#s: josiah

[intercomkris]

🍅🦇 @birdietrait did someone say vampire ?

Josiah, formerly known as Jafaar, carries the weight of centuries on his shoulders, a vampire born in the desolate landscapes of Somalia, forever bound to the shadows after a fateful encounter in the mid-1720s. Captured and turned by a Syrian vampire, he was whisked away to the unfamiliar terrain of Syria, where he was reluctantly introduced to a royal vampire family.

In his formative years, Josiah immersed himself in the pursuit of knowledge, studying languages and literature, and clandestinely devising intricate plans for the royal family that held him captive. However, the flame of his ambition was extinguished when the longing to find his birth parents, a desire he had harbored since adolescence, was abruptly silenced.

Growing up as an oppressed and envious teenager, Josiah transformed into a bitter young adult, seeking refuge in the intellectual haven of Europe—specifically England—during the mid-1840s. University life exposed him to capitalist and economist ideologies, molding his worldview as he delved into the intricacies of societal structures.

His journey into the nocturnal realm began with a sinister twist, as his first taste of blood was drawn from one of his professors. A predator in the shadows, he continued his nocturnal pursuits without ever being exposed. As the decades unfolded, he evolved with the changing times, returning to Somalia in the 1970s with a desperate quest to reunite with his birth parents, only to be met with the harsh reality of their long-departed lives.

Returning to the United States, Josiah adapted to the ever-evolving social landscape of the 21st century, attempting to blend in with the trends and norms of the time while clinging to his deep-seated beliefs. His younger sister, a relentless force of change, compelled him to undergo a transformation – tattoos, piercings, a new hairdo, and a wardrobe overhaul – all in an attempt to assimilate into contemporary society. Yet, beneath the superficial alterations, Josiah longs for the simplicity of his original attire, appearing almost robotic in his detachment from the ever-changing fashions.

In the present day of 2023, Josiah finds himself in the forgotten hollow, a place that holds a singular purpose for him. With an enigmatic goal set firmly in his immortal mind, he navigates the delicate balance between adapting to the current era and preserving the essence of his timeless existence, forever haunted by the echoes of his past and the insatiable thirst for the unknown.

TRIVIA:

Fashionable Anachronism: Despite his sister's attempts to modernize his appearance, Josiah secretly hoards a collection of clothing from various eras, finding comfort in the timeless elegance of garments that reflect the epochs he has traversed.

Literary Pursuits: Josiah's love for languages and literature extends beyond his mortal life. He has amassed a private library filled with rare manuscripts, preserving the stories that have shaped his understanding of the world. One of his prized possessions is an ancient tome written in a language long forgotten by mortals.

Musical Tastes: While he outwardly adapts to the music of the modern era, Josiah secretly cherishes classical compositions from his youth. He has been known to haunt hidden concert halls, drawn to the haunting melodies that echo the melancholy of his immortal existence.

Hidden Talents: Josiah possesses a keen talent for calligraphy, a skill he developed during his youth while studying languages. He often spends the quiet hours of the night crafting intricate scripts and inscriptions, each stroke a testament to his centuries-long pursuit of perfection.

Artistic Reflections: In a concealed chamber of his dwelling, Josiah maintains a gallery of portraits capturing moments from his past. Each painting tells a silent tale of the people he has encountered and the cities he has watched evolve, providing a haunting backdrop to his eternal existence.

Nocturnal Philanthropy: Unbeknownst to the mortal world, Josiah channels his capitalist inclinations into philanthropic endeavors during the night. He discreetly funds projects that align with his vision of societal improvement, drawing from the wealth accumulated over centuries.

Unquenchable Thirst for Knowledge: Josiah is a perpetual student of the world, and he continually enrolls in university courses under various aliases. His insatiable thirst for knowledge spans disciplines, from cutting-edge technology to ancient philosophies, allowing him to seamlessly blend into different intellectual circles over the years.

Classical Arabic: Being born in Somalia and later taken to Syria, Josiah mastered Classical Arabic, delving into its rich literature and linguistic nuances.

Syriac: A language with historical significance in the region, Josiah became fluent in Syriac during his time in Syria, connecting with the ancient roots of the supernatural world.

Latin: As a young adult in Europe during the mid-1840s, Josiah immersed himself in the study of Latin, a language that granted him access to the scholarly and philosophical works of the time.

English: Moving to England for university, Josiah not only learned English but excelled in it. His linguistic proficiency allowed him to navigate the rapidly evolving social and intellectual landscape of 19th-century England.

French: Embracing the cultural diversity of Europe, Josiah added French to his repertoire, finding himself captivated by the elegance of the language and its literary treasures.

Somali: Despite his nomadic existence, Josiah retained a deep connection to his roots, maintaining fluency in Somali to honor his heritage and communicate with those from his homeland.

Italian: In his pursuit of art and culture, Josiah picked up Italian during the Renaissance, allowing him to appreciate the masterpieces of the era and connect with the intellectual elite.

Spanish: Venturing into the exploration of the New World, Josiah acquired fluency in Spanish, enabling him to engage with the diverse cultures and civilizations flourishing in the Americas.

German: With a keen interest in the economic and philosophical discourse of the time, Josiah became fluent in German, immersing himself in the works of influential thinkers from the German-speaking world.

Mandarin Chinese: Embracing the advancements of the 20th century, Josiah learned Mandarin Chinese, recognizing its growing importance on the global stage and adapting to the changing geopolitical landscape.

[degenderates]

i've only read one real yaoi manga and that was "scattering his virgin bloom" vol. 1 but one could argue that kuro-- [gunshots]

[biblebloodhound]

Finding the Book of the Law (2 Kings 22:1-10)

Instead of worrying about what the world is coming to, and what it might become tomorrow, today is the day to make the choice to do justice, to love mercy, and to walk humbly with your God.

Josiah was eight years old when he became king, and he reigned in Jerusalem thirty-one years. His mother’s name was Jedidah daughter of Adaiah; she was from Bozkath. He did what was right in the eyes of the Lord and followed completely the ways of his father David, not turning aside to the right or to the left. In the eighteenth year of his reign, King Josiah sent the secretary, Shaphan son of…

[kernelscorner]

It's mostly Science Fiction/Fantasy books that are a hit in this edition of cover revelations, but a few stragglers outside this genre also made their way through...

[coreofthebible]

How to do what is right in God's eyes

Today we will be looking at the core Bible principle of integrity, and how, it is only when we understand what God’s perspective is that we can know what’s truly right and what’s wrong. Deuteronomy 12:28 – Observe and hear all these words which I command you, that it may go well with you, and with your children after you forever, when you do that which is good and right in the eyes of Yahweh…

[kdmiller55]

Control Over Kings and Countries

20 In the eleventh year, in the first month, on the seventh day of the month, the word of the Lord came to me: 21 “Son of man, I have broken the arm of Pharaoh king of Egypt, and behold, it has not been bound up, to heal it by binding it with a bandage, so that it may become strong to wield the sword. 22 Therefore thus says the Lord God: Behold, I am against Pharaoh king of Egypt and will break…

[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.

[trippinsorrows]

are jey's kids really bad or is that just roman being a grump?

oh no, they are bad. lol you ever seen bebe's kids? imagine that.

something like this....

-----

"i want the shipment moved no later than—" the sound of an object crashing and shattering interrupts roman, the speaker shutting his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose.

third.

this is the third goddamn interruption in under half an hour, and there is no doubt in roman's mind that the cause is the same as it was the prior two times.

and judging by the look on jey's face, he thinks the same too.

standing up, he turns his body toward the house and calls out, "hey, what ya'll doing!"

jimmy snorts and takes a sip of his beer. "ain't it obvious? breaking shit."

jey shoots his twin a look that's the equivalent of 'shut the fuck up' as jey moves onto requesting the presence of his unruly children. "ya'll, get out here now!"

at that, roman scowls. "can't you go to them?" roman could go the rest of his life without being around jey's children, and having already had the displeasure of interacting with them twice today thus far, he's reached his max.

jey starts to offer a rebuttal, reminding his cousin that it was roman who wanted to have the meeting at someone's place other than his. something about the twins being 'destructive'.

it's not like they didn't pay for the repairs on the maserati.

roman grabs his own beer, downing the rest as one by one, the result of jey not being smart enough to use a condom—all four times—come running out, mischief written all over their faces.

but, jey is more focused on the black eye on one of his kids, the matted hair of another, and the small cut on the eyebrow on a third kid.

"what the hell done happened to ya'll?" he doesn't wait for a reply, reminding them, "jordan, were you trying to kill josiah again?"

jordan looks just as unremorseful as he feels, defending, "he deserved it!"

at that, roman actually agrees. out of all of jey's wild offspring, josiah has always been the most irritating.

he probably had it coming.

"how many times i gotta tell ya'll? you can only beat each other up to fight, not to kill!" jey blows out a breath, hands over his face. he sounds as exasperated as roman feels. maybe it's worth whatever destruction his cousins cause to just have meetings at his house. that's not as taxing as being around this shit.

journee, a little nicki in training, just has to chime in, pointing like the snitch she is, "he was being a little bitch, daddy!"

"aye!" jey interrupts, voice firm. "what i tell ya'll about all that goddamn cussing?" he doesn't wait for a reply, scolding them yet again, "stop using all that fuckin' language in my motherfuckin' house!"

one of the kids rolls their eyes, the second oldest boy, roman guesses, is quick with a smartass reply. "mama said we ain't gotta listen to you."

"she said what?"

jimmy shakes his head, murmuring to roman as he gazes at the uncovered pool, the sun reflecting off the lights at the bottom. "here we go...."

"she said you a bit—"

"that's enough!" jey marches over to the table, snatching his phone and mumbling to roman and his twin about being 'right back.' the last thing that's heard is jey laying into nicki, "who the hell you think you are telling my kids—what was that? bitch, i know you not with ole' dude again! man, i'll kill his ass and make you watch!"

the kids, thankfully, disperse back into the house.

roman is ready to pass on his parting words to jimmy and be the fuck gone. the desire for a good workout—or fucking—growing by the second. he might have to hit up sasha. sam was on that shit last time, and he's already in a foul mood.

but, a tug on his sleeve prevents him from doing that, roman's disdain painted over his handsome face. "what?" he asks, gruffly.

jayla rolls her brown eyes and only extends out her open palm. "my birthday is next month."

"and?" roman's more likely to wish jey's youngest daughter a 'happy accidental existence' day than 'happy birthday.'

however, she's undeterred, reminding, "my money?"

that, however, makes roman chuckle. he'd almost forgotten that out the four, she happens to be his favorite unfavorite. he don't like none of him, but she's not as intolerable as the rest. and her hustle is impressive.

pulling out his wallet, he asks, "how old you turning? 5?"

"i'm turning 7, uncle roman." she scoffs, maybe to herself, or him. "old people...."

at that, roman pauses, "you want the money or what, kid?"

she looks down, sheepishly, as roman counts out three hundred dollar bills, laying them in her waiting hand. "there. now don't bother me again until next year."

it's an easy request for the almost 7 year old, her eyes wide as she imagines all the robux she'll be able to get.

stuffing the money into her pocket, she nods and offers appreciation. "good to see you, uncle roman." roman shakes his head as jayla moves over to jimmy. "uncle jimmy....."

however, jimmy is not roman. "girl, i ain't got no money."

jayla stays true to her no filter nature. "so you're a broke ass?"

at that, roman turns his head. he actually has to hold back his smile. yeah, jayla might most definitely become his favorite at some point.

"broke ass?" jimmy, of course, fails to see that he's being baited by a damn second grader and yanks out his wallet, counting out a stack of hundreds and giving it to her. "how's that for broke ass?"

jayla looks like she just won the lottery, and at her age, she essentially just did. she doesn't bother with an expression of appreciation before dashing off with all her money.

and roman just watches as recognition dawns on jimmy's face, effectively ridding him of that goofy ass smile. "wait, that was my strip club money." he hops off the stool and goes after his niece. "get back here, you lil samoan wednesday!"

[mythous]

IT’S  NOTHING  LESS  THAN  WHAT  SHE’D  EXPECTED,   if  sona’s  being  honest  with  herself.   despite  having  never  felt  the  differences  between  them  quite  so  starkly  while  they’d  been  together,   she  can’t  help  but  see  every  facet  of  them  now  in  his  borderline  condescension.   and  how  can  she  even  speak  against  it  when  she’s  still  seeking  some  manner  of  approval  from  him   (  albeit  less  outwardly  eager  as  she  may  have  been  once  upon  a  time  ).  

a  scoff  filters  through  the  silence   —   she  can  taste  the  derision  in  it  as  it  hangs  in  her  throat,   is  sure  he  can  feel  it  once  it  reaches  his  ears.   once  upon  a  time  things  between  them  had  been  simple,   had  made  sense.   funny  how  things  change.

                    ❝  i  am  part  of  the  world,  ❞     she  points  out,   flippantly,   the  ghost  of  a  smile  in  tow  as  it  fails  to  reach  her  eyes   —   eyes  that  meet  his  with  an  intensity  sona  has  only  ever  had  for  him  ( even  if  it  does  take  a  different  shape  these  days  ).    ❝  saving  it  would  mean  saving  me  too   —  ❞    a  pause,   and  maybe  she  softens  just  a  little  (  maybe  she  still  longs,   in  all  of  the  foolish  corners  of  her  heart  ).    ❝  —  and  you.  ❞

but  they’re  not  here  to  rehash,  to  rekindle,  to  repent.   they’re  here  to  try  and  relate  to  one  another,   she  thinks,   as  impossible  as  that  seems  to  be  now.   but  she’s  curious,   and  that’s  a  dangerous  thing  to  be   ——especially now.

                    ❝  what  makes  you  so  sure,  sy  ?  ❞     there’s  a  hint  of  desperation  in  her  tone  that  sona  wishes  she  could  have  scrubbed from  the  words  before  they  made  it  out  of  her.  too  late  now,   she  supposes.   it  doesn’t  matter,   anyway,   she’s  stronger  than  he  seems  to  think,  even  if  it  feels  like  all  of  her  vulnerability  is  laid  before  him.   ❝  what  makes  you  so  sure  that  your  way  is  the  right  way  ?  ❞ // @ofeden

@mythous said ❛ if i told you i’m trying to save the world , would you believe me ? ❜ - sona to sy

A  DRY  LAUGH  ESCAPES  ,  though  it’s  unintentional  ,  and  sy  is  quick  to  shake  his  head  .  ❛      i’ve  known  you  for  how  long  ,  sona  —      ❜  the  tone  he  uses  is  gentle  but  also  has  an  underlying  grit  to  it  that  he  imagines  only  she  is  familiar  with  .  the  truth  is  right  at  the  tip  of  his  tongue,  but  he  wants  to  say  no  ,  i  don’t  believe  that  at  all  —  you’re  too  selfish  and  selfless  all  at  once  for  it  to  be  anything  but  your  own  ego  .  hadn’t  it  been  his  own  ego  that  broke  what  they  had  ?  was  it  not  the  necessity  to  gain  control  over  situations  well  beyond  their  understanding  ?  he  digresses  . ❛      i  think  that  you  believe  you  are  trying  to  save  the  world  .    ❜  is  what  he  finally  chooses  to  say  ,  and  with  that  the  grit  turns  to  bitterness  and  exasperation  of  everything  that  was  sona  .  the  blatant  ignorance  that  she’s  wrapped  herself  in  is  palpable  and  it’s  a  large  piece  of  what  had  been  wedged  between  them  .  things  hadn’t  always  been  like  this  -  he  wants  to  believe  .  then  ,  the  world  went  upside  down  and  everything  ,  everyone  changed  .  ❛    but  i  also  think  that  you  are  using  that  as  an  excuse  to  save  yourself      ❜

[outlaw-apologist]

✦ . Writing Collection . ✦

A collection of all my writing.  So far this contains Red Dead and X-Men works but I plan on releasing other writing I’m working on. REQUESTS OPEN! Request guidelines: Reader Inserts or Character Studies  (OC fics are available upon commission) NSFW is ok Please send characters and plot idea I write for: X-Men, Baldur’s Gate 3, RDR2, Outlander, Rings of Power, The Hobbit, and LOTR

🌲 = New Story

X-Men: Halloween with the X-Men X-Men if you had a Toxic Partner Red Dead:  How the Gang Kisses You

The Gang with a Plus Sized Lover

 The Gang as Fathers

The Gang’s Kinks and Fantasies 

Valentine’s Day with the Gang

How The Gang Comforts You After a Nightmare

Micah’s Little Sister 

X-Men: Meant To Be {Logan x Reader}  Monster (S)Mash (Logan x Fem! Reader Smut) Memory of You | Chapter 1 (Victor Creed x Reader) Red Dead:  The Gang Catching Feelings for You

 Bitter Sweet Goodbye - You Die in Their Arms

 The Longest Night (Arthur x Fem!Reader)

 Saved by the Gang - Your SO saves you from your kidnappers

 Save Yourself - GN! Reader x Various (Arthur convinces you to leave the gang)

 The Price of Cake - Charles x Reader 

 Soulmates - Josiah x Reader

N/A

Ghost Riders - Reader x Arthur x Charles Memory of You - Victor Creed X Reader

[pedroam-bang]

Sadie Adler - Red Dead Redemption 2 (2018)

[tremendously-crazy]

We, as sherlock holmes fans, are so quick to diss the casebook of s sherlock holmes, but forget entirely about this cold scene from the Retired Colourman:

"This is my friend Mr. Barker,' said Holmes. "He has been interesting himself also in your business, Mr. Josiah Amberley, though we have been working independently. But we both have the same question to ask you!"

Mr. Amberley sat down heavily. He sensed im- pending danger. I read it in his straining eyes and his twitching features. "What is the question, Mr. Holmes?"

"Only this : What did you do with the bodies?"

[softrozene]

Rdr2 Masterlist 2020-2021

As the title says, this is all my rdr2- One Shots, Scenarios, and Headcanons from these years when I wrote it under @/lovingoutlaws!

Headcanons/Scenarios usually have 2-3 characters in it while the Character list focuses on that character!

*If a work doesn’t specify a gender the reader is Gender Neutral/Non-Binary!

Started January 10, 2020

Ended January 6, 2021

ao3 backup link.

Headcanons:

Character Reactions to Dutch wanting a night with their girl: Arthur, John, Javier x Female Reader. They ain’t happy about Dutch having the audacity to ask to have a night with their woman.

Comforting Female Reader who has experienced an assault: Male!Various x Female Reader. Just hurt/comfort for some rdr2 men finding out reader experienced a past assault on her.

Doing the little romantic things for their s/o : Headcanons. Arthur, Charles, and John doing little romantic things for reader.

Being Romantic with Their S/O: Headcanons. Javier and Kieran being romantic with their partner, reader.

New Relationship with a Male S/O: Abigail Roberts/Marston and Sadie Adler headcanons in a relationship with a new partner.

Reader Getting into a Fight: Headcanons on how Arthur, Dutch, and John would react to Reader getting into a fight.

Reaction to Shy Adopted Girl: Headcanons on how Arthur, Dutch, and Hosea would react to adopting a shy girl into the gang and how their protectiveness is wholesome.

Short and Feisty Female S/O who Likes to Cuddle: Arthur, Charles, Javier, John, Sean x Female reader. Headcanons on how they react to this type of partner. Fluff.

Stargazing Headcanons: Arthur, Charles, Hosea x Reader. Just some fluffy stargazing headcanons.

Characters:

Abigail Roberts (Marston):

Deserve Better: Abigail x Female Reader. Reader confesses to Abigail after she asks for advice on what to do about John.

Arthur Morgan:

Arthur Turning into a Parent : Arthur x female reader (Father-daughter relationship) fluff headcanons and bonus scenario.

Arthur Comforts reader with past assault: Arthur x Male Reader scenario. Arthur gives some advice/words of comfort when Reader vents to him about a traumatizing experience.

Arthur with a Touch-Starved Reader: Arthur x Reader. Headcanons on how he notices reader is touch-starved and just pure fluff.

Father Headcanons: How Arthur would be with a son, pure fluffy and wholesome headcanons.

Just a Few Minutes: Arthur x Female Reader (Slight n s f w). Arthur is really riled up from seeing how pretty his woman is. He just wants a few minutes with her during a mission. F in chat for Molly’s shawl.

Charles Smith:

Getting Caught: Charles x Female Reader (n s f w). You and Charles get caught doing the do ; )

Hurt Little Bird: Charles x Female Reader. Charles is worried when his partner is taking a while from coming back to camp after a hunt. He goes to search for her and is relieved to find her.

Dutch:

Dutch with a Super Affectionate S/O: headcanons on how Dutch would act with a super affectionate partner both sfw and n s f w.

Dutch with a Younger S/O: headcanons on how Dutch would act with a younger female partner. Both sfw and n s f w

Javier Escuella:

Jealous Javier: Javier x Reader. How Javier reacts when he gets jealous in a n s f w way.

Spanish Flirtations: Javier x Male Reader. Male reader tries to flirt with Javier in his mother tongue only to fail a few pick-up lines. Javier finds it endearing.

John Marston:

Birthday Trip : John Marston x Female Reader. John takes reader on a ‘romantic’ trip for her birthday only for a bunch of accidents to happen along the way. But no worries, it was still a good trip.

John with a Pregnant S/O: John x Female Reader. Reader is worried about telling John about her pregnancy after she heard what happened to Abigail. Arthur reassures her when John finally comes back from a mission.

Josiah Trewlany:

Miss Me: Josiah x Reader. Josiah comes back beat and battered worrying poor reader who would really miss him if something were to happen to him. He is grateful since reader holds a special place in his heart.

Kieran Duffy:

Kieran Reacting to Panic Attacks: Kieran x Reader. How he will help reader during a panic attack.

Lenny Summers:

Fear: Lenny x Male Reader. Lenny wants to come out to the gang since he and (Name) are official, but reader has some fears to talk through.

Molly O’Shea:

Dutch Gets Bamboozled: Molly x Female Reader. Molly finally accepts the offer of the woman she has been seeing behind Dutch’s back. Dutch is livid.

Dutch Gets Bamboozled Part 2: Molly x Female Reader. Part 2 of the other one. Dutch finally gets to see how they are truly living after years have passed by and he is jealous.

Sean MacGuire:

Sean is Struggling: Sean x Female Reader. Ever since Sean has been tortured by the bounty hunters he has PTSD and has some problems with touch. Reader notices and wants to help him.

Sad Yee Haw Hours:

This is just an angst scenario starter event I did on the old tumblr, that I named Sad Yee-Haw Hours because (guess what) I was sad and wanted angst in my life lol. So literally all of these are just angst scenarios. Uh besides that I give warnings before each scenario.

“Everything is going to be okay”: Javier x Male Reader. Reader tells Javier that time heals all wounds :’)

“Please don’t leave me.”: Charles x Reader. Charles is begging reader not to leave them.

“Stop pushing everyone away.” Arthur x Reader x John. Reader is breaking these cowboys’ hearts.

“Just Go.” Josiah Trelawny x Female Reader. Reader finds out Josiah’s secret that he never wanted her to find out.

“Who is it going to be?” Molly x Female Reader. Reader finally asks Molly who she truly wants to be with. Her or Dutch? Reader gets the answer she expected but it still hurts.

“You Can’t Play the Victim Here.” - Arthur Morgan x Female Reader. Reader wants to leave the gang with Arthur and Arthur is confused to why until she reveals something.

“I Thought You Were Dead.” - Charles Smith x Female Reader. Charles finally finds Reader after searching for her (and losing himself) for so long. He wishes he can turn back time.

“Please Look at Me.” Charles Smith x Reader. Reader royally messed up by hurting this man.

“Everything is Going to be Okay.” Arthur Morgan x Male Reader. Very angsty, in which reader stays with Arthur during his last moments.

“You Remind me of Someone.” Sean Macguire x Female Reader. Sean is a complete jerk in this as he messes with Reader’s feelings.

“This Will Never Work.” Andrew Milton x Male Reader. Andrew and Reader have one last meeting before things go terrible for Reader.

[blueiscoool]

Rare First Temple Clay Seal Found in Jerusalem

Archaeologists have discovered a clay seal stamp from the First Temple period during excavations in the Western Wall Plaza, Jerusalem.

According to Dr. Weksler-Bdolah, “This is the first time that such a sealing has been found in a legal excavation, and it supports the biblical record of the existence of a governor in Jerusalem 2,700 years ago.”

The seal measures 13 x 14 mm and was made using fired lump clay. The upper part of the seal depicts two figures in a facing position, while the back has an inscription written in ancient Hebrew script.

The inscription reads ““belonging to the governor of the city”. The title “Governor of the City” is known from the Bible and from extra-biblical documents, referring to an official appointed by the king.

Governors of Jerusalem are mentioned twice in the Bible: Joshua is the governor of the city in the days of Hezekiah (2 Kings), and, Maaseiah is the governor of the city in the days of Josiah (2 Chronicles).

Prof. Tallay Ornan of the Hebrew University and Prof. Benjamin Sass of Tel Aviv University described the seal: “Two men face each other in a mirror-like manner above a double line. Their heads are depicted as large dots lacking details. The outward-facing hands are dropped down, and the inward-facing hands are raised. All the figures wear striped knee-length garments.”

IAA archaeologists suggest that the seal was likely placed on an important missive or official dispatch, serving as an indication of the governor’s office.

The discovery was made in the northwestern part of the Western Wall Plaza from a strata dating to the First Temple-Period (7th to 6th centuries BC). According to a press release by the Israel Antiquities Authority, one of the several buildings exposed in this area was the likely destination of the missive and seal.

Previous excavations have found large assemblages of seals in the vicinity, suggesting that the building(s) were inhabited by high ranking officials involved in the governance of Jerusalem.

By Mark Milligan.

[eclipian]

Take me to Church Songtive

pt: take me to church songtive

reminder beings will almost definitely not turn out exactly as described, and these can be edited and changed as needed.

divider credit

“ I'll tell you my sins and you can sharpen your knife. “

Name: Hozier , Abaddon , Icarus , Belial , Paimon , Adam , John , Peter , Micheal , Judas , Josiah , Crow , Onyx , Obsidian

Age: 27

Pronouns: He/Him , Hy/Hym , Hx/Hxm , Vae/Vaer , Hie/Hiem , Dae/Daem , Xae/Xaer , Ve/Ver , Amor/Amors , Noir/Noirs , Black/Blacks , White/Whites , Grey/Greys , Grey/Scale , 🖤/🖤s , 🩶/🩶s , 🤍/🤍s

Gender: Man , Wolf , Chalice , Holyboy , Boywaystermasc , Mascangel , Noirfilmic

Attraction: Turian , Reldevotion Attraction

Other IDs: Blackhuevior , Musicvior , Invifrostingwingcookie

Species: Human

Role: Romance Holder

Aesthetics: Angelcore , Noir Film

pt: name , age , pronouns , gender , attraction , other ids , species , role , aesthetics

tag : @bahtive & @drowntowns