The Nazarene - יֵשׁוּעַ (Fake | Roleplay)
@thenazarene.bsky.social
I've tried for three years.. Seems like ninety. (RP|JCS|21+|#WinsomeDescent| Parody) Dead Dove: Do Not Eat
“Zuelieka,” he answers, dipping his head in a small, courteous nod. His voice is steady, worn at the edges. “It’s late.”
His gaze moves once from her silk to the iron, then back to her face.
“This is a long way to walk,” he says quietly, “for a man you were content to see dragged off in chains.”
His gaze moves once from her silk to the iron, then back to her face.
“This is a long way to walk,” he says quietly, “for a man you were content to see dragged off in chains.”
November 25, 2025 at 2:40 PM
“Zuelieka,” he answers, dipping his head in a small, courteous nod. His voice is steady, worn at the edges. “It’s late.”
His gaze moves once from her silk to the iron, then back to her face.
“This is a long way to walk,” he says quietly, “for a man you were content to see dragged off in chains.”
His gaze moves once from her silk to the iron, then back to her face.
“This is a long way to walk,” he says quietly, “for a man you were content to see dragged off in chains.”
For a moment he stays seated, letting the picture stand as she’s painted it — her upright, him on the floor.
Then he pushes himself to his feet, stepping close enough that the bars sit sharp between them, and no closer.
-
Then he pushes himself to his feet, stepping close enough that the bars sit sharp between them, and no closer.
-
November 25, 2025 at 2:40 PM
For a moment he stays seated, letting the picture stand as she’s painted it — her upright, him on the floor.
Then he pushes himself to his feet, stepping close enough that the bars sit sharp between them, and no closer.
-
Then he pushes himself to his feet, stepping close enough that the bars sit sharp between them, and no closer.
-
He hears her before he sees her, silk and perfume slipping ahead of the voice he half expected.
When “Evening, Yeshua” comes, light as if they were back at the market, he opens his eyes and lifts his head from the wall.-
When “Evening, Yeshua” comes, light as if they were back at the market, he opens his eyes and lifts his head from the wall.-
November 25, 2025 at 2:40 PM
He hears her before he sees her, silk and perfume slipping ahead of the voice he half expected.
When “Evening, Yeshua” comes, light as if they were back at the market, he opens his eyes and lifts his head from the wall.-
When “Evening, Yeshua” comes, light as if they were back at the market, he opens his eyes and lifts his head from the wall.-
Then he drew a breath and steadied his heart for what was coming down the stairs.
Whatever Zuelieka wanted from “her Yeshua” tonight, she would find the same man she’d met at the stall: kind, perhaps; steady, yes; but still a closed door to the path she kept trying to drag him onto.
Whatever Zuelieka wanted from “her Yeshua” tonight, she would find the same man she’d met at the stall: kind, perhaps; steady, yes; but still a closed door to the path she kept trying to drag him onto.
November 22, 2025 at 11:39 AM
Then he drew a breath and steadied his heart for what was coming down the stairs.
Whatever Zuelieka wanted from “her Yeshua” tonight, she would find the same man she’d met at the stall: kind, perhaps; steady, yes; but still a closed door to the path she kept trying to drag him onto.
Whatever Zuelieka wanted from “her Yeshua” tonight, she would find the same man she’d met at the stall: kind, perhaps; steady, yes; but still a closed door to the path she kept trying to drag him onto.
He thought of the people who would miss him come morning, of tools lying idle, of his mother’s hands twisting in her lap, of the small knot of friends who would start asking questions in places it wasn’t safe to ask. He entrusted them all, again, into hands larger than his own.
November 22, 2025 at 11:39 AM
He thought of the people who would miss him come morning, of tools lying idle, of his mother’s hands twisting in her lap, of the small knot of friends who would start asking questions in places it wasn’t safe to ask. He entrusted them all, again, into hands larger than his own.
the one that means masters are abed and servants move barefoot — and he caught, faint through stone and corridor, the whisper of soft steps and the distant scrape of a door, he was not surprised.
He was tired.
Tired, and already bracing.
He was tired.
Tired, and already bracing.
November 22, 2025 at 11:39 AM
the one that means masters are abed and servants move barefoot — and he caught, faint through stone and corridor, the whisper of soft steps and the distant scrape of a door, he was not surprised.
He was tired.
Tired, and already bracing.
He was tired.
Tired, and already bracing.
perhaps — but the visit. The story had never really been about the pendant. It had always been about the way she had leaned in at his stall and asked if he wanted to know all of her. About what she was willing to risk to feel seen.
So when the house above finally settled into that deeper hush —
So when the house above finally settled into that deeper hush —
November 22, 2025 at 11:39 AM
perhaps — but the visit. The story had never really been about the pendant. It had always been about the way she had leaned in at his stall and asked if he wanted to know all of her. About what she was willing to risk to feel seen.
So when the house above finally settled into that deeper hush —
So when the house above finally settled into that deeper hush —
whose bread depended on his work; for the guards who’d done as they were told; for Potiphar, who had chosen pride over truth; and yes, even for Zuelieka, whose lies had not brought her half the satisfaction she’d hoped.
If he was honest, he had expected something like this.
Not the dungeon,
If he was honest, he had expected something like this.
Not the dungeon,
November 22, 2025 at 11:39 AM
whose bread depended on his work; for the guards who’d done as they were told; for Potiphar, who had chosen pride over truth; and yes, even for Zuelieka, whose lies had not brought her half the satisfaction she’d hoped.
If he was honest, he had expected something like this.
Not the dungeon,
If he was honest, he had expected something like this.
Not the dungeon,
before the story reached her door; that was simply how she carried him. By now, surely, someone would have gone to tell her. He prayed they did it gently.
He let his head rest back against the stone, eyes half-closed.
He had been praying in circles for most of the evening: for those
He let his head rest back against the stone, eyes half-closed.
He had been praying in circles for most of the evening: for those
November 22, 2025 at 11:39 AM
before the story reached her door; that was simply how she carried him. By now, surely, someone would have gone to tell her. He prayed they did it gently.
He let his head rest back against the stone, eyes half-closed.
He had been praying in circles for most of the evening: for those
He let his head rest back against the stone, eyes half-closed.
He had been praying in circles for most of the evening: for those
happened. Best not to get involved.
But some would be worrying — about his mother, about the stall standing empty, about whether his family would eat if the captain decided to make the punishment permanent.
He thought of his mother and felt that ache sharper. She would feel it long
But some would be worrying — about his mother, about the stall standing empty, about whether his family would eat if the captain decided to make the punishment permanent.
He thought of his mother and felt that ache sharper. She would feel it long
November 22, 2025 at 11:39 AM
happened. Best not to get involved.
But some would be worrying — about his mother, about the stall standing empty, about whether his family would eat if the captain decided to make the punishment permanent.
He thought of his mother and felt that ache sharper. She would feel it long
But some would be worrying — about his mother, about the stall standing empty, about whether his family would eat if the captain decided to make the punishment permanent.
He thought of his mother and felt that ache sharper. She would feel it long
brought him broken buckles to fix just to have an excuse to talk, the old man who sat two stalls down and groused about Rome with him when business was slow. They would have seen the guards. Heard Potiphar’s voice. Watched him taken.
Some would lower their eyes and go back to their work. Arrests
Some would lower their eyes and go back to their work. Arrests
November 22, 2025 at 11:39 AM
brought him broken buckles to fix just to have an excuse to talk, the old man who sat two stalls down and groused about Rome with him when business was slow. They would have seen the guards. Heard Potiphar’s voice. Watched him taken.
Some would lower their eyes and go back to their work. Arrests
Some would lower their eyes and go back to their work. Arrests
fingers idly tracing the same small groove in the floor. It had become his measure of the hours.
Were people worried?
Of course they were. The thought tugged at him like small hands on his sleeve.
He pictured the market first: the woman who always haggled then overpaid anyway, the boy who
Were people worried?
Of course they were. The thought tugged at him like small hands on his sleeve.
He pictured the market first: the woman who always haggled then overpaid anyway, the boy who
November 22, 2025 at 11:39 AM
fingers idly tracing the same small groove in the floor. It had become his measure of the hours.
Were people worried?
Of course they were. The thought tugged at him like small hands on his sleeve.
He pictured the market first: the woman who always haggled then overpaid anyway, the boy who
Were people worried?
Of course they were. The thought tugged at him like small hands on his sleeve.
He pictured the market first: the woman who always haggled then overpaid anyway, the boy who
Down in the dark, time had turned thin.
Yesh had no window, only the slow cooling of the stone and the way the sounds above shifted — work voices fading, kitchen clatter rising, then the softer, muffled quiet of a house turning inward for the night.
He sat with his back to the wall, knees raised,
Yesh had no window, only the slow cooling of the stone and the way the sounds above shifted — work voices fading, kitchen clatter rising, then the softer, muffled quiet of a house turning inward for the night.
He sat with his back to the wall, knees raised,
November 22, 2025 at 11:39 AM
Down in the dark, time had turned thin.
Yesh had no window, only the slow cooling of the stone and the way the sounds above shifted — work voices fading, kitchen clatter rising, then the softer, muffled quiet of a house turning inward for the night.
He sat with his back to the wall, knees raised,
Yesh had no window, only the slow cooling of the stone and the way the sounds above shifted — work voices fading, kitchen clatter rising, then the softer, muffled quiet of a house turning inward for the night.
He sat with his back to the wall, knees raised,
Somewhere above, the house goes on: footsteps, voices, the clink of dishes, a life of shaded courtyards and quiet rooms. Maybe she is in one of them, telling herself he brought this on himself. That he could have chosen differently.
November 22, 2025 at 12:34 AM
Somewhere above, the house goes on: footsteps, voices, the clink of dishes, a life of shaded courtyards and quiet rooms. Maybe she is in one of them, telling herself he brought this on himself. That he could have chosen differently.
He turns, sliding down until he’s sitting on the cold floor, back to the stone, knees drawn up. The cell is small enough that he can stretch out a foot and touch the opposite wall with his heel. He does it once, just to know where his world ends now.
-
-
November 22, 2025 at 12:34 AM
He turns, sliding down until he’s sitting on the cold floor, back to the stone, knees drawn up. The cell is small enough that he can stretch out a foot and touch the opposite wall with his heel. He does it once, just to know where his world ends now.
-
-
He could have let her flirt, let her think what she wanted and met her for wine behind some shaded wall. He could have lied just enough to soothe Potiphar’s pride in the market, worn the blame like a cloak and offered some neat apology.
He could have been softer with the truth.
He could have been softer with the truth.
November 22, 2025 at 12:34 AM
He could have let her flirt, let her think what she wanted and met her for wine behind some shaded wall. He could have lied just enough to soothe Potiphar’s pride in the market, worn the blame like a cloak and offered some neat apology.
He could have been softer with the truth.
He could have been softer with the truth.
The door slams. The bolt falls. Iron settles between him and the rest of the world with a flat, final sound.
For a moment he just stands there, palms on the rough stone, breathing.
He could have taken the coins and kept his mouth shut.-
For a moment he just stands there, palms on the rough stone, breathing.
He could have taken the coins and kept his mouth shut.-
November 22, 2025 at 12:34 AM
The door slams. The bolt falls. Iron settles between him and the rest of the world with a flat, final sound.
For a moment he just stands there, palms on the rough stone, breathing.
He could have taken the coins and kept his mouth shut.-
For a moment he just stands there, palms on the rough stone, breathing.
He could have taken the coins and kept his mouth shut.-
his sandals scuffing against the grit.
At the bottom, the dungeon yawns open: a corridor, three cells, the smell of old water and older fear.
They shove him into the middle one.
He stumbles once, more from the sudden lack of hands on his arms than from force, then catches himself against the wall.
At the bottom, the dungeon yawns open: a corridor, three cells, the smell of old water and older fear.
They shove him into the middle one.
He stumbles once, more from the sudden lack of hands on his arms than from force, then catches himself against the wall.
November 22, 2025 at 12:34 AM
his sandals scuffing against the grit.
At the bottom, the dungeon yawns open: a corridor, three cells, the smell of old water and older fear.
They shove him into the middle one.
He stumbles once, more from the sudden lack of hands on his arms than from force, then catches himself against the wall.
At the bottom, the dungeon yawns open: a corridor, three cells, the smell of old water and older fear.
They shove him into the middle one.
He stumbles once, more from the sudden lack of hands on his arms than from force, then catches himself against the wall.
He doesn’t see her at the window.
What he does see is stone and iron and the backs of the two men marching him down into the cool throat of the house, their shoulders broad enough to block out most of the light. The stairs are narrow, damp. Each step sounds louder than it should,-
What he does see is stone and iron and the backs of the two men marching him down into the cool throat of the house, their shoulders broad enough to block out most of the light. The stairs are narrow, damp. Each step sounds louder than it should,-
November 22, 2025 at 12:34 AM
He doesn’t see her at the window.
What he does see is stone and iron and the backs of the two men marching him down into the cool throat of the house, their shoulders broad enough to block out most of the light. The stairs are narrow, damp. Each step sounds louder than it should,-
What he does see is stone and iron and the backs of the two men marching him down into the cool throat of the house, their shoulders broad enough to block out most of the light. The stairs are narrow, damp. Each step sounds louder than it should,-
No stall. No tools. No defence but truth.
He draws a slow breath as the darkness thickens around him.
So be it.
He draws a slow breath as the darkness thickens around him.
So be it.
November 22, 2025 at 12:21 AM
No stall. No tools. No defence but truth.
He draws a slow breath as the darkness thickens around him.
So be it.
He draws a slow breath as the darkness thickens around him.
So be it.
When they are done, the guards shove him forward, toward the cool mouth of a stairway that breathes out the smell of damp and iron. His bare fingers brush briefly against the wall as he descends, skin licking at the chill of it like it’s the only honest thing left in the day.
-
-
November 22, 2025 at 12:21 AM
When they are done, the guards shove him forward, toward the cool mouth of a stairway that breathes out the smell of damp and iron. His bare fingers brush briefly against the wall as he descends, skin licking at the chill of it like it’s the only honest thing left in the day.
-
-
He stands still through the indignity, gaze lifting once to the house — windows dark behind carved stone, one or two half-veiled by hanging cloth. He wonders, not without a quiet, bitter edge, whether a certain pair of eyes is watching from behind one of them.
Nothing moves.
-
Nothing moves.
-
November 22, 2025 at 12:21 AM
He stands still through the indignity, gaze lifting once to the house — windows dark behind carved stone, one or two half-veiled by hanging cloth. He wonders, not without a quiet, bitter edge, whether a certain pair of eyes is watching from behind one of them.
Nothing moves.
-
Nothing moves.
-
The guards obey at once.
Rough hands pat down his robe, searching for blades he has never carried. They find nothing but calloused palms, worn leather at his belt, a bit of twine, a scrap of cloth. Even these, they take, as if a thread in his fingers might somehow become a key.
Yesh lets them.
Rough hands pat down his robe, searching for blades he has never carried. They find nothing but calloused palms, worn leather at his belt, a bit of twine, a scrap of cloth. Even these, they take, as if a thread in his fingers might somehow become a key.
Yesh lets them.
November 22, 2025 at 12:21 AM
The guards obey at once.
Rough hands pat down his robe, searching for blades he has never carried. They find nothing but calloused palms, worn leather at his belt, a bit of twine, a scrap of cloth. Even these, they take, as if a thread in his fingers might somehow become a key.
Yesh lets them.
Rough hands pat down his robe, searching for blades he has never carried. They find nothing but calloused palms, worn leather at his belt, a bit of twine, a scrap of cloth. Even these, they take, as if a thread in his fingers might somehow become a key.
Yesh lets them.
He walks between them without dragging his feet, the stone and dust of the road giving way to clean-cut paths and the shadow of Potiphar’s house rising broad before him. The estate smells of water and wealth — cool stone, damp earth from tended gardens, none of it belonging to him.
November 22, 2025 at 12:21 AM
He walks between them without dragging his feet, the stone and dust of the road giving way to clean-cut paths and the shadow of Potiphar’s house rising broad before him. The estate smells of water and wealth — cool stone, damp earth from tended gardens, none of it belonging to him.
They feed more than one ‘charlatan’.”
His gaze flicks briefly to the familiar faces in the crowd — neighbours who know whose bread this stall buys, whose children eat because olive wood was shaped and sold here.
Then he lets his shoulders settle, offering no struggle as they begin to pull him away.
His gaze flicks briefly to the familiar faces in the crowd — neighbours who know whose bread this stall buys, whose children eat because olive wood was shaped and sold here.
Then he lets his shoulders settle, offering no struggle as they begin to pull him away.
November 22, 2025 at 12:11 AM
They feed more than one ‘charlatan’.”
His gaze flicks briefly to the familiar faces in the crowd — neighbours who know whose bread this stall buys, whose children eat because olive wood was shaped and sold here.
Then he lets his shoulders settle, offering no struggle as they begin to pull him away.
His gaze flicks briefly to the familiar faces in the crowd — neighbours who know whose bread this stall buys, whose children eat because olive wood was shaped and sold here.
Then he lets his shoulders settle, offering no struggle as they begin to pull him away.