as a sigh escapes his mouth.

“Does it make you feel good when I call you that?”

Your face feels like it’s on fire.

“Yes,” you mumble, the word getting lost on his neck.

He hums again as his hands travel down your back and to the front of your body, softly cupping your breasts. You grind on him again, and this time he meets your thrust, his erection having grown more prominent and a groan erupts from him. The sensation of his clothed cock has your eyes rolling back as you realize the only thing separating your bodies are yours and his underwear, your nightgown having ridden up to your waist.

“I wanna try more, baby,” he grunts, his thumbs flicking your nipples, causing a sigh to escape your lips.

You pull your face out from his neck as you look at him, his eyes blazing with desire. You nod your head as you agree before he connects his lips to yours once more.

Masterlist

Series Masterlist

Tag List:

@horrorgirl4life @goldobsessionsworld @tantamount-treason @peaceloveelvis @father-of-2cats @sissylittlefeather @elvisalltheway101 @littlehoneyposts @atleastpleasetelephone @ccab @msamarican @presleyhearted

[ashs-cardboard-box]

Heartbroken doodles

~ Arthur Morgan/Older Brother!Male!Reader

~ Familial

~ 3k words

Request :3

....................................................................................................

For as long as you’ve known the boy, Arthur has been head over heels for this ‘Mary’ woman. Days on days again, he was as giddy as a child in a candy store after coming home from spending the day with her. As home as home can get, that is. You were an older brother of sorts to both Arthur, at twenty-three, and the new boy, John, at only thirteen.

You were the first kid Dutch and Hosea had picked up to join the gang. No surprise, you were orphaned just as Arthur and John had been. You got along better with Arthur due to being closer in age than the two of you to John, having a decade between yourselves and the teen.

Yet, lately, you’ve noticed how Arthur has just been…off. Abnormally lazy, sure, but other things to accompany. Isolation, constantly stuck in his own head, less of the mouthy ass you’ve known him to be. You try not to impede on whatever stink he’s found himself in, assuming it would pass just like his rambunctious teen phase had many years ago.

Unsurprisingly, John had been unrelenting in his teasing towards Arthur, as usual. Yelling and being a general nuisance on why “he has to work while Arthur doesn’t”, as if John isn’t still learning not to shoot his own fingers off. 

Any time it’s brought up, either you or Hosea would scold him. “Leave him alone, John. He’s prolly goin’ through somethin’.” Like a pattern at this point. Often finding yourself wandering around camp with Dutch, not only to check on the things Miss Grimshaw couldn’t due to her hands being full, or to just watch Arthur.

He doesn’t do much. You can’t remember a time in the past few weeks he looked up at anyone aside from the worms in the dirt. His shoulders slumped forward and his posture curved in unspoken disappointment. Aimlessly wandering around camp, keeping to himself at all hours of the day.

That was, however, until he didn’t get up one morning. With your worry for your younger brother mounting, you take it upon yourself to head to Arthur’s tent just to check on him– also to make sure he’s still breathing.

Sighing to yourself as you stare at the closed flaps of his tent, your jaw set firmly and your brows pinched together in concern. Raising your hand and gently pushing one of the flaps open with a small “Arthur?”

You don’t get a response aside from a hint of a sniffle. His back facing you as he lays on his cot silently, staring at the tent wall as if it’s the most captivating thing in the world. It pains you to see your younger brother like this. Not to mention, you hadn’t the slightest clue on what’s been going on with him.

“Arthur?” you call again, softening your voice slightly. Once again, nothing. Not even an over-the-shoulder glance. Sighing, you step into Arthur’s tent completely. Slowly making your way towards his cot and taking a seat on the edge of it, near the bend of his legs.

“Talk to me, kid..” You nearly whisper. Leaning back slightly to be able to properly see Arthur’s face. His lips pulled into a frown as his eyes hold nothing better than utter distraught. Arthur sighs heavily with a brief glance over towards you, before he looks back at the wall.

The only other time you’ve seen him like this was after Eliza and Isaac passed. Having left camp for a good reason, long before John joined, for the sake of family. You were so proud of the man he was becoming– until he showed up again. Left an utter mess after it all. After that, he was a different man. Calmer. More mature. Hardened by the cruelty of life.

Usually, he was trying to copy Dutch’s way of acting as a means of looking up to his father figure, much to Dutch’s ire. Your chest feels tight as the long drone of silence washes over both of you. The moment Arthur’s lips part to try and say something–

“Arthurrr… Get uppp..” John groans dramatically as he pushes open the tent without hesitation, his eyes widening upon finding you sitting with Arthur. “Don’t tell me- Arthur’s cryin’, ain’t he?” He taunts, causing Arthur to grumble quietly to himself. Lifting one of his arms and resting it over top his head, curling his fist behind the base of his skull. His bicep resting against the side of his face and ear.

“Get outta here, John. You eat yet?” you shake your head dismissively, slowly standing up from Arthur’s cot. Crossing his tent again and standing in front of John, folding your arms over your chest as you stare down at him in silent irritation. Despite feeling frustrated with John, you still cared for him. The last thing you wanted was for your youngest brother to go hungry.

“Yeah. Miss Grimshaw made stew.” John informs, yet making his tone as snarky as possible. Crossing his arms over his chest just as you had in an attempt to mock you and be as annoying as possible. “But ‘sea said Arthur gotta quit bein’ a woman ‘n cryin’ so much.”

“Hosea said no such thing, ya little brat. Now go on, get.. Before I actually get Hosea ‘n tell him you’re botherin’ Arthur again after he told you not to. Or tell Dutch you plan on skippin’ his lessons today.” That seemed to shut him up, for a little while, at least.

John groans dramatically and drops his arms down to his sides. “You’re no fun..” He grumbles and marches out of Arthur’s tent with a childish huff. Sighing heavily, you look over towards Arthur, who hadn’t moved the slightest bit aside from the rise and fall of his chest with each breath he takes. That’s a plus, you suppose. Sad but still breathing.

“Alright, Arthur. You get up too. We’re goin’ out.” You make your way back over to him, nudging his shoulder with the back of your hand. Arthur grumbles in protest, silently telling you to leave him alone, but you don’t. Continuously nudging him until Arthur gets annoyed enough to snap his head up towards you, removing his arm and dropping it to his front.

“Don’t you gotta go help Marston or somethin’? I’ll be fine.. leave me be.” Arthur cavils, shrugging off your hand as he lays his head back down. Much to his dismay, you continue to pester him. Going right back to nudging his shoulder with the tips of your fingers. “Either you get up on your own, or I drag your ass outta this tent myself. It’s your call.” You threaten lightheartedly, ignoring Arthur’s protests, causing him to sigh.

Glaring at you, Arthur turns over and pushes himself to sit up on his cot. Swinging his legs over the edge and placing them on the floor of his tent. “The hell you want?” He mutters in annoyance as he runs a calloused hand down his face. You take a few steps away from Arthur and back towards the entrance to his tent, watching him to make sure he actually gets up.

“You’ll see.” You respond vaguely with a grin, to which Arthur rolls his eyes with a huff. Reluctantly, he gets up and makes his way over to you. Shoving right past you, with a few incoherent swears, and out of his tent.

You follow after Arthur and silently guide him over towards your horses. You steal a quick look around camp for anyone nearby, spotting Grimshaw nearby, you beckon her closer. "Y'all headin' out?" She asks curiously. Her eyes flicking over towards a sulking Arthur mounting his horse before they return back up to you.

"Yeah.. uh- prolly just down to the river for a while. Tell Hosea for me, will ya? I'll bring the boy back in one piece, I swear." You joke and take a step away from Grimshaw. She gives a curt nod and turns on her heel to go relay the message to the older man, whom you three boys called a father figure.

Despite the age difference being quite large between all of you, you still acted more like brothers than most you’d ever met in your life. Arguments, rough housing, endless teasing..mostly from John. You were as much of a family as orphans could get. You took it upon yourself to watch over the younger boys when Hosea and Dutch weren’t in your line of sight, despite Arthur entering his twenties and John being a rowdy teenager.

“You comin’ or not?” Arthur calls gruffly, causing you to look back over your shoulder towards Arthur sitting atop his saddle. “Yeah, yeah.. Hold your horses.” You wave a hand dismissively and approach your own horse. Muttering a breathless praise towards the animal as you stick your boot into the stirrup and hoist your body weight up to straddle your saddle comfortably.

With a silent nod in another direction, you take off. Leading Arthur on horseback out of camp, no faster than a trot. The only thing interrupting the long silence shared between the two of you are the rhythmic thumps of the horses’ hooves against the ground below. Your body rocking with the gait of your horse.

“Talk to me, kid.” You break the silence with nothing short of a polite demand. Arthur, however, merely gives a short snort and doesn’t say anything as he follows after you. “You ain’t gonna be able to hide it forever.” You coax, with little success.

“What’s it matter to you?” He grumbles, glaring at the back of your head before his eyes flick ahead once again. His brows pinched in faux irritation, when all he feels is a heavy weight on his chest and an all too familiar lump in his throat. His heart felt like it had been run over by a stampede of every animal in the vicinity, followed by a nice mauling by a gator.

“You’re my brother ‘n somethin’s got your panties all wadded up.” You respond bluntly, no use sugarcoating it. Arthur’s been out of commission for weeks now and your worry only continues to grow. While Arthur wasn’t your blood relative, he might as well have been. You care for him like a pestering, older brother would.

Arthur goes silent for a long, long time. The only thing you can hear from him are subtle sniffles, followed by the ruffling of cloth as he wipes his nose on his sleeve. With each glance over your shoulder towards him, his emotions are only plastered on his face; anger, hurt, bitterness…just plain heartbreak. You can’t help but to feel bad for him.

“She–” Arthur starts, his voice breaking as he fights against the emotions threatening to expel from his throat. “She left me..” He sighs shakily. You gently tug up on your reins to get your horse to slow, wanting to be able to ride next to Arthur. You don’t say anything in hopes he’ll say more.

But he doesn’t. He shuts himself off yet again. With a dismissive shake of his head and a bitter chuckle, wiping his eyes with the pads of his index finger and thumb on his right hand. “Mary did?” You asks quietly, to which he nods in confirmation.

“Oh, Arthur..” you mutter quietly with a small sigh. Your eyebrows knit together in concern as you idly chew on the skin of your bottom lip, occasionally glancing at your little brother to check up on how he’s holding up.

It all makes sense now. You knew Mary’s father never cared for Arthur, as evident by Arthur’s many, many rants about it mere months prior. You never could’ve expected the two to part, especially not after seeing how in love the pair were.

“Listen, kid..” you swallow what saliva pools in your mouth. You didn’t even know what to say. How do you help a broken man? You sigh and tug up on your reins again, getting your horse to slow fully to a stop. Arthur looks over towards you in confusion, but does the same.

Not another word is shared is the two of you dismount your horses and guide them to the nearest tree, tying a slip knot with the reins and securing your horses to a sturdy branch for a minute. You give a vague gesture with your hand further through what little trees surround the riverbank. Dead leaves crunch underneath your boots as you follow an uncertain Arthur, constantly looking over his shoulder for reassurance that he’s going in the right direction.

Just past the trees, the two of you make your way down to the riverbed, covered with rocks and stones alike, maybe an arm if you tried to look far enough into the water. “Things ain’t always gonna work out like you had hoped.” you finally speak, causing Arthur to exhale a breath he didn’t know he was holding.

He looks over at you as you take a seat right in the grass, holding your knees to your chest and resting your forearms atop your knees. Your eyes scanning over the river in front of you, as Arthur stares at you, dumbfounded. The sun blinding you as it glistens along the surface, barely able to see the way natural debris is swept away by the current.

“I know for a fact Miss Linton loved you with all her heart. It ain’t like she hated you, Arthur. She ain’t got much a choice with that daddy of hers.” Arthur sighs, sitting down next to you with a huff. The stones are far from comfortable to sit on, but who could complain? Save for John, that boy has a mouth like no other.

“I know..” He mumbles with a sniffle, his gaze falling to his hands, idly collecting pebbles and putting them in arbitrary piles. You glance over towards him silently before your hands move back behind you to your satchel. It’s not much effort to pull out the worn journal from the pouch. A graphite pencil hidden in the spine between the pages for safekeeping.

“Still hurts.” Arthur adds with a huff, pushing over his small pile with the back of his hand, causing the pebbles to topple and a few to roll down into the river. He leans forward and pulls his legs into himself, sitting cross legged and resting his elbow atop the inner side of his knee.

“I know it does.” You murmur as you pull open your journal. Grabbing ahold of your pencil and beginning to sketch the sight in front of you. The rushing, deep blue waters hidden snuggly between two parts of the land. On one side, a field with muddy roads leading into Blackwater. Just behind you, trees, foliage, and the occasional rabbit..good for hunting, you assume. Less visible roads leading right back to your camp. The place all of you call home for a little while. Rocks barely visible beneath the shallow waters, certainly no place for any sort of fish. “And it will for a while. That’s just the way things work.”

“But you gotta understand, there ain’t much y’all can do– not ‘til that sour old bastard changes his mind on his daughter. You jus’ gotta focus on yourself for a while, you hear? I don't wanna see you balled up in that tent of yours again tomorrow.” Your voice drops a bit softer as you speak, your gaze flicking between the beautiful environment, and the journal in your lap.

Arthur nods slowly, looking over towards you upon hearing the scratching of your pencil on paper. Sitting up and leaning over slightly to get a good look at what it is you’re doing. His eyes widen slightly as he looks between your drawing, then the river, and back again.

“How the hell’d you do that?” He points to your journal, the tip of his fingernail just barely grazing the leather exterior. You grin bashfully with a hint of a chuckle, removing your pencil from the page and opening up the leather bound book further, offering it to Arthur.

“It ain’t much at all. Just- figured it’d be nice to commit to memory I s’pose.” You shrug, Arthur eagerly snatches the journal from your hand and begins flipping through some of the pages in awe. He and John were far from similar, but in that moment, you could really see a resemblance with the stars in his eyes. His eyebrows raised up to his hairline and his lips slightly parted.

“You gotta teach me how to do this.” It was more of a command than a request, but you could hardly gripe. Chuckling as you shift to sit a bit closer to him, shoulder-to-shoulder. “Calm down, kid.. It takes a lotta time to do this.”

Arthur pouts and tears his gaze away from the journal to look at you, silently begging you to cave and teach him anyway. He extends his right hand out, palm facing up, to accept your pencil, as if not giving you a choice in the matter.

With a heavy sigh of mock irritation, you place the pencil in Arthur’s hand, causing him to immediately grin. “You’re just as much a pest as John is..” you tease, yet Arthur ignores you completely. Too busy ruffling through the pages until he finds a clean one to draw on.

It was hard to deny his excitement, especially after all that he’s been through. Slowly, you begin to guide him through the ins and outs of creation. Sappy shit about “letting the pencil guide you” and “use that head of yours, Morgan.”

His first drawing wasn’t great, if you had to be honest, yet there was a genuine spark in his eye to say he was proud of himself and wanted to keep going. You make a mental note to buy him his own journal, so he doesn’t tear yours to pieces even further. It was far from perfect at an artists’ standpoint but as a brother? It was the greatest thing you’d ever seen.

....................................................................................................

I hope you like it !!! :3

[yumiis]

hii would you consider doing comfort/fluffy isaac... i have no real ideas but gn or male reader please :)

｡ﾟﾟ･｡･ﾟﾟ｡ ﾟ。 a day in ; isaac x reader

　 ﾟ･｡･ﾟ

hii guys i'm doing.. a little better. definitely not at 100% but getting there. i hope you enjoy :)

cw / tw; overwhelmed reader, gn!reader, no pronouns used

Isaac noticed from the moment you came through the door. You weren't feeling great, and you were definitely overwhelmed. You'd thrown your bag down at the door, didn't say a word, and hiked up to Isaac's room. Isaac gave it a few minutes before he headed up to check on you; he didn't want to make it worse.

You jumped a little at the sight of your tall boyfriend come in, quickly turning to hide under the covers. "Baby? You okay?" He spoke, quietly making his way towards your side. "What's goin' on?" He placed a hand on your shoulder.

You sighed shakily, "Had to run a few errands, there were so many people.. There was an argument in the store, it scared me. I just needed to come home." You explained, peeking out from the covers to look at Isaac.

He nodded, leaning down and lightly kissing your forehead. "Look, we'll spend the rest of the day in here, I'll get you whatever you need. We can also watch like.. whatever the hell you want. We'll spend the day in. Nobody needs to leave or come in here." You smiled at his kind gesture, thinking about how nice it really would be. You've been needing a day to just yourself and Isaac.

"That'd be really nice.. You'd wanna do that?" You asked him. "Yeah! Totally, I don't mind or anything. It's a good day when I can spend it with my favorite person." He rubbed your shoulder, pressing another kiss to your forehead before getting up. "Look, here's the remote," He tossed the TV remote in your lap, "and I'll go get some snacks. Sound good?" You nodded, "Yeah, sounds great."

[isackwhy]

okay isaac’s hair has been getting long.

let’s say he starts using the readers expensive hair shampoo and products (bonus if reader has wavy or curly hair too [curl cream])

she starts noticing her bottles getting empty faster but doesn’t really care to find out why

until she’s showering w isaac

(nothing steamy, maybe reader was gonna go shower and isaac jokingly suggests they should shower together [like some “where’s my invite” shit 😭] and it’s a funny haha shower)

UNTILLL she notices him using GLOBS of shampoo and conditioner and she like is surprised but not really but doesn’t say anything until a podcast episode where she’s invited

she starts telling the story and isaac is like “what it makes my hair soft!”

they’re like joke arguing when larry goes “wait you guys shower together?” in a joke disgusted way and nick says “no wonder our water bill is so high”

ANYWAY SORRY FOR THE LONG REQUEST, I HAD A VISION AND I TRUST YOU TO BRING IT TO LIFE i love all your works 🫶🏼🫶🏼

I WILL TRY MY HARDEST

you’re sitting on the podcast couch between mock and isaac as they talk about their hair. grunk is going more into detail about his hair routine when you laugh, immediately remembering a story regarding hair products.

“why’s y/n giggling? what’s goin’ on?” tanner points out. you stifle your giggle, looking around at your friends and boyfriend. even with his mask and glasses on you can see the realization hit isaac’s face as he remembers exactly what story you want to bring up. “y/n—okay, she’s gonna tell a story—and i want to clarify, i wasn’t aware how expensive the products were,” isaac defends himself.

“huhhh? what’d you do?” larry asks, leaning forward. “can i explain it?” you question and isaac just throws his arms up and shrugs. you roll your eyes, “okay so, i have a bunch of expensive hair products and for a bit i was noticing them just like….depleting. like it was being used. i thought i was losing my shit until isaac and i were showering—nothing, like, just don’t be weird—“

“WHA—“

“oh god.”

larry and yumi speak, covering their face.

“DONT BE FUCKING WEIRD!” you yell through a laugh, “i turn around and fucking mr. isaacwhy over here is putting globs of MY shit into his hand. into his big ass hands!”

“it makes my hair so soft though!” isaac yells, hands still in the air.

“okay, mine too! that’s why i use it, asshat—“

“wait!” larry throws his hands up, “you guys shower together! oh my god!” he jokes. “that’s what happens when you date someone, LARRY,” isaac comments, “to be fair, i bought her more.”

“is that why our water bill is so damn high?” nick asks, staring right at you and isaac. your cheeks burn up, “we WERENT DOING ANYTHING—“

“uh huh. sure. yeah.”

[gimmethosedaddymilkers]

What's to Love?

Okay, I'm back, Christmas and family stuff took me out for a few days but never fear, for I have three more requests to hand to you all.

This one was requested by an anon, asking for anything with a modern twist on it, the idea they gave was about reader having just had a child and having a little bit of some self confidence issues.

Arthur is always here to fix that issue, y'all know that >:)

Warnings: Fluff, like tooth rotting fluff, like go to the dentist or you will not own teeth anymore. Female reader, some negative thoughts about body image, very, very VAUGE sexual innuendos/conversation

This gif is from @itspapillonnoir

You felt awful, both physically and mentally.

Sitting in the rocking chair with your six month old baby, you were covered in spit up, you hadn't been able to shower today just yet, you had dark circles under your eyes that you just couldn't really get rid of, and your hair was a rats nest, you hadn't yet been able to really brush through it.

Arthur wasn't home yet, and all you wanted was to do was lay down and cuddle with him.

Though a small part of you couldn't help but wonder if that was what he really wanted...

Lately every time you saw yourself in the mirror you wondered if you were worth it.

You were nowhere near in shape, you hadn't exactly been that in shape to begin with, but now you felt like a lump of lard.

You could be intimate again, you and Arthur were allowed that, and it wasn't a lack of trying on his part, everytime he tried to get you in the mood it fell flat. Not because he wasn't good at it, but because you were so afraid that the moment things actually happened he'd realize that you weren't what you used to be.

That you were fat. Saggy, covered in stretch marks, scars, not...you.

You sigh, closing your eyes as you rock on the chair, your baby boy, Isaac, so aptly named, asleep against your chest.

You loved him so dearly, but recently you feared he was the only thing keeping Arthur with you.

It's a few more moments of silence before you hear the sound of the front door opening.

Arthur's voice travels upstairs, not a yell of course, but not quiet either.

"Darlin' you up there?"

"Up here Arthur-" You answer, covering Isaac's ears.

Its quiet as you hear Arthur's footsteps.

He comes into the nursery, a small smile on his face as he notices little Isaac asleep on you.

"You want me to put him in the crib?"

"No, no, I've got it." You sigh tiredly and get up slowly, you make your way to the crib and slowly put him down. Luckily he stays asleep.

You stay quiet and look down at him, You feel Arthur's arms around your waist after a moment or two and suddenly you can't stop the tears that start to fall.

"Hey, sweetheart, what's wrong?"

Arthur's voice is a quiet whisper, he kisses your cheek gently and moves a strand of hair away from your face.

"What's with the tears Princess, you okay? Talk to me."

His kind words only make you cry further and he furrows his brow before he gently leads you out of the nursery.

He leads you to your shared bedroom, just across from the nursery.

Arthur helps you sit on the bed and he kneels down in front of you, using a thumb to wipe your cheek as gently as he can with the callouses from working in the mechanic shop all day.

"Hey now...Y/N, baby...what's goin' on, what's with the cryin'?"

You try to wipe your face, only for Arthur to move your hand away and do it for you, then he kisses your cheeks and eyelids.

He looks at you patiently, waiting for you to be able to speak, he keeps his hands on your arms, gently rubbing his thumb back and forth.

"Arthur...I.."

You start, swallowing and doing your best to try not to burst into tears.

"Why are you still here?"

You ask the question flatly, just barely keeping it together.

"What?"

Arthur's brows crunch up, as well as his nose, his eyes narrow as he looks at you. There's a look in his eyes, he's confused...but he seems angry too.

"What the hell kinda question is that?"

You swallow and look at him again.

"Why are you still here, what about me is keeping you here?"

You sniffle again and cover your eyes with your hands.

"I don't understand why you're here, I don't I don't get it Arthur, I just don't...Look at me, look at my body, look at my face...."

"What's wrong with 'em?"

"Look Arthur!"

"I am!"

He scoots a little further to you, cupping your face in his hands.

"What are you tryna get at here, Love?"

You cover his hands with your own, frowning, feeling tears slip out.

"I'm disgusting Arthur...covered in stretch marks, I'm not in shape, I wasn't even before I had Isaac and now it's even worse...I look tired all the time, my hair's always a mess I feel dirty all the time...My arms are fat, my stomach's fat...I'm fat, Arthur, I'm not pretty anymore-"

"Stop it."

You look up at Arthur's sudden stern words.

"Stop all that, you're breakin' my heart here Princess."

He takes a breath and leans in, kissing your forehead.

"You are just as beautiful as you were when I first started datin' you. You're gorgeous, you always have been."

"But Arthur-"

"But nothin'. You gave me a kid babe. I wouldn't expect you to be dressed up in makeup and dresses all the time, I don't expect you to be prim and perfect."

He pauses.

"Your stretch marks ain't nothin' bad at all, I love 'em, they're natural, just like you. It's okay that you ain't in shape, I don't care about that, I love you as ya are."

He sighs and kisses your cheek, keeping his other hand on your cheeks, holding your jawline.

"So what if you're a little chubby, that ain't anythin' to be upset over, I love how cozy ya are. I love that you look like a MOTHER, because you ARE one. A damn good one at that."

"Arthur-"

"Let me talk, I ain't done yet missy."

He sighs and stands, grabbing your hand and gently pulling you to your feet.

"Out of a room full of super models I'd still choose you, No matter what, I 'd choose you, regardless as to whoever else was there. It's you that I love, 'flaws' and all. You're a work of art to me, and you should damn well know that."

He gently kisses you, and pulls you in for a hug, his strong arms wrapping around your waist, pulling you to his chest.

"I ain't never ONCE, looked at you and thought 'she's lettin' herself go' not once."

"I just..I don't...I'm not pretty anymore...I'm scared one of these days you'll look at me and see what I see and then...I'll wake up and you'll be gone...I..I worry that Isaac is the only thing keeping us together...."

"That's nonsense and you know it. I ain't goin anywhere, even if Isaac wasn't here."

You press your face further against his chest, tears still falling.

"I don't want to lose you, the thought makes me sick Arthur."

"You ain't losin' me, not now, not ever."

He kisses the crown of your head, moving a hand to the back of your head, gently playing with your hair.

"I love you, Y/N. You changed a little, I expected that, you had a kid, you're a mom you're human...you're still just as beautiful to me as you were when we first met. Ain't nothin' changin' that."

He pauses.

"This why you haven't been as clingy as usual? Why you haven't wanted to do anything with me?"

You nod slowly, feeling...guilty almost.

"Sweetheart...I want you to talk to me, okay? You're allowed to be upset, but I can't help you until you tell me what's goin' on."

"I just...I get so scared of you seeing me naked again...Scared you'll see how I look and run."

"Nonsense, besides you think I ain't seen it since the baby's been around? You get changed in the same room as me, as much as you wanna hide it, I still see it and you're still just as attractive as you were before."

You close your eyes and press your face to his chest, keeping your arms around his neck.

"I just wanna be good for you Arthur, I want to be the best for you, I wanna be what you deserve. You're such a good man, a good dad, I want you to have what you SHOULD have, not what you settled for."

"Settled? I didn't settle, I chose to be with you because I love you, and I love how you treat others including me. Listen to yourself Princess...you're sittin' here, saying you want better for me, yet you ain't even thinkin' about yourself."

He sighs and squeezes you tighter.

"You ain't even considerin' how you feel. You're the most selfless woman I know. You'd let me leave if you thought it would make me happier, even if it devastated you, but you know what, I don't WANT to leave you. I never have and I never will because YOU are everything I've ever wanted. You love me so hard it astounds me sometimes that it's even possible for someone to feel that way about me."

You look up at him, the tears mainly dried against your cheeks.

"How could I not love you Arthur, you're you, you do everything right, you're kind, and handsome and smart-"

"You see what you're doin' there? What was the first thing you jus' said, repeat it."

"How could I not love you."

"Okay, so, why on earth wouldn't I feel the same damn way about you? You're you, you're my love. You're my girl...I love you to the ends of the earth...I'd do anythin' for you."

You feel tears pool in your eyes again as you hug him once more.

"I just was so scared....I just...the thought of losing you-"

"It'll never happen, Darlin' never. I love you too much, just like I love Isaac too much, I would NEVER...never leave you. Not without rational reason and even then it's not likely to happen."

He holds you close and maneuvers to sit on the bed, pulling you with him and bringing you into his lap.

He rubs your back comfortingly and makes sure you're comfortable.

"I ain't lettin' you do anythin' tonight, alright? I'm makin' dinner, I'm takin' care of Isaac when he wakes up, I'm doin' everythin'. Only thing I want you to do Darlin' is take a shower and relax a little, okay? We'll have a movie night tonight, we'll watch your favorite movie, I'll make your favorite food get your favorite snacks. Everything."

He pauses and presses a soft kiss to your temple.

"I'll get that stupid little foot bath thing you love, and I'll get that heating pad for your back, your favorite one of my hoodies for you...everythin' you want, I'm givin' it to you."

You smile and wipe your eyes.

"I'm sorry Arthur-"

"Quit that, you ain't gotta apologize, you're allowed to be upset, you're allowed to have feelin's Darlin' just...you can tell me next time."

You nod quietly and hug onto him tighter.

"Before we do all that can we just...can we cuddle for a little longer? All I've wanted all day was to just sit with you...I just...please?"

"Course Darlin' I'd love to do that."

"I love you Arthur."

"I love you to Y/N. Always will. "

[mothgodofchaos]

Pick

As someone who lives somewhere where it's very common to do a lot of "pick your own" I don't quite get paying others to pick their food, so neither does Jackie.

Jackieboy Man x GN!Reader, TW: suggestive comment Words: 583

“Remind me why were payin’ money t’ pick someone else’s apples?”

“I don’t know, supporting local farmers?”

“Sounds fake.”

Jackie looks through the aisles of apple trees, a bit overwhelmed by the sheer amount of apples in sight. He glares up into a particular tree, squinting angrily at something amongst the branches.

“Something wrong…?”

“T’ere’s a squirrel…”

“Oh my gods, c’mon-”

You drag him along, away from the squirrel tree and towards the pie apples. Jackie just holds the basket, waiting for you to give him some sort of instruction on what to do. 

“Can you go grab that ladder for me so I can reach the apples I want?”

“Why? Ye don’t need a ladder.”

“What do you mean I don’t need a la-AHHH-! JACKIE-!!”

He swoops you and puts you up on his shoulders, grinning as he readjusts you.

“Ye~?”

“Reminder that you’re within smacking distance, Apple Jacks.”

“Oi! Don’t name me after a fucking fruit!”

“Aren’t you a fruit though?”

“Well- I-”

As he’s questioning his sexuality, you go back to picking your apples. You do try to make sure your boyfriend doesn’t become the new Isaac Newton and get bonked with an apple, especially since if he gets hit and loses balance, you’re most likely to be the first to suffer those consequences. 

“Alright, I think I got enough for a few pies. You can put me down now.”

“Nope. Criminals get put in air jail.”

“Criminal!? What are the charges?”

“Being too cute, pióg úll.”

“I’m innocent! Innocent of all charges!”

“Furt’er investigation will be needed before yer innocence can be proved. Currently, t’ere’s lots of evidence provin’ yer guilt.”

“I’ve been framed!”

The two of you end up laughing as he walks back to the main counter to pay for the apples. From up on his shoulders you can see the tops of the trees. Although that’s not particularly impressive considering they’re purposefully pruned to be reachable with the ladders they have on hand. But it is rather pretty being able to see how many apples are truly in the orchard.

“See anyt’in’ up t’ere, short-stack?”

“Not much, but I can smell your bullshit.”

“Haha, very funny.”

Jackie pays for the apples, tossing you off his shoulders so he can catch you in his arms like the hero he is. You think you’d be used to this, but he never warns you, and you still scream every time. And you know he enjoys not warning you purely for the reactions you give. 

“Hey t’ere, sweetheart.”

“Bitch.”

He cackles as he sets you down, dusting off your shoulders and gives a kiss to your cheek. You scoop up your bag of apples, begrudgingly taking his hand as he walks you back to his truck. He stashes the apples in the backseat, but picks you up and sets you in the bed, which he hops up into as well.

“Jackie. Why.”

“Because I love ye.”

He pulls you against his side, kissing your head as he gets you comfortable. You sigh, relenting to the truck bed cuddles.

“Was picking apples all that bad?”

“Not really. But I don’t t’ink most men would have complained havin’ t’eir head crushed between t’eir partner’s t’ighs.”

“JACKIE-”

“Kidding! But no, I’m never gonna complain about goin’ on a date wit’ ye.”

“I hope not. It’s almost like you like me or something.”

“Allegedly.”

You rest your head on his shoulder, admiring the view with him, as much of a pill as he is.

[sinadukek]

Title: Strangers at the Bayou: Part 4

Character: Isaac x reader

---

The days after that night passed in a strange haze. You felt the bayou around you, under your skin, like a heartbeat that wasn’t your own. Sometimes, late at night, you’d hear whispers in the trees, voices carried on the wind, drawing you deeper into its mysteries. And Isaac—Isaac was there, always hovering just out of sight, watching, waiting.

One evening, after everyone else had gone to bed, you found yourself drawn to the edge of the bayou. The sky was painted in shades of deep blue and violet, the air thick with the scent of damp earth and moss. And there, standing in the shadows, was Isaac.

He watched you with that familiar intensity, his gaze tracing over you as you approached. “Can’t stay away, can you?” he murmured, a dark smile playing on his lips.

You stopped just short of him, your heart racing as his eyes met yours. “Neither can you,” you replied, unable to keep the edge out of your voice.

Isaac’s smile faded slightly, his gaze softening as he took a step closer, reaching out to brush a strand of hair from your face. “It’s not me you’re tied to anymore,” he whispered. “It’s the bayou. You feel it, don’t you? It’s got its hold on you now, same as it’s got on me.”

You swallowed, the truth of his words settling over you like a weight. “What does that mean?”

Isaac’s hand lingered on your cheek, his thumb brushing over your skin in a way that sent a thrill through you. “It means there ain’t no goin’ back,” he murmured, his voice barely more than a whisper. “Once the bayou claims you, it don’t let you go. And it’s claimed you, darlin’. Just like it claimed me.”

A shiver ran through you at his words, a mixture of fear and exhilaration. But even as the warning settled over you, you couldn’t bring yourself to pull away from him.

Instead, you found yourself stepping closer, your hand reaching up to rest against his chest, feeling the warmth of his skin through the thin fabric of his shirt. “Then show me,” you whispered, your voice steady despite the racing of your heart. “Show me what it means to belong to the bayou.”

Isaac’s eyes darkened, his hand slipping to the back of your neck as he leaned in, his lips capturing yours in a kiss that was both tender and possessive, claiming you in a way that made your pulse quicken. His other arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you against him as the bayou around you seemed to come alive, the air thick with an energy that was almost electric.

When he finally pulled back, his gaze was intense, his breath coming in soft, shallow gasps. “You’re playin’ with fire,” he murmured, a hint of warning in his voice. “But I reckon you already know that.”

You looked up at him, feeling a strange calm settle over you. “Maybe that’s what I want.”

He studied you for a long moment, his expression unreadable, before he took your hand, leading you deeper into the trees, where the shadows grew thicker and the air seemed to hum with a life of its own.

---

Isaac led you to a hidden clearing, the ground blanketed in moss, the trees towering overhead, their branches weaving together like a canopy. The moonlight filtered through the leaves, casting dappled shadows across the ground.

“This is where it happened,” he murmured, his gaze distant, as though he were looking at something only he could see. “Where the bayou claimed me. Where I made my choice.”

You felt a chill run through you at his words, but you forced yourself to keep your voice steady. “And you don’t regret it?”

He was silent for a moment, his gaze flickering over the clearing before he looked back at you. “Regret’s a funny thing out here,” he said softly, his voice tinged with something you couldn’t quite place. “The bayou don’t care about your past or what you leave behind. All it cares about is what you’re willin’ to give.”

You swallowed, the weight of his words settling over you. “And what did you give?”

Isaac’s gaze darkened, his jaw tightening. “Everything.”

The word hung heavy in the air, a reminder of the cost of giving yourself over to the bayou. But even as the warning lingered, you felt a strange sense of calm, a quiet certainty that you were where you were meant to be.

Isaac stepped closer, his hand reaching up to cup your face, his touch grounding you. “You don’t have to do this,” he murmured, his voice low, a hint of vulnerability breaking through his usual calm. “You could still turn back, leave this place before it’s too late.”

But you knew, deep down, that you wouldn’t. Couldn’t. The bayou had its hold on you now, just as it had on him.

“I don’t want to leave,” you whispered, your voice steady as you looked up at him. “I’m not afraid.”

A flicker of something crossed his face, something almost like relief, before he leaned in, his lips capturing yours in a kiss that was as dark and consuming as the bayou itself. His hands slid down to your waist, pulling you against him, his touch igniting a fire within you that seemed to burn away any lingering doubts.

The bayou around you pulsed with life, the air thick with an energy that seemed to flow through you, binding you to this place, to him. You could feel the darkness settling into your bones, feel the weight of the bayou’s pull anchoring you to its depths.

When he finally pulled back, his gaze was dark, his fingers tracing over your face as though he were memorizing every detail. “You belong here now,” he murmured, his voice soft, reverent. “And there’s no goin’ back.”

You nodded, the truth of his words settling over you like a weight. But even as the reality of what you’d given sank in, you felt a strange sense of peace, a quiet certainty that you were exactly where you were meant to be.

Isaac’s hand found yours, his grip warm and steady as he led you deeper into the bayou, where the shadows grew thicker, the trees towering overhead like silent sentinels. The bayou around you seemed to come alive, the air humming with a life of its own, as though welcoming you into its depths.

And as you walked side by side, you felt the weight of the bayou’s embrace settling over you, binding you to this place, to him, in a way that was dark, consuming, and utterly unbreakable.

[applicationforrelease]

🎶✨when u get this, list 5 songs u like to listen to, publish. then, send this ask to 10 of your favorite followers (positivity is cool)🎶✨

goin through my july playlist rn

1. love cats- the cure

2. luna de xelajù - gaby moreno (feat. oscar isaac)

3. morning elvis live at denver ball arena - florence and the machine (feat. ethel cain)

4. tumbleweeds- jesse woods

5. si una vez- selena

@ anyone i cant remember ur usernames bc im stupid

[hieromonkcharbel]

In St. Isaac the Syrian, I have encountered someone like no other. Even among the Fathers, East and West, whom I have engaged over these past thirty years, Isaac stands alone; which admittedly is to say a lot. When I first picked up his Ascetical Homilies and heard them described thus: "If all the writings of the desert fathers which teach us concerning watchfulness and prayer were lost and the writings of Abba Isaac the Syrian alone survived, they would suffice to teach one from the beginning to end concerning the life of stillness and prayer. They are the Alpha and Omega of the life of watchfulness and interior prayer, and alone suffice to guide one from his first steps to perfection," I was certainly intrigued but thought it simply to be hyperbole. Of all the the Fathers we have studied in groups at the Oratory, St. Isaac (unfamiliar in name and stature) garnered the least amount of interest; especially in comparison to the somewhat better known Cassian and Climacus. His style of writing was certainly different from the others; not Conferences or Steps but rather Homilies. They were exhortative, meant to set the heart afire for the love of God; not simply to be read or studied but to be received as a calling as sure and as strong as the Lord's "Follow Me". As true homilies, they arose from a heart that had experienced that call and had found his life turned upside down; only then to discover true Life.

After a year passed, with the homilies being read aloud and verbatim in our small group, the image of St. Isaac became clearer and with it his writings more and more compelling. The thought would echo following each group that "after hearing this there was no going back to looking at one's life as before." To do so one would have to live in complete denial - would have to silence the conscience. Uneasiness with oneself and one's life is the necessary prelude to conversion. St. Isaac at every turn anticipates such unease and resistance, expecting that it would arise and gently yet persistently beckons the listener to move ever forward. Now the words of another describing St. Isaac no longer seemed hyperbolic: "Isaac is the mirror. There you will behold yourself. The mirror is so that we may see if we have any shortcoming, any smudge on our face, in order to remove it, to cleanse ourselves..... In Abba Isaac you will behold your thoughts, what they are thinking. Your feet, where they are going. Your eyes, if they have light and see. There you will find many sure and unerring ways in order to be helped."

Indeed, St. Isaac the Syrian was like no other. However, it was in the reflections of Archimandrite Vasileios, Abbot of Iveron Monastery on Mount Athos, that I finally found one who captured the full extent of the extraordinary nature of the man, the Saint, I have come to revere beyond all expectation. Here was one through whom the hitherto unknown and untouched was revealed.

"The best is of everything the measure." Man is the measure - the holy person. And St. Isaac is a measure for man, for life and art and action.

Look at where he is! The way he lives! The way he writes! What poetry, what philosophy, what psychology he produces! Look at the way he acts, the way he keeps silence, the way he moves and the way he remains still! Is it possible to judge people by the yardstick of St. Isaac? Is he not a great man, supremely great, unique? Is it not unfair or impertinent to compare everyone else - ordinary people like us - with figures of this stature? I would have no hesitation in answering: NO. If he were someone who had been very active in a particular field, or who had some altogether exceptional natural gifts by which he astonished all mankind, then it would not be right to take him as a yardstick to judge and compare other people. But something different is goin on here: this Abba is supremely great and supremely human. He is at once grand and affable. In his presence, the great feel insignificant and the small take courage and feel able to function.

He does not flatter the one, nor does he despise the other. He is not ignorant of anyone's sufferings, their propensities or sorrows. He himself is a complete whole. A mature fruit of the Spirit, which shows its maturity by its color, aroma, softness and taste.

St. Isaac the Syrian is humane, humble. He understands, he has a deep knowledge of the weaknesses of the suffering world. He is not some stern judge or merciless inquisitor. He knows all about our weaknesses and our poverty; he shares in our nature and - at the same time - partakes in the joy and consolation of the age to come.

He does not argue with anyone. He provides opportunities and waits. He speaks the truths and leaves it to work within us.

Great as he is, he respects those who are small, who are humble. He respects their struggles and their confessions, even more than they themselves do, given that they all live to a greater or lesser extent within the realm of corruption, rivalry, jealousy, and of the effort to go beyond all this.

The Abba does not tell you, by his life and by his writings, “Abandon your struggle”. He does not reject your efforts. He does not deny you the joy that comes from them. He wants to liberate you from the cycle of corruption: to break down the dam that blocks your progress, and push you out onto the fathomless waters of the mystery of life.

He can see that you are closing yourself up. You imprison your inner person which thirsts for freedom. You are stymieing your development, narrowing the horizons of your life, depriving yourself of the openings towards new expansion- the deaths and resurrections - which dignify man and the endless and eternal grace that come to you.

As you follow St. Isaac faithfully, you go deeper into man. And every person enters into you. All together you go forward as brothers towards the new creation; you are able to breathe, in the still air of unfettered freedom. Together you undergo increase without end and ceaseless extension, even as you are humbled, as you “contract”, and you sacrifice yourselves for what is greatest.

It is possible, however, for man to be grafted into an everlasting tree. He can become a “branch of the vine of life“. His ascesis can be linked with another ascesis. He can be baptized in his entirety. He can offer himself, he can die, as true lovers of Truth seek to do. And as he dies and is buried with Jesus in His death, he can be raised up with Him into a new life.

The journey, the extension, the ascent does not stop at some point. You keep on advancing. You divest yourself of the desire to project yourself. You abandon defensiveness. Everything does you good. You are concerned with something else. You avoid things human, and you find human beings. You attain to silence. And your words and your life speak in a different way.

If you are demanding in your life, you can come into contact with St. Isaac. He will initiate you into hidden mysteries. He will meet you where you yourself stop. He will take you by the hand when you feel you cannot go any higher. He will help you make progress along your own path. He will reveal to you - you will see and experience yourself - that kingdom of God which is to come is given to human beings even from today.

And St. Isaac remains a criterion and a measure for this life and the next, for your conduct, for action and contemplation, for dealing with every happiness or disaster, for concealing and revealing, for silence and speech.

When you come back to St. Isaac after some experience, after coming into contact with a different logic, a different character, ethos or even speech, the impression is always the same: at every point, in every subject - he gets full marks. There is no other yardstick more stable, so as to give you a genuine standard for judging everything: human behavior, philosophy of life, use of time, progress from the temporary to the eternal, strictness and leniency. . .

How is it that he does not have a single loose phrase! There is not a single appearance he makes, a way he deals with something, the nature of criticism, that would not leave you in awe! Here we have the offspring of a good and blessed hour. A fruit that is ripe, that attracts and satisfies every hunger. An understanding that embraces all the world. A weeping that softens the heart. A figure that inspires every character. A blessing that extends to every occupation and path that a person might choose to take: the musician finds harmony. The philosopher, wisdom. The anthropologist and psychiatrist, the fullness of their science. The revolutionary finds strength. The hesychast, guidance. The old person, understanding and companionship. The young person, wind for his sails to adventure onto the most open and stormy of seas and even beyond. The father, a teacher in how to behave to his children. The husband, guidance in living with his wife. The mother, infinite love, delicacy and tenderness. Someone on the point of death finds consolation. Someone embroiled in difficulties finds a way out. The prisoner serving life finds absolute freedom of movement and living. The patient incurably sick finds divine visitation and is taken up, with his whole body, into a place, a realm and a way of life where everything is transformed into an outpouring of tears of gratitude.

He is in a place where no one else is. And yet he finds everyone, in harmony. And everyone unfailingly regards him as their own person, the only one who understands them with delicacy and tact. He heals their passions, he gives them courage, he “slaughters” them with his utter compassion.

Suppose some person or people fell down dead, wounded by something that other people said or did, albeit unintentionally: this Abba forgives things that are unforgivable to most people. He is familiar with the inconceivable. He soothes the pain of murderers. He raises up the life of those who have been killed. He gives light to the blind. He gives feet to the lame and makes hardened criminals act like children, innocent, guileless and unformed.

How does this happen? It was a gift bestowed on him because he received directly the blessing of the whole Godhead in the Trinity, because the auspicious time came when, through humility, he offered everything forever to the One and Only. And the One gave him the eternity of blessing in all his being for evermore.

It seems that when he was born, he was baptized. He was baptized indeed into the death of Jesus. And he pursued a way of life that surpasses life and death.

And when he died, this man full of holiness and above measure, he himself passed into life in its completeness in a different manner. You do not know whether his presence was more vivid when he was living this temporary life, or whether his help and support for all is more active now that he has left history and his life in the flesh - now that, in perceptible terms, he has gone away from us all.

His life has been extended through death. His intellect has been illumined through Grace; his body is filled with the life that transcends the whole world. He has discovered a different basis for support; a different manner of conduct; a different way of perceiving assurance; a different love of truth; a different Truth - an incomprehensible and ineffable truth, which is identified with mercy. And this state, this logic, this ethos, this freedom, this delicacy, this undaunted fearlessness, have shaped and formed his entire being, his way of life and his existence.

So in him "before" and "after" are not separated. The same applies to strictness and leniency; to speech and silence, immobility and movement, life and death, truth and love, light and darkness, struggle and stillness. This is because in his entirety, with the whole body of his existence, he has attained to a state above existence. He has advanced to the point where everything ceases: activity, struggle, prayer, freedom. Everything that he loved, that he aimed for and achieved, has been superseded. It has all passed into another realm and way of life, one that is strange, inaccessible to man. And that which is inaccessible and unattainable - for man - has taken St. Isaac himself, with all his wares, to that place.

He vanished, was lost. And he found himself in a different manner, in perpetuity; he was there even for those who had not been looking for him, who had not known him, who had never be interested in his life, his words, and his interests.

Even if many people were not interested, St. Isaac was interested. And because he wore himself out, shared himself, broke himself to pieces, he found himself in a different way; he was given a self by the One and Only.

And now, it is this self risen from the dead, found after it was lost, the self over which "death has no more dominion", that he has scattered and continues to scatter, like a blessing of charity and a wealth of understanding for all. From no one does he ask anything for himself, wishing only for others to act freely, hoping in Christ Jesus. And for them to know that if at some time they find themselves at a point where there road is ending, their daylight is fading, where loneliness overwhelms them . . . then they should not go to pieces. They should be patient for a while. They should wait. And a door will open; an open road will stretch before them; light that knows no evening will rise; and the cosmic chaos which through loneliness pierced their being will be filled with a presence of love, of charity. Something unrevealed and unknown to them will be revealed.

They will hear things unheard, they will touch things intangible. They will be at ease. And they themselves will go on in a different way, as different people, continuing their endless journey which is nothing other than He who is the most holy Passover and endless extension.

Archimandrite Vasileios

Abbot of Iveron Monastery, Mount Athos

[joyful-soul-collector]

The Two Faces Of January

Whatever my reactions are to this, blame @raven-rk they told me to watch it. Also if anyone wants to send me recs of oscar isaac movies to watch (or any movies?? you want my gay ass to react to??) go ahead and suggest em, I'm all ears. You too, can be responsible for an unhinged reaction post

All I know about this movie is the one sentence description on HBO MAX and that Oscar Isaac is in it let's GO motherfuckers

Oop there he is

Oh look its Aragorn

Everything Oscar is wearing rn? slut behavior

OH HIS SMILE IS SO CUTE LOOK AT HIM

Rydal is a cool name, stealing that

Oh he's a sneaky little man

I wish smoking weren't so bad for you, it's so damn aesthetic

Idk why Chester doesn't trust him, I mean he doesn't even know Rydal scammed him with that bracelet

Wait does he not trust him cuz he's a person of color. Is this mf just straight up racist. I wouldn't be surprised but still lol cmon bro

Who's this rando

Nice of him to try and return the bracelet he scammed em with lol

Oh shit we fightin'

Oh damn did he kill him?

Oh fuck yeah he ded

Oof, dad passed away only a MONTH ago? Poor guy

Is anyone gonna tell Colette what the hell is goin' on

KITTY

Love this guy scamming rich people, you go Rydal

KITTY

I enjoy the aesthetic of this movie a lot, lots of yellows and browns, makes the cooler colors pop well

Cool that he knows so many languages! I like Rydal so far, he's interesting

Oop Chester is d r o n k

Hope Chester doesn't still remind him of his dad, cuz then his dad would be an asshole...

Oh the intimacy of sharing a cigarette... Again, really wish it weren't so bad for you

I've said it once and I'll say it a million times over: men are always prettiest when they're a bit disheveled

RYDAL IS SO SWEET LOOK AT HIM HELPING THIS WOMAN OUT OF THE BUS

Oop he knooooows

God that bus is fuckin banger, I wanna turn that into a mobile home

Chester you mf, blackmailing Rydal like this

Oh Colette is adorable

Also Rydal's hair rn... Slut shit. Whore behavior

Rydal you sweetheart, standing up for Collette like that

OH THIS IS THAT MOMENT WHERE EVERYONE SAYS HE LOOKS LIKE JAKE LOCKLEY IN THE TANK TOP

I see it, 100%

Ok I hate Chester but his bedhead is 10/10

Jesus this guy has a real drinking problem

Oop Rydal to the rescue

Shiiiiit their pictures are in the paper

Why does this random kid think she can just take people's sunglasses???

HELL YEAH GET HIS ASS RYDAL

Oh they just walkin there huh

Love Zippo lighters, I can do a couple tricks with those, it's quite fun

BRUH WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU WHY'D YA DO THAT

OH SHIT FUCK SHIT IS SHE DEAD??

Ohhhhhhh no....

Wait is Rydal dead too? Did he fuckin kill Rydal? I thought he just knocked him out...

OH GOOD he's okay. He'll be pissed when he finds out about Colette tho

FUCK people saw Rydal leaving those ruins, they're gonna think he did it

Love it when people breathe smoke in the face of someone they hate, fuckin great. ONCE AGAIN, REALLY WISH CIGS DIDN'T KILL YOU

Hell yeah Rydal blackmail the shit outta him

OH SHIT MF ALMOST GOT THROWN OVERBOARD

SHIT fuck shit fuck they're looking for Rydal

Pfft hahaha he's like "if I get caught you're comin' down with me"

Oh damn he called him dad. Yeah his dad must've been right shit then

I forget airports didn't always have nine miles of security to get through

Called it, poor guy had a shit dad

Of COURSE Chester's out here like "forgive your dad everyone expects too much from dads, I hated my dad too"

Hell yeah get tf outta there Rydal

Aw dammit they got him. Hope he can get that confession he needs to be freed

Admit it, do it motherfucker

Ah shit he runnin

OH SHIT THEY SHOT HIM

Dammit I really hope he can get this fuckin confession outta him...

THANK YOU God the one good this Chester does in this whole movie

It's the breaking the cycleeeee, Chester hated HIS shit dad and Rydal hated HIS shit dad so now Chester's gonna be a not shit dad in his last moments mmmmmmmmm

Looks like he really does remind him of his dad in the end. And he went to his funeral in return for the confession

Interesting that he buried the bracelet with Chester instead of Colette. Something something, the immortality of fatherhood and metaphors about breaking cycles and literally burying his previous life and crimes with a man who embodied everything he hated, something something

That was a good movie I quite liked it! Good foreshadowing with the "he reminds me of my dad" comment at the very beginning. Viggo plays a great bad guy. Featuring Slutty Oscar, drunk off his ass Viggo, and poor Kirsten who did not deserve any bad things to happen to her ever, and yet they did

[tartt9]

i need you to come pick me up .

Jamie pushes himself up from his prone position, phone held to his ear. He hadn't been asleep [ luckily, he's not sure if the vibrations of his phone would've woken him; Jamie's always been a notoriously deep sleeper ] so he'd answered on one of the first rings. Jamie would answer a call from anyone he cares about at any time of day - it could be half two and Jeff could be calling him about needing something from the shop, or the middle of their off-day and Isaac could be calling to request his presence at the club, but whatever it is, Jamie would pick up. So it's obvious he's going to pick up when Keeley calls; she's his everything, she has been since the moment he met her. He'll always have the sort of puppy love he had on her when they met, accompanied by the deep, passionate adoration of her that's developed in the years that they've known each other. "Hey, babe," he answers the phone, moving to kick his feet up on the coffee table, rubbing his hand at the back of his neck to alleviate some tension that had developed there since he laid down.

She needs him to come pick her up. Something's wrong. Maybe she's just drunk and can't drive home. Something's terribly wrong, something awful happened. "Are you alright? Are you safe?" Those are his first, most important questions as he pushes himself to his feet, heading to his bedroom quickly to pull on shorts and a hoodie - something comfortable to drive in, something more than the nothing he'd had on when his phone rang. He's not sure what's going on, but if there's paparazzi there, he'd rather not be as nude on their cameras as he was on Lust Conquers All, not when he's trying to take care of Keeley [ he doesn't mind his own nudity, but he doesn't want to drive more attention to Keeley while she might be in disaster mode ]. "Where are you again?" He knew that, when she left, she was heading to some event for KBPR, but he didn't know where exactly the event was, or what sort of event it was - a gala, a photoshoot, a dinner - so the options spiral in his mind. Best case scenario, she's just drunk, she had a good time at her event, and he'd retrieve her car in the morning before she woke up. Worst case scenario... well, there are a thousand of those running through his mind. "What's goin' on, babe? I'm on my way. Just talk to me, yeah?"

@bekeeley // from here !

[beloyaltowhatmatters]

@achanceofforgiveness asked:

John flicked his cigarette into the growing pile of the ends he'd already smoked next to the chopping block. He reached for another one in his pocket, only to find there were no more.

"God fucking dammit!" he snarled into the cold, bitter night. He was beyond pissed. How could he not be? He only almost lost his son hours ago. The sight of his only child bleeding out, cuts all over his clothing and flesh, barely able to stand, was forever burned into his memories. If Rufus hadn't led him and Arthur to where he was, they might've lost him. John would've never forgiven himself. The doctor from Blackwater was inside the house stitching him up. Mary and Karen were doing their best to console Abigail. Sean was probably keeping Uncle away, because if John got his hands on the old son of a bitch, he'd tear him limb from him, and feed him to the bear - had he and Arthur not killed him. (Arthur)

More and more as the days passed Jack reminded Arthur of John. They could both be a little hardheaded, and when they had their mind set on something, little could be said to change that. He could remember when John first wanted to go hunting and prove himself. It didn't turn out as badly as it did with Jack mainly because Arthur caught up with him in time but the similarities were there. He could even understand why Jack was always giving John so much shade for the year he left the group. Even he gave John shit for some time after he came back but John had done more than enough to prove he was trying to make up for all of that. Jack just needed to cut him a little slack like Arthur had.

" I know it's easier said than done but try to relax. The boys goin' to be okay. He might have a few scars like his father but the important thing is that he's alive. " Arthur reminded John. Reaching into the pocket of his Jacket he pulled out a pack of cigarettes and after taking one for himself he held out the pack offering one to John. " I seem more of you in that boy every day. " Just maybe that was the actual scary part. All of them were trying to give Jack a life away from how things used to be. Yet it seemed like Jack's choices were more aimed at being and becoming what none of them wanted for him.

He could only imagine what was going through John's head. He knew what it had been like when he walked up to the little house of Eliza and Isaac to see both of them had been killed. Jack was however alive and maybe now a little wiser about actions having consequences.

Uncle on the other hand was a topic all on its own.

[twothpaste]

fic snippet. lucas & isaac boating hours, feat. worldbuilding, flashbacks within flashbacks, and layers upon layers of remorse.

Lucas' kayak was carved from red cedar. Gold in the morning. Vermilion by sunset. Thread it deftly through any tide, like a needle mending a torn shirt. He learned to paddle when his arms were still made of sticks n' twigs, n' his scars were still cleft in crimson. As were Nowhere's. Weaving the channels between ruptured cliffsides. Dodging grisly swaths of surfaced bedrock. Perilous was the word after - at least, upon first glance. 'Til the Dragon's shadow draped down, to temper the waves. Kid grew into his strength. Sturdy biceps, sure. Muscles not so lean. Ain't your arms that get ya there, though. You row from your core. This vessel was - and still is, in his lonesomest hours - his home away from home. It's his heart that carries it.

Bronson did the bulk of the handiwork. Whittling away the chilly mornings, while kiddo slept off tears n' terrors. "But really," he'd insisted, come Christmastime, "It's a gift from all of us." Jill had beamed her best ear-to-ear grin. Abbey n' Abbot, in their matchin' holiday sweaters, gave meek waves. Tessie'd done a fine job wrapping the goshdarn thing. Leder, from his mile-high vantage, had picked the perfect tree. Lighter lent his axe. And so on.

A hero's greatest thanks, apparently, take the form of smiling sobs.

"It's wonderful. Really. Th.. Thank y'all."

To his left strode Isaac's big ol' canoe. Beige as could be. He'd mentioned need of it, offhand, the spring after. Gruffly resigned himself to the task. Takin' clumsy bites out of a fallen trunk, with an unsharpened carving knife. While jetsam surfaced, and shifted about, in his aching head. Again - the guy was indeed a woodsman. Friend to the trees, n' creatures that be. His role was aptly set. But he was no lumberjack. N' far from a shipwright. In his dreams - to this day - he roams the desert-dry creeks and lakebeds of Appalachia. Searching in vain, for survivors of any clade.

Lighter found him there (or rather, not there at all) on the Sunshine Forest floor. Chipping haphazard pieces. Tree rings laid bare. Scattered about, in choppy chunks.

"… Yer goin' about it all wrong, y'know."

And Isaac leered up at him. Squinting through the crack in his glasses.

He could growl back, if he wanted. Proclaim otherwise. Or shrug it off. Say not a damn thing, n' wait for him to leave. The hermit could tell his forsaken neighbor to go to hell, for all he cared. Made not a lick of difference. His protests were for less than naught. Before he knew it, Lighter n' his boy were at his side, salvaging his wreck. Showin' him the craft. Teach a man to fish. N' all that.

He didn't deserve it, then.

Maybe he does, now. Who's to say.

The vest he had tailored was snug to his chest, and almost familiar. Lucas' was all but identical. "Mm… Maybe make it a size up, if ya could," kid told Tessie. "I'd prob'ly outgrow it in a few months, otherwise." And he'd've been right, by his next birthday. 'Til then, his vest hang slightly loose over him, ruffling in the breeze. Such thoughtful foresight had always distinguished him from the rest.

Isaac wore a badge, as well. Courtesy of Bronson, n' Fuel's apprentice metalwork. It weighed him down. Like every other ounce of generosity. Perhaps this too was an exercise in penance.

They made another for Lucas. He kept it at home. Stowed away, in a little bedside drawer. Ranger or not, never again would he dare pin anything of the sort to his vest, nor jacket, nor any breast pocket.

Call it what you will.

Both boats twined the Murasaki-Highway border, upon this fine 11 AM. Both Rangers kept their eyes peeled. Roving the myriad islets which splattered the Mapson's handiwork, in search of their quarry. A cluster of pink snouts. A ragged, weedy sprout.

Got a tip from the locals, see. An ex-militant encampment, takin' up residence in the asphalt ruins. The Pigpen, they called 'emselves. Proudly. Colonel Hox used to reign as their Napoleon. Three years prior, she n' they had stood in rebellious opposition to Tazmilian civility. Like a gang o' rowdy Lost Boys. But with Peter Pan in prison, and their winter stockpiles dwindling, separatist resolve seemed an increasingly fleeting fantasy. Offers of aid, a less damnable prospect.

"We're overgrown with the little hellions," Hox's guys told Isaac. Barkin' up at him, like tin toy sergeants. "Can't hardly breathe, what for all the spores. You can bash 'em all ya like, but they just puff out more of the shit! N' then five more sprout in their place! If you bleedin' hearts think you can help, be our guest. Here."

Neither soldier would even grace Lucas with a glare. A pair of hoggish masks found their way into Isaac's hands, instead. Battered to hell n' back. Calamine pink. In contrast with the cobalt blue that stared him down.

"Don't get it twisted, now, private. Colonel's only lettin' ya borrow these 'cause of your service history. If it were up to me, though? Heh. I'd let ya both choke to death."

"Noted," answered Isaac . His frown unwavering. "Thank you, Tyson. We'll be back by sundown."

And Tyson froze, for a sec. Sputtering vaguely. Surprised the craven hillbilly oaf had remembered his name. The Rangers took his hesitation as an opportunity to skedaddle. Head back shoreward, n' get to work.

Thus, their first outing had 'em relocating Pigtunias off the sundered Highway flats.

Their latest has 'em on a pontoon. Layin' out a crescent of netting, 'round the Harbor's periphery. Catch whatever garbage may float astray, before it's lost to the wild blue yonder. The motor revs n' rumbles at their ears. Lucas is a stiff, peculiar, not-quite-Lucaslike kind of quiet. In for four counts, through his nose. Out for eight. Teeth barely ajar. Eyes kneading the horizon line. Just as dirty nails knead calloused palms.

He bore the same silence then, too.

Isaac, the selfish prick he'd always been, would carve any quiet into klutzy splinters. Bustling banter was his bane. Small town gossip n' coworker rapport drove him reeling back to the shade. Lips curled, head spinning. A stark reminder of un-belonging. But quiet? Oh, he could hardly hold the peace. Find a clearing, and barrel right in. Fashion a goddamn therapist's couch, on the spot, with his gruesome carpentry skills. It's why he'd said such awful shit to the kid - made a total ass of himself - back before. Why he found himself rambling like a maniac to a goddamn fourteen-year-old, fishin' by a ripped-to-shreds river, about ye olde Forest Service. How his whole pitiful life story had to precede his apologies. And how, therefore, Lucas of all people was the only hapless sap who got to hear either.

"It's alright," the kid had told him. And meant it. At the time, how could he not? With everything that'd drifted up from the depths, in lieu of Leder's bell? Most everyone had lost a mother. A brother - for real, n' for good. N' a few undeserving billions besides. So, who was he to wield a cudgel? To bear grudges down upon clueless traitors, and their countless burdens? "Nah," he'd said. "It's fine." It was fine.

Even though it wasn't.

On the canoe, Isaac broke the silence with a story. That one from the Bible. His namesake. He'd carried it with him since he was small. It tumbled outta some tangential pocket.

Lucas said, low and brittle, he was glad to hear it at sixteen. As opposed to six. The nightmares wouldda been ceaseless.

On the pontoon, Isaac breaks it with a request. Not for his own sake. Someone else's. Progress comes in increments. ...