#his name is Josiah

[s4sharkteeth]

okay for some reason tumblr hates me and won’t let me post two videos back to back so here’s the screenshots of the second one I did

[sidhion]

mm more doodles of him bcs i love love love him

[thirdeyeshaped]

new vampire oc his name is theodor and hes from romania :3

[candiedstrwb]

@almedas     ♡’d     for     a    lyric     starter     !

❛     ——    oh    well    ,    enough    said    .    .    .    i    know    it’s    over    ,    still    ,    i    cling    .    .    .    i    don’t    know    where    else    i    can    go    .     ❜

[caffeinewitchcraft]

The Hero and Hope (part 3/5)

(part 1) (part 2)

Summary: You've been adopted before. That's why you know better than to hope for another chance, especially a second chance with the Bahrs

-----

It’s not that you don’t want to be adopted. You just know that you’re not going to be. You’re the oldest in the orphanage, barely three years away from aging out. People don’t adopt kids your age, especially not obstinate, mean ones like you.

Besides, you’re a Hero. As soon as you master your power, you’ll be compelled to leave and fight evil anyway. That’s why it doesn’t matter if the Bahrs want you or not. You’re not somebody that’s supposed to have a family.

You barely remember the first time you were adopted. That was back when the Director of the orphanage was mean and biting. You have a vague memory of gold exchanging hands and leaving in the middle of the night. Your new parents barely looked at you and didn’t call you by your name at all.

You don’t remember a lot of that time. You were five and it was a struggle to go from living with a dozen kids to no one at all. Your new family gave you your own room in their small house and told you not to get underfoot.

The first time you ran away from their house, you didn’t get far. The baker in town brought you back to them and warned them about how kids your age are always slipping out when not paid enough attention.

“If you do it again,” the person who paid for you said, “you’re going straight back to the orphanage.”

And you do.

--------.

The day of the picnic, every kid wakes up early without being told.

You watch as Hera fusses over all the younger ones, straightening new shirts and brushing dust off knees. Josiah is reading one of the newest books Mrs. Bahr – Marie – brought, biting the skin on the side of his thumb. You snag Hera as she races to find Annie some ribbon for her hair.

“Hold up, let me brush your hair first,” you say.

Hera frantically pats the braids she slept in. ��I forgot about my hair!” She turns large, watery eyes on you. “Islaaaa!”

You snort and help her unwind each braid. She decides to leave it down, charmed by the waves the braids left in her hair. Your hands don’t shake as you work even though your heart is racing. Today is the day of the picnic.

Today might be the day the Bahrs pick one of you to adopt. The younger kids don’t know that, the information carefully hidden from them, but Hera knows. Director Sarah knows. You know.

It’s been a long time since you felt this sort of anxiety. The second time you were adopted was just before the Winter and it wasn’t bad at first. The couple who adopted you ran an inn in town. It was exciting to have your own room and your new mother wanted you to call her Mom right away. Six-years-old and you were so excited just to be able to call someone your parent. This time you were going to listen. You weren’t going to run away or complain if their house felt too big and too lonely. This time you were going to get it right.

You didn’t think about what they wanted from you in exchange.

It wasn’t until the second week when they found out you weren’t really much use for anything that things started getting bad.

You breathe in through your nose and proclaim Hera’s hair finished. She thanks you and races off to find Annie, determined to put the ribbon she picked in the younger girl’s hair.

The Bahrs aren’t like the innkeepers. Whoever they adopt won’t be expected to know how to read or do math or how to take care of horses. If they are required to then Marie and Ivan will teach them first. Both have spent enough time at the orphanage for you to believe that. Isn’t it Marie who’s teaching all of you your letters? Wasn’t it Ivan who taught you how to better put up a fence?

Whoever they choose will be fine, you think. It’s both a relief and a sting. Whoever they choose will be fine. It’s just probably not going to be you. Not when Annie is so sweet and social and Hera is so strong and kind. Not when Josiah works so hard to soak up everything they have to teach him.

“Is everyone ready?” Director Sarah asks. She’s standing by the door. Her clothes are nicer than usual too, a dress made of a light blue fabric you’ve never seen before. Her hair is carefully combed back into an updo and fastened with a tie Hera made for her last winter. She runs a critical eye over all of you. “You all look very nice. Josiah, tie your shoes, please. Annie, leave the slate in your room, what you do if you lost it? Honestly…”

You let Director Sarah fuss over the kids, slipping out the door ahead of everyone. You don’t own a dress, but the button-down shirt is new and starched. Director Sarah helped you embroider bluebells on the collar and sleeves, and you think it turned out well.

You may not be getting adopted today, but you’re excited to see the Bahr family’s estate. The sun is warm overhead, the sky an endless blue. The summer is mild this year, perfect for a party. Isn’t that what Mr. Bahr – Ivan – told you to think of it as? A party. No strings attached.

A wagon comes up the lane. The Bahr family’s home is too far for the younger kids to walk to, past the town and closer to the Lord’s manor. They said they’d send a wagon for all of you, but something still clenches in your chest when you actually see it. Wagons are an expense the orphanage can’t justify, but, apparently, the Bahrs can.

The driver smiles kindly when he pulls up next to you. “Everyone ready to go?”

Before you can answer, the kids are pouring out the front door, chattering excitedly. You help Director Sarah lift the smaller ones into the seats near the front. The wagon is open topped, so Director Sarah can look over everyone sternly, twisting around in her spot next to the driver.

“No playing during the ride,” she instructs. “Mr. Dallen is very kindly driving us so you must listen to him, alright?”

Mr. Dallen also turns around. “I don’t have too many rules,” he says. He pretends to think, scratching his thick beard.  He grins “Don’t fall out!”

He’s joking, but that’s why you’re stationed at the back of the wagon. From your seat, you’ll be able to stop any roughhousing before “falling out” becomes a real danger. Already you’re eyeing the way Josiah is fidgeting. He’s incredibly calm when he’s reading, but otherwise he’s like a tornado. There’s a reason he’s the one that fell into the well in the first place. Hera sits primly next to him, her hands folded in her lap. You can tell she’s watching him from the corner of her eye. There’s a reason she’s the one who pulled Josiah out of the well.

Mr. Dallen directs the horses away from the orphanage, through the orchard, and along the road cutting through the fields. When you’re going to the forest to hunt, you take the narrower path that winds through the orchard and more directly into the tree line. The wagon is forced to stay on the wider road where the horses won’t sink into any mud and the wagon wheels won’t catch on rocks or dense foliage.

After the fields is the town. The kids wave to every Villager and Blacksmith they see. “Good day!” “Morning!” “We’re going to a picnic!” Hera pulls Annie back from the edge of the wagon before she tips over onto the street.

You slouch in your seat, wishing you were wearing a hat. While the first family who adopted you left town ages ago to live in the Capital, the innkeepers are still around. You don’t look as you pass their business and try not to listen to Josiah carefully sounding out the name of their inn.

When you open your eyes, Director Sarah is looking at you. You okay? She mouths. She wasn’t at the orphanage for your first adoption, but she was there for the innkeepers. You feign going to sleep. Just tired. She pretends to believe you and turns back to continue chatting with Mr. Dallen.

The kids are excited to go through the forest. Many of them are too young to even go into town with Director Sarah, a privilege you earn at ten years old, and they point to every bird, deer and mushroom they see amongst the trees. You let the sound of nature and the kids��� chatter lull you into a sort of meditation. The estate is only thirty minutes away now that you’re out of town.

You’re nearly dropping off to sleep when Director Sarah’s voice changes in pitch. Your sensitive hearing can pick up a thread of concern in her voice. What makes Director Sarah concerned, makes you concerned.

“—demons in the woods,” Sarah is saying very quietly. She glances out of her peripherals towards the back to make sure no kids are listening. If she notices how you’re only pretending to sleep, she doesn’t show any sign of it. “Shouldn’t we ask the kids to be quiet?”

“The Lord’s Knights have been patrolling,” Mr. Dallen says equally quietly. You can see him scan the trees for a moment before he smiles reassuringly at Director Sarah. “We’ll be okay so long as we stick to the road.”

“Alright.”

You keep a closer eye on the surrounding forest.

“There! There it is!”

Annie’s shout drags you attention from a (suspiciously) shadowed gully. The woods have thinned enough that hedges of the Bahrs’ estate can be seen. You’ve only been out this far once, a long, long time ago. You’ve never been past this point.

You’re just as surprised as the rest of the kids when the hedges give way to a castle.

That’s not a manor. You’ve never seen either, but you’re sure of this. Manors are supposed to look like the orphanage or any of the buildings in town, just larger. The Bahrs’ home has towers. The front doors are three times the height of a regular one and you can see that the handles and knockers are made of copper. The stone isn’t white like the castles in picture books, but it’s clean and neatly cut.

“Wow,” Hera breathes.

You agree.

Mr. Dallen directs the horses right up the main driveway, cheerfully explaining that the roses are the flower of the estate, aren’t they beautiful? Even Hera can only manage a faint noise of agreement, eyes wide on the house.

“The party’s around back,” Mr. Dallen says cheerfully. He clicks his tongue and the horses stop just short of the front doors. “I’ll take you there.”

Around back. You expect him to lead you around the side of the castle, past rows of rose bushes and the fountains that are tucked between the hedges. Instead, Mr. Dallen opens the front doors without knocking and directs everyone to follow him.

You’ve never seen anywhere so grand. The kids follow Mr. Dallen in hushed awe, gaping at the marble staircase that bisects the foyer. There are two chandeliers to either side of the grand staircase that each send a spray of rainbow light across the walls. Is the manor a little bare? The walls empty of portraits and artwork? You eye a pair of crossed axes hanging just beyond the shadow of the staircase.

“They’re ordering portraits from the Capital,” Mr. Dallen says, gesturing carelessly to the space where a portrait of the homeowners might hang. Then under his breath, “Unless they hang more swords there instead.”

“Excuse me?” Hera asks.

“Nothing,” Mr. Dallen says cheerfully. He guides them past the staircase and a row of doors to the back of the house. The large doors at the back of the house are already open. Mr. Dallen cups a hand over his mouth and calls, “Ho ho, look here! Look who’s arrived!”

“Surprise!” Ivan shouts, throwing his hands up in the air. He’s standing on the stone patio just outside the house, but he’s not the only one. Mrs. Bahr is next to him, her hands clasped in front of her, beaming. Behind her is a dozen other adults. “It’s a party!”

“Welcome,” Mrs. Bahr says warmly. She’s dressed elegantly in a long, red tunic that’s embroidered with the Lord’s crest. The Lord is here as well, his golden hair and eyes unmistakable even amongst the crowd. “Welcome to our home.”

You’re already at the back of the group, but you hang back further as the younger kids cautiously step out into the sun. Your eyes flick from face to face. You recognize a few of the people. There’s the Baker from town and her wife, there’s the Merchant that comes through every third week, there’s the Villager that donates zucchini—

And there are the innkeepers who, once upon a time, told you to call them your parents. They’re older than you remember, light hair gone silver in the sun, but it’s them. They’re right by the Lord, eagerly waiting near him for the opportunity to talk.

It’s very clear what this is. You watch the kids stream out onto the patio to greet Ivan and Marie. The other adults study the kids like zoo animals, eyes flicking to their clean party outfits to their happy faces. This isn’t a party for the kids. It’s a party for them. They’re showing off to each other. Look at how great they are! They’re helping out the poor orphan kids! You’re very familiar with these sort of events from back when the other Director was in charge. You just didn’t think you’d ever have to be near one again.

You take a step back and are stopped by Director Sarah.

“It’s okay, Isla,” Director Sarah murmurs. You didn’t even notice her falling back to your side. Her hand is gentle on your elbow. “It’s not what you think.”

Not what you think? You watch the Villager who runs the general store ask Josiah about the book he’s reading. The Bahrs are proudly introducing Annie and Hera to the Lord. There is something different about it, but you can’t quite put your finger on it. All you can see is the way the adults are watching the kids. You breathe in through your nose like Ivan taught you. In. Out. “What is it?”

“Fixing my mistake,” Director Sarah says.

That gets your attention. Your eyes dart from the happy scene in front of you to Sarah and back again. With the white umbrellas over the food tables, the streamers strung between garden trellises, and the kids dressed in their best, it looks like a painting. In contract, Sarah’s lips are pursed and the shadows of the house make her appear more tired than she is.

“There’s a parlor,” Mr. Dallen says. You jump when he speaks and he grimaces apologetically. He jerks a thumb over his shoulder. “If you need to talk.”

Marie is looking over the heads of the kids to where you’re standing, a frown on her face. She mouths your name, concern in her eyes. Your jaw clenches when the Merchant steps in front of her, hiding you from view.

“Yeah,” you say. “Let’s talk.” You spin on your heel.

Sarah follows you silently. You feel wrong-footed and caged by the entire situation. This was supposed to be a picnic, wasn’t it? No strings attached? Your dress shirt is tight around your neck and you flick open the top button.

“I should have told you,” Sarah says as soon as the door closes. There are two couches in the room adjacent to a large window that overlooks the party. Neither of you sits down. Sarah folds her hands in front of her skirts. “I apologize.”

“What are they doing here?” you ask. You gesture to the window. “The Lord, I understand. He’s the Lord. But the Baker? The Merchant?” You bark a laugh. “They’re not here to adopt anyone.”

“Maybe not,” Sarah says evenly, “but they’re good connections to have.”

“Connections?” You scoff. You remember watching the empty road through that winter nearly seven years ago. “What good are their connections?”

“Annie loves baking,” Sarah says. She doesn’t flinch in the face of your anger. She watches you calmly and doesn’t so much as shift her weight when you start to pace. “The Baker is a good connection for her to have, even if she doesn’t want to adopt. Many of the shopkeepers in town are open to taking on apprentices.”

You falter. You didn’t think about that. Your eyes drift towards the window. You can hear Hera laughing and Josiah complaining good naturedly. You’re nearly 15, just a few years away from aging out. You can’t say you’ve never thought about the future before. “They said they’d be willing to do that?”

“Who knows what the future holds?” Sarah sighs and goes to take a seat on the sofa. She makes a sound low in her throat when she sits. “That wagon ride was not good for my back.”

“I don’t trust them,” you say. You stop pacing to sit opposite her. From this point in the room, you can see the party on the patio. They can also see you. Ivan doesn’t turn away from the dessert table, but you can sense his attention on you. You swallow. “We don’t need anything from them.”

“I agree,” Sarah says.

You blink. “What?”

Sarah laughs. It’s not her usual laugh that she shows the kids, gentle and fond and warm. It’s cold and a little sharp. You’ve only heard it once before when the snow finally melted, chasing the snow spirits away, and the town came to see what had become of the orphanage.

“You and I are a lot alike,” Sarah says. Her eyes drift somewhere distant. “Like you, I remember that Winter. I remember waiting for any sort of response to our pleas. I remember hearing nothing back. The helplessness I felt as our stores dwindled…” Her voice cracks. She shakes herself, swallowing hard. “Well. I don’t need to tell you what their lack of aid cost us.”

It takes you two tries to speak. Director Sarah feels the same way as you. “So why?”

“Why did I agree to the party?”

“Yes.”

“Because I need to forgive, not forget, if I want to fix my mistake,” Sarah says. Her lips thin. “I’m not perfect. Since I’ve been Director of the orphanage, there hasn’t been a single new hire. There have been no volunteers or extracurricular programs for the kids. I’ve kept us hidden.”

“You’ve kept us protected,” you say. Things under Director Sarah have always been better than what they were before. The kids are happier and brighter, and the pantry is always full. No one disappears in the middle of the night or dies under her watch. “We know you have.”

“I’ve tried,” Sarah says. She opens her hands, palms facing the ceiling. “I rebuilt the orphanage to be independent. I thought that if we were completely self-sustaining, we’d be alright. But in doing so I’ve hurt the children. The orphanage is not supposed to be forever. They need connections with people, with the town, for when they grow up.”

“That—” You don’t know what you’re going to say. You fall silent, your anger fizzling out in your chest. She’s right. As much as you want everyone to stay together, you know that can’t happen. What Sarah is saying isn’t wrong, but… “Today is supposed to be for the kids. Not for them to feel better about themselves helping the orphans.”

“The kids are having fun,” Sarah says. There’s a peal of laughter from outside as if to underscore her words. She smiles as she stands. “Kids includes you too, you know. Let me worry about the adults.”

You stand too. You know the conversation is coming to a close and that, soon, you’ll be expected to go out there with Sarah. “Um…”

“Yes?”

You nearly don’t say it. But the way Sarah is waiting for you to speak is so patient that you muster up the courage. “The innkeepers are here. They aren’t…?”

Again, you’re not sure what you’re about to say. There’s a sick fear in your stomach that they’re here to tell the Bahrs all about how awful you were when you with them. Maybe they’re looking for another kid to demand too much of. Maybe they’re here because, in the end, you didn’t mean anything to them and what happened between you and them doesn’t make a difference--

Even if you don’t know what you’re going to say, Sarah must. Her smile darkens. “I’ll take care of the adults,” she repeats. She smooths her hand over your hair when you follow her to the door. “Why don’t you stay in here for a moment? I’ll just have a word with the innkeepers.”

You wait in the parlor while Sarah joins the party. You twist your hands together to keep from picking at the embroidery on your sleeves. You almost want to stop Sarah from talking to the innkeepers. It was so long ago, before the Winter, it shouldn’t matter anymore. You’re being ridiculous to be so worried about them when there are bigger things going on. You—

Hera throws open the door to the parlor. Her braids are a little frizzy already and there’s a flush high on her cheeks. “Isla! We’re playing team tag and you’re the only one fast enough to catch Marie. Come on!”

You don’t have the option to say no. Hera yanks you by the sleeve out onto the patio. The guests are much more dispersed now, pockets of adults around this table or that. They’re not studying the kids now. They’re just watching them as they run to and fro across the lawn, bemused smiles on their faces.

Ivan cheers when he sees you. Like Hera, his face is bright red. “Isla!” he pants. “You’re on my team!”

Marie sprints past, her skirts hiked up to her knee. She runs as if she’s in full armor, strides long and shoulders square. You wonder if she notices no one is chasing her anymore. “It won’t be enough!” she cries.

Josiah is laying on the grass. He chucks his fist in the air. “Go, Marie! Go!” He gasps for breath. “We’re unstoppable.”

“You’re out,” Annie tells him crossly. She’s also laying flat on her back, but seems to be faring better in the breathing department. “You’ve stopped.”

“Shut it—”

You scan the crowd. You don’t see the innkeepers anywhere, not even near where the Lord is sitting. You look over your shoulder back towards the house just in time to see Director Sarah disappearing around the corner. She’s talking to someone just ahead of her. Is she escorting the innkeepers out?

“Isla?” Hera slips her hand in yours. Her eyes are knowing. “You okay?”

You clear your throat, aware of all the eyes on you. You tuck  some hair that’s escaped her braid behind her ear. “Just trying to decide which team I should join.”

Ivan cries out in dismay. “Isla, please!”

Grinning, you join the game.

-----

(part 1) (part 2)

Thanks for reading! If you'd like to read the conclusion of Isla's tale before next week, please consider supporting me on Patreon (X)!

Up this week is a continuation of my Cinderella Retelling, Cinderella Doesn't Believe in Fairytales

[pedrospatch]

fall into temptation | one

Jackson! Joel Miller x Preacher’s Daughter Reader

series masterlist

summary: Of all the women to catch Joel Miller’s attention—it just had to be one of the goddamned preacher’s daughters.

warnings/tags: 18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI. SLIGHT PHYSICAL DESCRIPTION OF READER, mentions of her hair which she can put up into braids as well as her style of clothing. despite the nickname Joel gives her, it does not speak to her body type or size. AGE GAP (reader is in her 20’s and Joel is 56, i know, i know but this is self indulgent because my birthday is next month idk just let me have this one) canon language, canon violence, several mentions of religion, terms pastor and preacher are used interchangeably here and there, mentions of the bible and religious symbols (cross), innocent/virgin reader, very brief scene of attempted sexual assault, no explicit smut (yet). asshole Joel, protective Joel, hints of softish dom Joel (if you squint). reader has two sisters, the only physical description for them is their hair, which they can also braid as well as their style of clothing.

MOODBOARD FOR AESTHETIC PURPOSES ONLY, NO MENTION OF RACE OR BODY TYPE.

word count: 8.4k

Jackson, Wyoming

Fall 2024

Joel had seen him around the community before. 

He’s an older man in his late sixties or possibly his early seventies with thinning, snow white hair and silver, wire rimmed glasses that always seemed to be perched on the tip of his pointed nose. He was a good, kind man from what Joel could gather—offering up warm smiles and friendly waves to anyone who happened to cross his path, stopping to greet and say hello to familiar faces. The hem of his starched white shirt is tucked into pressed black slacks and even from where he stood across the road near the horse stables, Joel noticed the book clutched in his right hand, old and bound in supple, worn black leather with the words Holy Bible etched into the cover in flaked gold lettering.

Jacob, he thinks his name is. Or was it Josiah?

Something biblical—a name fit for a man who was so fucking clearly devoted to the big man upstairs.

Joel knew his own name was a biblical one, but he was the furthest thing from a man of God. After all that he’d done in the past twenty years, there was only one place he was going and that place wasn’t exactly known for its pearly gates or sweet cherub angels playing harps.

Joseph? Was that it? 

He couldn’t be certain.

Not that Joel really even cared to know his name. 

It’d been a couple months since Joel arrived back in Jackson with Ellie after Salt Lake City and the truth of the matter was that he preferred to keep to himself whenever it was possible. Joel had zero interest in getting to know the people of this settlement, not unless he had to for the sake of patrol duties—and that’s only if he hadn’t been able to weasel his way out of getting assigned with a partner who wasn’t Tommy or Maria, the only two people in the whole fucking community Joel could stand being around. Minus his kid of course, but even he and Ellie could really only take each other in small doses lately. Perhaps it was their tense, strained relationship that was to blame for the fact that Joel Miller walked around this place with a standoffish attitude and a permanent scowl plastered on his face. 

Most people were smart enough to scamper off in the opposite direction when they saw him coming. He was never offended by it. It’s what he wanted. He wasn’t here to make friends.

In fact, the closest thing he had come to a friend outside of his brother’s wife was Esther, the woman Maria and Tommy had tried setting him up with when he first got back to Jackson. He wouldn’t go as far as calling her a friend, either. That’s a little too generous. Friend? No, more like a good fuck when he couldn’t drown his bitterness with Seth’s barrel aged bourbon and he was in need of a different kind of distraction.

But there was a reason this particular man piqued his curiosity. Actually, there were three reasons he managed to garner Joel’s attention and all three of those reasons were trailing behind him in an orderly, single file line, each one more fucking gorgeous than the last. He was positive he’d never seen them around before—because how could he possibly forget the faces of the most beautiful women in this town?

They’ve gotta be sisters, Joel thought to himself, his hand resting on the neck of the horse that he’d ridden out to patrol that morning, a dark, chestnut mare named Willow. Although he was supposed to be walking her inside the stables and back into her stall, he found himself far too distracted. While the three women weren’t identical to one another, the similarity in their traits such as hair color and their skin tone confirmed his suspicions that they were related. They all styled their hair in neat halo braids and wore slightly different color variations of the same getup—pressed, long sleeved blouses tucked into knee length floral printed skirts and worn, leather oxford shoes.

Clutching the brown leather strap of his rifle in his opposite hand, Joel leaned himself against Willow and squinted against the bright afternoon sunlight in an effort to get a better look at them. 

The first two were slightly on the older side. If Joel had to take a shot at their age, he would guess the women were in their thirties—a man of fifty six, he still had about two decades on them, easy. Joel let his gaze shift, his dark brown eyes flickering to the last one. His breath audibly hitched in his throat and part of him wondered just how fucking dumb he had to be to be drawn to the youngest one of the three. It couldn’t be fucking possible—you couldn’t be that much older than your mid twenties, if that. 

Joel’s grip on the strap of his rifle tightened. 

All three of you were beautiful beyond words—why the fuck did it have to be you who held over his interest?

“Take a picture,” Maria remarked with a tiny laugh. She dismounted her horse and peered at Joel over the black stallion’s back. “It’ll last longer.”

She’d led that morning’s patrol, her first time back on duty since she had given birth to her son in the spring. Joel had returned to Jackson right on time to meet his one month old nephew, Noah. 

He cleared his throat and shrugged. “Just tryin’ to figure out what their deal is, that’s all.” He paused, then remarked, “Didn’t know polygamy was a thing around here.”

His comment must have struck a nerve in his dear sister in law—fiercely protective of the people who were under her leadership, Maria hadn’t found the sister wives implication the slightest bit amusing. 

“Watch it, Joel,” she admonished, shooting him a warning glare. “He’s the town’s pastor and those girls happen to be his daughters. So let’s keep our wise ass cracks to ourselves, shall we?”

His daughters? He almost couldn’t believe it. Surely the girls must have taken after their mother because they sure as hell didn’t get their good looks from their old man. They hardly looked anything like him.

“Pastor,” Joel repeated with a small hum. He then remembered her pointing out an old church house back during the winter when she’d given him and Ellie the grand tour of the community. “So he ain’t got a real job like the rest of us?”

Maria rolled her eyes. “His job is a real job, Joel. It might be hard for you to believe, but there are still a lot of people of faith around here,” she explained to him. “He provides them with comfort and with hope—”

He snorted sharply through his nose. “Hope?”

“Yes, hope,” she snapped at him. 

“Hope for what, Maria? That things will go back to fuckin’ normal? That the end of the world is temporary?”

Maria crossed her arms over her chest, jutting her chin. “Some people never lose hope, Joel. There’s a lot of people who need this man and he serves a much bigger purpose than what you’re giving him credit for.”

“And what about the girls? They have it easy too? Do they just stand there lookin’ pretty on Sundays while their old man reads verses out loud from the most useless fuckin’ book known to man?”

“If you must know, they work in the schoolhouse,” she answered, tossing him another glare. “They’re teachers. The oldest one, she teaches Ellie’s class. The middle one, she teaches the primary school aged children and the youngest? She takes care of all of our little ones. She prepares our preschool kids for her sister’s class by teaching them numbers and basic literacy. Shows them how to start counting, reading and writing, things like that. She also helps run the commune’s daycare.”

“At least they have real jobs,” Joel mumbled under his breath. 

“What was that?”

He feigned innocence. “Nothin’. Nothin’ at all.”

“That’s exactly what I thought.” Maria pointed her finger at him. “Come on, let’s get these guys back into their stalls. It was a long ride this morning, I’m sure they could use some rest.” Taking her stallion by the reins, she started leading him over toward Logan, one of the stable hands who helped take in the horses coming back from patrol. 

Joel took Willow’s reins in his hands—but before he could even think of moving another muscle, he glanced up and saw the preacher leading his three daughters past the stables and right past Joel. His self control faltered. All that he could do was stare at you, his eyes fixed on you so blatantly that one of your sisters had taken notice. Grinning, she turned back towards you and lifted a hand to her mouth. She used her palm to shield her lips from Joel’s view and whispered something to you over her shoulder.

Shit. 

He’d been caught gawking.

He thought about making a beeline for the stables but it was too late. 

Perplexed by whatever it was that your older sister had just said to you, you gave her an odd look, but then followed the subtle nod of her head. 

Glimpsing over in his direction, your lips parted in complete surprise and you came to an abrupt halt in the middle of the dirt road when you found your gaze meeting that of the much older, rugged man standing there with a gun slung over his shoulder.

Unsure of what else to do, Joel simply offered you a polite nod of his head. The gesture was innocent enough but it startled you. He could tell by the way you let out a small gasp and turned away from him, your eyes falling to the ground as you scurried to catch up to your father and sisters like a spooked little mouse. 

Joel couldn’t help but shake his head and laugh.

“Is the preacher aware that his precious little daughters pay frequent visits to The Tipsy Bison at such late and ungodly hours?” Joel quipped. He gestured to a booth nestled over in a corner of the dimly lit bar with a subtle jerk of his chin. “S’gotta be the third or fourth time I’ve seen them here in the last couple of weeks.”

Tommy’s eyes followed his brother’s gesture. “Oh man, not again,” he said with an exasperated sigh. He shook his head. “Those girls, they ain’t got no fuckin’ business hangin’ around this place and much less at this fuckin’ hour. But the middle one, she’s a whole lot of trouble.” He paused, just long enough to nod at one of the three sisters, the one who was wearing her hair loose around her shoulders, twirling a lock of it around her finger as she made flirtatious fuck me eyes at the group of drunk patrolmen sitting a few tables away. “She’s somethin’ of a rebel, that one. Likes to drink a lot, get herself involved with things that she ain’t really supposed to be messin’ with. She’s the one who convinces the other two into sneakin’ out and comin’ to the bar when their old man goes to sleep.”

Joel chuckled in disbelief. “You fuckin’ serious?”

“As a heart attack. And then there’s the older one. I know she likes to drink too, but she’s a lot calmer than the other one. Ain’t gotta worry about her all too much, y’know? She tries to be the chaperone—it don’t always work out that way, though. Her halo ain’t exactly perfect either.”

“What ‘bout the youngest one?” Joel asked in the most nonchalant tone he could possibly muster. “Where does she fall on the scale between angel and devil?”

You’re carefully perched on the edge of the booth, your pretty features twisting in disgust with every sip of the rich, amber colored liquid in your glass. Unable to stomach the burning alcohol, you set it off to the side, abandoning it in favor of a glass of water instead.

“Her?” Tommy grinned, leaning back into his chair as stated, “Oh, she’s an absolute angel. She’s just ‘bout the sweetest fuckin’ thing you’ll ever see in your whole damn life, big brother. She’s gotta be the kinda girl who all the little birds and woodland critters sing to when there ain’t no one around,” he laughed. “She’s real good. Too good. Wouldn’t surprise me if the lord sent her down from heaven himself.”

Joel tossed him a skeptical look across the table.

“She really as innocent as she seems?” 

“I don’t think she even knows what it’s like to hold another man’s hand,” his younger brother laughed again and reached for his beer, taking a generous swig. 

Joel hummed softly and lifted his glass of whiskey to his lips. The mere thought of you being so pure and so innocent—untouched by anyone else—caused something to stir deep in his lower belly. 

“She’s the old man’s pride and joy,” Tommy continued, breaking into his train of thought. “Kind. Polite. Behaves. Doesn’t get herself into any kinda trouble—I mean look at her, she can’t even choke down a glass of whiskey. She’s just too good of a girl.”

Joel proceeded cautiously with his next question. “Any of them taken?” 

Surprised, Tommy raised his eyebrows. “Joel, don’t fuckin’ tell me—”

“No, I ain’t interested,” he interjected, rolling his eyes. “Just a curious motherfucker, that’s all.”

He didn’t seem too convinced by Joel’s answer. “They’re all single from what I know. To be honest, there ain’t a whole lot of men around here their old man would approve of,” he remarked. “Don’t get me wrong, he’s a nice man and all, but when it comes to his daughters, he’s real strict. Not that controllin’ has done him much good, though.” He lowered his voice as a fellow patrolman walked past their table. “The middle one’s fucked her way through this entire town and then back again. She even made a pass at me while Maria was pregnant with Noah, if you can fuckin’ believe that.”

Amused, Joel snorted into his drink. Ballsy. “How goddamn drunk was she?”

Tommy ran a hand through his jet black curls. “Wasted. Oldest one ain’t exactly the Virgin Mary, either.”

“And the old man doesn’t know?”

“Nope. Ain’t nobody gonna snitch on grown women in their thirties.” Noticing the amused expression on Joel’s face, he adds, “By the way, just in case you haven’t figured it out, this stays between us, Joel.”

He smirked. “Which part?”

“All of it. And take it from me, those girls? S’best you keep your distance from them,” he warned as he stood up from the table. He picked up the blue denim jacket draped over his chair, shrugging into it. “Don’t go gettin’ any dumbass ideas, alright?”

“Look, if the wild one makes a pass at me, I ain’t gonna turn her down. S’not like I’ve got a pregnant wife at home.”

“Joel, I fuckin’ swear. If you even think ‘bout it—”

He held up his hands to stop him. “Relax. Was just a joke.”

“Right. M’sure it was.” Tommy snorted. “Listen, I gotta get back home. Don’t wanna leave Maria on her own with the baby for too long.”

“How’s she been holdin’ up?”

“She’s been so tired. Jugglin’ motherhood, runnin’ this place, and bein’ back on patrol duty. I keep on tryin’ to tell her to slow it down, but she just won’t listen to me.” He let out a small sigh and waved a dismissive hand. “But anyway. If you’re all good to head out, I can walk you back to your place since it’s on the way to mine?”

Joel looked down at his glass, still half full. “I think I’m gonna hang back for a while longer. I’m on the roster for evenin’ patrol tomorrow, s’not like I’ve gotta be up at the ass crack of dawn.”

“Suit yourself.” Clapping him on the back, Tommy bid him goodnight and started towards the door. 

As soon as he was gone, Joel looked over towards your booth. He watched as you whispered into the ear of your eldest sister who nodded her head in understanding. You stood up and said something else to her, then spun around on your heel, long skirt flowing along with the movement. Head down, you hastily made your way across the bar, being careful so as not to bump into anyone along the way.

You were leaving. Alone. 

In the middle of the fucking night? While drunk morons poured in and out of the bar?

She’ll be just fine, he tried to convince himself. 

Joel frowned to himself, gripping his drink tightly in his hand as he scanned the room.

Sitting at a nearby table was Kent, some idiot he’d been stuck with a time or two for patrol. He clocks the smirk that crossed the younger man’s face, his eyes following you all the way to the door. Leaning forward over the table, he whispered something to his buddies, his smirk widening. His comrades, all who looked and behaved more like teenagers rather than grown men, lifted their beers to him, nodding in encouragement. Drunk off his ass, Kent drained the rest of his own beer, slamming the glass bottle down onto the table before clumsily stumbling to his feet. 

Joel momentarily froze as soon as he realized what was happening. 

Kent was going after you. 

Joel’s lips pressed together into a tight, thin line.

Setting his drink down, he stood up from his table and slipped on his jacket before following suit.

Joel stepped out of the bar and into the night, the chilly evening air nipping at his face. He took a look around. 

You were nowhere to be seen. Neither was Kent. 

That couldn’t fucking be good. 

“Where the fuck did you two go,” he muttered to himself under his breath.

That’s when he heard it. 

The sound of muffled screaming coming from the side of the building. Joel didn’t hesitate. Following your smothered cries for help, he whipped around into the dimly lit alley nestled in between the bar and the commune’s mess hall. You’re pinned underneath Kent with your skirt bunched up around your waist. One of his hands was covering your mouth while his other hand clawed its way up your bare thigh. 

“Aw, c’mon now, sugar,” Kent slurred his words together. “It’d be a fucking shame to let someone as cute as you stay a fucking virgin. Don’t be coy—I know you’re just like your stupid slut of a sister. She’s got no trouble spreading her fucking legs for me, y’know.”

Red.

It was the color that flashed in Joel’s mind. It was all he could see as he went up behind Kent, letting his hands reach for fistfuls of his leather jacket. He lifted him off of you with ease, slamming him hard against the brick wall of the mess hall. Pulling him forward, Joel slammed his body into the wall once more, knocking all the wind out of his lungs. 

“Miller, what the fuck are you doing!” Kent gasped out, frantically pawing at the older man’s hands in an effort to break free. “Get the fuck off me!”

“Takin’ advantage of an innocent girl?” Joel hissed at him, tightening his grasp on the collar of Kent’s jacket. “Think that makes you a fuckin’ man?”

Though he was still intoxicated, the sheer terror of being caught in Joel Miller’s hands sobered him just enough that he started sputtering an explanation. “I wasn’t fucking taking advantage of her! Her and her whore sisters were making eyes at me and the guys all fucking night! She fucking wanted it! She asked me for it, couldn’t even wait long enough to get back to my place—”

The lie came straight through his chattering teeth. The same teeth he would be picking up off the ground in the next minute or two. 

Joel knew he didn’t need to ask. Still, he turned to you, his rage only intensifying when he took in the sight of you lying there on the ground, the hem of your light blue floral skirt hiked around your waist. 

“That true?” He questioned you. “You wanted it?”

You stared at him with wide and fearful eyes.

A single tear slipped down the side of your face.

“Answer me, darlin’,” he prompted. “You wanted this?”

“No. I didn’t.” Your voice was small, barely audible.

But he’d heard it loud and clear. 

“She’s lying!” Kent tried to tell him. “She’s—”

Joel delivered the first punch, a blow so hard he’d felt the younger man’s nose crack underneath his curled fist. He struck him again and again, the blows coming in harder and harder, turning Kent’s face into a bloodied pulp.

If Joel didn’t get a grip, he would kill him. Part of him wanted to fucking kill Kent for putting his hands you—and more so for accusing of you wanting it. Pathetic fucking bastard. 

Holding Kent up by the throat with one hand, Joel pulled his switchblade from the back pocket of his jeans with the other. Fingers curled tightly around the hilt, Joel held up the knife into Kent’s view. He had left his eyes purple and swollen, but judging by the pitiful little pleas for mercy, it was clear that he could still somehow see the sharp blade being held an inch or so away from his face. 

“If I ever catch you anywhere near her again, I ain’t gonna be so fuckin’ generous,” Joel growled warningly. “I ain’t gonna let you walk away next time, boy. That understood?”

He nodded. “Un—Understood.”

“Good.” Joel released him, stepping backwards as he fell to the ground. “Get the fuck outta my face. Now.”

Kent managed to scramble to his feet and staggered off, disappearing from the alley. 

Chest heaving, Joel inhaled a deep breath through his nose, then exhaled it through his mouth before turning to you once more. 

Petrified, you still hadn’t moved a single muscle.

You looked fucking terrified. Whether it was from Kent’s assault or the way Joel had nearly beaten him to death right in front of you, it was hard to tell.

Crouching down beside you, Joel caught your subtle flinch. He proceeded to move slowly as he reached for the hem of your skirt. Delicately, he gripped the soft, flowing fabric and pulled it down into place. Joel then held his hand out to you. 

You hesitated for a split second, but accepted his hand and allowed him to help you up to your feet. 

“You alright, little dove?” The nickname had fallen from his lips before he could even think to stop it. 

“I think so,” you replied, nodding your head. You’d started to tremble and even though it had nothing to do with being cold, Joel took notice of it and he shrugged out of his camel colored jacket. He gave it to you, draping it over your shoulders. The scent of him instantly enveloped you—a mouth watering masculine mixture of clean soap, woodiness, and musk. It was far more intoxicating than the scotch you had tried back inside the bar. He didn’t utter a word to you as he wrapped his jacket around your body, both of his hands pulling gently at the lapels to bring them together in front of your chest. That was when you glanced down and saw he’d injured his hand. You gasped lightly. “Are you okay?”

Maybe it was the adrenaline, but Joel hadn’t even noticed that he’d split his knuckles wide open. Giving it a light shake, he assured you gruffly, “M’fine.”

Without thinking it through, you gingerly grabbed Joel’s hand, holding it in both of yours. “It doesn’t look like nothing,” you countered. You inspected it as best as you could in such poor lighting. “You’re bleeding.”

“Trust me, I’ve had a whole lot worse,” he deadpanned.

Ignoring his remark, you asked, “Can you move all your fingers for me? Just to make sure that it isn’t broken?”

Joel felt a strange warmth radiate in his chest. 

Fucking hell, Tommy had been right about you. 

You really were too good.

“Darlin’ I already told you m’fine—”

“Please?”

That word, and the way you’d said it, sent a shiver up the length of his spine.

Joel started wiggling his fingers in your palms. He winced slightly at the soreness. More than that, he knew his cuts and bruises would be all the fucking proof Tommy and Maria would need to know that he had been the one who rearranged Kent’s face. 

“See?” He spoke after a minute as he continued to move his fingers up and down. “Ain’t broken.”

“Let me clean you up,” you offered. Looking up at him, you cradled his hand as if it were a fragile baby bird you wanted to take home and nurse back to health.

“That really ain’t necessary.”

“You just saved me from—it’s the least I can do for you,” you insisted. Seeing him open his mouth just to protest again, you cut him off. “Please?”

There it was again.

Christ. That word sounded too good coming from those plush, pretty lips of yours. 

Joel sighed out in defeat. “Alright then,” he relented. “I s’ppose there ain’t no harm in lettin’ you clean me up a bit, little dove.”

Pleased that he had finally accepted, you carefully let go of his hand and took a step back, beckoning for him to follow you. “Come with me,” you said to him. “I know somewhere private we can go.”

When you came to a stop at the old church house, Joel shook his head and took a step backwards. 

Puzzled, your brows knitted together. “What is it? What’s the matter?”

He backed away further. “I ain’t goin’ in there.” 

You tossed him an amused glance. “It’s a church.”

“Yeah, I know that. I ain’t exactly a man of God.” 

You couldn’t help but giggle. “So? What does that have to do with me taking you inside to clean your hand up for you?”

Shuffling his weight from boot to boot, Joel shrugged. “Just don’t think I belong in there, that’s all.”

“Do you think you’re going to melt if you step foot inside?” you teased him. After a minute, it became apparent that he was being serious about it. Joel’s discomfort about going inside the church wasn’t some kind of joke on his part, it was real. “Don’t be silly. It doesn’t matter that you’re not a man of God. That doesn’t mean that you’re going to explode or burn into a pile of ashes for going inside, you know.”

“After all the terrible shit I’ve done?” He looked up at the building, shaking his head again. “I just might burn, little dove.”

You bit back a small smile. You’d already grown to be quite fond of his sweet nickname for you. 

“There’s a first aid kit inside I can use to patch you up,” you told him. “It won’t take long, I promise.”

His lower lip rolled in between teeth as he thought it over. “I ain’t too sure about this—”

“It’s only going to take me five minutes to get your hand cleaned up and then you can leave. Okay?”

You were as stubborn as you were sweet. How the fuck was he supposed to say no to you?

Reluctantly, Joel finally agreed to it. “Okay.” He followed you up the creaking, wooden porch steps towards the double doors. He’d just started to wonder how the two of you were even supposed to get into the building after hours when you leaned down, lifting the old mat on the floor to reveal a set of keys. Unable to help himself, he scoffed, “Serious?”

“Doesn’t everyone keep a key under their mat?” 

“Yeah at their fuckin’ house. Not their church.” 

“Well to be fair, this is kind of like a second home. I spend quite a bit of time here,” you confessed.

Joel raised an eyebrow at you. “So much time that you’ve decided to keep a set of keys under the mat?”

Sheepishly, you nodded. “Sometimes when I can’t sleep at night, I’ll come here alone and sit with my thoughts for a while.” You shrugged. “Maria let me have the spare set of keys. She knows I come here and so does the rest of the council. I trespass with their full permission,” you kidded with a small grin. 

Unlocking one of the two doors, you stepped over the threshold and waited expectantly for Joel. But he stood there, making no move to join you on the other side. 

“This place gives me the fuckin’ creeps,” he admitted. 

You laughed. “It’s only the outside that’s creepy, I promise.”

Grimacing, Joel finally walked inside, his back and shoulders stiff with tension as he stepped into the place of worship. 

You closed the door and flipped on the lights, then opened a second set of double doors with another key from the ring. 

“Whoa.” He was pleasantly surprised. For as old as this place was, the interior of the church was quite nice. He could tell that it had been well cared for in its lifetime—the former contractor in him had little choice but to appreciate the high ceiling, the large windows, and the satin finish of the white paint on the rustic, wooden panel walls. 

There were a total of twelve pews, six on each side of the church. There was an older, antique piano in pristine condition nestled over in one corner of the room and in another, there was a large chalkboard propped up on a wooden easel, biblical verses that had been the focus of the congregation’s previous gathering still scribbled across it in white chalk. 

“See?” You nudged his arm with your elbow. “This isn’t so awful, right?”

“S’ppose it ain’t all that bad,” he muttered. 

Your eyes twinkled with pure amusement, adding, “And you didn’t burn into a pile of ashes.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Joel grumbled out in response. “Can we just get this over with so I can get outta here?”

You tossed him a playful little eye roll then nodded towards the pews. “Go ahead and just have a seat anywhere,” you instructed him. “I’ll be right back.”

You disappeared down a short, dimly lit corridor.

Letting out a heavy sigh, Joel slowly made his way down the aisle holding his injured hand against his chest. Now that the adrenaline had started wearing off, it’d started throbbing with pain.

There was an altar at the front of the church—if he could even call it an altar. 

It was a plain oakwood table with a white fair linen cloth draped over it and nothing else. 

Above it, bolted onto the wall, was a wooden cross.

He averted his eyes, turning away from it. 

Of all the shit to be intimidated by in this world. 

A fucking slab of carved wood. 

Joel’s attention shifted over to the chalkboard. He squinted at it, silently reading the verse to himself.

God is faithful, and he will not let you be tempted beyond your ability. 1 Corinthians 10:13

“But with the temptation, he will also provide the way of escape, that you may be able to endure it,” you recited the rest of the verse from behind him.

“No offense darlin’, but it sounds like nothin’ but a whole lotta gibberish to me,” he remarked to you over his shoulder. 

“No offense taken, Joel.”

Whirling around on the heel of his worn boot, Joel blurted, “How did you know my name?”

“You’re Tommy Miller’s brother. Everybody in this town knows your name.” You held up the white tin box in your hands. A big, red cross had been spray painted onto the lid. You sat down in the first pew and patted the seat right beside you. “Come sit.”

He sauntered over and dropped down next to you, watching as you opened up the box and started digging through its contents. “You know my name,” he stated after a few seconds of silence. “Sure would be nice for me to know yours.”

Smiling politely, you told him your name.

Joel repeated it. It rolled almost too sweetly off his tongue.

“S’real pretty, little dove. Just like you.”

His compliment nearly knocked all of the air out of your lungs and for a split second, you have to remind yourself to breathe.

Cheeks burning, you murmured a small thank you and plucked a bottle of saline solution from the kit along with a piece of clean cotton. You tried not to think about the way his eyes were fixed intently on you as you unscrewed the cap and poured a bit of the liquid onto the cotton. “It shouldn’t sting,” you reassured him, reaching for Joel’s injured hand. It was rough and calloused, a stark contrast against your own soft and smooth. You set his hand down on your knee, a strange sensation fluttering in the depths of your lower belly when the warmth of his skin seeped right through the fabric of your skirt. 

Comfortable silence fell over the both of you like a curtain as you started cleaning the blood off of his knuckles and his long, thick fingers. 

“You really believe in all this stuff?” Joel spoke, his question echoing off the bare walls of the church. 

You continued dabbing at his cuts, thinking it over in your head for a moment.

“I honestly don’t know,” you admitted.

Your answer took him by complete surprise.

“What do you mean you don’t know?”

“I have always been taught to believe in God, Joel. It’s all that I’ve ever known. I grew up in a religious community,” you explained to him, making sure to keep your eyes focused on his hand. Tossing aside the bloodied wad of cotton, you picked up another piece adding more saline to it. “After the outbreak, things changed, of course. I couldn’t imagine how He could let something like this happen. When we lost our mother to infection about five years ago, I stopped praying. I finally stopped holding onto the ounce of hope I had that He would make the world right again. I refused to believe in God. Sometimes I still do,” you confessed quietly.

“You said you spend a lot of time here. Why come to church if you’re not even sure you believe in any of this shit anymore?”

“I’m always here because there’s still a part of me that thinks there’s a chance for me to believe again. When I told you I come here when I can’t sleep at night, it’s true. It’s my time to be here completely alone, the time that I use to mend my broken relationship with God. Or at least, I’ve been trying to mend it.” Taking a little glass pot of homemade antibiotic ointment one of the women in the town made and traded, you took off the lid and scooped out some of the salve with the tip of your finger. You applied it carefully to his cuts and continued, “But lately, the more that I try to pray and talk to Him, the more foolish I feel. It’s just not working. It hasn’t been working for a long, long time.”

“Then why keep tryin’ if it ain’t workin’ anymore?”

“Because I don’t really have much of a choice.”

“Your old man?” Joel guessed, wincing slightly as you went over a particularly sore spot on his hand, right over the torn up knuckle of his index finger. 

“Mhm.” You nodded. “My father never lost faith in Him. He knows how I feel, but he refuses to let me give up on God. He won’t ever let me miss church or go to bed without reciting my nightly prayer. He won’t let me abandon our faith. Not until the day he is cold and buried in his grave.”

“So what I’m gettin’ is that he forces you?”

You finished applying the ointment and wiped the remnants lingering on your finger off on your skirt.

“Force is such a harsh word. I wouldn’t say that—”

“He’s forcin’ you,” Joel said, flatly. 

“Joel—”

“You can twist it however the hell you want, sweet girl,” he cut you off. “But if you’re tryin’ this fuckin’ hard to make yourself believe in somethin’ just for the sake of appeasin’ your dad because he can’t or won’t accept how you really feel ‘bout all this, well I hate to break it to you, but you’re bein’ forced.”

Your eyes widened ever so slightly at his words. 

You had never thought about it like that before.

Placing the lid back onto the pot of ointment, you put it back into the first aid kit and then set the tin box down onto the floor. You sat back and clasped your hands together in your lap, not knowing what else to say to him. 

He was right, after all. 

Joel’s fingers lightly squeezed your knee. “Hey.”

You brought your gaze over to meet his. “Hm?”

“Can I ask you somethin’ ‘bout your dad?”

“What is it?” 

Joel chose his words carefully. “Has he ever—he ain’t ever done anythin’ to hurt you, has he?” he asked you, earning himself a perplexed stare. He continued to elaborate. “What I mean is, he ever put his hands on you or anythin’ like that?”

Oh. That’s what he meant.

“Never,” you assured him quickly. “He would never lay a single finger on me or my two sisters.”

He gave your knee another squeeze. “Just needed to make sure of it, sweetheart. Back in the day, I used to hear and see awful things on the news ‘bout—”

You were quick to cut him off. “Look, my father isn’t perfect, but he’s not like that. He’s a good man who only wants what is best for us. He’s strict and he can be tough, but it’s only because he cares. He just doesn’t want us running down the wrong path.”

“The wrong path?”

You shrugged. “Life here in Jackson is decent, but there’s a lot of temptations he doesn’t want any of us falling into. He wants to protect us.”

“By controllin’ you.” 

It had been a statement, not a question. 

Giving him a wry smile, you assured him, “Joel, it’s really not as bad as you’re making it sound. I could be a whole lot worse off than this, you know.”

There was another short bout of silence.

Joel’s dark eyes fell to your blouse, noticing how a couple of the top buttons had come undone. 

He caught the slightest glimpse of the soft curves of your breasts—all it had taken was just a peek at them for his cock to twitch against the zipper of his jeans.

Don’t you get hard in a fuckin’ church, Miller.

His gaze wandered down a little further and that’s when he caught sight of the cross hanging from a delicate gold chain clasped around your neck.

Joel expected the sight of it to calm the straining in his jeans. Somehow, it only made it worse. 

“Earlier, when we were standing outside,” you had started to say, “You said you might burn if you came inside the church because of all the terrible shi—things that you’ve done.”

“S’right.”

You peered at him with curiosity. “So what exactly have you done, Joel?”

Joel leaned back into the pew, shaking his head at you as he finally pulled his hand from your knee. 

“You really don’t wanna know, little dove.”

“Why not?”

His answer was honest.  “Don’t want you to be scared of me.”

Angling your body towards him, you placed one of your hands on his thigh. Your fingers burned right through the dark blue denim of his jeans.

Joel’s lips parted slightly, taken aback by the bold move and the sudden shift in your demeanor.

Were you the same girl who’d nearly had a fucking heart attack a couple of weeks ago when Joel had nodded at you back at the stables? 

“I’m not scared of you,” you murmured, softly. You gave his leg a squeeze, pulling your plump bottom lip between your teeth. Between that and the wide innocent doe eyes that you were giving him, it was taking every last ounce of strength Joel had inside him to keep a straight face, to pretend you weren’t driving him absolutely wild with desire.

He couldn’t even remember the last time he’d felt such an incredible need to have someone. 

Want, sure. 

He had wanted Tess. He had wanted Esther. 

But Joel didn’t just want you. 

He fucking needed you. 

And he didn’t know why.

“I’m not scared of you,” you repeated, trailing your hand further up his thigh, setting a fire neither one of you would soon be able to contain. 

Joel leaned forward, bringing his face dangerously close towards yours. His warm breath fanned over your lips. It was still laced with bourbon. “You sure ‘bout that, darlin’ girl?” 

You tried to answer him in the steadiest voice that you could muster, but it was impossible for you to hide the effect this man had on you. 

You breathed out a shaky, “I’m sure.”

Lifting his uninjured hand, he reached up to tuck a loose lock of hair that had fallen out of your braids behind your ear. As his hand fell away, the palm of it grazed against the silkiness of your cheek. 

Though brief, the contact sent an electric current through each and every last single nerve ending in your entire body. 

Exhaling sharply, your eyelids fluttered closed. You nearly whimpered out his name. “Joel?”

“What is it, babygirl? What do you want?”

“I—I want you to kiss me.” 

Joel leaned in even closer, stopping only when his mouth was less than an inch away from yours. 

You heard him chuckle softly. 

“Y’know, I’d expect better manners from a good girl like you,” he tsked lightly, his nose skimming near the corner of your mouth. Closer. “What’s the magic word, little dove?”

“Please.”

“S’much better.”

Your heart pounded with anticipation.

It was almost too much for you to handle. 

Joel closed the remaining gap of space, capturing your lips with his own. He remembered his brother talking about you at the bar—how he had told Joel that you had never even held a man’s hand before.

It occurred to him that he was giving you your first kiss. Him. Joel Miller. The town’s resident asshole and a man who was well over twice your own age. He was the one giving you your very first kiss. 

The guilt suddenly started to creep in, sinking into his bones.

What the fuck had he been thinking? 

And what about you? 

Where the fuck had your common sense gone?

Probably ran off together with Joel’s.

“Sweetheart,” he murmured, pulling away slightly in an attempt to stop it from going any further. He tried again, mumbling against your lips, “We gotta stop. This ain’t right—”

You were having none of it. 

None. 

Clutching fistfuls of Joel’s denim shirt, you swung your leg over his thighs and straddled his lap. Your knees rested on either side of him on the bench. 

“Please,” you nearly pleaded. “Just kiss me. I want it—I want this. I promise you that I do.” You placed both of your hands on his broad shoulders, sliding them around him as you slowly sank down further onto his lap. “I want this, Joel.”

Suddenly, he realized that you were asking him for more than just his kiss. 

Now he knew for sure that all common sense had left that pretty little head of yours. 

“Baby, y’need to think real hard ‘bout this—”

Desperate, you uttered one final, “Please.”

Joel bit back a groan. How could he deny you? 

He couldn’t. Simple as that. 

“You sure ‘bout this?”

Your fingers toyed with the curls at the nape of his neck. “Yes. I’m sure.”

“C’mere then, darlin’ girl.”

Joel cupped the side of your face in his large palm and tilted his head up towards yours. Your mouths fused together and although he tried to be gentle, it was proving to be much too difficult—how could he be gentle when you were practically clinging to him? Holding onto him with fervor as if you’d been holding onto dear fucking life itself? 

Temperatures rising, you quickly shrugged out of his jacket, letting it fall to the floor behind you with a soft thud before wrapping your arms around him once again. You melted against him as your mouth molded to his in a perfect fit. 

His teeth nipped at your bottom lip, silently asking for permission to explore the cavern even further. 

Eagerly, your lips parted, granting him access. His tongue slipped past them, meeting yours in a slow and sensual heated dance. 

You breathed him deeply into your lungs, a little moan vibrating at the back of your throat. 

Joel’s hands went to your waist and he yanked the hem of your blouse free from your skirt. 

“Can I feel you, baby?” he asked, breathlessly. His mouth abandoned yours and he began to trail hot, open mouthed kisses underneath your jawline. 

Dazed, all you could do was nod in reply and utter, “Mhm.”

Joel’s hands slipped under your blouse and he slid them up the length of your sides. “Fuck, you gotta be the softest fuckin’ thing,” he cursed against the delicate, tender flesh of your neck. His lips latched onto your pulse point, suckling at the skin there as his fingertips dug into your hips. He needed to feel more, but he forced himself to wait. The last thing he wanted to do was make a wrong move or move too fast and scare you off.

“Joel,” you mewled his name. “Joel, I need—”

You trailed off, moaning when his mouth released your skin with a loud, wet popping noise. 

“Tell me, sweet girl. Tell me what you need and I’ll give it to you,” he promised. “Anythin’ you need or want, I’ll give it to you. Just say the fuckin’ word.”

“You, Joel. I need you.”

His hips involuntarily bucked upwards and you let out a startled gasp the moment you felt his bulge, hard as a rock, brush against your clothed cunt. 

Tearing away from him, it suddenly hit you. You’re in a church, straddling a much, much older man in a pew—and if that wasn’t sinful enough, the warm and slick arousal pooling between your thighs only proved that you were ready to fall into temptation, give into the lust and give your body to Joel. But it was none of those things that worried you. It was something else. 

You pulled yourself out of his arms and jumped up off his lap, nearly tripping over your own two feet.

“Darlin’ are you—?”

You didn’t even hear the rest of his question.

Knees trembling, you somehow managed to make your way up to the altar. Heart pounding and head spinning, you planted both of your hands firmly on the table and steadied yourself. Part of you hoped that Joel would just get up and leave. But a bigger part of you hoped he wouldn’t. 

Joel rose to his feet. “Listen, ain’t nothin’ wrong if you changed your mind, alright?”

“I didn’t,” you choked out. “That’s—that’s not it at all.”

“Then what’s the matter?”

Embarrassed, you tried to explain yourself. “I have never done anything like this before. I’m a—”

You couldn’t even bring yourself to say the word out loud. 

“You’re a what?”

Blazing heat flooded your face. “Joel, please don’t make me say it,” you groaned. “For the sake of my sanity, don’t make me say it.” You heard the sound of his brown leather boots as he walked up behind you, one heavy footstep after the other.

“Turn around, sweet girl.” 

Joel’s command was firm but still gentle. 

Swallowing dryly, you obeyed and did as you were told. He stood close and you found yourself at eye level with his chest. 

“Look at me.”

You tried, but couldn’t. 

“I said, look at me.” Joel gingerly took your chin in between his thumb and index finger. He lifted your face, forcing your gaze to meet his own, timid and submissive meeting bold and dominant in a sweet and tender exchange. “Never known the lovin’ of a man, have you little dove?”

He backed you up against the table, pinning you in between it and himself. Planting both of his hands on either side of you, he caged you in and brought his chest flush against yours, pressing your bodies together.

Close, but somehow not close enough.

Joel lifted his hand to your cheek, cradling it in his palm. His thumb swept over your quivering bottom lip.

You reached behind you, clutching at the fair linen as you tried with every fiber of your entire being to remind yourself that you were standing at the altar where your father preached and delivered all of his sermons to the faithful people of Jackson. 

The very same altar where your father encouraged you to kneel and pray in effort to mend the broken relationship you had with God. 

You couldn’t help but to think if you were to get on your knees tonight, it wouldn’t be for prayer.

“I asked you a question, darlin’.” Joel’s voice broke into your train of thought. “Need you to be a good girl and give me an answer, alright?”

“My father loves me,” you stammered out in reply. “He loves me and my sisters—”

“C’mon, babygirl.” He chuckled and shook his head at you, lightly pinching your cheek. “That ain’t what I mean and you damn well know it.”

Sighing softly, you finally answered, “No, Joel.”

“No, what?”

“No, I’ve never known the loving of a man.”

Joel slipped the tip of his thumb between your lips and leaned into you, his hardness pressing against your upper thigh. Even through all the clothes, you could feel every inch of him. “Do you wanna know how it feels, baby? What it feels like when a man makes you his own?” 

You nearly moaned around his finger. “Yes.”

“Yes, what?” he prompted, pulling his hand away.

“Yes, please.”

“I can show you.” Joel paused. “But not tonight.”

You stared at him in disbelief. Both of you were so clearly riled up and he was going to take a pass?

He almost laughed at your expression. 

“C’mon, don’t give me that face.”

“But Joel—”

“Just don’t wanna rush it, not with you,” Joel said in a tone so soft it nearly threw you for a loop. “M’gonna need you to be real patient for me, just for a little while, alright? You think you can do that, little dove? Think you can be patient for me?”

Your answer came without an ounce of hesitation.

“Of course,” you breathed.

You would wait an eternity for Joel Miller.

[cryptidcr3ature]

You know a character that’s so good and so well written but I never see anyone praising? Josiah Trelawny. He’s so unique in his lack of desire for violence along with his ability to enter and exit the Van Der Linde gang without consequences. Not only that, his missions usually run smoothly and end in a decent conclusion. Despite the successes of the Trelawny missions, the rest of the gang seems to have apprehension about him as a person, representing the gang’s fixation on loyalty. Not only that, but in parallel to John, he’s the man who could do both without ever being caught. He has a family that he works to keep safe, and still runs with the Van Der Linde gang. Overall, he is not just the silly little guy who looks hot after being beaten by bounty hunters, he’s a complex character and I want some respect on my man’s name.

[tanadrin]

A highly abbreviated history of ancient Israel and Judah as I understand it

Before 1500 BC, a Canaanite culture develops in situ, the result of thousands of years of overlapping waves of migration. The region is inhabited by a mix of highland pastoralists, lowland farmers, and city-dwellers. In the latter part of this period, urbanization intensifies and Canaan becomes more integrated into surrounding regions, especially Mesopotamia and Egypt. The region is fractured, though sometimes tribes and cities join together in confederacies for mutual defense. Egypt and Assyria both occupy Canaan or part of Canaan at different times.

The confederacy known as "Israel" emerges in the northern part of the hilly region west of the Jordan River. Its name references the Northwest Semitic high deity, El, but relatively early the deity Yahweh is introduced into the confederacy, probably by a group from the south who come to occupy a preeminent role in administering the Yahwistic cult. Yahweh is initially cast as a son of El. The Northwestern Semitic peoples often assigned patron deities to nations, and Yahweh is the patron of Israel, as Chemosh is to Moab. Yahweh has a storm-deity profile akin to Baal, elements of which will be retained when Yahweh is conflated with El.

As part of this merger, Yahweh will also acquire the role of consort of Asherah, who in Ugarit was paired with El.

The early Israelites combine heterogenous tribal traditions into a common historical and religious framework. Integral parts of these traditions include the covenant with Yahweh and an obligation to follow his commands, and a history of Yahweh freeing some or all of the ancestors of the Israelites from bondage in Egypt, guiding them through the wilderness, and leading them to their homeland in Canaan.

These traditions congeal during the pre-monarchic tribal period, from ca. 1200-1000 BCE. They do not include monotheism, the worship of Yahweh at a single temple, or the exclusive worship of Yahweh. In this period, the common bonds of religion and culture suffice to create a single Israelite identity; the component members of the Israelite confederation retain considerably autonomy, though they may act in concert with their fellows, particularly in times of invasion.

At some point around or after the 10th century BCE, separate monarchies emerge centered in various locations in the north (and eventually settling on the city of Samaria) and in Jerusalem in the south. Direct evidence for Saul, David, and Solomon is very weak, and the idea of a period of united monarchy covering Israel and Judah together is contentious. It seems highly likely that the story of the Davidic line is a Judean tradition retrojected onto an idealized period of political unity. Nonetheless, even the Bible has the United Monarchy ending by the late 10th century BCE.

In 720 BCE, the northern kingdom of Israel is destroyed by the Assyrians. About a fifth of its population is deported; a large part flees south to Judah, causing rapid expansion of Jerusalem. The refugee population includes northern Levites and landowners, who are influential in bringing northern religious traditions wiht them, and become part of Jerusalem's administrative elite.

In 640 BCE, King Amon is murdered as part of a coup attempt, suppressed with the aid of these northern notables; Amon's young son Josiah is installed as king. At this time, Judah is vassal to Assyria, but Assyria enters a period of sharp decline, which leads to resurgent nationalism in Judah. This inspires a new rescension of Israelite history and law led by the Deuteronomists (but rooted firmly in the canonical history of Moses), who foreground the exclusive worship of Yahweh, and produce a comprehensive history of Israel since Joshua.

In 622 BCE, Josiah launches a reform program that enforces the henotheistic or monolatrist worship of Yahweh, centralizes all cultic activity in the Jerusalem temple, and enshrines an early form of the Deuteronomistic law as the covenant between Judah and Yahweh, in which Yahweh symbolically replaces the Assyrian king. Asherah-worship is among the casualties of this new religious regime.

In 586 BCE, Judah is conquered by Babylon, and the temple is destroyed. Much of its elite population deported. This upheaval sparks a major period of cultural and religious transformation, especially among the deportees in Babylon, who struggle to understand theologically how they can worship the patron-sovereign god Yahweh from a foreign land. Among other theological developments, this leads to the invention of true monotheism: not only is Yahweh our only god, he is the only god, the god of all the world and not just Israel. The Deuteronomistic texts are revised again as a part of this process.

In 539 BCE, after a half-century of exile, Babylon is defeated by the rising Achaemenid empire, and a small portion of the Babylonian Jewish exiles return to Judah. There, they embark on a project to rebuild the temple, and reform the religion according to new theological understanding. Judah is now "Yehud Medinata," a province of the Persian empire; it flourishes for two centuries until the Greek conquest in 333 BCE.

The post-exilic period is hugely influential on the Jewish scriptures; rescensions in this period incorporate Babylonian influence (especially in the primeval histories), the ancient canonical histories (the patriarchal narratives and Exodus), the post-canonical histories as revised by the Deuteronomists, and many other sources.

After 333 BCE, Judah (Judea) is a frontier region between the Seleucids and Ptolemies; the country is ruled by a hereditary high priest, who is a vassal of Hellenistic rulers. Greek culture and philosophy is influential on the development of Second Temple Jewish thought and traditions. This phenomenon is known as "Hellenistic Judaism," and sprang up first in Alexandria and Antioch, before spreading to Judea. Major achievements of Hellenistic Judaism include the Septuagint, probably a result of there being large Jewish communities in cities like Alexandria that no longer spoke Hebrew or Aramaic.

In 167 BCE, sparked by the religious meddling of Seleucid ruler Antiochus IV Epiphanes, Judea rises up in the Maccabean Revolt. A new kingdom is established under the Hasmonean dynasty, after decades of fighting.

Around 110 BCE, John Hyrcanus, high priest and ruler of Judea, invades the transjordan region and Samaria, destroying Shechem and the Samaritan temple on Mount Gerizim. He also invades Idumea, and forces the Idumeans to convert to Judaism under threat of destruction. His son assumes the title of "king" for the first time, combining it with the office of high priest. Under the son, Aristobulus, Galilee is conquered and annexed, and there is an influx of Jewish settlement in the region.

At its peak, the Hasmonean kingdom is almost as large as the semi-mythical United Monarchy; but in 67 BCE, weakened by a civil war, it is conquered by the Romans. The Holy of Holies in the temple is desecrated, and the ruler, Hyrcanus II, is reduced to the status of "ethnarch," a vassal of the Roman Republic.

Some regions conquered by the Hasmoneans are gradually removed from their rule by the Romans; Roman civil wars and struggles with the Parthians often spill over into this client sate; ultimately, when a Parthian-backed pretender is expelled in 37 BCE, Marc Antony and Augustus appoint Herod the Great as king of Judea. The Herodian kingdom expands further north, and northeast over the Jordan. After Herod the Great's death, the country is divided into four parts; Judea proper, Idumea, and Samaria go to Herod Archelaus, who is deposed in 6 BCE; his territory becomes a Roman province.

About this time, Jesus, the son of Joseph, is born in Nazareth, along with his siblings, including James, in the Galilee region ruled by Herod Antipas.

Around 30 CE, Jesus gathers a small band of followers around him; he visits the mystic John the Baptist, and receives baptism from him; he preaches a radical doctrine that includes the imminent coming of the Kingdom of God, and claims a mantle of divine authority in a way highly legible to (and highly controversial within) post-Hellenistic Jewish philosophy, though he does not claim to be God. Eventually he travels to Jerusalem to observe the Passover, where in a notable incident he attacks merchants and moneylenders in the Jewish temple. For various reasons, probably having to due with his radical philosophy and his disturbance of the public peace, he is executed on the orders of the Roman prefect of Judea. A small community of his followers remain, especially in Jerusalem, where they are led by his brother James, and some continue to seek converts to his cause.

In 66 CE, the First Roman-Jewish War occurs. A revolt breaks out, sparked by nationalism, bad governance, and religious tensions. Jerusalem is besieged, and in 70 CE the Temple is destroyed and the city is razed. The last holdouts commit mass suicide at Masada in 73 CE.

Resentment against Roman rule is only intensified; in 129 CE, Hadrian establishes the pagan city of Aelia Capitolina on the ruins of Jerusalem, inciting further Jewish anger. In 132, Simon bar Kokhba leads another rebellion, taking the title Prince of Judea and establishing his own government. Some of his contemporaries think he might be the long-awaited Messiah, but despite initial successes, the rebellion fails. Bar Kokhba is killed in 135, in the last holdout at Betar. The rebels who remain are killed or enslaved; severe Roman repression results in widespread slaughter and enslavement, and the razing of hundreds of towns and villages. According to Cassius Dio, "nearly the whole of Judea" is laid waste. The Jewish presence in Judea is reduced significantly, and the center of gravity for Jewish culture in the southwestern Levant shifts north, to Galilee. Small Jewish communities persist on the edges of Judea and on the coastal plain, suffering religious persecution under Hadrian (and just about every ruler to come thereafter). Even the name "Judea" is abolished, with the area now called "Syria Palaestina."

As under the Babylonian exile, in the post-Second Temple period the Jewish religion undergoes another period of transformation, struggling to deal with its new circumstances. The traditions of the Second Temple period, as practiced by the Pharisees, are written down in the Mishnah to preserve them; they are first redacted by Judah ha-Nasi, probably in Beit Shearim or Sepphoris, some time between 100 and 200 CE. Rabbis (village judges) study the work produced by Judah ha-Nasi extensively. Their discussions are documented in a series of books that come to be known as the Gemara. Scholars in Tiberias and Caesarea (in Galilee and on the Mediterranean coast respectively) compile one form of the Gemara ca. 400 CE, while scholars of the Jewish community in southern Mesopotamia (then still known as Babylonia) compile another, ca. 500 CE. These compilations of Mishnah and Gemara are known as the "Talmud," of which the Babylonian Talmud proves the more influential.

[always-outlander]

Cracks in the Armor - William's unseen trust in Jamie

Over on TikTok, I received a comment from a follower insinuating that William must trust Jamie if he asks for his help with Jane and her sister, Fanny at the end of season 7.

I wanted to reply with a long-form explanation because there is an interesting passage in ‘Go Tell the Bees’ that leans into this idea of William not necessarily realizing his trust in Jamie until later on.

But first, I need to remind everyone of the differences between the book and the show when it comes to Jane's death. In Chapter 134 of ‘Written in My Own Hearts Blood,’ Jane’s burial scene takes place in Savannah, GA. Jane’s body is retrieved for Fanny and her burial is arranged with the help of Lord John Grey, not Jamie. John knows a family with a small private cemetery where Jane can be buried. To take one's own life is a sin, and so she cannot be buried in a churchyard. Jamie grapples with this in the books and he prays for Jane’s soul multiple times, despite his faith saying he shouldn’t.

At such time, John also has a conversation with Claire, where he learns that William sought out Jamie’s help. He had thought that William might but hoped he wouldn’t for both their sakes. When Claire asks where William is now, John tells her that he has left on an errand outside of the city and will return that night. 

John tells Claire to plan for the burial to take place the next morning, early, and Clare tells John about Ezekiel Richardson. In the books, he had recently paid a visit to Claire in her surgery in Savannah and asked Claire to spy on John and his family. This scene takes place earlier in the show while Claire is married to John.

Claire warns John that Richardson is with the Continental Army, and that [Richardson] “knows about you, what you are, I mean.” John asks Claire if she has any idea of how he came into the information and she does not.

The next day at the burial, William stands at the entrance to the cemetery while the rest of the group carries out the burial services. John is there, along with Jenny Murray, Marsali, Fergus, and their children, Rachel, Ian, and Fanny. This scene also takes place after Marsali and Fergus lose Henri-Christian, so it is a very sad moment for everyone in the books.

This chapter takes place in Claire’s POV, and she spots William holding the reigns of a very large horse, whose name is Miranda. He presents it to Fanny and tells her that it is hers now and that she ‘will need her.’ William looks up at Claire and asks “Will you look after her, mother Claire?” and Claire says of course they will.

Jamie and William have the talk about Geneva that we see on the TV series a day or so later before William leaves Savannah. It takes place on the docks where Jamie is working, and William does not say “I will never call you father” during that scene. In large part, I believe this to be a plot device used for a payoff in season 8 where William does call him father. 

In Chapter 12 of Go Tell the Bees, William is at Mount Josiah plantation in Virginia and is paid a visit by a man named John Cinnamon, and Manoke, the Indian Scout from Quebec that Lord John Grey told Claire about in their morning after scene. William is still in the midst of his crisis of identity and doesn’t know if he will stay at Mount Josiah or not. He wants to find out what is happening with his cousin Benjamin Grey. Ben had been reported dead of goal fever in New Jersey. This is later disproved when William discovers his grave and determines that the man in the grave is not Ben. 

William begins to think about how to make things right in his life before going on the quest to find Ben. He thinks about Rachel and Ian, and how nothing can be fixed between him and Rachel now that she is married. Then he thinks of Jane, and how that situation cannot be fixed (or removed from his memory).

Neither can his true paternity. After spending the night with Jamie on their mission to rescue Jane, there was no possible way for William to deny the truth.

He recalls Jamie telling him “Ye’ve a claim to my help for any venture ye deem worthy,” and how Fraser did help, at once and without question. Not just for Jane but also for her little sister, Francis.

There’s a lovely passage in Chapter 12 of Bee’s where William recalls Jane’s funeral, where he was unable to speak and full of grief. He had thrust Francis into Fraser’s arms and walked off, and William wonders why he had done that. He could have had Lord John help Francis, he was there, but William hadn’t even thought about giving her to John.

‘No. No, I am not sorry’ echoes in William’s ears and he recalls the touch of Jamie’s hand on his cheek. William chokes on his fish, coughs, and chokes again before the thoughts leave his mind.

I always interpret this scene as the first sort of crack in the armor for William. As he continues to have anxiety over who he is and the obligations that come with that, it is at this moment when he thinks of Jamie that provides clarity on the scene between them in the season seven finale. The show’s use of the line “I will never call you father” makes us believe that William has no appreciation for Jamie, but we can see in the books that he might be starting to view Jamie differently after all. 

What are your thoughts on William and Jamie’s final scene together in season 7?

[lxvvie]

You had offered to watch Caleb while Phillip was gone.

His sitter wouldn't be able to watch him this time. Something had come up. Caleb wasn't too shocked at that. Pa probably turned her down. Caleb knew he would. He was surprised, however, when you volunteered in her stead. It was no big deal you said. After all, Caleb was an easygoing boy, it was the least you could do to repay their kindness, and you two got on famously. What's the worst that could happen?

Turns out, most of what you said and thought was true. He was an easygoing kid. Coordinating schedules to get him from school or after-school activities was a pain in the ass, however. Phillip was keen on keeping him focused and active and Caleb was involved in all sorts of clubs and sports at school.

The kid was smart and focused as hell. Intense, too. Just like his dad.

Of course, Caleb would beg to differ.

You two had settled into an amiable conversation over dinner. It was his favorite: pizza. Somehow the conversation had shifted over to names. Middle names to be precise. For some reason.

"...I hate mine," Caleb bluntly stated.

"...Oh? Why? What's wrong with it?" you asked mid-chew. Caleb pondered for a second, the same way his dad does, and said, "It doesn't sound right, y'know?"

"Er... okay..." Your curiosity got the better of you again. You'd have to remedy that soon. Or at some point in your life. "Well... what is your middle name?" At that, Caleb looked at you, really looked at you, squinted his eyes and everything, sizing you up as if he was gonna reveal the world's most well-kept secret.

A beat. Then, "Phillip."

...Oh. Oh. Caleb Phillip. Caleb Phillip Graves. Yeah, that... that kinda doesn't sound right. Phillip Caleb flows better in your opinion. Or probably not.

Caleb kept looking at you, almost as if he were studying you—just like his dad so maybe the middle name was intentional—and anticipating your reaction. Or maybe he caught wind of what you were thinking on your face. Yeah, that's it. He didn't say anything else for a minute before taking a bite of his pizza.

Another beat. Then, "I think he did it 'cause he hates his middle name, too." If you were a cat, you'd have already died a thousand times.

"...What's his middle name?" You asked without hesitation. Caleb set his slice down on his plate, looked around conspiratorially, leaned in, and whispered, "Promise you won't tell Pa?" "Scout's honor, kid." He looked around again before whispering again:

"Josiah."

Josiah. Phillip Josiah Graves. Holy shit.

And you two had never laughed so loud or so hard before in your lives. The curious look on Phillip's face as you two exchanged knowing smiles when he came to get Caleb was worth it, too.

[seizethegay420]

Things in the Re-Animator Novelisation that I like and/or found funny or interesting

Herbert is Canadian

Herbert's parents died in a fire and he grew up primarily in Foster care

Dr. Gruber and Herbert had father son relationship

Dr. Gruber killed himself via cocaine overdose for the sake of their experiments

Dr. Hill's middle name is Josiah

Dan's first impression of Herbert was that he looked like an undertaker

Herbert steals the brain from Hills class

Dan's middle name is Jonathan

Megs mother left

Herbert is 24

Med has a horse called Al

She also plays the piano and wrote a song for Al

Mace (the morgue guard) has been arrested twice

Herbert is called a cocky little shit

There's a detective called Vinnie Papa who accuses Dan and Herbert of dating

Meg describes Herbert as "wormy"

Herbert "likes Dan and enjoys being with him"

The corpses in the climax are referred to by their nicknames from earlier

Meatball, Burn Victim, Cracked Rib, Shotgun Wound to the Head, Rotten and Malpractice

It's also worth mentioning that this part is in Herbert's pov, so that's what he's referring to them as in his head

Herbert also dies in it (like frfr)

[whatdoeseverybodywant]

You're the Only Girl for Me- Chapter 30

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Series Masterlist

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Airielle felt Josh’s eyes on her as she packed up the stuff she had brought to his apartment the night before. She knew he had more questions about her mom, but she was too emotionally drained to answer them right now. She couldn’t believe the nerve of the woman, showing up again and trying to talk to Airielle after everything she said to her.  

“Rih? You hear me?” 

Airielle blinked and looked at Josh who was now standing in front of her instead of leaning against the doorway like he was. “Sorry.” She muttered as she picked up her pocketbook and placed in on her shoulder. “I didn’t hear what you said.” 

“It’s cool.” He whispered, grabbing her overnight bag. “I said, do you still wanna meet at the airport or I can Uber to you and then we can Uber to the airport.” 

Airielle shrugged. “It doesn’t matter”  She muttered walking out of his room and towards the front door with him following her out the door and down the hall towards the elevator. As they waited for the elevator she turned her head towards him and held out her hand. “You don’t have to walk me to my car. I’ll be fine.” 

Josh took her hand and pulled her gently towards him, his expression serious but tender. “Stop trying to push me away. We both agreed that things were gonna be different this time right?”  Airielle’s gaze dropped to their joined hands, and she nodded her head. Josh let go of the bag he was holding to grip her chin and lift her head so she was looking back up at him. “We ain’t gotta talk. Just let me be there for you.”  

“Sorry.” She whispered just as the elevator doors opened. Josh dropped his hand from her chin to pick up the bag as they walked into the elevator together. 

“Got nothing to be sorry for.” He said as he pulled her closer to him and placed a soft kiss on her forehead. 

Airielle let out a groan as she pulled into her parent's driveway. “What is it family reunion day or something?” She muttered as she took note of both of her older brothers' cars in the driveway along with her father’s and Tamia’s. Rolling her eyes, she shut her car off and slammed the door as she got out. 

She wasn’t in the mood to be around people right now. She just wanted to go hide in her room until it was time to head to the airport with Josh. 

“Sis?” Airielle jumped as her older brother, Josiah suddenly appeared in front of her, waving his hand in front of her face. “You good?” He asked pulling a lighter from out of his pocket and lighting the joint that was in his other hand, making Airielle scrunch up her nose. “I was damn near yelling your name.” 

“I didn’t hear you.” She muttered, trying to walk past him but he stepped in front of her. 

“What’s wrong?” 

Airielle sighed and rolled her eyes. She wanted to avoid this. She did not want to mention that Abaigal was in Pensacola, which now that she thinks about it. It was weird as hell. How did she even know they moved to Pensacola? 

“Did you tell Abigail we moved down here?” 

Josiah scrunched his nose up at his little sister. “The lady that birthed us?” he asked to which Airielle nodded. “Hell nah. Ion talk to that woman. Why, what happened?” 

“Nothing” Airielle answered as she bit on her bottom lip. She knew damn well her father wouldn’t have told her they moved from Philadelphia to Pensacola. Her eyes flicked to her other brother Isaiah, Jeep that was parked in the driveway and her heart sank to her stomach. She just had a gut feeling he was the one who still talked to Abigail. 

“Why you asking about Abigail?” he asked, taking a puff from the joint. 

“Why are you so damn nosey.” Airelle rolled her eyes and checked him out of her way. Flipping him off as she heard him laughing behind her. 

“Solèy!”Her dad’s voice boomed through the living room as Airielle stepped inside.“Wasn’t expecting you back yet.” She narrowed her eyes at him a little bit. He was too damn excited to see her. She looked at the other people who were also in the room. Isaiah and his wife, Nikole both looked guilty as hell and then her eyes flickered over to Tamia who was sitting next to her dad with her arms folded over her chest and she wore a pinched expression on her face. Her dad though, was wearing a neutral expression, something he had practiced and perfected over the years. 

“I had to come pack for work.”, she replied, trying to keep her tone steady  “What’s going on?” She asked as she started to shift on her feet. She doesn’t even know why she asked that question. She should’ve just gone up to her room like she had planned. 

Isaiah cleared his throat and sat up straighter. “Ain’t no point in trying to hide it from her.” He started, looking towards Issac. “She’s gonna find out.” 

“I’m not the one who wants to hide it from her.” Her dad said, his stoic expression breaking. Airielle noticed his nostrils flare and a quick frown crossed his face before it disappeared.

Airielle’s heart dropped into her stomach “Find out what?” she asked, feigning ignorance, though her heart raced dangerously in her chest.

“C’mon Air. She already told me she ran into you at Waffle House.”  

Airielle scoffed and folded her arms across her chest, “Why are you even talking to her/” 

“It ain't that big of a deal. She just wanted to meet her grandchildren.” 

Tamia abruptly stood from her seat on the couch and stomped out of the living room. Everyone winced as they heard the door to her office slam shut.

Airielle felt betrayed but she couldn’t tell them why she felt this way because nobody but Josh knew that Airielle had tried to get in contact with Abaigal when she was a teen. 

“She left us Zay, Why in the hell would you let them meet her.” 

“That’s still my mom Airielle! I still had some memories with her before you came along.” Isaiah snapped before his eyes widened as he realized what he said. “Air-” 

“So you're blaming me for her abandoning us? Wow,” She said as she let out a humorless chuckle. “Did you know I wrote her a letter at the start of my freshman year? She had just sent you and Siah letters and I just wanted to know why she never sent me one. You know what she said to me? She said she wished I died at birth. She blamed me for the fact that she couldn’t see you two grow up. She blamed me for her abandoning this family!” Airielle's voice trembled as she finished her rant. She could feel the tears prickling her eyes, she was tired of crying over this woman. 

Isaiah’s eyes widened as he looked over at his dad, before shifting his attention to Airielle. “I didn’t know–” 

Airielle scoffed as she wiped away a couple of tears that fell. 

Nikole shifted uncomfortably in her seat, glancing between the siblings. “Maybe there’s a chance to talk this out? She could have changed.”

“Changed?” Airielle scoffed again.“You don’t just get to change your mind after abandoning your kids! It doesn’t work like that.”

“She deserves a second chance Rih.” 

Airielle looked at her older brother like he lost his damn mind. She was certain that he had. “ I don’t owe that woman shit. Why are you defending her?”  

I’m not defending her,” Isaiah said, his tone firm. “I’m just saying we need to be open to the possibility. She’s still our mom.”

“Yeah, no. Tamia is my mom.” Josiah stated as he walked into the living room and sat in the spot on the couch where Tamia was before she left the room. “I don’t know what’s goin’ on in your head bro. But that woman has never been a mom to us. Just because she sent us birthday cards and lil’ cheap ass presents we supposed to forget that she abandoned us? You trippin’” 

Airielle felt a rush of relief at Josiah’s words. “Exactly! Tamia will forever and always be my mom. Blood or not. She was there! Abaigal was not. She was off making her own family!”  

Isaac looked between his three children. He didn’t know what had gotten into his oldest but he was happy that Airielle and Josiah acknowledged how Tamia had impacted their lives. “Enough!” His voice boomed, silencing the argument his children were having. He looked at Isaiah, sensing the conflict within him. “Zay, I know you want to give her a chance, and that’s okay. But you also have to remember the impact her choices had on you and your brother and sister. I don’t think you fully understand what happened after Airielle was born. It was rough. Why do you think we moved down here? I couldn’t stay in Philly with all those reminders of Abaigal. It was a tough decision to leave, but it was necessary for all of us. I wanted to create a fresh start, away from the pain that lingered in every corner of that city. We all carry those scars, Zay, and they run deep.”

Isaiah shifted in his seat, the reality of his father’s words hitting hard. “I just thought… I don’t know she reached out to me and she said she had wanted to see us again, everyone, including Airielle. She said she felt guilty, and that she wanted to make amends. I thought… maybe we could at least hear her out.”

Airielle felt her heart race, anger flaring within her. “Hear her out? You know what – I’m done with this conversation. Tell her to stay far away from me!” Airielle stomped up the stairs and slammed the door behind her, making her father and brothers wince. 

Josiah, Nikole and Isaiah looked at Issac as he stood up and followed Airielle up the stairs. “Before you leave, you will apologize to Tamia. You know damn well them kids only know Tamia as grandma and you wanna confuse them for what?” 

Isaiah gulped and looked down at his lap. He knew his dad was right.

September 3rd 2021

AirielleJones

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Airielle Jones: his prettiest problem 💋

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uceyjucey 🌹🖤 ( ❤️ by author)

nellethebaddest: can u answer ur dms!

trinity_fatu: looking good sister!! ( ❤️ by author)

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↪ AirielleJones: @yasmine_jones : i mean.... 🙃

Airielle was having a shitty day. Hell, she was having a shitty week. Ever since Abigail showed her ugly face, her daughter Janelle had been sending Airielle dm’s on Instagram basically trying to make Airielle and her dad the bad guys in this whole situation.  And then to top off her shitty week, she had called the Pensacola police department to check on her restraining order on Christopher just to find out that the order had never been processed. 

Josh noticed how irritable she was, and despite his efforts—like the massage he’d booked for her—nothing seemed to work. But he knew one thing that could always cheer her up.

If this was Josh’s way of trying to cheer her up, she could get used to it. Airielle let out a soft moan as he sunk another finger into her heat.  She tangled her fingers in his hair, pulling him closer as his mouth found her neck. “Fuck” she moaned out, eyes rolling into the back of her head as he started to circle her clit with his thumb. 

"You like that, baby?" Josh murmured into her ear before he nipped gently at her earlobe, his hot breath sending shivers down her spine. Airielle whimpered in response her eyes opening and locking with his as she started to rock her hips against his hand. 

"Baby, please," she panted, not even sure what she was begging for. He seemed to understand, increasing the pressure on her clit as he curled his fingers inside her. She was so close, she could feel herself about to come undone when the door to the locker room opened causing Josh and Airielle to jump. 

“Twin?! At work? C’mon now!” 

Airielle and Josh both let out groans of disapproval at the arrival of Jon and Trinity. Airielle quickly pulled down her skirt. Josh grumbled to himself as he pulled his hand from under her skirt. 

"Get a room,” Jon said, laughing when Josh flipped him off. 

“We had one until ya’ big-headed ass came in here.” 

Airielle shared a look with Trinity and they both rolled their eyes as the two brothers started bickering back and forth with each other. Airielle stood from her seat, her legs wobbling as she still felt the effects of Josh's touch. She rolled her eyes again as she caught the smirk that Josh threw her way. 

“I’m gonna go.” She said as she bent down, and placed a kiss on Josh’s lips. “Love you.” She whispered before quickly saying goodbye to Jon and Trin and leaving the locker room. 

As if Airielle’s week couldn’t have gotten worse. She had just found out she wasn’t needed at tonight's show. There was no need for her and she was pissed. She pulled out her phone a sent a group message to Trinity, Bianca, and Mercedes. She desperately needed a girl's night out. All three girls agreed and that lifted Airielle’s spirits just a tiny bit. 

Bored out of her mind she hosted another Q&A on Twitter and that past the time. Before she knew it she was back at the hotel with Josh. 

“I’m going out with Trinity, Bianca, and Mercedes tonight,” she said as they walked into their hotel room.  “Is.. is that okay?” 

Josh furrowed his eyebrows at her, confused as to why she was asking, but then he remembered that Christopher used to control every aspect of her life. “Rih it’s fine. Go have fun” Josh chuckled as he threw himself on the bed. Grateful that he had took a shower at the arena. “How long you gone be out?” 

Airielle shrugged. “Not that long. I promise.”  Josh nodded, still sprawled on the bed. “I’m going over to Jon and Trin’s to get ready.” 

“Aight. I’m coming too. I think Woods is over there and I need my rematch in Tekken.” 

“Oo girl. You look good as fuck!” 

Airielle smiled as she turned towards her best friend. “Jon gon lose his shit when he see you” Airielle smirked as she turned back towards the mirror to finish her make-up. Trinity and Jon were lucky enough to get a suite-style room, so Jon, Josh, and Xavier Woods were out in the living room area playing video games, while Trin and Airielle got dressed in the bedroom. 

“And what you think Josh gon say when he see you?” They both stared at each other before bursting out into laughter. Trin grabbed Airielle’s hand as they both walked out of the room. The boys were too engrossed in their video game to notice them. 

“We’re leaving,” Airielle said and Jon paused the game before looking over at her, his eyes damn near bugging out of his head. 

“Oh hell no. Where the rest of it?” 

“Told you” Airielle smirked at Trinity before looking over at Josh who had yet to say anything. Josh bit his bottom lip as he let his eyes rake over Airielle. 

“We can go back to our room and finish what we started at the arena.” 

Airielle raised an eyebrow, a teasing smile spreading across her face as she placed one hand on his chest. “You would like that wouldn’t you.”  She playfully rolled her eyes, moving away from him as she bent over a little to pull the zipper of her boots all the way up. Josh’s eyes bugged out of his head as damn near her whole ass was on display. 

“Oh hell nah.” He exclaimed, quickly reaching up and pulling her skirt down while glaring at Woods, who had got caught staring. “Naw, you gotta change or somethin’” 

Airielle scoffed and rolled her eyes. “Seriously, Josh?” she asked, smacking his hands away from her skirt.“I thought you liked what you saw.”  Josh opened his mouth to possibly argue with her, but she had already picked up her bag and started walking towards the door with Trinity. “Be back later! Love you!” She called out before the door clicked shut behind her.

“Aye!” He called out chasing after her. “Turn yo damn location on!” He rolled his eyes as Airielle and Trinity started running down the hallway. “Childish ass.” 

AirielleJones

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AirielleJones: effortless 💎

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c_smith: you look nice ms. jones

yasmine_jones: my cousin looking GOODT! (❤️ by author)

uceyjucey : ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️ (❤️ by author)

uceyjucey: TURN YO DAMN LOCATION ON!

yasmine_jones: wait until i drop this baby! we gon be OUTSIDE!!! 🙂‍↕️

↪ romanreigns : you gon sit ya lil ass down

This girls' night is exactly what Airielle needed. No distractions, no Abigail no Christopher. Just her best friends and alcohol. 

Airielle’s feet were starting to kill her in her boots, so she tiptoed off the dance floor and towards the bar. She sighed as she leaned against the bar, waiting for the bartender to make his way over to her. While she waited she pulled her phone out of her bag, just to text Josh and let him know she was okay. 

To 🤞🏽❣️:  stop checking my location im fine  From 🤞🏽❣️: how u kno?  To: 🤞🏽❣️: cause i know you duh lol. Get some sleep. Love you ❤️ From 🤞🏽❣️: luv u2 lovebug. U need me CALL me. Im not playing wit u 😘

Her attention was taken from her phone when a glass was set down in front of her. She frowned and looked at the pink-colored drink before looking up at the bartender. 

“Oh, I didn’t order anything.” She said, pushing the glass back towards him. 

He shook his head and pointed towards the opposite direction of the bar. “It’s from him.” 

She looked over in the direction he was pointing and rolled her eyes. She pushed the glass away from her. 

“You can tell him I said no thank you.” The bartender shrugged and took the drink back. 

“That was rude of you,” Raymond said as he walked over and sat in the chair next to her. Airielle groaned and turned her body away from him. She looked out on the dancefloor, looking for a sight of Trin, Bianca, or Mercedes. 

“Come on, Airielle. It’s just a drink,” Raymond said, leaning back in his chair with a smug grin.

She shot him a sidelong glance, irritation bubbling beneath her skin. “And it’s just you. I’m really not in the mood.”

He chuckled, unfazed. “You can’t avoid me forever. Besides, it’s just a drink. No harm in having a little fun.”

She rolled her eyes again, scanning the crowd for her friends. “Fun doesn’t include you, Raymond.”

“Wow, harsh,” he replied, feigning offense. “What’s got you all worked up? Trouble in paradise?” He pressed?  Airielle scoffed. “So I’m right?” 

“Raymond can you please just go. I’m not in the mood.”  Airielle was grateful when he finally shut the hell up, but he was still sitting next to her.  “You gonna stay right there?” 

“You know, you’re a better person than me.” He said, ignroning her statement. 

“What in the hell are you talking about?” 

“I mean I wouldn’t have been able to get back in a relationship after that. Going to his apartment and finding her there -” 

“You bringing up old shit for what? Can you please leave me alone.”  

Raymond shrugged and took a sip of his drink. “That wasn’t the last time they had sex.” 

Airielle whipped her head towards him. “What?” 

“Hey” Raymond said, holding his hands up defensively “Don’t shoot the messenger.” 

Airielle could only stare at him incrediously. “Seriously? You’re just gon say that shit and expect me to be okay with it?” Airielle’s heart raced, a mix of anger and disbelief swirling inside her.

Raymond shrugged, that smug grin still plastered on his face. “I thought you should know. Just looking out for you.”

“By spreading rumors? That’s not looking out for anyone,” she snapped, her voice rising above the music. 

“Chill. I’m not enemy. Just someone looking out for you.” 

Airielle closed her eyes and tried to count to 10 so she wouldn’t t-off on this niggas head. “Raymond. Imma ask you again to leave me alone.” 

Raymond, suddenly serious, leanded closer to Airielle. “I ain’t got no reason to lie to you. I seen them with my own two eyes.’ He then stood up and shrugged. “But if you don’t believe me..” He trailed off and looked up towards where the VIP sections were. And Airielle felt her hands to shake as Yara smirked and blew her a kiss. 

“Here look.” Airielle’s attention was brought back to Raymond who had his phone out, a video was up and he hit play as soon as Airielle looked at it.  Airielle's stomach churned as she watched the video unfold on Raymond's phone. There, in crystal clear quality, was Josh entering a hotel room with Yara, his hand on the small of her back. The video was from acouple of weeks ago. The time stamp read August 20th 2021. 

He said it was only one time. He said that him sleeping with Yara was a mistake. He definitely didn’t make the same mistake twice. He lied… He fucking lied…. 

“You know what you have to do right?” Abigail nodded, even though the person on the other end of the phone couldn’t see her. “That bitch has to pay.” 

“Watch your mouth. That’s still my daughter.” The person on the other end of the phone scoffed. 

“Whatever. Get close to your son. His granddaughter’s birthday is coming up. Get a invite to that and we can start phase two.” He hung up before she could say anything else. 

Christopher Baptiste leaned back into this chair. He let out a loud sigh as he pulled up Airielle’s latest Instagram post on his phone. “It didn’t have to be like this zanj (angel). Soon you’ll be back where you belong.” 

IM BACKKKKKK!

whew chile.. Josh got some explaining to doooo 🤫

thank you @paigereeder for helping me out with EVERYTHING! you da BEST!

hopefully, there are no mistakes... I read and re-read this at least 20 times lol.

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@harmshake @paigereeder @li-da-savage @nbanenefrmdao @alyyaanna

@theninthwonder @raya-hunter01 @abadbitchblogs @jaethaone @mzv11

@shantinextdoor @sheydnni @xmonentsworld @bebesobrielo @kill-the-artiste

@yana3sworld @bookuce @sageispunk @amandairene88 @rianasixx

@vebner37 @mindairy @saintaquarius @adoreesun @shayaaaaaaa

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@privateeyed95 @rebelrel0987 @sabrina-carpenter-stan-account

[eesirachs]

history of the hebrew bible

—1250-1000 bce israel emerges in the highlands of canaan, holding oral narratives of the pentateuch (abraham, if historical, ca. 1800, moses ca. 1250)

—1050 bce the united monarchy forms. saul's reign ca. 1050. david's ca. 1000. solomon's ca. 960. the latter erects the temple. the first former prophets are summoned

—ca 950 bce the oral narrative of the pentateuch is recorded in hebrew. some scholars name this earliest source the yahwist

—922 bce the kingdoms separate into israel in the north (capital samaria) and judah in the south (capital jerusalem). more former prophets are summoned, as well as the latter and the twelve

—ca 850 bce the so-called elohist source records oral narratives of the pentateuch. they may have access to the yahwist source

—722/21 bce assyria ruins samaria, exiles population. this exile affects prophets from the north such as amos and hosea

—621 bce josiah "finds" a scroll in the temple. this deuteronomist source reifies his reforms

—606 babylon and medes ruin nineveh

—597-596 bce babylon ruins jerusalem, namely, the temple. exiles population. this exile affects prophets from the south such as ezekiel and jeremiah

—ca 550 bce the priestly source, keen on re-membering in the midst of exile, records oral narratives of pentateuch. they made use of earlier written sources (so-called j, e, and d sources). some scholars suggest most, if not all, of the hebrew narrative is in fact recorded in this exile period

—539 bce persia ruins babylon, returns judean exiles, allows for temple to be rebuilt

—520-515 bce the temple rebuilt in jerusalem. this starts the 'second temple period'

—400 bce the torah section of the canon reaches its final form

—336-323 bce alexander the great ruins persia

—312-198 bce ptolemies of egypt reign over judah. the dead sea scrolls are composed ca. 300-100 bce. seleucids conquer jerusalem ca. 198

—200s bce LXX is composed in greek. the prophets section of the canon reaches its final form

—168/167 bce syria reigns over jerusalem. maccabean revolt

—33 ce a rabbi from nazareth with kind eyes hangs on a cross

—40s-60s ce a pharisee falls off a horse, sends letters to house churches (pauline epistles)

—66-70 ce the second temple is destroyed

—60s-110s the four gospels of the second testament are written. a fifth one, named q, may or may not be lost at this time

—100 ce the writings section of the canon reaches its final form

—300-400 ce codex vaticanus and codex sinaiticus composed

—600-900 ce the MT is rendered. hebrew is afforded vowels, finally. aleppo codex and cairo codex composed

[wizard-on-whales]

A Fine Night For Debauchery (Arthur Morgan x Reader)

NSFW - Minors do NOT interact

Warnings: near drowning, Arthur is a cheeky bastard (Who also gets a raging boner when he sees boobies), lots of teasing...I mean LOTS, filthy shameless smut, fingering, P in V, unprotected sex, pet names

Word Count - 3k

----------------------

Trelawny. Goddamn Josiah Trelawny. You blamed him for the impure thoughts that were keeping you up. Not that they were about the man himself but that dress he made you wear. You and Arthur were the main distraction for the Riverboat mission you had been sent on. The two of you were playing a newlywed couple there to win a little extra money for the success of your marriage. And to rub your “riches” in since Arthur had recently hit a score in the oil business. None of that was true, of course. And it wasn't the first time you and Arthur had been paired together for a mission where you had to pretend to be a couple, but tonight seemed more intimate.

You sat on his lap, one arm wrapped around his shoulder while he played the poker game. You could feel Arthur shifting under you now and then, his eyes subtly glancing down at your chest that was practically shoved in his face. The dress that Trelawny had picked out for you was extremely tight and revealing. Your corset pushed your breasts up to the point they were practically spilling out of the top. And although you usually wore low-cut dresses, you never wore corsets. You found them to be too claustrophobic, so you avoided them. You felt uncomfortable in the thing; it was digging into your sides and seemed to be a size too small. The feeling of it cutting into you caused you to squirm often, and every time you moved, Arthur flinched a little, sucking in a breath. At first, you thought he was shifting from your weight; maybe he was just trying to get more comfortable under you and the unnecessarily heavy dress you wore. But once you realized why he was actually shifting, you felt hot. If the makeup you wore wasn't as heavy as the dress, everyone would have been able to see how red your cheeks were burning. 

Once he had won the game and got up to collect his reward, tension seemed to be released from his shoulders. You assumed he was uncomfortable, not wanting to be seen as just another one of those men. He wasn't, you knew that. Things like that weren't controllable, so you washed it off as just the compromised position you had been sitting in for so long. 

All of those thoughts were quickly thrown out of your brain when shots were fired. You ducked behind the bar and pulled your skirt up, pulling your gun out where it had been nestled on your thigh the whole night. Once the coast was clear, everyone made a run for it. You, Arthur, Javier, Trelawny, and Strauss jumped off the side of the boat and started swimming for shore. The only problem was your dress made it impossible to swim. As soon as you hit the water, it quickly weighed you down, getting heavier the more water it absorbed. 

“God damn this dress!” Your arms flailed as you panicked, hardly being able to keep your head above the water. Arthur noticed your distress and swam towards you, helping to keep you up,” Get this thing off of me!”

Arthur tugged at everything he could, trying to untie the corset and undo buttons, but they weren't coming undone quickly enough.  

“How the hell am I supposed to do that!” He started to panic as you continued to struggle in his arms. He was able to unhook the front of your corset, pushing it off before seeing the maze of strings that held your dress up.

“I don't know, figure it out!” Arthur hesitated for a moment before grabbing the seams sitting against your breasts and ripping the fabric. One hard jerk was all it took for the dress to come off. He pulled you flush against him with one arm and pushed the rest of the dress down your legs. 

“That works,” you felt your cheeks flush red. You still had your undergarments on, and despite wearing them around camp often at night, you had never felt more exposed in front of the man. Although you could swim on your own now, Arthur still kept his arm firm around your waist as the two of you swam to shore together. 

Now here you were, lying on your bedroll, staring at the rotting ceiling above you. Your hair was still damp from the water, and although you had changed out of your wet bloomers into a nightgown, your skin was still cold to the bone. Your mind was flooded with impure thoughts you were trying desperately to get rid of. With Dutch being your brother, you had known Arthur the whole time he had been in the gang. He was 14 when Dutch and Hosea found him, and you were 12. Although you had always found him attractive, you would have never admitted to having a crush on him.

The two of you were close, supposed to be like family, but as you continued to lay there, you questioned if your relationship had ever been like that. The constant subtle touches, the occasional flirty banter, the few times the two of you had slept in each other's arms looking for warmth or comfort. Nothing inappropriate had happened those nights you slept next to each other, but now you couldn't help but wish something had... 

The thought of Arthur ripping your dress off so easily made your cheeks burn again. You let out a heavy sigh before getting up from your bed roll and making your way up the creaky, old stairs of Shady Bell. Your heart pounded with each step you took. You stopped in front of Arthur's door, hesitating for a moment before opening it. Arthur was sitting up on his bed, journal in his hand. He looked up before quickly closing it and clearing his throat a little. You noticed his cheeks turned a soft shade of pink. 

“You alright?” He asked, standing up and putting the journal on his map table. You still stood in the doorway, your hand sitting on the knob. 

“I uh…,” You looked away from him and out the broken window, trying to form a thought. He stepped closer, which clouded your brain even more,” Never mind.” 

Just as you went to step away, Arthur grabbed you. His hands placed firmly on both of your arms as he kicked the door shut. Your heart rate picked up as you looked up at him. Arthur was looked down at you in a way he had never done before. Like a predator stalking its prey. Your brain finally formed a sentence as you stared at the burning desire behind his eyes. 

“I need you, Arthur,” the words came out quiet.

“Im a bad man, darlin’,” His voice was just as low. You moved your arms slightly, and he immediately let you go. You wrapped them around his shoulders, pulling him down slightly. 

“You know Im worse,” Your eyes were fixed on his lips as yours hovered above them. Arthur dropped his head, his lips hungrily devouring yours. He stepped back, dragging you with him, his lips still on yours. He pulled you with him until the back of his legs hit his bed. He pulled away from you, a strand of saliva following as he did. 

“You sure you wanna do this, girl?” His words seemed genuine as he stared at your eyes and lips. 

“I've never been more sure,” You pushed his shoulders down, making him sit on the edge of his bed. Stepping back a few feet, you grabbed the bottom of your nightgown and pulled it over your head, throwing it onto the floor next to your feet. Arthur's eyes gazed over every inch of your body, drinking in your features like you were a smooth glass of whiskey.

“Come here,” you stepped closer, your legs against his. His rough hands immediately went to the back of your legs; one stayed put with a heavy grip. The other drug up your leg to your stomach until it was grazing dangerously close to your breast, “ Sit.” 

You obeyed. You were a rough woman yourself... hell, probably more ruthless than Arthur. You almost never took orders from anyone, not even your own brother. Anyone who told you what to do would get a gun in their face, and it often ended with their brains on a wall. But here you were doing exactly what Arthur was telling you to. Like a dog eager for a treat. You sat on his lap, straddling him. Arthur smirked, his thumb swiping over your nipple. You wrapped her arms around his shoulders and leaned down, kissing him feverishly. Your hands grabbed his suspenders and pushed them off of his shoulders. You leaned back and started to unbutton his shirt. While you did, Arthur's eyes never left your face, his hands slightly roamed your body, feeling every curve he could. Once the final button was undone, Arthur took the shirt off and threw it to the side. Your hands immediately went to his chest, feeling him up and down. 

He knew you watched him whenever he would do chores around camp. The way his muscles flexed through his shirt when he carried the hay bales or threw bags over his shoulders. And your eyes would never once leave him if he was chopping wood. His shirt off, suspenders hanging from his hips, just like they were now. His back and arms flexing with every swing. He wouldn't look at you while you stared, but he could feel your eyes burning a hole in him. And oftentimes it would end in Miss Grimshaw yelling at you to get back to work. You were staring at him the same way now, the same hungry look in your eyes burning a hole through him. 

Arthur couldn't help but feel a little embarrassed and shy about it, his cheeks flushing slightly, but you didn't care. You leaned back down to kiss him again, hands still roaming his chest and memorizing every defined muscle on his arms. His own hands still wandered your body as he moved one from her breast and her heat. One finger dragged slowly up her cunt causing you to let out a quiet whine. 

“God,” He groaned into your mouth, “Yer’ soaked, and I've hardly even touched ya. Whatchu’ been thinkin’ about, girl.” He removed his mouth from yours, his finger still barely touching your heat.

“You,” You breathed quietly, “The way you-” he pushed a finger inside of you, cutting off your words as you moaned. 

“What about me,” He smirked, his mouth hovered right above yours, his breath hot against your lips.

“The way you ripped my dress off…so,” he pulled his finger out and pushed two in this time, “God- so easily.” 

“I've been thinkin' bout’ that all night too, darlin’. Can't sleep because of me? Can't sleep because you've been thinkin' about fuckin’ me? Hmm?” He picked up his pace, his two fingers moving quickly, his thumb barely grazing your clit. You dropped your head to his shoulder, mouth open, but nothing came out. You knew you had to be quiet, or someone would hear. There may have been walls, but they were thin and rotting, and the broken window didn't help, “Is that it, Darlin? Gotta answer me, or I'll stop.” 

“God, yes. Please, Arthur,” You let out another quiet moan, biting his shoulder slightly to muffle it. He groaned as you bit down, his hips moving slightly to ease his own throbbing heat.

“Please, what?” His teasing frustrated you, but your brain was too clouded to tell him off. 

“Fuck me, Arthur, please.” That was all it took. He pulled his fingers out and flipped you onto the bed so that he was on top. Your hands quickly went to his pants, unbuttoning them and pushing them down his hips slightly. Your finger traced his hip bones and V-line. He sat back up and pulled them off the rest of the way. 

“So eager…all for me,” He leaned down, whispering in your ear before planting a wet kiss on your collarbone. He placed a heavy hand on the base of his cock, pumping it a few times and letting out a groan before lining it up with your entrance. 

He pushed into you slowly, both of you letting out a sigh. Arthur dropped his head to your chest, kissing one of your breasts as he bottomed you out. The man was large on every term, towered over most men in height, could easily toss anyone over his shoulder, so it was no surprise he was blessed below the belt too. 

“You alright?” He looked you in the eyes, letting you adjust to his size before continuing. You nodded your head and bit your lip slightly, “That ain't gonna work, darlin'. Use your words.” 

“Yes,” He connected his lips to yours once again and slowly moved his hips. You moaned into his mouth as he moved quicker, “Please, Arthur. Faster.” You threw your head back against the hard mattress. 

“You like it rough, don't ya,” Arthur groaned as his hips continued to hit yours, picking up his pace. You couldn't speak, only nod your head and let out another strangled moan, “ I should've known, you dirty girl.” The noises coming from between your legs were filthy, getting messier as Arthur's strokes became more desperate. 

“God, Arthur,” You moaned his name, your hands pulling at his hair. He clamped a hand over your mouth to keep you quiet. 

“Yeah, that feel good?” He asks, his tone mocking her slightly, “Gotta be quiet unless you want the whole camp knowin’ how much of a whore you are.” He grunted, pulling one of your legs up further and kissing your neck. He bit down on the soft skin on your collarbone, trying to mask his own noises. The coil in your stomach tightened, your legs wrapping tighter against him. Arthur could tell you were close, so he steadied his pace, wanting you to finish before him. He lifted his head from your shoulder and watched your face as you got closer. You bit your lip to keep yourself quiet, pulling yourself closer to Arthur as your back arched. Your breathing got heavier as you let out a breathless moan, your nails digging into Arthur's scalp. You let go, feeling everything in your body tighten before immediately relaxing. Arthur pulled out, his hand desperately finishing what had been started, wishing his hand was your warm walls. You watched as he finished, groaning to himself as his filth leaking out onto your stomach. 

“Jesus,” He let out quietly, leaning forward to kiss you. You wiped the loose strands of hair that stuck to his forehead out of his face. He pulled back, looking at you. This time instead of being full of lust, he looked at you with the sweetest eyes, a slight smile on his face. The two of you stayed like that for a few seconds, drunk on each other. He sat up slightly, grabbed his shirt off of the floor, and cleaned you up, “Shit, yer shakin’, darlin’.” 

“I'll be okay,” You planted a small kiss on his forehead and wrapped your arms around his shoulders again, pulling him closer as he finished cleaning you up. He layed down next to you, wrapping his heavy arm around your middle. Your back was against his chest, his face buried in your hair. 

“I’ve wanted to do that for a while now,” Arthur said quietly, placing a small kiss on the back of your head. You smiled slightly to yourself, resting your hand on his arm. 

“You been havin’ dirty thoughts bout me for a while, Cowboy?” You teased him slightly, his arm wrapping tighter around you. 

“The filthiest,” You could hear the smile in his voice as he kissed your neck. 

“Well, I guess you'll just have to tell me all about them, so I make sure they come true.” You turned in his arms so that you were facing him.

“I won't say no to that,” Arthur leaned forward and placed a gentle kiss on your lips, “But for now, I just wanna hold you and get some sleep.” He gave you a soft smile, and you agreed with him. Both of you closed your eyes, enjoying the warmth of each other's arms once again, only this time, the night hadn't been innocent.

-----------------------

[sixx-sixx-sixx]

THE TRADER’S DAUGHTER - cooper “the ghoul” howard x female!oc — PART 2

EDIT: FOLLOW @bonafideyapper FOR FUTURE PARTS!

warnings(?): allusions to bisexual!cooper towards the end; bad grammar/bad writing/bad formatting; (I was intoxicated while I wrote a lot of this); bad depiction of a southern accent (I’m literally from the south); incorrect fallout lore; overall warning for general fallout violence; Daisy is 4/5 here; dbf!cooper

part 1

During Josiah’s time roaming the aftermath of the fallout for the benefit of the vault, he became an important part of forming strong relationships between the vault and outsiders. Under his guidance, the vault had a successful trade relationship that spanned over much of the old territory.

Daisy has very distant memories of the vault, mostly just an old television set that played movies that she could vaguely make out. To her, life didn’t really begin until she woke up on an old couch being watched over by an old woman that owned a shop in the small town. Shortly after their arrival, her father established himself as a trader of chems and other invaluable items, creating a permanent place in the town after a few months.

cooper was a frequent customer at Josiah’s. He’d gotten him a place to take refuge in after escaping the vault with his daughter, after reaching out to an old female friend of his. she owed him a favor for him saving her ass from some raiders, and then for cheatin’ on him with the same fuckin’ raider.

Coop would develop a soft spot for the trader’s daughter. He’d known from the moment he met her that she’d be a firecracker someday. the first time they had met, the little girl was no taller than a bean sprout, and she was hidden behind her father’s legs. she had been playing with a handmade doll behind the counter when cooper walked through the door, greeting his old acquaintance with a big smile.

“Josiah, you son of a bitch. How’re you settlin’ in?” the ghoul drawled easily, reaching out to shake the man’s hand in a faux-professional manner before pulling him forward to greet him.

The brown eyed girl looked up in curiousity at the sound of the bell on the door, immediately getting up to hide behind Josiah’s legs. she had never seen anything like him before, the skin of his face stretched tight and scarred in various spots from decades of radiation exposure (and probably some chem abuse, but whatever, it kept him from going feral). The vest he wore under a long overcoat was buttoned neatly despite his otherwise disheveled appearance, and there was a once-fancy faded blue shirt peeking out from the under the vest. Something in her little brain recognized the pattern of faded gold, she thought she had seen it in one of the many tv-screened dreams she would have each night.

The ghoul set his bag of various meats (totally not just a whole bunch of ass jerky, he saved that for himself whenever he got the chance) and other supplies down on the low countertop between them and tipped his hat to the little girl, offering her a yellowed smile, “howdy, li’l lady. you must be that flower your daddy’s always talkin’ about.”

Josiah looked down at his kid and forced the young girl into full view of the ghoul. He wasn’t raising no pussy, he had to expose Daisy to everything the wasteland had to offer. And, despite his appearance, Cooper had a larger than life aura to him even after all of the damage he had sustained through the years. The father was sure his kid would adapt to the ghoul.

“Introduce yourself, Daze. Coop don’t bite.” He formed a joke and looked over at the ghoul, “Unless you misbehave, then he might eat you right up.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Cooper. My name is Daisy.” She said in a polite little voice, still working on looking up at the cowboy. She wasn’t afraid of him, she just had some nerves was all. Getting used to the new scenery around her was gonna take some time at her young age, but she’d be a natural in no time. Whole town would gonna be in love with her by the time she turns 6.

“pleasure to meet you, little Daisy. you can just call me coop, no need to be ‘fraid of me. i’m the best bounty hunter this side o’ the wasteland, one of the good guys.” coop says the final line with a easy lie, his eyes flashing up to Josiah who had seen the internal conflict he faced in the time he had known the ghoul. He sure as hell wasn’t one of the good guys, but he could be for the few people he cared about in his big age.

“Now, why don’t you go run along an’ let the grown folks talk alone?” Cooper reached down and patted the top of Daisy’s head, watching her run along to the back office.

Josiah pulled a case out from under a shelf and counted out the vials of chems that he owed the ghoul in exchange for the supplies he brought, giving him a couple extra for a cheaper price because he liked the guy.

“You did a good job there, Joe. She’s gonna be a little killer some day, I can tell she’s got your survival instinct already. Between the two of us, she’s bound to learn at least two useful fuckin’ skills.” Cooper leaned over the counter a bit and took the box from his old (lover) friend. Josiah nodded in agreement and looked back towards the door for a moment, “Thank you, Cooper. I’m serious, I owe you more than just a couple extra vials.”

Cooper shook his head and lightened the mood, “Us cowpokes gotta stick together up here, you’ll learn that soon enough, Vaultie. Don’t you worry about her, you know I keep my word.” As soon as Josiah had successfully gotten his sleeping daughter out of the vault, he had made his oldest wasteland acquaintance promise, swear even, to protect the young girl in case anything were to end up happening to the old vault dweller. Cooper had always been a man of his word, no matter how badly the effects of radiation and the fucked up immortality would change him.

a/n: okay!! welcome to the end of chapter 2, definitely leaning towards cooper being (canonically?) bisexual & again definitely some kind of gay tendencies between the old buddies. But anyways, maybe I’ll flesh THAT out if anyone’s interested.

a/n 2: also considering accepting requests for cooper stuff outside of Daisy’s story, gonna try my hand at 2nd person POV writing. if you have something you wanna see me try to flesh out then feel free to message me/send me an ask ❤️

taglist: @savanahc @one-of-thewalkingdead @silverose365 @neverendingdumptser

[youryurigoddess]

Aziraphale’s secret investigation and overlooked Clues

Remember this frame from Good Omens S02E06? Apparently Aziraphale had been using the empty carton box brought by Jim to store things in. It became a new home to at least two out of three “Lost Quartos” — the supposedly lost Shakespeare plays briefly but hilariously mentioned in the Good Omens book — as well as a very mysterious legal document.

Thought probably half of the Good Omens analysts here, including the ever so wonderful @fuckyeahgoodomens, who managed to find some information about the deceased John Gibson from New Cumnock (1855 - 1905).

Unfortunately the most interesting thing about this early 20th century provincial postmaster was his youngest child James (1894 - 1973), a quite famous stage (West End!) and film actor immortalized on screen in The Master of Ballantrae (1962), Witch Wood (1964) and Kidnapped (1963).

After that particular discovery the fandom-wide search seemingly led nowhere and the topic died a premature death.

And I almost figured it out seven months ago.

“But Yuri, you’re so clever. How can somebody as clever as you be so stupid?”, you probably want to shout across a busy London street at this point. Well, let me tell you. Much like Aziraphale, I'm blindingly intelligent for about thirty seconds a day. I do not get to choose which seconds and they are not consecutive.

Only tonight the stars have aligned in an ineffable way.

For those of you who don’t follow this account, some time ago I’ve realized that John Gibson isn’t the only testator whose estate was being investigated by Aziraphale right before The Whickber Street Traders and Shopkeepers Association monthly meeting.

If you watch S2 finale closely enough, you should notice that Crowley not only stress cleans Aziraphale’s bookshop — he also goes through the books and papers on his desk between the last three angels leaving the bookshop and Maggie and Nina’s intervention. A seemingly permanent arrangement of the props post-shooting, visible in detail both on Radio Times tour and SFX magazine photo shoot, sheds even more light on this detail.

The close-ups published after S2 release are legible enough to refer us to a much more prominent historical figure, Josiah Wedgwood (1730 – 1795) — an English potter, entrepreneur and abolitionist. Founding the Wedgwood company in 1759, he developed improved pottery bodies by systematic experimentation, and was the leader in the industrialisation of the manufacture of European pottery.

Long story short, I transcribed the handwritten pages abandoned on Aziraphale’s desk, found out the source and the full text of what could be identified as Wedgwood’s last will and testament, took a walk to visit his Soho workshop, and proceeded to write a lengthy meta analysis about it.

I was today’s years old when I realized that there’s something else connecting those two dead British men.

The Scottish Post Office Directory of 1903 recorded John Gibson from New Cumnock as a “stationer and china dealer” (above) operating from the shop located in the town’s post office building.

Indeed, a close look at his post office shop window in the Henderson Building (below, bottom left) reveals an artful display of fine china and pottery next to postcards printed by Gibson.

There are multiple ways to connect this surprising link with possible S3 plot points, obviously, but it’s getting late, so let’s just name the two most important ones.

You’ve probably heard of the Holy Grail, maybe from Monty Python or Good Omens S01E03 1941 flashback. Depending on the version of the story, if can be a cup, a chalice, a bowl, or a saucer — but almost always a dish or a vessel connected personally, physically and metaphysically to Jesus (unless you’re partial to Wolfram von Eschenbach’s idea that the Grail was a stone, the sanctuary of the neutral angels who took neither side during Lucifer's rebellion).

A slightly more obscure dish related to the Son of God appears in the sixteenth chapter of the Book of Revelation as a vital part of His Second Coming. The Seven Bowls (or cups, or vials) of God’s Wrath are supposed to be poured out on the wicked and the followers of the Antichrist by seven angels:

Then I heard a loud voice from the temple telling the seven angels, “Go and pour out on the earth the seven bowls of the wrath of God.” So the first angel went and poured out his bowl on the earth, and harmful and painful sores came upon the people who bore the mark of the beast and worshiped its image.

The second angel poured out his bowl into the sea, and it became like the blood of a corpse, and every living thing died that was in the sea.

The third angel poured out his bowl into the rivers and the springs of water, and they became blood. And I heard the angel in charge of the waters say, “Just are you, O Holy One, who is and who was, for you brought these judgments. For they have shed the blood of saints and prophets, and you have given them blood to drink. It is what they deserve!” And I heard the altar saying, “Yes, Lord God the Almighty, true and just are your judgments!”

The fourth angel poured out his bowl on the sun, and it was allowed to scorch people with fire. They were scorched by the fierce heat, and they cursed the name of God who had power over these plagues. They did not repent and give him glory.

The fifth angel poured out his bowl on the throne of the beast, and its kingdom was plunged into darkness. People gnawed their tongues in anguish and cursed the God of heaven for their pain and sores. They did not repent of their deeds.

The sixth angel poured out his bowl on the great river Euphrates, and its water was dried up, to prepare the way for the kings from the east. And I saw, coming out of the mouth of the dragon and out of the mouth of the beast and out of the mouth of the false prophet, three unclean spirits like frogs. For they are demonic spirits, performing signs, who go abroad to the kings of the whole world, to assemble them for battle on the great day of God the Almighty.  (“Behold, I am coming like a thief! Blessed is the one who stays awake, keeping his garments on, that he may not go about naked and be seen exposed!”) And they assembled them at the place that in Hebrew is called Armageddon.

The seventh angel poured out his bowl into the air, and a loud voice came out of the temple, from the throne, saying, “It is done!” And there were flashes of lightning, rumblings, peals of thunder, and a great earthquake such as there had never been since man was on the earth, so great was that earthquake. The great city was split into three parts, and the cities of the nations fell, and God remembered Babylon the great, to make her drain the cup of the wine of the fury of his wrath. And every island fled away, and no mountains were to be found. And great hailstones, about one hundred pounds each, fell from heaven on people; and they cursed God for the plague of the hail, because the plague was so severe.