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cowboygenesis · 4 months ago

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1: spice rolls and dew jam | din djarin x reader

part 1 of the "brown eyes" series: masterlist.

pairing: din djarin x reader

chapter warnings: none.

word count: 5.7k

series summary: din settles on the distant planet of lazure prime while seeking a safe-haven for his son. unbeknownst to him, the choice leads him to unforeseen threats—and a deeper connection he never thought possible.

notes: this fic is set a while after the corvus arc in season 2, after din sets to find a teacher for grogu. there's tons of flavor-lore here, some of it canon, some of it completely made up (by me). smut happens late because im a slave to slow burn. but enjoy the mutual pining!

You have known this your entire life.

The air smells like fresh earth and wildflowers when you open your kitchen window that morning. The fog clings low to the ground as a cool breeze seeps into your home, making you swaddle yourself tighter within your knitted sweater.

Your cold-numbed fingers wrap tightly around the ceramic mug cupped in your hands, periodically bringing it to your lips for a languid sip. The caf scalds your tongue, but you persevere. Outside, the sun rises above the horizon, peeking over the tall treeline and illuminating the town with a subtle, golden glow.

Across your makeshift garden stands a small stripe of farmland, glistening with freshly sowed soil and soft patches of stray grass. You spot your elderly neighbor strolling about with a blanket-covered basket and wave her hello when she smiles at you. Her breath comes out in a thin cloud of condensation which you see as it mends with the dewy air.

You exhale. It’s unremarkable, peaceful. Predictable. The way it’s been for as long as you can remember.

You have known this your entire life. But today, the air feels thicker. Your hands slip against the polished wood when you reach for your hairbrush, and the Shiir fruit you have for breakfast tastes soured as you bite into the soft, dotted flesh.

It all started three days ago, when a small craft landed in the nearby woods. It was the dead of night, silent besides the howling of sifflings and a distant cricket song filling the empty void.

You didn't see it happen, nor did your neighbors, as the first whispers came from the children: wide-eyed and brimming with interest, they gossiped quietly of a strange craft that emerged just before dawn, sleek and noiseless, nestled beneath the canopy of trees that surround your little village. No one emerged from it, they chimed. The forest swallowed it whole as if it had always been hidden in the cloud of greenery.

At first, it was just another embellished story—a tale spun from boredom or fantasies, something for the local folk to entertain themselves with during the quieter nights at the cantina.

But as the hours turned into days, the usual vibrancy of your community turned subdued with the whispered rumors. And sure, people started talking, but nobody dared to see the ship for themselves. Such was their Maker-fearing nature.

You, like many others, grew quite curious as the stories spread. When you walked down the stone-laid path to the town’s square every morning, your eyes followed along the treeline, glimpsing between the foliage in a silent hope of catching something inexplicable: a metallic wing, a flailing cape, or even a hint of movement. But nothing ever came.

You finish your drink and place the cup in the sink, the clink of ceramic echoing in your quiet kitchen as you let the residual warmth of the caf envelop you. You make a mental note to stock up on the good stuff as soon as the Mon Gazza traders come through your town next time.

You lean against the wall in your chair, glancing over at the basket you'd prepared last night. It sits by the door, neatly packed with fresh bread, a few vegetables from your garden, and jars of homemade preserves. You’ve made it a habit to bring these goods to the village market as a small way to keep yourself busy and prevent the excess produce from spoiling. Cooking for one is no easy feat.

As you turn to the window again, you notice the sun has fully crested over the trees, casting long shadows down the strip of farmland in front of your home.

You stand up and stretch with a grunt, grabbing your cloak from the green-padded loveseat and tying the ribbon around your neck. You grab the basket, tie your boots neatly, and step out into the crisp morning air with a deep inhale. The bells hooked on your doorway jingle as you lock it behind you.

Lazure Prime’s climate is temperate, yet the mornings are notably chillier at this point of the solar cycle. It’s a good omen for the upcoming harvest, the farmers had always said; something about the condensation that makes the tartness decline. You’ve never been big on food science, but living in an agriculture-based town has illuminated many aspects of the topic over the years.

The walk to the village is unremarkable. Trees sway softly in the wind, their leaves dancing in the early daylight. You pass by familiar faces— fyrion melon farmers prepping the land for sowing and children making their daily hike to school. Each one of them flashes you a bright smile as you walk past, some calling out your name cheerfully.

Your eyes hover over the treeline again, watching the bark weave in and out of the lush greenery but… no metal. No ship. It’s the same as it’s always been. A part of you expects the visitor to be long gone, perhaps in a moment where nobody caught it.

As you near the market square, you catch the distant chatter of townsfolk. They weave in and out of the stalls, exchanging greetings and produce as a weekly ritual.

You skim through the stalls with your eyes and select one of the empty ones. You place your basket on top with a grunt, stunned at how robustly you managed to pack it this time around.

Your hands work quickly, unraveling the protective rag covering the inside and reaching for your produce. Four loaves of oat cakes, amber squash, a few bunches of carrots, and half a dozen jars of dew jam— a family recipe. Because it peddled so fast last time, you made sure to amp up the production this week to at least double the amount.

You hear your name be called, paired with a gentle touch on your arm. You turn around on your heel, gaze dropping to be met with the curious look of a young girl.

“Good morning Nissa,” you smile, giving the child a small wave. She beams at you, exposing a row of milk teeth, two of them missing. “Is your mom around?”

She shrugs half-heartedly, quick to dismiss your concern. “She’s here. Probably getting the stuff we need for dinner tonight— we’re making yak stew. You know yak stew, right?” she explains, eyes suddenly widening, “Oh, you have to come! I’ll tell mom about it, I— We’d love to have you over!”

You chuckle warmly at her excitement, reaching a hand behind you to grab a round, cloth-enveloped parcel and hiding it behind your back as you crouch down to meet the girl at eye level.

“Yeah, I know it. Yak stew sounds lovely. I’ll have to ask your mom if that’s alright with her, though,” you reply with an apologetic look, toying with the package behind your back. “You know how she feels about surprise visits.”

Nissa rolls her eyes, arms crossed. “Whatever, she’ll have to say yes!” she insists, extending her hands as if to make a point, “You have to come, okay? You promised to show me how to shoot a bow last time, you promised!”

“Nini, I said I’ll show you how it works,” you grimace slightly at your own mistake of giving a child the idea to learn of a weapon in the first place. What can you say, you got overly excited as usual and spoke too much, too soon. “I don’t think your mom would like us toying around with a weapon in her home. And yes, I asked her already. It’s not gonna happen.”

She blows a raspberry at your reprimanding, followed by a loud huff. And then there’s that stare, the kind that you’re sure makes her mother scowl at how effective it is. “We don’t need to be in the house. We can go to the garden, right? It’s not technically the house anymore.”

“Technically? Who taught you that?” you chuckle, praying it’s enough to distract her hyperactive mind from the bow-shooting idea.

“Um— you did? Mom says I spend too much time with you, by the way. She doesn’t like that I pick up on the things you say, because now I can _actually_ talk to her with adult words. But I like it. You should teach me more words like that,” She replies, going on a tangent. Works like clockwork.

You sigh, taking the parcel out from behind you and cupping it in front of the girl. “Hey, it’s not a good thing. We don’t want to upset her, right?” you reprimand gently, “Here. You told me you liked the oat cakes I made last week.”

Her mouth widens in profound excitement as she quickly grabs ahold of the wrapped gift. “No way, you baked an extra one just for me?”

“Yes— Hey, it’s for your family, alright? Make sure to share it with your brother, at least,” you wag your finger at her with a smile, your heart slowly warming at the raw reaction.

She nods, but you can tell she doesn’t catch a word you say. Her little fingers reach for the knot, ready to untie the morsel, but she’s stopped in her tracks at her name being called.

You peek behind her shoulder to see a woman striding towards you two with a hurried bounce in her step, a woven basket on her hip, and a young boy trailing behind her. She says your name as she approaches, and you can tell from the way her thick eyebrows stitch that Nissa is not supposed to be here alone.

“Morning!” she calls out, her voice carrying a pleasant, melodic lilt when she addresses you. “Ni, I told you to wait up. Help me out with this, will you?” she adds sternly, motioning to her basket with a tilt of her head.

The girl rolls her eyes but does as asked. She strains a little as her mother passes the basket over, a little grunt emitted from her mouth.

“I’m so sorry, she’s been talking about you all of breakfast,” the woman speaks, breath still heavy from prancing around the market. “Didn’t cause you any trouble, I hope?”

You chuckle softly, shaking your head. You hope the bow idea doesn’t get a mention. “Not at all, Val. We had a nice little chat about your dinner plans tonight.”

Valerie smiles warmly, though there’s a hint of jest in her dark eyes. “Ah, yes, dinner. Kids this age eat for two, it feels like. Half of this moon’s pay went directly to grocery costs, can you believe it? This one’s got the stomach of a bantha,” she motions to her daughter, and you catch Nissa rolling her eyes again. You chuckle, and the woman shakes her head. “I’d love to have you over, but only if you’re free. It’d be nice to catch up, I feel like it’s been a century since we got to sit down over a meal and a nice spotchka.”

You stand up, stretching a little as you lean against your stall. “I’m free. And I’d love to join if it’s not a problem for you all,” you smile politely, “I’ll make sure to bring some dessert, too,” you add with a wink at Nissa who beams at your generous suggestion.

“That’s too kind of you, as usual. You know the kids love your baking, and so do I,” she says, placing a hand against her son’s back and gently pushing her forward. “Right, Ki?”

The boy tucks a stray brunette lock behind his ear, glancing up at you with a coy nod. You smile, giving him a little wave of encouragement.

“Of course. I’ll whip up something good for you guys,” you respond, turning around to start organizing your produce on the wooden boards. “Thank you for the invite, by the way. I’ve been home-stuck for way too long, and I feel like it’s finally getting to my head,” you add, turning around to flash your friend a cheeky smile. She responds with a similar one, a hand now stroking down her daughter’s plaits.

Nissa tugs on her mother’s sleeve, eyebrows knitted. “Mom, we were supposed to get spice rolls today. You promised Kivan you’d buy them for us,” she complains, and Valerie chuckles warmly.

“Right, I guess I did make that promise at some point,” she shrugs, giving a knowing smile that you return absentmindedly. “Excuse us, but priorities call. On this note, you should really try Mrs. Veska’s spice rolls, I hear it’s an original family recipe from Batuu. Which, by the way, did you even know she’s from Batuu? Maker, the things I still find out after living here my whole life.”

You laugh at her small rant, taking a step forward to place an affirming hand on her shoulder. “This town is a gift that keeps on giving, huh? I trust you have plenty of stories to share with me over that drink you suggested.”

“More than I care to admit,” she huffs, straightening out and adjusting the large messenger bag on her hip. “Anyway, I think we better scavenge this market before all the good stuff is wiped out. I’ll see you tonight, okay?”

“I’ll see you. Bye, kids!” you lean down, waving enthusiastically. Kivan gives you a coy nod, while Nissa waves back with a wide grin, the wrapped oat cake now sitting safely within the basket she’s carrying.

As you watch Valerie and the kids disappear into the bustling crowd, you exhale a small sigh of contentment. Dinner and some spotchka are exactly what you need after a long, lonesome week.

Your fingers resume their work, carefully arranging the last of your produce on the stall’s wooden boards. You lean back when you’re done, watching the colorful array with your hands on your hips and a satisfied smile painted across your face.

That’s when you feel it— an odd sense of stillness settling over the market as your back faces the crowd.

You wait a beat, breathing in the thick air. It’s as if the week-long tension had finally culminated in a moment of eternal stillness, hovering in the atmosphere like a prayer about to be spoken.

You turn around on your heel, the empty basket still clutched tightly in your hands. That’s when you spot it.

You watch a sleek figure cut through the bustling market crowd, tall frame draped in armor shining brilliantly under the rising daylight. You catch it immediately, something about him—it sends a surge of hushed attention through the townsfolk gathered around. The loud chatter slowly dampens, havoc turning into muted whispers as the figure strides through. People step aside as if instinctively, letting him pass through uninterrupted as Maker forbid a guy of his caliber gets interrupted.

Your fingers wrap still against the edge of the wooden stall, watching the stranger approach. But it’s the air of him that catches your attention—the way he moves, unbothered, like he’s always on the move yet leveled in some unstated purpose. A droid? No, he’s humanoid. A trooper?

He strides with intent, but not hurriedly by any means. A small, rounded pod floats beside him, gently humming as it hovers by his right hip.

Whoever this man is, he’s unlike any visitor your village had taken in before. There’s an unsettling sense of quiet power that seems to follow him as he struts along the stalls, his visor moving subtly, yet perceptibly, as he assumingly scans for what he’s looking for.

You catch glimpses of villagers giving him a wide berth, murmuring amongst themselves, uncertain whether to approach or keep their distance.

He draws nearer, and for a brief moment, his helmet—polished but tattered—turns in your direction. Your breath hitches. You meet the opaque visor, your reflection staring back at you, but you can’t spot the eyes beneath it, even as you try to squint.

There’s no nod, no words exchanged, just a brief moment where your gaze meets his; you can feel it boring into you even through the slim visor, the air around you stilling with his absurdly authoritative presence. Oddly, you can’t help but wonder what he’s thinking as he stares into you.

The moment passes instantly as his helmet finally tilts away from you. He continues on, stout boots thudding lightly against the packed dirt of the village square. You blink twice, his gaze lingering on your silhouette for a second longer than it should. Your jaw unclenches, though you don’t remember tightening it in the first place. He seems… familiar.

You dig into the depths of your brain, clawing at the grey matter. Something about his armor, or perhaps the blaster tucked at his side, threatens to awaken a hidden memory within your half-awaken mind.

You don’t exactly know why you decide to take a step forward when you do.

Be it primal curiosity or the quiet tension that clings to him like a fleeting shadow; regardless of the reason, you feel compelled to approach him, basket in hand, steadily nearing the armored stranger.

You take a slow breath, steadying yourself as you step forward and drop your emptied basket near the soil by your booth.

When you look up again, you see the armored figure ahead of you finally stop at one of the stalls. He stands silent and still, visor fixed on the selection of produce laid out before him. The stall owner, an older man with wiry hair and sun-weathered skin, toys nervously with the corner of his apron.

Suddenly, a familiar silhouette emerges out of the cantina’s wooden doorway. His broad shoulders sway rhythmically, eyes piercing and focused as he trots down the soil. His weathered hand rests firmly atop his hip, cradling the only blaster the town has ever owned. It’s not something you had ever caught before, but the weapon paired with a tattered chest plate makes him stand out from the rest of the townsfolk. He looks modern, metropolitan, like a big-town sheriff rather than a community-voted overseer.

“Morning, traveler,” he calls out in a deep, gravelly voice, coming to a stop a few paces from the armored figure. “First time seeing you around here. What brings you to Terrine?”

There’s a pause that lingers for a second too long. The stranger doesn’t respond right away, and you can feel the anticipation surging through the air as the marshal takes another step forward.

The marshal steps from foot to foot, the blaster on his hip gleaming in the sunlight as if purposefully making its presence known. “You’re a quiet one, aren’t you? Fine,”

The armored figure finally turns his head, the reflective visor of his helmet catching the morning sun. He doesn’t flinch or bristle at the marshal’s words—just stands there, towering and still. You feel unease mixing in your gut when you catch a glimpse of the stranger’s blaster resting in the holster on his hip, stagnantly, as his hand hovers nowhere near it.

“Bounty hunters and other scoundrels of your kind aren’t appreciated in these parts. I can see that weapon on your hip, don’t you find me foolish,” he motions to his blaster with a nod of his head, “What’s your business here?”

The question hangs in the air, the marketplace unnervingly still. You sense eyes from the nearby stalls watching the scene, everyone holding their breath as tension swells between the two men.

“You deaf under that helmet?” the marshal sneers, his tone sharp as he steps forward, shoving a hand against the stranger’s shoulder. The impact is solid as you can tell from the dull sound it makes, yet the figure barely flinches. “Huh?”

The crowd seems to hold its breath as the stranger pivots his stance ever so slightly, body shifting just enough to fully face the marshal. His hand moves slowly, almost deliberately, hovering near his blaster—just enough to be caught yet not enough to draw it— yet.

“You don’t want this,” he says, voice low, gravelly, and calm as ever, carrying a weight that cuts through your tense body. It’s heavily modulated, yet it’s soft bass draws a shiver down your spine.

The marshal pauses, his chest rising and falling rapidly, momentarily frozen in place as the air hangs heavy between them. You feel the tension peak, a bead of sweat forming on the marshal’s brow despite the cool morning breeze pouring into the market.

“I’m sick of you metal-clad fuckers causing mayhem where you don’t belong,” he suddenly hisses, sizing the stranger up as his hand slowly catches the handle of his blaster, “I’ve heard enough of your excuses for—” he draws it, and your heart drops.

A wave of adrenaline propels you forward, legs carrying you silently between the two men in a mindless, perhaps foolish, moment of clarity.

“Raan—” you call out desperately, cringing the way your voice shakes. “—Marshal.”

Both men turn their attention to you, but despite being shrouded by two deadly weapons, it’s the stranger’s unseen gaze that makes your stomach twist at that moment.

“Let’s not have this escalate,” you say, gaze soft yet determined as it connects with the marshal’s. Here we go. “We all know you’re just trying to maintain order and peace, but this man has done no harm.”

The marshal’s eyes lock onto yours, his expression a mix of frustration and reluctant acknowledgment. His grip tightens on his blaster, knuckles white, but you can see the battle waging behind his eyes.

“Peace?” the marshal spits, his voice rough. “It’s people like him that _disrupt_ the peace,”

The stranger remains eerily still, his helmet angled slightly towards you as if measuring your sincerity. The tension between the three of you feels almost tangible, and you can feel dozens of eyes boring into you expectantly. Briefly, you catch a glimpse of Valerie, her kids shielded behind the fabric of her dress.

“You know what kind of risk these types bring,” the marshal continues, voice rising slightly. “They come in, stir up trouble, then disappear without a trace. Worst damn case, they tell their little bounty-hunting friends about us so we can be plundered all over again. We don’t need that here, and you should know that better than anyone.”

Your eyes shoot wide open at his statement. The marshal's words sting with a quiet truth, yet you take a deep breath, steeling yourself against the personal attacks. You’re too deep to withdraw now, and somehow, the little voice in your head you call intuition tells you the armor-clad figure is no ordinary plunderer.

Your eyes flicker to his visor, and for the briefest moment, you swear you catch something mild in the way his helmet tilts in your direction. Call it stress-induced delusion, but if he didn’t appreciate your interference, why didn’t he try to stop you yet?

“Marshal, I understand your concerns,” you start again, voice steady but firm. “But we can’t jump to conclusions based on fear alone. Not everyone who wears armor or carries a blaster is out to cause trouble, and you should know that better than anyone.” you bite back subtly, a self-satisfied smirk threatening to emerge at the way his eyebrows furrow at your targeted remark.

His hands drop from his holster, snaking around to rest firmly against his belt. He exhales sharply, giving the stranger a once-over before returning to you with a seemingly dampened mood.

“Fine,” he states firmly, taking a step back. His shoulders relax just a fraction, though the tension still simmers in his eyes. “But I’m keeping an eye on this one. If anything goes awry, we’ll deal with it one way or another.”

The stranger remains silent, his posture relaxed but you catch his visor fixed on the marshal as he withdraws.

The man huffs, and for a brief moment, it seems like he’s about to get a last word in but finally decides against it. He murmurs something under his breath, turning on his heel and making his way back into the quiet cantina.

The silence following the encounter lingers for a beat, before murmurs from the surrounding villagers slowly start up again, the crowd beginning to disperse as the scene deescalates. When you breathe deeply to recalibrate, you can feel the weight of their stares, some curious, most wary.

When you finally turn to face the armored man, you catch his visor pinning you in place.

Your breath hitches, your neck craning to appease his height as your eyes flicker for a moment in search of his. You don’t spot them through the darkness, but it doesn’t stop you from imagining them through the metal, like placing two pins on a map.

You step forward, your voice steady but carrying a note of concern. “I’m sorry about him. We truly don’t get many visitors around here.”

The man doesn’t immediately respond. His visor remains locked on you, the helmet’s reflective surface making it impossible to gauge his opinion of your actions thus far.

“Thank you,” he finally says, and the flatness of his tone makes it hard to gauge at first but he seems… earnest. From what you can tell.

You give him a polite smile, feeling gratified by his small praise. “Keep browsing, if you like. We only hold this market once a week, so it’s a bit of a celebration every time.”

He tilts his head slightly, considering your offer, but keeps silent. After a brief pause, he turns his attention back to the stalls, visor scanning down a selection of sweet pastries from Mrs. Veska. Your eyes flicker over pastry labeled ‘spice rolls’, and make a quick mental note to swing by later, once the crowd clears up a bit.

As you turn to walk back to your stall, you feel a quick, firm grasp on your forearm. “Wait,” the modulated voice calls out, making your gaze flicker to his helmet.

You give him that same smile again, his lingering grip making your gaze flicker to his gloved hand. It wraps around your arm effortlessly, the pressure treading dangerously between comfortable and tight. As if on cue, he withdraws, hands resting at his sides when he addresses you. “Is there lodging here?”

Your eyebrows furrow at the question, your gaze flickering to the humming orb behind him. You catch a slit running along its length, and reason it must be some sort of… strangely extravagant basket.

“Lodging? You mean… rooms to spare?” you question back, and his shoulders seem to imperceptibly relax at that.

“Yes. Available housing,” he clarifies, and you hum in thought. You’re about to ask him about his ship but realize it might be a little personal, especially after the feud feels fresh in your mind.

“It’s hard for me to say at this moment. Like you’ve heard before, we don’t get many visitors or tourists here, so most homes are permanently occupied by native residents,” you explain, searching your mind for a solution. “You’d have to…”

You hesitate, realizing that the key to his problems might just blow up in his face if he tries it.

His helmet tilts slightly, as if urging you to continue despite your hesitation. You meet the inscrutable visor with your gaze, feeling a sudden surge of sympathy.

“You’d have to ask Marshal Raan about it. If there’s anything available, he’d be the one keeping track of such information,” you finally explain, gaze growing apologetic as he takes in the announcement.

The armored man nods, his posture remaining quiet and ordered. “Okay,” he replies, the flatness of his tone giving you little to go off.

“Listen, I… I know he came off pretty unfriendly back there, but he’s a good man. If you explain your situation to him, I’m sure he’ll oblige,” you say, yet your eyebrows furrow. You suddenly realize that you don’t know this stranger’s situation yourself, and you’re not exactly in the position to ask, either.

The man’s helmet tilts slightly as if considering your words. “Thank you for your help,” he says, voice steady and unyielding. You nod at him with a sympathetic smile.

Suddenly, you feel like you want to say something more; ask him a question, tell him about the town, anything to keep the conversation going despite it being long over. Then you realize.

You don’t even know his name.

Your lips hang slightly ajar as he nods at you in goodbye, turning to walk away. You can’t bring yourself to speak. His heavy boots make soft thuds against the packed dirt as you catch him mumbling something to one of the vendors.

You sigh, gaze lingering on him as you slowly withdraw towards your stall, the glint of armor disappearing between the crowd once you reach your produce.

You give them a once-over, a wave of tiredness washing over you out of nowhere. Your mind rushes to the stranger before you can tell it ‘no’, eyes glassy as you play over the feud over and over in your head… his figure clear when you picture it.

A full suit of armor, pristinely crafted to suit his body— one of his pauldrons harbored a strange symbol, the head of a horned animal you had never seen before.

You remember his low, stern voice addressing you with an indiscernible tone, something you can only compare to an unusual kindness. Perhaps it’s the dangerous nature of his supposed profession or the fact he stands out so drastically amongst simple townsfolk like you, but the truth is that your breath quickens as you think of his eyes on you through the slim, dark visor.

“Hey,” you hear, but the words seem muddled through your woolgathering.

You blink, the world around you snapping back into focus. The armored figure is standing right in front of your stall now, his imposing presence suddenly filling your bubble. You meet his gaze through the dim visor, the helmet almost intimate in its closeness.

“Hey,” he repeats, his voice modulated but softer now, gently waking you from your haze. “I need a favor.”

His request catches you off guard, your eyes widening slightly as you finally come fully to your senses. Your mind races, trying to moderate the intimidating figure.

“Favor?” you echo, frowning slightly. “Don’t tell me. He turned you down. Just… just come with me, I’ll try to talk some sense—”

“We didn’t talk,” he cuts you off, the initial softness disappearing from his voice. He shifts his weight slightly, arms crossed over his chest. “I… think I’ll manage without the lodging for a while.”

You give him a raised eyebrow but quickly muster up a sympathetic smile when he refuses to elaborate.

“Okay. What brings you to me, then?” you probe gently, watching him pull a pouch out of his messenger bag. It clinks softly as it rolls over his fingers.

“I need supplies,” he explains, tossing you the sack with a flick of his wrist. You yelp, straining to catch it mid-air. Once you feel the weight of it, you realize it’s a lot more than you bargained for. Your lip twitches.

“This is a small fortune,” you frown, withdrawing a singular coin from within. You pass it between your fingers, rubbing gently against the New Republic sigil engraved into the sleek metal. “I don’t have enough supplies to trade you for this large an amount.”

“I’ll take all you have,” he hums, helmet dropping slightly to glance at your small selection of produce. “And you can keep whatever coin is left.”

“What? No— I can’t,” you chuckle nervously, extending your palms with the coin pouch inside. “Why… why won’t you try the other vendors? Market’s open til noon, you’re granted some good cuts of meat and proper bread at least,”

He looks at you. As always, you can’t tell for certain, but you feel his gaze on yours, boring into your very being as he shifts from one leg to another.

“My presence sparks fear in your people,” he says quietly. “They refuse to do business with me.”

Your heart twists a bit at his words. ‘None of them?’ you want to ask, but the silence between you speaks louder than any words ever could. You nod slowly, understanding dawning on you as your arms withdraw under your cloak, the small pouch with them.

“Alright,” you say softly, taking a deep breath. “Alright… let me pack this up for you,”

He nods in acknowledgment, stepping away as you walk around your stall. You feel his presence by your side as your hands work at the jars, placing them gently within a patterned cloth. Next come the oat cakes, then the vegetables.

He watches you in silence, helmet tilted as you skillfully tie the parcel into a knot. You turn to him slowly, straining a bit at the weight in your hands as you present it to him with an encouraging smile.

“Thanks for single-handedly putting me out of business,” you muse, chuckling half-heartedly at your nervous attempt at a joke. The helmet peers at you, but keeps silent. ‘Tough crowd,’ you think.

His gloved fingers move to cup the parcel, your thumbs grazing as you pass it to him. You jerk on instinct and pray to Maker he doesn’t notice.

“Thanks,” he nods, turning to briefly gaze at the humming orb behind him. “Keep the rest—”

“Come with me,” you intercept, louder than planned. He turns to you, helmet tilting in question. You swallow thickly, hands at your hips as you elaborate. “…Come with me. I can’t let you give away all this coin, and I have nothing more to give you from this stall, so… I’m inviting you to my home. Let me cook for you, so we may call it even.”

Your body ripples with anxiety as the words leave your mouth. Part of you wants to retract your invite on the spot when you watch him take a step towards you, unnervingly silently, and— Maker, why does he have to be so damn silent?!

“Okay,” he speaks, voice stern yet laced with something unrecognizable. You glance up at him with wide eyes, visor pointed at you with a silent purpose.

You take a step back as the ghost of a smile crawls onto your shock-stricken face, your words echoing his. “Okay.”

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solstices-dreams · 2 months ago

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𝐚 𝐝𝐚𝐲 𝐢𝐧 𝐦𝐲 𝐡𝐠 𝐝𝐫.

𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐢𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭. 𝐦𝐲 𝐡𝐮𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫 𝐠𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐬 𝐝𝐫. ᝰ.ᐟ

— 𝐥𝐢𝐟𝐞 𝐢𝐧 𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐜𝐭 𝟏𝟎.

Usually I wake up around 8 am. My neighbor Noah is usually out in his backyard by then practicing with his sword. I’ll head over for a bit and sit with him and talk. He’ll occasionally force me to practice with him, no matter how much I refuse. Afterwards I have breakfast with my family. My sister, Mabel, collects eggs from the chickens and my twin brother, Asher, milks the cow. After breakfast I usually go out and water the plants. We have a few flower pots for decor and then raised garden beds that have genuine crops in them. If it’s the weekend I’ll then go over to Noah’s house and we’ll go to the lake. Sometimes he brings his siblings, sometimes I bring mine or we bring our friends/old schoolmates.

If it’s a weekday my father and I take patients from across d-10 and occasionally d-11. Usually we don’t take money as payment but if people offer food or material items we accept. If it’s a Thursday we go into the town and visit patients as well as stock up on groceries.

After seeing patients we return home and I usually sit down to do some of my hobbies which can be crocheting, embroidery, jewelry making, or pottery. A lot of the stuff around my house is homemade and I also sell some of my stuff at the market.

Next I have dinner which is important to my dad and he dubs it a “family thing.” So Asher’s cutting up vegetables and Mabel’s setting the table as Dad cooks or something. Usually my dad or I cook cuz Mabel’s scared of the stove and Asher can’t be trusted around fire in the house.

Then after dinner I gossip with my sister and brother about their days, about Mabel’s crush or Asher’s latest escapade. (he’s a trouble maker.) After I send my letters to my friends in the other districts, journal, or read from my books. I’m excited to see what Panem literature is like and look in my history books! Sometimes I’m packing after dinner because I travel the districts (with the capitol’s permission) to see Finn or Haymitch. Then I get to curl up with my cat and got to sleep!

— 𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐬𝐭𝐮𝐟𝐟 𝐢𝐧 𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐜𝐭 𝟏𝟎.

Sometimes I visit my extended family which live in the ranching sector and nowhere near the victor’s village. When we visit we tend to visit for a while, typically around the harvest !! We have a massive family (i will make a post, trust.) and we’re very big on family so we have massive dinners together with all the extended family.

My different cousins drag me around and show me new stuff around the houses. And talk my ear off about everything happening with them. It occasionally gets isolating in the victor village.

On some occasions I visit my mentor Brie. We usually have tea and discuss whatever’s on our minds or what’s going on with the other districts. She also has a kid and a wife so we all interact.

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koshkamartell · 7 months ago

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No One But Me

masterlist

chapter warnings: assault, violence, unhinged!Joel, possessive!Joel, noncon/dubcon piv.

If you were going to live a life pretending to be happy with Joel, you were not going to allow him to completely oppress you.

You stopped speaking to him unless necessary, essentially ignoring him. You dedicated more of your time planning lessons. You spent alot of time out in the garden despite the freezing cold. You read your books and sipped your tea - you even found you started to like the way the chill pierced your lungs whenever you inhaled deeply. I reminded you that could still enjoy freedom in other ways outside the house.

The little rush you get from ignoring Joel is addictive. It could have been considered pathetic to anyone else but it makes you feel powerful in a way you had never felt before.

You became slower to attend to your house duties because you were often too preoccupied with daydreaming. When Joel reminded you to be more prompt in washing the dishes he was sure you rolled your eyes at him. Sometimes you would mumble something that he couldn't quite catch with his bad hearing, but when he'd question what you said you would just say "nothing, Joel".

Joel got frustrated with you more and more often because of your carelessness. His harsh words soon turned into rough grabs and shoves, then they progressed into slaps.

You had forfeited your friendship with Oscar to protect him from Joel. That was not going to change. You remember the rumours that had circulated around town about Joel's propensity for violence when he and Ellie first arrived. Considering what he has done to you, there is no doubting Joel would take great pleasure in torturing Oscar. You would rather disappear from Oscar's life than risk Joel potentially killing him just for talking to you.

Although you feared for Oscar, you did not fear for your own safety. Not any longer. Joel had already hurt you as much as he could and you had survived. What was another slap? What was another bruise to add to the rest of the purple-yellow clusters that mottled your skin? Whatever punishment he deemed fit would be worth suffering, just for the reminder that your heart was still beating with life and love.

Although your spirit had grown stronger and more independent it is still impossible for you to completely relax. You simply cannot when Joel is a constant dark shadow following you, the wicked source of both your pleasure and your misery, the man who wants nothing more than to hurt and possess you.

Joel not only invades your body, but you swear he is beginning to invade your thoughts, too. His presence seems to pervade your surroundings at all times. Even when he isn't at home and you are alone in the house you feel like you are being watched. You know it isn't logical and that he's either on patrol or at the bar, but it does little to alleviate the unsettling feeling of being spied on.

At times you feel like he can read your mind and it makes you question your sanity. He always seemed to be one step ahead of you, always calculating your next move before you could even think of it.

Like when you planned to ask him for extra time allowance to go to the market for food and had discovered he already went shopping and stocked up on as much food as his rations would allow. You searched through the pantry and fridge and were astounded by the plenitude of food.

Never before had you seen another person's pantry so well stocked with flour and fruits, or so much butter, milk and eggs all in one single fridge. You almost allowed yourself to believe that maybe he had done it to prove his dedication to you, to demonstrate how he cared about you and wanted you to eat.

But that was probably a farfetched idea, you concluded. He was no longer the tender and loving Joel that he had been in the recent weeks. His personality had morphed once again, disorientating you even more.

From that point on the house had an abundance of food at all times, leaving you with no excuse not to cook or to go out to fetch ingredients without him.

Fine, you decided, if you couldn't get time outside then you would try harder to limit your proximity to Joel. He may have coerced you into living with him but you didn't have to share his bed.

You gathered your pillow and headed to one of the spare rooms with the intention of setting up a cosy nest in privacy. But when you tried to open the door you had found it locked, perhaps for the first time ever.

Strange, you thought, before moving onto the next room down the hallway.

When you went to enter the second bedroom you had discovered its door was also locked. You rattled the handle fruitlessly, growling with frustration, then kicked at the door.

Ofcourse Joel locked them, you chided yourself. Because he knew you'd try isolate yourself.

Because sleeping in the spare rooms weren't an option you tried the next best thing - the couch. Joel walked into the living room just as you were spreading a blanket and pillow over the couch and he understood your intention right way.

"No," he grunted. He scooped you up and carried you all the way upstairs, ignoring your thrashing and protests. He took you into the master bedroom and dumped you unceremoniously onto his mattress.

"Knock it off," he scowled. You just glared at him and he shook his head at you.

"Last warnin'," Joel cautioned sternly. "Next time I'll tie you to this damn bed."

You don't doubt he would, so you resign yourself to sleeping in his bed every night. Atleast the heat from his body keeps you warm, you think. And when you startle awake from another horrible dream in the middle of the night, sobbing and with your heart pounding, it's Joel's arms that hold you tight. It's Joel's gravelly voice that whispers soothing phrases into your hair. In some kind of unspoken paradoxical illusion it is his enduring presence that ultimately assuages your distress.

Having you living in his home has awoken a new depth of perversion in Joel that he cannot temper. It excites him to know you sit waiting for him to return home every night like a good little housewife, that your pretty face and your sweet scent will greet him when he steps through the door after a long stint on patrol.

His cock thickens in his pants to think of how accessible your body is now that you are essentially a prisoner in his house with no where to run and hide. Joel has even contemplated the idea of tying you to the bed each night; mostly for his pleasure and to reinforce your position beside him, but also to fuck with your head a bit.

Maybe he can tie you up and take some more perverted pictures of you sometime. The possibilities are endless, especially now that he's resolved not to give a fuck about your feelings. Despite the pathological love he feels for you, the embers of hatred still smoulder inside Joel; it urges him to hurt you, to break your will.

Your attitude lately was really starting to piss him off. Your behaviour reminded him of a sullen teenager at times - you barely talked to him and always evaded him in favour of being alone with your books. You had even started sitting on the steps of the back porch to read, a blanket draped over your shoulders to protect you from the evening chill.

He had a good mind to burn those fucking books.

It felt like you were toying with him with some sort of strategic psychological game to purposely anger him. And it was working. But like a moth to the flame his hunger for you is more insatiable than ever; like he wants to drain the life from you and devour you whole, as if your arousal is the essence in which keeps his blackened heart beating. He is greedy in his quest to ravish you.

Joel marks you in any place that can be concealed by your clothing. Your breasts and stomach are littered with purple hickies and the imprint of teeth, as are your thighs and the flesh of your ass cheeks. Joel tries to restrain himself from marking your neck gratuitously though; he doesn't want to raise any suspicions but he is also too possessive to allow you to walk around with prominent hickies all over your neck. He doesn't want some asshole looking at you and thinking you're easy.

You have come to know that there is no point in trying to resist Joel's advances anymore, either, because he just ends up taking from you anyway. Your refusal only spurns him on and feeds his obsessive compulsion to dominate you, and the more you resist him the more determined he is to break you.

When you kick at him and smack at his face and chest Joel silences you with heavy slaps across your face. He likes to slap you - on your cheeks, your ass, your breasts - so he can see the bloom of his red hand print on you.

He wins the battle of wills between you and he over and over again. And as much as you fucking hate him there is no denying the rapacious magnetism you and Joel share. You may scratch and bite like a feral cat but it is all part of the game you play. He knows you can't resist him, even if you could never admit it to yourself.

"Told you I know you better than you think," he whispered tauntingly in your ear the other night, just after he had coaxed a mind blowing orgasm from you. "Don't forget this pussy is mine, baby."

Joel left you a whimpering mess, too fucked out to say anything in return to his boasting. He's never seen you squirt so much before, but his own orgasms seem more intense now, too. He is finding it increasingly more difficult not to cum inside you and fill your cunt with his load every time he has you. It feels like he's defying his natural instincts by pulling out and spilling his seed elsewhere.

Joel fights the urge to remain buried in you but it seems his ability to restrain himself wanes a little each time. Joel waits until the last couple of seconds to withdraw but he fights the urge to remain buried in you every time. His ability to restrain himself seems to wane a little more each time.

Fuck, Joel would love nothing more than to explode inside your perfect pussy. It is not that Joel wants to get you pregnant or have more children; infact just the thought of him fathering a child again makes his stomach clench anxiously. It's the act itself, internally marking you with his cum, that he so badly wants to indulge in.

Joel makes a mental note to check on his pill stash to see if there's any more plan b. He knows for sure that he still has pain killers and sleeping pills. They will come in handy for the future, he thinks, when he's sure you are both ready to move on from here.

Kate yawns as she carries her cup of tea from the kitchen to the living room, grateful for the the warmth of the mug heating the palm of her hand. Although she is wearing a thick sweater over two long sleeved shirts she still feels chilled. These past few months have been bitterly cold with no sign of reprieve, and like most Jackson residents she longs for the snow to ease and for the warm sunshine to return.

For Kate the early mornings during this time of year are the worst; she hates having to leave the refuge of her bed to go to work when the sky is still dark and the air is unforgiving and icy. Fortunately today she is able to enjoy a leisurely morning infront of the fireplace.

She is just about to sit down in one of the armchairs when three solid knocks rap on the front door.

"Who on earth...?" Kate mumbles to herself.

No one visits this early in the morning, unless maybe Maria or someone else from the committee are in search of a volunteer to fill a work duty for the day. Shit, she really hopes it isn't the case - she's really looked forward to her day off this week.

With her mug still in hand Kate shuffles to the door and turns the handle to pull it open. She's visibly surprised to be greeted by the sight of Oscar standing on her porch, his nose and his cheeks tinged with pink. The chill from the wind infiltrates the house immediately and Kate makes a hissing noise.

"Oscar!" she blurts out in surprise. "Matt has already left for work, you've just missed him, sorry."

She obviously assumes Oscar is at her front door calling on her brother, but Oscar shakes his head and narrows his gaze at her.

"I'm not here to see Matt," he speaks cheerlessly. "I'm here to see you."

Kate frowns, perplexed. "Huh? Me?"

"Yes Kate, I need to talk to you." Oscar replies firmly. "Let me in."

She is startled by the fixed solemnity within his striking brown eyes, how his usual jovial smile has been replaced by the grave downturn of his mouth. Kate realises she has never seen Oscar look so concerned before, and the realisation worries her.

She hurriedly steps aside to let him inside the house. "Ofcourse, Oscar, come in."

He stamps the snow from his boots before entering the house and Kate quickly shuts the door behind him. She ushers him into the living room and they end up perched on opposite ends of the couch by the crackling fireplace. She takes a sip of tea while eyeing him curiously.

Then a sudden wave of emotion crashes over her. There could only be one reason why her brother's friend is visiting her looking so forlorn.

"Oh my god!" Kate cries out. "Is it Matt? Please tell me Matt isn't hurt! He just left for work, what could have happened--"

Oscar immediately holds his hand out to quieten her.

"Kate, he's fine," he soothes. "Matt is fine. He's not the reason I'm here."

"Oh, thank God." Kate exhales with relief. "Holy shit Oscar, you scared me."

"I'm sorry," he apogises sincerely. "I didn't mean to worry you like that. But I'm here because I am worried."

"What's up, Oscar?" She asks gently.

The words tumble from Oscar's mouth without hesitation, as though he is desperate to divulge the burden of a secret.

He tells Kate everything. He tells her about how his crush on you developed into something more meaningful, that you shared a kind of deep connection with each other that he couldn't quite explain. He details to Kate about the night he confessed his feelings to you and about the subsequent note you had written him - the one that apologised for wasting his time and that said you couldn't be friends anymore.

Kate listens with rapt fascination, cycling through a range of emotions throughout Oscar's monologue; she sways from astonishment to delight, from bemusement to dismay. By the time Oscar concludes his story Kate's own face has morphed into a sombre scowl.

"I can see why you're worried," she admits quietly. "It all worries me, too."

Oscar sighs heavily and buries his face in his hands. "I didn't know if I was just getting all wound up over nothing, but it just doesn't feel right to me, Kate. I had to come and see what you think."

Kate tentatively sets her mug of now lukewarm tea on the coffee table before her. "Well, I have been a little concerned that we haven't seen her around lately. But when I asked about it she just said work has been really busy."

Kate gives a sheepish shrug. "I didn't really give it much thought after that. But now, after what you have said...maybe we need to do something."

Oscar slumps back into the couch and slaps his hands down onto his thighs. "She doesn't want to see me, Kate. What can I do?"

"I'll talk to her," Kate says firmly. "I'll go check in with her, maybe at her house. And I won't tell her you came to see me, so don't worry about that."

Oscar stares at Kate with gloom clouding his large brown eyes . "Please let me know what she says as soon as you can, Kate. Please. I have to know she's alright."

The strain is evident on Oscar's face and Kate feels a twinge of pity tug at her heart. She hopes this is all a big misunderstanding, that the intensity of his feelings have caused him to misread things and that you are perfectly fine. But now a seed of doubt has been planted in Kate's mind and she cannot be sure.

She just pats his shoulder reassuringly. "I will, Oscar. I promise."

••••••

Kate felt an overwhelming urge to talk to Rhi and seek some kind of guidance. Rhi had always been the more pragmatic one in your friendship group, the one everyone confided in and went to for advice, and now Kate felt she needed to hear Rhi's perspective on this whole situation.

That afternoon Kate bundled herself into her thick woolen coat and set off to the town square. She walked briskly across the town square toward Rhi's work. The haberdashery is located on the main street of Jackson tucked between a leather goods store and a shoe repair shop. Because the block of businesses provide essential services to the community there is always a steady trickle of people coming and going and bustling around the street outside. That afternoon was no exception and Kate had to manoeuvre around a cluster of people spread outside the leatherworks.

An older lady trudged out of the haberdashery and bumped into Kate's shoulder as she passed, grumbling something about crocheting needles. Kate sniggered to herself at the thought of sassy Rhi taming ill tempered customers with her quick wit and sharp quips.

The inside of the store is more spacious than what its exterior suggests. There are display cupboards lined against the walls that are full of tapes of ribbon and differently coloured and patterned stacks of material. The service counter in the middle is surrounded by panels of fabric and measuring rulers, chalk and large scissors. Towards the back of the store are atleast half a dozen wooden desks arranged in neat rows with sewing machines sat ontop of them. There are women flitting about the store carrying armfuls of material and baskets of wool, needles and an assortment of other tools.

Kate spotted Rhi emerging from the storeroom at the very back with a panel of rolled fabric in her hands. When Rhi noticed Kate approaching, she smiled warmly, a serene look flooding over her pretty features.

"Hey babe, what's up? I have to say, it's a pleasant surprise to see you here." She dumped the roll onto the counter. "Cheered my day up instantly."

Kate grinned. "Really? That bad, huh?"

Rhi snorted and reached over the clutter on the counter to retrieve a pair of scissors. "Yep," she said, emphasising the 'p' with a pop. "If Mrs. Letterman comes in here one more time to complain that the yarn is subpar and that's why she keeps messing up her knitting, I'll fucking scream."

Kate laughed and gave her a companionable pat on the shoulder. "Ah, always so much drama in the world of textiles."

Rhi rolled her eyes jovially and prepared to cut a swath from the fabric roll. "Uh-huh. So why are you here on your day off? Bored so you've come to keep me company?"

Kate was suddenly reminded of why she is there in the first place. She cleared her throat and crossed her arms, her cheery demeanour visibly shifting into a more sober expression. Rhi was too busy snipping the material to notice the change in her friend.

"Well, you see...Oscar actually came to visit me this morning," Kate began carefully.

"Oscar the fox?" Rhi interrupted with a grin, eyes still on the task infront of her. "What did he want?"

Kate took a breath and then recited a brief description of Oscar's concerns to Rhi, omitting how Oscar confessed his love to you. Kate could see the depth of his candor and knew it was something to be respected and kept private.

Rhi listened and waited patiently for Kate to finish speaking, then laid down the scissors and turned to face her friend.

"Wait, let me get this right. You're worried because you haven't seen her around much and she seems sad?" Rhi asked, one eyebrow cocked skeptically.

Kate sighed and shoot Rhi an unimpressed look of reproach.

"Come on, Kate! She's in the honeymoon phase," Rhi exclaimed and threw up her hands. "She's probably too busy getting fucked out of her mind and in love and finally enjoying a man."

Kate, used to her friend's informal attitude and candid way of speaking, just rolled her eyes at Rhi's crassness.

"God knows she's needed it," Rhi said with a smirk. "Oscar's probably got a little thing for her and is jealous or something."

"It's more than that, I think," Kate sighed again.

"You guys are worrying for nothing. I spoke to Joel just last night and everything seemed fine."

"What? Really?" Kate's eyes widened in surprise.

Joel never talks to anyone outside his group of patrol buddies. Infact, Kate wonders how someone as seemingly antisocial as Joel and someone as shy as you ever got together in the first place.

"Yeah!" Rhi smiled brightly. "He came up to me at the cafeteria and asked me if Beau was leaving me alone - he was checking up on me! Can you believe?" Rhi sighed wistfully. "What a man! Anyways, he said she was tired and chilling at home after work, that she said she wanted him to say sorry on her behalf for being so busy."

"I don't know," Kate mumbled dubiously. "She never comes to the mess hall anymore, or to any movie night. When I went to the school to see her, she was...I dunno, like scatterbrained."

"Hmm," Rhi hummed.

She tapped her fingers on her chin as she considered a course of action. "Alright then, let's invite her out to dinner and see what she says. Then we can get all the juicy details and see how she really is."

Kate nodded. "Good idea. I'll go see her later. I just hope you're right and she's not hiding something."

"When it turns out that she's just been busy getting dicked down, you owe me," Rhi smiled teasingly.

Kate had accosted you as you were leaving the school. She enveloped you in a big hug and pleaded with you to come have dinner with her and the girls tomorrow night. She had caught you so off guard that you hurriedly agreed.

It was only afterwards, as you walked home, that reality sunk in. Why did you say yes when Joel was so adamant about you not going anywhere? How were you going to convince him to let you go out?

But you had missed your friends so much; you really did want to see them and spend time with them like the old days. You had to try. You owed them atleast that.

Despite not wanting to be subservient to Joel, you know you have to be humble and supplicating if you want him to grant you permission to go out tomorrow night. You can't be too assertive or demanding so you wait patiently until after dinner, when he has showered and changed into his night clothes. He is always so much more relaxed with food in his stomach and a fresh set of clothes on his back.

You approach Joel as he sits in his armchair nursing a glass of whiskey. You stand infront of him and clasp your hands behind your back, your fingers nervously twisting together. His eyes rake up and down your body and his jaw ticks. You cannot decipher what his mood is like right at this moment, although he seemed tranquil during dinner.

"Joel," you begin with a gentle tone. "I was wondering if I could go have dinner at the mess hall tomorrow night. Kate has asked me to go."

"What do you think the answer is?" He says without missing a beat.

"B-but this is important--"

"No," he mutters dismissively.

"Joel, it's just having dinner at the cafeteria, that is all," you explain calmly. "And I haven't seen the girls for so long."

"No."

"But they will be expecting me to go--"

"Girl if you think you have any chance of goin' out you are sorely fuckin' mistaken." Joel snaps irritably.

He leans forward and throws back his shot of whiskey, then slams it down on the table beside him. You flinch when he then heaves himself out of his chair and advances on you, but still you cannot stop the deluge of words that come tumbling out of your mouth.

"I'll have dinner ready and waiting for you and I'll have everything around the house--"

"I said no. How many goddamn times do I have to tell you?" Joel raises his voice. "You are comin' straight home from work and that's it."

"But I'm not working tomorrow--"

You and Joel are interrupted by the sudden crashing sound of the front door slamming shut. The heavy bang reverberates throughout the lower ground floor of the house ominously.

You freeze on the spot while Joel quickly moves infront of you, protective and immediately ready to pounce at any threat of danger. Your hands cling to the material of his shirt.

You aren't really scared because Joel is with you, but the possibility of someone forcing their way into the house is still disturbing. You take a furtive peek from behind the solid of his flank to see just what is going on.

A figure emerges from the shadow of the hallway to reveal themself.

Ellie.

She stands at the entry way of the living room, her eyebrows creased and her mouth pulled into a grimace. She stares hard at Joel. She looks pissed off.

"Ellie," Joel says gently, his posture slackening. You let go of Joel's shirt and sigh with relief.

"What the fuck, Joel?" She grits out, her voice tight.

How much of the conversation did she hear? You wonder. Joel says nothing. He just stays silent and stares back at Ellie.

You wish you could see his face.

"Why does she have to be home straight after work?" Ellie demands loudly.

"Mind your business, Ellie." Joel shoots back, his tone quiet and serious.

"No, I wanna know!"

You step out from behind Joel and approach Ellie slowly. You have no idea what exactly she heard Joel say but you have to try maintain the pretence that everything is normal.

"He didn't mean it like what you think, El," you say gently, placing a tentative hand on her shoulder.

"He didn't mean to tell you that you couldn't leave the fuckin' house?" Ellie spits bitterly, her eyes shifting between Joel and you. "Because that's what it sounded like."

"Joel's just worried about my safety. There was a ranger who was bothering me and my friend at dinner a while ago. He was being threatening. Joel is just having a bit of trouble trusting that something like that won't happen again."

Your voice is soft and pacifying but even to your ears your words sound unconvincing and lame. You hate Joel for putting you in this position, for making you lie through your teeth to one of the most important people in your life.

Ellie stares at you, searching over your face. You can tell by the pinch of her brows and the uncertainty in her eyes that she's conflicted and doesn't know whether or not to believe you. When she doesn't move you take her hand in yours and give it a little squeeze.

"What's up, El? You come over for something to eat?" You ask, changing the topic while trying to sound more light-hearted. "I have some leftovers if you're hungry."

"I came over because I wanted to ask if you wanna get breakfast tomorrow," Ellie grumbles. "That's if you're allowed to." She shoots a pointed look at Joel.

"Yeah, I'd love that, El." You swiftly assure her, hoping the slightly breathless hitch in your voice doesn't give away the fact that your heart is racing. "It's my day off. We can even spend the whole day together, if you want."

Ellie's eyes drag from Joel to you and you give her an affirming little smile.

"Well, Uncle Tommy did set up the axe throwing thing again..." She says with an offhanded shrug.

You know this is Ellie's way of accepting your invitation; you bite back a smile, having to hide the relief that flows through you

"Awesome." You reply casually. "You can show me your skills tomorrow, then. Maybe even teach me how to do it."

She nods a little. "Cool."

The heavy tension in the air alleviates to some degree. You glance over at Joel; he's got his arms crossed and his eyes are fixated on Ellie, but like the typically stoic man he is, Joel gives no indication of what he's feeling or thinking.

"Do you wanna stay for a while?" You offer her.

With a flick of her wrist she flips the hood of her jacket up over her head. "Nah, gotta go meet Dina. I'll see ya tomorrow for breakfast."

"It's a date." You nod. "Meet you here at 8 and we can walk together."

"Okay." Ellie shifts hesitantly on her feet, glancing back to Joel and narrowing her eyes into suspicious slits. "You better not be acting like an asshole."

Joel rolls his eyes and scoffs. "I ain't. Now get outta here, kid."

You and Joel follow Ellie to the door to bid her goodnight. She stomps down the porch steps and shoves her hands into the pockets of her jacket. The lamps lining the street glow above Ellie's lithe silhouette as she walks away.

You feel the anxiety drain from your body and your body momentarily sags against the door frame. You and Joel watch Ellie right up until she disappears into the next street.

As soon as you retreat back inside the house Joel clicks the door shut behind you. He moves swiftly to cage you between himself and the wall. He glares down at you with threatening hostility.

"You hurt that girl and I swear to God..." He whispers as he stares down at you. The strain of repressed emotion makes the timbre of his Southern accent thicker.

Your face crumples and you feel the instant threat of hot tears sting your eyes. Does Joel really believe you would ever be capable of purposely hurting Ellie? For all this time you have being sheilding her from the truth of your relationship with Joel just so she can have some kind of stable family life. You can honestly attest to doing whatever you can not to hurt Ellie. Can Joel not see that?

"Come on, Joel. I'd never hurt Ellie." You can't hide the genuine hurt in your voice. "Didn't I just prove that?"

You duck underneath his arm to quickly scurry away but Joel's hand seizes your upper arm and halts you suddenly. His grip is bruising and hurts - as it seems to be every time he touches you now days.

You tilt your head to meet his eyes, your expression already listless and defeated.

"I'll let you go to breakfast with her...and this thing with your friends...but if you say one word to her or anyone about anything..." Joel gives a minute shake of his head and clenches his jaw.

There is a torrent of emotion swirling within his brown eyes, something that appears like a mix of sadness and worry and anger, but you don't care to scrutinise it. You have no energy or will to argue; you are so drained that you just want to go to bed and sleep.

"I won't," you whisper.

Joel studies your face for a few moments, as if he's weighing something up in his mind, and he eventually let's go of your arm without another word. You wrap your arms around yourself and scamper toward the stairs.

Breakfast with Ellie is pleasant, if not a little awkward. Neither of you mention last night and conversation seems stilted at times, but overall you both enjoy the other's company. Ellie so thrilled at the prospect of taking you axe throwing afterwards that you have to tell her to stop scoffing her scrambled eggs and toast.

As soon as you leave the dining hall Ellie grabs your arm and guides you across the town square toward the woolshed and the blacksmith workshop. She leads you to a secluded area behind the sheds that Tommy has cordoned off from the general public. Your mouth falls open in wonderous surprise when Ellie unveils the small axe throwing range Tommy has constructed. The range is shaped in a rectangle, with one end for throwing and the other for the targets.

On the target end, a row of three rounded archery butts have been assembled several feet apart from one another. An axe has been wedged into the centre of one of the butts. At the opposite end of the range, around twelve feet away, Tommy has marked a stripe on the ground to indicate where the axe thrower should stand. He has also used white paint to outline three separate lanes on the ground.

"Pretty fuckin' cool, huh?" Ellie grins widely, raptly watching your reaction.

"Yes! It's amazing!" You say, sincerely in awe as you survey your surroundings. "I can't believe Tommy did all this!"

"Yep, says I'm his favourite niece."

"Ellie, you're his only niece."

"Precisely why he has to do what I want," Ellie beams. "Now stand back and watch the master at work."

For the next hour Ellie demonstrates the skills she has acquired from Tommy and other townsfolk who are proficient in wielding weapons. She talks the whole time, alternating between explaining techniques she learned and retelling funny stories that they had shared with her. You watch each throw and listen to Ellie's every word, marvelling at her natural aptitude for the sport.

She looks back at you whenever the axe lands within the bullseye, and you cheer and clap with just the right amount of enthusiasm that won't make her feel awkward. The proud smirk Ellie wears makes your heart sing.

You and Ellie stay at the range for a while. You even try your hand at throwing the axe a few times, making you both laugh hysterically when you fail. You are doubled over giggling when a silky, gravelly voice startles you both.

"Atleast if anythin' ever happens to ya, you'll have Ellie to save your ass."

You both whip around to find Tommy standing by the makeshift door, thumbs hooked in his belt loops and a wide grin plastered on his handsome face.

"Oh no, how long have you been standing there for?" You groan, your cheeks blushing with embarrassment.

"Long enough to see why you ain't never worked a patrol shift," Tommy teases.

"Hey, leave her alone," Ellie slings her arm around your neck defensively. "I'm gonna teach her and then the both of us will make you eat shit."

Tommy barks a hearty laugh. "I don't doubt it, El." He ambles over to you both and gives you a wink. "Now let me have a turn to show off."

The afternoon at the range is even more fun with Tommy around. The three of you take turns throwing, with both of them teaching you how to properly aim and launch until you actually hit the target. You can't recall the last time you genuinely enjoyed yourself so much.

When you arrive back home, your soul singing and your spirits high, Joel is waiting for you on the porch swing like a disapproving father. The smile on your face drops as soon as you spot his glower, and you slink up the porch steps like a dog about to be scolded.

You drag your feet as you walk through the front door, Joel trailing behind you wordlessly like an ominous shadow.

You should have known he'd make you pay your penance for today.

"Watch," Joel demands gruffly, voice low and thick with desire.

He uses the hand tangled in your hair to wrench your head back so you are staring at the bathroom mirror. He towers behind you, still fully dressed with only his cock free from his jeans, while you stand completely naked before him. The cold air of the room makes you shiver, your bare flesh prickling with goosebumps.

He kicks your legs apart and grabs your ass cheek with his other hand, digging his fingers into you painfully. You hiss and try to squirm away but his nails only press into you further and hold you tighter.

Joel leans forward and licks a thick stripe from your the base of your neck up to your ear, where he plants a soft kiss on your earlobe. His beard tickles you and his warm breath beats against your skin.

"Watch yourself get fucked." He whispers.

You have no other option.

Joel stoops ever so slightly to line the weeping head of his cock against the slit of your cunt. He bows his head and spits a warm wad of saliva onto where you connect to lubricate himself. Then he wastes no time pushing into you, groaning at the way your heat slips around him, how fucking perfect you feel at the first stretch. You moan involuntarily and he feels your pussy clench around him while your legs tremble.

Joel loves how much your body still desires his, even after all this time, even after all your efforts to push him away. He watches your reflection intently and smirks at the way your brows knit together and your mouth hangs open.

Joel slides his cock all the way inside your pussy and fills you completely, then quickly retracts his hips and pulls out again. He slams back in forcefully and relishes how you wince and gasp, taking pleasure in the fact that he knows you feel like you're being split in two, that the initial thrusts always hurt you, even more so when he hasn't prepared you at all.

"Don't forget who makes the fuckin' rules around here, little girl," Joel gruffs.

Joel had begrudgingly agreed to let you go meet up with your friends tonight. He couldn't possibly say no after Ellie had walked in on your argument together. That would just confirm her suspicions about what a controlling asshole he is.

But Joel could still prove to you just who was in charge. And that's exactly what he was doing right now.

His hand is wound tightly in your hair, making it impossible for you to move. He uses it as an anchor while he begins to pound into you at a steady pace, powerful and hard. Each punch of his fat cock pushes the air from your lungs and makes you grip tighter to the bathroom vanity.

Doggystyle has always been one of Joel's favourite positions. He loves sinking his fingers into the curves of your waist and your hips as he watches your ass jiggle from the impact of his thrusts. He revels in how pliant you become, unable to control how fast or hard he drills into you. He relishes in just how fucking animalistic it is.

Joel is able to see your every microexpression reflected in the mirror infront of you both and he wants you to see yourself, too; to see how utterly he wrecks you, how pathetic you look when you're blissed out and drunk on his cock.

When he had cornered you in the bathroom as you prepared to shower. You had struggled feebly, tried to fight him off, but you both knew it was impossible for you to escape him.

You stare back at him now with half lidded eyes, vacant yet consumed, body weak and malleable as he hammers into you. Joel can read the shame on your face, the embarrassment you feel that he is both the one you hate and the one who pleasures your body so expertly.

Joel snaps his hips into your ass over and over and his balls smack against your skin, loud and lewd in the echo of the bathroom. He pushes down on your lower spine while tugging your head firmly backward, causing your back to bow. The change of angle allows the head of his cock to hit your gspot and the sensation pulls a raspy moan from deep in your throat.

"Yeah, there it is," Joel growls, his wolfish stare transfixed on your reflection.

He cants his hips so that he taps against the soft spongy spot repeatedly, over and over with every thrust, and soon your pussy begins to contract around his dick, signalling your impending climax.

Your eyes are half closed, vision unfocused, your bottom lip caught inbetween your teeth. Joel snakes his hand around your front and slips his fingers between your lips to press on your clit. Your thighs shake and you moan wantonly as he begins rubbing the sensitive spot in sloppy circles.

"Cum on my cock," Joel pants, "I know you're close, baby, give it to me."

He slams into you harder and faster while he grunts like a wild animal, his dark orbs hyper focused on your fucked out expression in the mirror. He keeps his thick fingers pressed to your clit with just the right amount of pressure and speed that he knows will make you come apart on his dick.

Your jaw goes slack and your eyes shut tightly. He knows how humiliated you feel and it only makes him more determined. He wants to violate every inch of your body and your mind until he's all you can feel and taste.

Joel jerks your head sharply.

"Eyes open," he barks, "look at me when you cum."

Your eyes flutter open to meet his reflection and a only a few seconds later your orgasm hits. Joel pummels your cunt relentlessly and you keen loudly from the waves of blissful pleasure he has forced upon your body.

You look so fucking gorgeous, he thinks.

Joel frees his hand from your hair and gives your rump a harsh smack that leaves a stinging red mark on your skin.

"Fuck yeah," Joel moans, "can feel that pussy milkin' me."

He continues to rub your clit throughout the high of your climax, wanting to prolong your pleasure until you are overstimulated and desperate for him to stop. He grins when your eyes roll back and he feels a gush of your juice drip down his girth and his balls.

"There you go, pretty slut," Joel murmers.

Soon it becomes too much for your swollen clit and your thighs clamp around his hand. You shake your head and gasp.

"Stop," your voice comes out weak and wrecked. "Enough, please."

The sensation of your muscles squeezing around his cock is so deliciously intense that Joel's own orgasm comes quicker than expected. When he feels his balls tighten Joel abruptly removes his hand from your clit and swiftly withdraws from your aching pussy. He holds tightly to your hip and furiously jerks his cock a few times before shooting ropes of warm cum all over your ass and lower back. He groans like a beast, chest heaving, his orgasm hitting him in one big intense wave.

When Joel is finished and his balls are empty he staggers backwards and stuffs his cock back into his jeans. He admires the streaks he has painted on your skin and how his spend drips across the faint white scars on your ass; it fills him with proud gratitication, as it always does to see you so degradingly marked by him.

He is uncaring when your legs give out and you sink to the cold tiled floor. He doesn't speak to you or look at your face when he pushes past you and walks out of the bathroom. He just leaves you alone to clean up the mess he's made, as he always does.

••••••

After you shower you don't complain when Joel stands at the closet and selects he outfit you would wear tonight (a simple long sleeved navy coloured dress with thick black tights). You wear your hair pulled back in a basic ponytail so that the necklace he gifted you is clearly visible.

You listen dutifully and don't talk back when he outlines the stipulations of tonight's outing; that you are only to talk to women at the hall, that you stay in his line of sight at all times, and that you can only stay an hour and a half tops.

Joel escorts you to the mess hall with his hand resting possessively on your lower back. He's not as anxious as he had anticipated but the familiar knot of aversion still sits heavy in his stomach. Regardless of his inner conflict Joel keeps his head held high as he walks into the hall beside you.

All your friends are already at a table and when they spot you they wave excitedly.

God damn, anyone would think you had been gone for years, the way these girls are behaving.

Joel politely greets your friends and awkwardly watches as they take turns hugging you and gushing about how much they have missed you.

Joel doesn't stick around. He goes to the serving station to get a tray of food and then finds a seat at an empty table not too far away from yours. A few minutes later Tommy shows up and joins him.

They eat in companionable silence for a while. Joel isn't in the mood to talk, too preoccupied with sneaking glances your way to maintain conversation. He didn't want to let you out of his sight for a minute - not that he actually thought you'd run away or something, but the paranoia was starting to get to him. He had to be vigilant. Joel didn't want other people taking up your precious time but he also didn't want you to have any opportunity to betray him.

What if you were telling your stupid bitch friends all about your private business? Joel is sure they would drag you away from him. Then they would go crying to Maria and the council, and there would be no way in hell that they'd listen to his side of the story. Ellie would fucking hate him. Your life together would be ruined.

But thankfully for Joel there didn't appear to be any indication of that happening tonight. He watches you sat amongst your friends, all of them talking and giggling exuberantly around you. It appeared to be a happy little reunion, however Joel noticed a clear contrast between you and the others; your reserved smile and tired, dull eyes didn't match their more cheerful expressions. It almost appeared as though you didn't want to be there.

Joel had not realised just how much he was staring until Tommy coughed a little to get his attention.

"You're like a damn dog with a bone," Tommy snorts. "She ain't goin' anywhere, Joel."

"Don't know what you're talkin' about." Joel mutters, finally tearing his eyes away from you. He picks up a piece of bread and mops up some of the gravy on his plate with it.

"You've been starin' at her since the moment I sat down."

"Fuck off, Tommy," Joel bristles. "Just makin' sure she's safe."

Tommy chuckles. "From what? She's sittin' with her friends. And you made that Beau boy shit his pants. You think any man would dare try anythin' after that?"

Joel says nothing in reply. What Tommy had said was true - now your relationship is public knowledge no man in the whole of Jackson would even think of trying to flirt with you.

"Anyway, how's the domestic side of things goin'?" Tommy grins. "You two love birds think' of sealin' the deal?"

Joel glances up from his plate and his brow creases. "If you're talkin' marriage that ain't gonna happen."

"You told your girl that?" Tommy asks with an amused little smirk.

"What?"

"Have ya'll talked about the future? You might not want all that, but ever thought she might?"

Joel knows Tommy isn't being argumentative or intrusive, that his younger brother is just being the romantic dreamer he always has been, but he raises a good point. Joel actually hadn't given much thought to marriage with you, or even talked with you about it, although he suspects it is something you do (or did) want.

Joel shifts uncomfortably in his chair and goes back to concentrating on his dinner. "Not everybody wants that kinda thing, Tom."

Tommy hums in agreement. "That's true," he concedes. "She just gives me the impression of bein' the kind that wants that kinda thing."

"What do you mean?" Joel asks lowly. "What'd she say?"

"Aw it was nothin'. We were just talkin' a bit at the range today, mainly about school 'n all that." Tommy says plainly before taking a bite of the roasted meat on his fork. "Said she was lonely at times, wants more in life."

More in life? What the fuck does that even mean? Why were you talking to Tommy about your life anyway?

"She's fine," Joel mutters, his voice sharp with vexation.

The topic of conversation changes when out of nowhere Troy slams his tray down onto the table and takes a seat next to Joel.

"Tommy if you roster me on with that Deacon son of a bitch one more time you'll have a homicide on your hands," Troy announces.

Troy greets Joel with a friendly slap to the shoulder before starting a diatribe about the latest incident to happen on patrol with Percy Deacon, one of the newly trained rangers that most of the others can't stomach.

Tommy chimes in occasionally while Joel partly listens to Troy's grievances. He continues to periodically observe you, careful not to look for too long lest Tommy teases him once more. Time passes and Joel finds himself actually starting to relax.

Until Oscar walks in.

Joel clocks Oscar the second he enters the crowded hall. He's talking to his friend, that Matt kid, but once his gaze lands on you he stops speaking completely. Oscar openly fixates on you, practically fawning over you.

How dare he fucking stare at you like that.

Joel watches you glance up and lock eyes with Oscar. You're transfixed on him for only a few moments, but the gesture is meaningful and intimate. It makes Joel's blood boil.

Tommy witnesses the loaded exchange and instantly knows what's going on.

"Joel--" Tommy begins to say, but Joel is already standing up and stalking over to your table.

A hush falls over your table when he approaches. He doesn't pay attention to any of your friends when he bends down to whisper in your ear.

"We're goin' - you got one minute to say goodbye. I'll be waitin' outside."

Joel strides out of the dining hall without looking back. The night air hits his face in a refreshing, chilly blast but it does nothing to dampen the jealous rage that burns through his whole body. His jaw clenches tight and his hands itch to punch something.

Soon Tommy is by his side, his barrel chest knocking against Joel's shoulder. "What the fuck was that, Joel?"

Joel glowers at him and just shakes his head, but Tommy can read his expression clearly.

"They're just friends. Ya can't stop people from bein' friendly, Joel." Tommy implores.

"I don't care. She ain't for him." Joel snarls.

"What are you gonna do, Joel?" Tommy hisses. "Gonna kill any man that looks at her? Lose your shit whenever things don't go your way?"

"You don't know a goddamn thing," Joel growls back. "You don't know what loss is, Tommy."

"I haven't been through loss like you have," Tommy's voice quivers slightly. "But I don't wanna see you go through it again, brother. And if you keep doin' this shit tryin' to protect her it could happen. Violence ain't the way to keep a person close to you."

"Didn't lose Ellie," Joel retorts firmly. Tommy immediately understands what Joel is implying and nods.

"Hell of alotta difference between a hospital of Fireflies and half the population of Jackson, Joel." Tommy argues back soberly.

"I'd do it all over again if I had to," Joel asserts.

"I knew it." A voice suddenly spits out. "I fuckin' knew it."

Joel and Tommy whirl around to see Ellie standing behind them. Joel feels his blood run cold in his veins at the sight of her young face scrunched in anger and betrayl.

"Ellie," he croaks pathetically. "I--"

"I hate you," she seethes, teeth clenched. "I fucking hate you."

Before he can even plead with her to let him explain Ellie is running away from the brothers, her figure disappearing into the night shadows like a creature fleeing from peril.

Joel wants to call out to her but his throat is so dry it feels like sandpaper. He can't hear what Tommy is saying over the rush of blood pumping in his ears. His heart is galloping so hard in his chest that he feels on the precipice of a heart attack. He stands frozen in place but his brain is a discombobulated mess of invasive thoughts.

Ellie knows about the Fireflies.

She hates you.

She fucking hates you.

You've lost her forever.

You failed her, just like you failed Sarah and Tess.

You've lost everything.

He cannot hear Tommy's panicked voice shouting his name. He can't see or feel his little brother grasping tight to his shoulders and shaking him. Joel's vision goes black and he can't breathe. All he can feel is his heart physically tear in half and his lungs crush under the weight of this catastrophic devastation. He's sure he's dying, that the sweet relief of eternal black is finally claiming him and ending his miserable existence on his earth.

But then your voice is pulling him back. You are calling his name over and over, your angelic voice piercing through the canvas of darkness with pinpricks of blinding white light. His senses seep back into his body one by one until he is aware of your hands cradling his face and your big worried orbs staring up into his.

Joel's vision clears and he is greeted by your own beautiful face. You look like an angel. His precious angel.

Overwhelming relief and adoration flood through his whole body.

I still have you, he wants to say. You're still here. I can't lose you, too.

"Joel, brother, are you alright?" Tommy is right beside him, brows knitted with worry.

"'M okay Tom," Joel is somehow able to mumble through the dissipating fog of dissociation. "'M fine."

Tommy retreats back a step and watches you embrace Joel and stroke his hair, as if soothing a spooked horse. Joel appears calm but the only coherent thought he can identify rattling around in his brain is to escape - to run away from Jackson and leave this life behind. He has nothing here now. You and he have nothing left here.

Joel abruptly takes hold of your bicep and stalks away from Tommy. You stumble in shock as he drags you but he doesn't stop. Tommy calls out to him, desperate and pleading, but his voice is nothing but white noise to Joel.

It's time for you to leave Jackson.

taglist - @sofiparallel @harriedandharassed @kewwrites @romanarose @fan-fiction-floozy @anoverwhelmingdin @unknownsuser101 @shesarealcarpentersdream @sheeeeeppp-blog @uncassettodiricordi @axshadows @puduvallee @gossipgirl-03 @mandoloriancookie @oldenoughtoknowbettersstuff @missannfairy @bean-security @missannwinchester @mrszdjarin

#joel miller x reader #joel miller #joel miller dark #dark! joel miller #joel miller dark fic #dddne #joelmiller #dark! joel miller x reader #dark!joelmiller

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mcbenson25 · 11 months ago

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I Have Something For You (Eobard Thawne X Reader)

A/N: Helloooooo. Here's a little one-shot that didn't make it into More Than He Bargained For that I thought you would all enjoy!

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"I have to go out of town for a couple of days," Eobard reluctantly informed you, his expression softening as he looked down at your pouting face. "What? Why?" you protested, your eyes searching his for an explanation.

Eobard couldn't resist the charm of your pout; it made him feel guilty about leaving you. A warm smile graced his lips as he reassured you, "I have to do this thing for work, but I'll be back before you know it."

"Impossible," you countered, pressing a quick, affectionate kiss on his lips before snuggling closer to him. "I always hate when you aren't here."

He sighed, his gaze fixed on you. He wished he could freeze this moment, capture it in eternity. You and him…happy, lovers. You made the stagnant existence in this time period bearable. "Why can't you take me with you?" you asked, breaking him out of his thoughts.

"You know I can't," he replied, his voice filled with a touch of regret.

You groaned in response, not happy but acceptingly. "Alright."

A comfortable silence enveloped the room as the television droned on in the background, providing background noise with its latest stock market analysis.

"I have something for you," Eobard suddenly broke the silence, his voice infused with anticipation.

Your eyes lit up, and you sat up eagerly, a smile tugging at your lips. "Oh? What is it?"

"We have to go outside, though," he teased, pressing a tender kiss on your lips. "Meet me outside," he said, his voice carrying a hint of excitement.

You giggled as you watched him almost trip on his way to your shared bedroom, his playful smile and wink leaving you with a sense of curiosity. Grabbing your shoes, you headed outside to join him.

Eobard's house was a cozy haven, nestled alongside the lake bordering Central City. The backyard was a sight to behold, with towering, lush trees adorned with delicate jar lights. A beautiful garden with a meandering stone path guided you towards the shimmering lake. From this vantage point, you could also see the dazzling cityscape, adding to the enchantment of your little piece of heaven.

"It's beautiful."

You turned around and found Eobard standing beside you, a gentle smile playing on his lips. Your heart fluttered at the sight of him. "It is," you replied, unable to contain your joy.

"Oh, I wasn't talking about the view," he sweetly retorted, his gaze filled with affection.

You couldn't help but grin, feeling the warmth spread across your cheeks.

"Before I go, I wanted to give you something, but first, I have to ask you something," Eobard began, his voice laced with nerves.

Curiosity ignited within you. "Okay," you responded, your voice soft and filled with anticipation.

He took a deep breath, his hand trembling slightly as it ran through his hair. "Is everything okay?" you asked, concern creeping into your voice.

"Yes! Yes, I just—" he stammered, his eyes meeting yours before he finally gathered his composure. Stepping forward, his voice regained strength. "Will you marry me?"

You stood frozen, unable to process the question at first.

Did he just...?

Oh my goodness..

He just asked me to marry him

"Yes, of course!" you squealed with delight as he kissed you passionately, sealing the moment. As you pulled apart, your eyes glanced down and spotted a dazzling diamond ring with your beloved gemstone nestled in the center.

Overwhelmed with joy, you looked up at him and said, "I love you."

A radiant smile graced his face as he replied, "I love you too."

--------

Taglist: @khayrrilrainxwells @kirareaper13 @i-dont-care-lol @cursedfaechild @lovepeaceorelse @roryjames82 @brianllamawrites @achromaticerebus @honeybeezgobzzzzz @bellagomez-barriga @readingfanficdonotdisturb @tahiraseoti @roguerieka22

Hope you enjoyed this little snippet! Please feel free to leave any comments or thoughts as well as ideas! Love you all!

#harrison wells #harry wells #harry wells x reader #harrison wells x reader #eobard x reader #eobard thawne x reader #eowells #eobard thawne #earth x #earth 2 #the flash cw #reverse flash x reader #reverse flash #fanfic #fanfiction #love triangle #xreader #x reader

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foundationsofdecay · 4 months ago

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Okay, I've finally made a list of most of my Sleep Token lore and analysis posts! Divided by categories under the cut, with improvised titles and brief descriptions for each.

Posts are listed in reverse-chronological order per category, except for crossovers.

The catch-all hashtag for these is #aqua's offerings, in case you prefer to look through them that way.

Longer Form Posts:

Duck Into Deep Blue Safety - Comparing the composition of Drag Me Under, Atlantic, and Fall For Me as to how solos are used to describe physical isolation, separation, and the spectrum bridging spiritual wholeness and estrangement.

Show Me What Wounds You've Got - On begging, emotional vulnerability, and our agency as audience and character.

If a Man Falls, and Nobody's There to Hear Him... - An addition-by-reblog to this post by @melit0n about Fall For Me, continuing the exploration of silence and vocals and the implications of Vessel's isolation and actions in the song.

So He Gets To Die A Saint - Martyrdom and the desire to save and be saved, but the uncertainty of who is saving who, and to what end.

Something Was Between You and I My Dear - Musings on the theory posited by @a-s-levynn that separates Vessel as his masked self and as his unmasked self into two separate characters, and what that means for a potential reading of the events of the trilogy, particularly its ending.

I Would Turn Into A Stranger In An Instant if I Could - A deep dive into DYWTYLM with themes of identity loss and the effects of a long-term yet one-sided relationship.

Flood Me Like Atlantic - An examination of the metaphor of being dragged into and under someone's love throughout the course of the discography, and how it reflects in the shifting characterization of both Vessel and the character being sung about.

Would You Invite Me In Again? - A look at cycles of union and disconnect, of love as a melding of body and soul in addition to a rending of body and soul, and the cyclical nature of this dichotomy, primarily through the lens of Drag Me Under and Blood Sport.

So Let's Play - A look into how the language of games and winners and losers is used and evolves throughout their discography.

With My Love as Your Garden - Exploring the lyrics regarding flowers and gardens, of upkeep and of fire, and how it relates to the relationship between Vessel and his lover, described here as Sleep.

Welcome Me In, Deep Into You - Side-by-side examination of Vore and Drag Me Under and their language as it pertains to consumption and consummation, and the respective tones those carry.

Drag Me Under AGAAAAAIN - An addendum to my second Sleep Token x TDH crossover post (linked further below) that brings Drag Me Under into the fold of Atlantic and Telomeres, as requested by @moonchild-in-blue. Elaborates further on the entwining of Vessel and Sleep, of their love and the idea of inevitability.

Duet - Proposing and elaborating on the concept of the song Give being a duet between Vessel and Sleep with alternating POVs.

Other Other Eye - A look at Ascensionism, particularly the lines regarding eyes and attention and conflicting desire. [note: written very early into my posting theory/analysis, somewhat outdated]

Catching a Falling Knife - Using the metaphor of "catching a falling knife" and the general stock market as lens to examine the power dynamics between Vessel and Sleep.

Mini Musings:

Rain Can't Wash Away the Tar on the Inside - Consideration of the lyrics implying Vessel has been trapped by tar and subsumed in it both from the outside and from within.

Keep an Eye on the Road - A quick talk about visuals of crashing cars and mentions of various roadways, and being trapped in untenable situations.

The Vicious Cycle - Cycles and the breaking thereof within the discography.

My Puppet Queen - The dehumanizing language used towards Vessel, specifically as a toy or object.

Glitches in the Code - Considers Vessel as a literal algorithm, and how that reflects in his vocals and degeneration throughout the narrative and what it would say about his relationship with Sleep.

Mirror Talk - Notes on mirrors and both outer and inner reflections.

Are You Watching Me? - Different ways eyes are described as it relates to prey and predation, and Vessel struggling with human nature and humanity.

A Different Harbor - Musing on the peculiar use and otherwise of language regarding boats, harbors, and anchors.

You Want Someone To Be - Concept post about a more literal take on lovers entwined, to both want to become the other, and the loss of understanding of what it means to be yourself without them.

Crossovers:

TDH x Sleep Token #1 - Love as a crashing wave, questions of fate, choosing love despite the clear doomed nature, using The Dear Hunter's Waves as a frame of reference.

TDH x Sleep Token #2 - Uses The Dear Hunter's Vital Vessels Vindicate as a lens to provide a different perspective through which to examine Vessel, death, and what it means to choke and suffocate underwater.

#if you dont want to be directly tagged in this one lmk!#just quickly made up titles for these posts for simplicity's sake. don't take them too seriously ^^''#i know i have more xover posts but i can't find them soooo i guess they're lost? or i privated them and thus dont show in my searches #the drag me under agaaain title was a placeholder bc i was like ''how much have i written about this song omg'' but it was funny sooo kept!#if i can find a way to list these w/o titles i'll do that but have these for now lol #save tag #sleep token

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lilaccatholic · 2 months ago

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Sitting in the car in November

You're in the passenger seat and it's dark and it's November and the first Christmas lights are up.

The city switched to led so it's blue and white and blue and white and blue. It smells like winter and gasoline and bonfire and onion rings and weed. Your sister drives with the windows down, but you have the seat warmer and the thick sweatshirt you bought yourself from the college bookstore as a graduation present so you don't mind. First George Michael, then Mariah Carey play on the radio. She brakes suddenly, and your teeth bump a spot on your lip that is going to turn into a canker sore. Everything is neon and suvs and pot holes and it's 50 degrees but you think there might be snow soon. Call it midwestern intuition.

These nights remind you of ones twenty years ago when nothing was familiar yet. You miss them in an abstract way. Adrift at 26, clawing at the air like vapor will save you, you think that one last nap in a too-warm December car seat might be the thing to tether your soul back to your body. Your sister mutters something about her ex from the driver's seat. It's a brittle, crumbling thing. He chopped off pieces of her until you think she, too, might be saved by going home to a long night in the backseat of a long sold car. The pizza boxes you're bringing home dig into your stomach. It's okay. The cardboard pressure reminds you you're not dead and cold.

This time of year always reminds you of death. It isn't your fault. You're a gardener, and you're desperate for some kind of magic solution to save your fragile plants from death. You wonder if, maybe, there's a perfect combination of turns that will take you back to your grandmother's house back when everyone was alive and no one was sad, not even you. You, who wears sadness like a shroud, like a tattoo on your eyelids.

Maybe, you think, that's what it will feel like to die. Your mother's mother always talks like she's been in the car on the way to her grandmother's house for centuries. Of course she wants she ride to end. You're not ready, not quite yet. You like looking in windows at night. Like taking detours to tacky tourist traps to take pictures and stocking up at gas stations for snacks. It's a comfort to close your eyes and wake up somewhere new.

You look forward to when it's your turn to drive and control the music. Joni Mitchell and Paul Simon play at your fingertips waiting for their turn. Maybe you'll drive through the night. Maybe when the dawn turns rosy to blush to blue it will be that perfect point between spring and summer where the world smells new. Maybe you'll stop for paper bag donuts and styrofoam coffee and plums that remind you of a farmer's market when you were twelve and you'll sit with your sister in the back of her car, and you'll pop open the trunk, and you'll dangle your feet over the edge like you did when you were so small the world seemed bright. And maybe then you'll breathe without it hurting, and maybe you'll be you.

#snapdragons and scribbles #prose poetry #lilac rambles #inspired by my drive with my sister to pick up pizza tonight

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rom-e-o · 1 year ago

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One Breakfast At A Time -Modern!AU (Costance/Ebenezer) (Minific)

Morning light, diffused by the early morning clouds into a rosy glow that draped across London like a diaphanous net, seeped through the curtains. Ebenezer Scrooge, very much alert but moving the speed of molasses, inched out of his lover’s embrace without waking her, unwinding himself from the tangle or arms and bedsheets.

Constance DoGoode, his girlfriend of half a year, snoozed happily, smiling against her pillow as she turned away from the rays of sunlight seeping through the curtains.

She hugged the stuffed, silk-covered pillow beneath her head, auburn hair cascading down the milky fabric in waves of molten copper.

“Mmm….light as a feather, happy as an angel…” Constance mumbled in her sleep. “Mm, very merry…”

His hand went to his mouth as he chuckled with the utmost fondness at the sight. Constance was a heavy sleeper and dreamer, he’d learned. She often talked in her sleep, and he couldn’t help but be curious as to what she was dreaming about.

In addition to providing a series of amusing moments he’d often reveal to her later that morning, her murmuring also helped to confirm her lingering distraction.

With her still asleep, he could jump into action.

After making sure Constance was still asleep, he moved with quiet grace and giddiness to the kitchen of his London flat, collecting ingredients from the fridge and utensils to prepare a special breakfast. Their night together had been a private symphony of sighs, moans, and laughter, and now Ebenezer was determined to make the morning just as memorable.

With care, he selected fresh eggs, ripe tomatoes, and a medley of herbs from the kitchen's small garden, which he kept on a small windowsill. Years ago, he would have scoffed at the idea of stocking his kitchen so fully. Fresh food was a waste of money, as far as he’d been concerned. Now, the redeemed philanthropist couldn't help but smile to himself as he went about cooking, eager to surprise her with a homemade breakfast.

It wasn’t much, he supposed. He was no chef, but he took great joy in cooking for the woman he loved. It was the first time he’d done something like this for another, but he’d been planning the surprise for a week, when he’d used her late-shift at the coffee house as the opportunity to sneak some ingredients from the market and up into his fridge before leaving again to pick her up.

Predictably, she’d spent the night, so he was glad to have planned ahead.

In the cozy kitchen, he hummed a gentle tune as he worked. The clinking of dishes and the sizzle of ingredients provided a domestic harmony alongside him.

Meanwhile, Constance stirred in the bedroom, awakening to the comforting and savory scents wafting through the air. She stretched and yawned, her eyes fluttering open to the soft light that spilled into the room.

She shivered a bit, bare from their time together the night before, and reached across the bed for her discarded pajamas. She eased into the silk short and matching camisole with ease before retreating back to the warmth of the covers. It was tempting to roll over into her boyfriend's abandoned spot, where she knew the aroma of his cologne

Just as she nestled back in, she heard the clinking of cutlery and creak of soft footsteps on the flat’s historic hardwood floors.

Ebenezer entered the bedroom, a tray balanced in his hands with an array of delectable treats. A soft smile played on his lips as he approached the bed, where Constance sat up, blinking away the remnants of sleep.

"Good morning," he greeted her, his eyes reflecting the joy of the moment.

Constance's face lit up in response. "Good morning. What's all this?" she asked, eyeing the tray with curiosity.

"Breakfast in bed," Ebenezer announced, setting the tray before her. "I-It’s nothing much. Just a little something to make the morning special."

The tray bore a feast for the senses – fluffy scrambled eggs with herbs, slices of perfectly ripe tomatoes, and a steaming cup of rich coffee (which he knew she preferred over breakfast tea). A small vase with a single, delicate flower adorned the tray, adding a touch of elegance.

As Constance took in the scene before her, she couldn't help but feel a rush of warmth. "Nothing much? Ebenezer, this is wonderful! You didn't have to."

"I wanted to," he replied, settling down beside her on the bed. "To many more mornings just like this."

As they finished breakfast, Constance thanked him with another kiss on the cheek. “Do you need help with the dishes?"

“Oh, no, I’ll get them,” he said, stacking them on the tray artfully.

After multiple reassurance, he finally convinced her to leave the task to him.

As Constance disappeared into the bathroom for her morning shower, Ebenezer carried the tray to the kitchen sink with a smile. The clinking of plates and silverware echoed in the otherwise quiet flat provided a comforting soundtrack to his thoughts. When added to by the sound of rushing water from the shower bathroom

As he scrubbed plates clean in the sink, his mind wandered to the journey that had led him to this moment. Constance had walked into his life like a gentle sunrise, slowly illuminating the corners of his heart that had long been shrouded in shadows. Their connection felt deeper with each passing day, and he found himself reflecting on…well, just how much she meant to him.

The realization hit him with profound clarity – Constance wasn't just a fleeting chapter in his life. The thought of a future without her seemed unimaginable. It definitely wasn’t a future he wanted to live.

With the dishes neatly arranged and Constance still singing in the shower, Ebenezer dried his hands and settled into a moment of quiet contemplation. His heart swelled with affection, and the idea of a future together began to crystallize in his mind.

Proposing, the notion whispered softly through his thoughts. The word lingered in the air, carrying with it a promise of shared tomorrows. Ebenezer had never been one for impulsive decisions, but with Constance, it felt different – as if their connection transcended the ordinary rules of time.

A smile played on his lips as he envisioned the day he would ask her to be his forever. He could almost hear the words, feel the weight of the ring in his pocket, and see the joy in her eyes. Yet, he knew that such a moment required careful planning, the right setting, and the perfect words to properly and artfully convey the depth of his feelings.

Lost in these musings, he was startled by the sound of the shower shutting off. Constance emerged, wrapped in a towel, her laughter mingling with the remaining traces of steam in the air. She caught his eye, and the room seemed to brighten with her presence.

"What's got you smiling so much?" she asked, her eyes dancing with curiosity.

Ebenezer chuckled, his heart still dancing to the melody of his thoughts. "Just thinking about the future," he replied, reaching out to gently tuck a strand of damp hair behind her ear. "And how fortunate I am to have you in it."

She leaned in, pressing a sweet kiss to his cheek. "I feel the same way."

In that ordinary yet extraordinary morning, Ebenezer's heart swelled with the certainty that, someday, he would ask Constance to be his forever.

Until then, he would continue to try and show her with every passing moment just how much he adored her. One shared breakfast as a time.

<><><>

@quill-pen speaking of our earlier discussion, this is probably the shortest thing I've done for them, haha.

#scrooge 2022 #scrooge a christmas carol #scrooge netflix #scrooge x oc #oc constance dogoode #modern!au #scroogeverse

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merrock · 7 days ago

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CHARACTER INFORMATION

face claim: Taylor Kinney

full name: Everett Ellington

nickname(s) / goes by: Rhett

pronouns & gender: cis man, he/him

sexuality: heterosexual

birth date: July 15th, 1980

birth place: Merrock, Maine

arrival to merrock: local!

housing: Rural Countryside

occupation: Part Time Fire Safety Consultant & HVAC Specialist

work place: City Hall/Fire Hall (I’m not sure if there’s anywhere in town that he could be contracted out for the HVAC specialist so I’m going to say for now he’s self employed through that and works as a fire safety consultant through the fire hall still.

family: Daughter - (Isla Ellington [27]), Younger Brother - (‘Joe’ Ellington [37]), Younger Brother - UTP Ellington [39], Younger Brother - UTP Ellington [40], Older Brother - UTP Ellington [48]

relationship status: Widowed

PERSONALITY

Rhett is known as someone with a pensive personality. He’s often known to reflect on the hardships in his life that has brought him to where he is today, while also dwelling on the things that have become most important to him over the years. He isn’t one that takes personal events and life’s struggles or changes lightly, but yet he embraces them with every part of him; there’s a likelihood that those around him would never know the difference as his demeanor wasn’t usually one that changed if he was stressed, happy, sad or excited. Growing up, Rhett would often be found helping all of those in need, doing anything he could to help others; between helping elderly people at the grocery store, to helping neighbors build things like bird houses, fix fence posts or even plant things in gardens. He wasn’t really a kid that enjoyed his home life too much, and while his family was always good to him, he’d just much rather be out helping others do whatever they needed help with than to be sitting at home. Friends and family often describe him as diligent and humble. Just ask Theo Browning about the time that Rhett made it all the way to the state level with his historical research project and he barely made an announcement he was going before his cheeks flushed red with embarrassment from the attention. Or the time that he received a medal from the bus driver for saving someone from a choking incident; but of course Rhett wasn’t one to announce it until his photo was in the school newspaper. Despite the good things that people say about him, Rhett is also known to be secretive and moody. Truthfully if you get to know him he’s not really either, but, he doesn’t like to talk about his feelings which makes people think he’s a bit secretive. Without at least three cups of coffee to start his morning, he is known to have a bit of an attitude but that won’t last for too long. Just talk to him post his morning coffee and you’ll see that’s the truth. If you’re ever curious about what he does around Merrock, a few places that you could check to find him could be Mack’s downtown where he’s likely trying to convince himself to get the double decker burger he’s heard everyone talk about. It supposedly pairs well with a chocolate strawberry milkshake, but, he tries to avoid drinking dairy if he can help it. On Saturdays he’ll even go down to Page Turners to check their stock on the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle collection he’s been collecting since he was a child. Cassidy’s Candies has become a staple for him throughout the last few years; he’s usually buying wax bottles and bottle caps that he likes to snack on throughout the day. Wednesday’s is his grocery store runs and he typically starts it out with a trip to The Fish Market if they’re open; he even makes cod and asparagus if the market is open. If it’s not, it’s definitely off to The Little Corner Market where he buys the supplies for a steak and potato night; he’s truly a man that would follow the ‘meat and potato diet’ regularly if you let him. Friday mornings are typically started off with a visit to Flour Co. where he buys two chocolate eclairs and a cup of black coffee on his way to his duties for the day. His weekends are spent fishing on the water, and Great Outdoors is always his go-to for updated gear, fishing lures or bait. And if you’ve checked those places and he’s not at work, maybe go by Pinecrest Cemetery where the love of his life is buried. He could be sitting on a blanket keeping her up to speed on his life lately after placing a fresh bouquet of flowers on her grave.

WRITTEN BY: Katelyn (she/her), EST.

BACKGROUND / BIO

triggering / sensitive content warning: Loss of a spouse, abandonment, grief, disownment, financial struggles, teen pregnancy, death, spousal death, fire-related death

July 15th, 1980: The Birth of The Broken Bird

Everett "Rhett" Ellington’s life began in a fire hall in Merrock, Maine, on July 15, 1980. He was abandoned there shortly after birth, left without family or a sense of belonging. Just two days later, the Ellington family—a couple with a son of their own, Alan JR. (AJ) —adopted Rhett and welcomed him into their home. The family was loving, though struggling to make ends meet. Alan - Rhett’s adoptive father - worked hard, but they were far from well off within their later years. Especially once they adopted what was once known as ‘The Wilson boys’- Rhett’s two younger brothers Bobby and Billy, and then later on when Rhett was seven and his baby brother Joe came into their lives. The family’s house was small for what became a family of seven, and growing up in tight quarters meant Rhett spent most of his childhood on the bottom bunk in the bedroom he shared with his AJ. Though they were never without food or clothing, the house felt too cramped for the five growing boys, and the confines became stifling.

Rhett’s mother - Susannah - , a stay-at-home mom, kept the family in order, shuttling her children to school and extracurriculars. They were an extremely religious household, heavily involved in their local church. That had been were Bobby and Billy came from; their mother had been a young girl who had hit a bad patch in her life and Susannah and Alan had graciously taken the boys in to raise and provide for them. And while the church community had always been really close knit, and a huge part of Rhett’s childhood, Rhett’s faith was never truly his own, but his parents' commitment to their beliefs shaped his upbringing. The family attended services twice a week and on holidays, and Rhett and his brothers participated in various church activities and were also heavily involved in the youth there. Although he never shared the passion for church that his parents did, Rhett found a sense of purpose in the historical aspects of the faith. He even participated in church plays, and it was during the Christmas play that Rhett first met Naomi Tyler.

1989: A Bond Like Brotherhood

Naomi wasn’t the only friend that Rhett would make in his childhood that would make a lasting impression on him. When he was nine, Rhett met Theodore Browning, and an immediate bond that would turn into more of a brotherhood would form. It had been the first day of school and the class was engaging in one of those traditional ‘who are you’ get to know you activities, and Rhett had gone after Theo. After introducing himself to the class, an innocent encounter at lunch had formed something beautiful. Turned out that Theo’s brother’s middle name just so happened to also be Everett - a really cool coincidence for nine year old children - and that had been reason enough to prompt the other into asking Rhett to play with him at recess. The rest was truly history. They’d spend hours outside together, playing, laughing, dreaming about their futures. It was truly the start of something great; two boys that would always be there for each other.

1993: Finding His Future in Her Eyes

Rhett was thirteen years old when he played the role of Joseph in the church’s Christmas play. That was the year he met Naomi Tyler, a twelve year old girl whose quiet confidence immediately caught Rhett's eye. Their relationship started innocently enough, with Rhett doing everything he could to get Naomi's attention—picking flowers for her, slipping drawings of hearts with her name in them. By the time they were teens - him fifteen, her fourteen - they were inseparable, falling in love amidst as easily as if they’d been doing it all their lives. His romance with Naomi blossomed quickly and rapidly, causing the church to raise a brow at how much time the two were spending together. Whispers of “you shouldn’t be spending so much time with a girl, you’re much too young.” or “don’t you run away with that boy now Naomi, you’ll get yourself into trouble.” but they didn’t care. The only thing that they cared about was that they were in love; Naomi would do anything for Rhett and the same for him. Naomi was the most important person to him, and he knew even at the age of fourteen that she was who he was going to spend the rest of his life with. The two took their relationship to the next level sophomore year of high school after homecoming, sealing a bond that would never truly be broken.

1997/1998: And Then Everything Falls Apart

College prep was in full swing as Naomi and Rhett began thinking of their future with college. Rhett had decided he wanted to join the fire academy to become a firefighter, which he could do from anywhere at any time. Naomi had dreams of becoming a doctor, wanting to travel the country to help out wherever her heart took her. He’d follow along, even if that meant going to college somewhere out of state. He didn’t mind as long as they were together. The two studied hard, making mostly A’s, acing SAT’s and ACT’s and any other test they could need to get into good colleges around the world. However, their lives changed when at the age of seventeen - sixteen for Naomi - they found out she was pregnant. Their lives that had been so carefully planned out, were abruptly thrown into disarray. Immediately picking up more shifts at the pizza place he was already working at, Rhett began doing everything he could to save up for their baby. His deeply religious parents, however, were unable to accept his choices, disowned him and kicked him out of the house. Homeless and about to become a father, Rhett moved in with Naomi’s family determined to create a life for the family they were creating. It was at this point Rhett began to withdraw from the church, heartbroken by his parent’s rejection. He still believed faith as a whole was important, but to him, being a good person mattered more than the stigma of the church.

Shortly after his eighteenth birthday and graduating high school, Naomi gave birth to their daughter, Isla Kate. The couple juggled work, caring for their newborn infant, and attempting to balance the demands of school, work and their new family. They somehow made it work, getting married in a tiny ceremony in Naomi’s family’s yard after her eighteenth birthday.

2002: Pursuing A Dream - The Fire Academy

By 22, with Isla now four years old and preparing for school, Rhett and Naomi decided to pursue their dream of becoming firefighters. Rhett had earned an Associate’s degree in Fire Science, and with the support of Theo, who had also joined the fire academy, the two friends embarked on a rigorous and transformative journey. Naomi joined them after many years of tending to a child solely (giving up many dreams she had of becoming a travel nurse), and though they faced many challenges—balancing training with family life and financial strain—their efforts paid off. The academy marked the beginning of a career that would change their lives. Rhett became a firefighter and eventually rose to the rank of lieutenant, while Naomi stayed on as a firefighter. In 2005 when Rhett’s youngest brother turned eighteen, he asked if he could move in with him and Naomi to live his life with the brother he’d always been closest to. While it was tight, the couple made it work and took in Joe - who had a disability requiring him to be unable to live on his own - now giving themselves more responsibility along with raising Isla. Though, having Joe in the house was a blessing in itself. Isla was crazy about her Uncle Joe and oftentimes she’d prefer him over her parents anyways. It truly felt as if the family that had once abandoned him was being rebuilt through the eyes of his daughter and his youngest brother.

2012: It All Went Out in a Blaze of Glory

Living life as a firefighter you put your life on the line every single day. There wasn’t a day you attended duty that you weren’t risking your life to save someone else’s. It was what made them heroes at the end of the day, and while having two parents in the field was scary enough, Rhett and Naomi made a great team. They worked for opposite shifts so that there was no chance of anyone saying anything about their relationship given Rhett’s rank, which often helped out with Isla and Joe; someone was always home. It was what seemed to work best for them and despite the fact that they rarely saw each other, the love they had never faltered even when things were tough schedule wise. It was on Christmas Day, 2012 that Rhet’s world shattered. A devastating house fire broke out, and Naomi, despite Rhett's pleas to stay home, volunteered to respond to the call. Rhett stayed behind with Isla, but the fire quickly spiraled out of control. Naomi and two other firefighters lost their lives that night. The grief was unbearable. Rhett took a three-month leave from the fire department, struggling to cope with the loss of his wife, his best friend, and the future they had worked so hard to build.

Rhett's grief was all-consuming, and the subsequent months were filled with mourning and trying to navigate life as a single father to Isla, who was now fifteen years old. Despite the profound pain, Rhett eventually returned to work, though his role had shifted. He could no longer work in the same capacity as before. Instead, he transitioned into fire safety inspections, focusing on preventing the kind of tragedy that had stolen his wife from him.

2013 - Current: Always Gotta Move Forward

Rhett’s healing process was slow and difficult, but over time, he managed to start living again. He bought an old farmhouse in the rural countryside, a home he had planned to share with Naomi, and began making it his own. He became certified in HVAC to save money on home repairs, and while he continued working with the fire department in his new capacity, his life was far from what he had envisioned. Dating proved difficult, and though he tried a few times, none of the relationships ever felt right. His focus was on Isla, Joe, and building the life he and Naomi had dreamed of.

As time passed, Rhett slowly began to realize that he could still live a meaningful life, even if it wasn’t the one he had imagined with Naomi. The memory of her, and the love they shared, remained a powerful force in his life. Now, with a renewed sense of purpose, Rhett started to embrace the life he had ahead of him. He had lost so much, but he had also gained something new—a sense of resilience, and a deep understanding of the value of love, sacrifice, and living authentically.

Now in his 40s, Rhett is learning to live the life he should have all along. Though the scars of his past will always be with him, he is determined to honor Naomi’s memory by living a life that is full, meaningful, and true to who he is. His journey is one of redemption, healing, and the slow, steady discovery of happiness once more.

#merrockbio #everettellington #abandonment tw #teen pregnancy tw #death tw #spousal death tw

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