- Belle - 21 -

Alright, yes, I am obsessed with your Logan's writings, I admit it, I AM GUILTY!

welcome to my fan club pookie <3

Alone And Forsaken pt. 2

Joel Miller x fem!reader

A/N: clearly I don’t do one shots, I tried, I failed. I can’t help it he’s just so fine (@woodland-mist you asked so, here you go)

WC: 5.6K

Part one

You weaved through the throng of people in the town square, hoping to get by unnoticed. Maria had told you where to find Tommy, you should have known it wouldn’t be easy, nothing with him ever really was. 

“Y/N! Hey!” 

Nope

You had one goal and it was not to meet and greet with all your neighbors. You ducked your head down, hiding yourself in the passing throng of people and evading them. It was a new couple that had just moved to Jackson a few days ago. 

You, of course, had protested anyone new coming in after the incident with Abby and her people. But because you and the brothers had been less than forthcoming with what happened and no one had any reason to listen to your doubts. 

They’d been moved into the big house across from you and Joel, because they needed the space. 

Because she was pregnant. 

In three months your life was going to get very loud and very miserable. 

The couple was too nice for your taste. You’d just barely gotten used to staying in Jackson for longer than two weeks, then Maria went ahead and shoved the two friendliest people you’d even met down your throat. 

Maybe you were too bitter. Maybe everyone was right, you should try and socialize, give people the benefit of the doubt before you write them off. 

“Do you see where she went, honey?”

Then again, maybe not. 

You rushed into the Tipsy Bison before they could spot you. You were sure they would tell Joel about this when they spotted him on the porch with his morning coffee. And you were sure he would give you hell for it, but you already have to deal with Tommy this morning. They can go bother someone else. 

You glanced around the bar, spotting some blonde hair in the back. When you rounded the tables you could see Tommy was busy haggling with Sam, trying to trade a shirt for some of his roast beef sandwiches. 

“I think I’m offering more than enough for some sandwiches, Sam.” Tommy, being the de facto leader after Maria, was trying to maintain a semblance of diplomacy. 

Sam was a stubborn jackass and you knew if you didn’t do something this would take all day. You walked up and nodded a greeting to Tommy before glaring at Sam. “Give him the sandwiches.”

Sam glared at you, trying his damndest to look down his nose at you. “Mind your fucking business.”

Tommy straightened up, a frown on his face. Neither he nor his brother had ever been good at losing the whole Texan chivalry thing. They didn’t do well when someone disrespected a ‘lady’ in front of them. “I think you need to watch your tone, Sam.”

You held up a hand towards Tommy, stopping him from getting too riled up. You already had a less than respectable reputation in Jackson, didn’t need to drag him down with you. “Give him the sandwiches, and we won’t need to get Joel involved.”

Sam opened and closed his mouth, he glanced between you and Tommy, like he was trying to call your bluff. You couldn’t really help yourself as your hand drifted down to land on your holster, your fingers idly drumming against the leather. Finally he huffed, mumbled something prickish under his breath and shoved the sandwiches into Tommy’s hands, snatching the shirt. You watched until he retreated into the kitchen to address Tommy. 

“You probably coulda kept the shirt.”

Tommy shrugged, tucking the food in his pack. “Yeah, but we do things a certain way here. Can’t just go flashing your pistol at people.”

You scoffed, “Didn’t flash my pistol, I used your brother.”

Tommy chuckled and nodded his head towards the bar’s exit. You followed him outside, looking around to make sure the coast was clear of your neighbors. When you turned back to face him he was giving you an odd look. “What’re you so jumpy for?”

You sighed, “Your wife decided to move Mr. and Mrs. Rogers next to me and Joel.”

Tommy smiled and laughed, most definitely at your expense. “You mean Ann and James,” you nodded, ushering him along the sidewalk in case they popped up again. “They’re nice people, I think she’s just trying to get you to branch out.”

“Don’t need to,” you grunted out. Though, hunching over, hiding from anyone who wants to talk to you, you weren’t sure you were making a great case for yourself. You straightened up and glared at him, “‘Sides, I didn’t come out to chat about my new neighbors. I want to talk about the Harvest Festival and my ‘date.’” You couldn’t keep the disdain out of your voice if you tried, which you weren’t.

“Bob,” Tommy offered. You rolled your eyes and nodded. “What about it?”

“I’m not going.”

Tommy crossed his arms and smirked. “Says who?”

“Me,” you weren’t sure what he wanted from you. 

“And why not?”

Oh. Oh. That stupid smug little look was back on his face. How in the hell does he know? “I think you know why.”

He shook his head, “Nope, don’t think I do.”

He was really making you do this? “I can’t go because of Joel.”

“What’s my brother got to do with this?”

You opened your mouth, some argument at the tip of your tongue, but it was lost to you the second you tried to speak it into existence. Why couldn’t you go?

You broke apart from Joel slowly, neither of you in any sort of rush to end this. Idly, and without much thought behind it, your fingers traced the shape of his lips. You didn’t realize you were smiling until you saw the same soft expression mirrored on his face. 

“Been wanting to do that for a while,” his voice was quiet, as if he spoke any louder the trance would be broken. 

“I’ve been waiting for you to do that for a while,” your smile grew when the hands around your waist squeezed you tighter. He pulled you closer and you got comfortable in his lap, your hands moving down to play with the fabric of his shirt. 

He didn’t seem to mind the subtle exploration, his own hands mimicking yours. Now that you finally had the chance, neither of you seemed able to stop touching each other. You weren’t sure where to go from here. 

You hadn’t realized how desperately you had wanted this, wanted him, until you had him. You didn’t want to ruin the moment by overthinking or complicating something simple. Still, is everything going to change now?

Did that kiss mean as much to him as it meant to you? 

What did this mean-

“Hey,” you startled slightly, jolted out of your thoughts by the heavy weight of Joel’s hand on your cheek. “I can see that brain going. I can practically hear the rust flaking off the gears in your head.”

You scoffed and smacked at his chest, “Shut up.” But he was right, it was far too easy for you to get lost in your own head. Especially concerning him. You were grateful for the way he could anchor you in the present, drag you back out of a trap of your own making. 

Joel stood, his arms wrapping around you and dragging you along with him. You could hear his bones popping, you wanted to protest, tell him to just let you walk, but you knew he wouldn’t listen. He had that determined look on his face, the one that meant he was ignoring how old and worn out his back and knees were. 

Besides, you liked how strong he was. Relished in these little displays of strength, even if it was something as simple as carrying you to bed. You knew you needed to talk, you needed some sort of verbal confirmation that this was more than just two lonely souls looking for company.

But Joel just dropped you on the mattress, grumbled about getting your stuff from the guest room, and left. You changed out of your clothes, brushed your teeth, and waited for him to come back. When he did, he had changed too, he dumped a pile of blankets on the bed and got in beside you. 

He laid down and wrapped his arms around your waist, dragging you into his side. You looked down at where he was holding you, lacing your fingers together, and let yourself fall asleep. You two didn’t say anything else, you just reveled in each other's warmth, let the comfort you provided lull you both into an easy sleep. And when you woke up in the morning, he had breakfast ready for you, but he didn’t say anything about the night before. 

In fact, for the next week, there was no mention of you two kissing or what his vague, half-confession meant. Sure, now he greeted you with a kiss each morning and night, but other than that nothing had changed about how you two operated. 

You didn’t have anything to appease Tommy with as he looked at you expectantly. No, nothing had majorly changed between you and Joel and you hadn’t had a real discussion about anything. But, you didn’t really need one, you knew what you meant to each other. And you knew how hard it is for people like you and Joel to have those discussions. 

Emotions, romance, love were all such distant concepts, it felt so foreign to you. If you tried to date, or speak into existence how much weight he held in your life you know inevitably it would just end up complicating and ruining things. 

You were together, alive and not some mindless fungi outside Jackson, the rest was inconsequential. 

You just said, “Cancel it, I’m going with Joel,” and walked off before you had to be subjected to more of his smug face. 

You made your way back through town, the morning rush having calmed down now that everyone had gotten their supplies or found their assignments for the week. You were thankful not to spot any nosy neighbors as you made your way back, that was the last thing you needed after having to deal with Tommy’s questions. 

Neither you or Joel were really big fans of talking about your emotions, hell you’d have punched someone out back in the QZ just for telling you to look for the light. Gooey stuff was practically a foreign language to you now. 

You could function based on actions; setting out his coffee in the morning or a new book appearing on your nightstand when he’d gotten back from patrolling. It was all you needed to understand what you were to each other.  

You trudged up the stairs to the porch, Joel was sitting in his favorite rocking chair, a mug resting on his knee. His supply was running low, you were gonna have to find someone to trade with again. You had been keeping an eye out on your patrols, trying to see if you could find any beans. 

You weren’t really sure how coffee plants worked, if you planted the beans whether they would even grow or not. But it was worth a shot. 

“How’d it go?”

You let out a long sigh and threw yourself down on the chair next to him. It creaked under your weight but held up against the strain of its old age. You rocked back and forth, plucking at a string on your jeans. “Fine.”

He snorted slightly as he took another sip of his coffee. “Looks like it. Oh, Jason and Anna stopped by.”

It was your turn to laugh, you smirked at him, propping your head in your hand. “You mean Ann and James?”

He rolled his eyes and nodded, “Yeah, them.”

“You’re losing it, old man.”

He shrugged, “I don’t know, they were concerned about your hearing. Said they must’ve called your name ten times and you didn’t hear them.” There was a shit eating grin on his face as he stared at you, like he knew it was complete bullshit. 

You rolled your eyes and scoffed, “Please.” You sat up and leaned forward, irritation forcing you upright, “If I have to listen to her complain about how tender her breasts are again, I’ll shoot myself.”

Joel grimaced, giving you a disgusted look as he put his mug down. “These people know what T-M-I is?” He put too much emphasis on each letter and you couldn’t help yourself as you laughed. It was always funny to hear him get an attitude with that gruff Texan accent, he ended up sounding like a poor attempt at valley girl. He swatted your knee, trying to get you to stop making fun of him. 

“Tommy, come on, what’d he say?”

You shrugged, looking down and away from him, going back to playing with the loose thread of your jeans. “I don’t know, he was asking all these questions.”

Joel was quick to ask, “What questions?”

You rested your head on the back of the rocking chair, “Why I didn't want to go on the date.”

“What’d you say?”

Jesus, he was barely taking a breath. “I said,” you paused and looked at him, not really surprised to already find him looking at you. His gaze wasn’t as intense as you were expecting, more eager? You weren’t sure Joel got eager. “I said I couldn’t go with what’s-his-face to the festival because of you.”

“Yeah?” He smirked, leaning back in his rocking chair, a strange sort of male pride clear on his face. “How come?”

You scoffed, glaring at him from where you sat. The hell was he getting at? “Why do you think, genius? Why would I go out with someone when I’ve got you?”

“You got me?”

You paused, irritation draining from your body as you stared at him. His face wasn’t giving anything away, he wasn’t closed off, just staring at you expectantly. “Don’t I?” You hated the way your voice went quiet, you wished it had been more confident, teasing, like you knew the answer and were screwing with him. You sounded too vulnerable. 

Joel let you squirm for a minute, you’re pretty sure he thought it was funny. Finally he sighed and leaned forward, his hand landing on your thigh and you could feel the warmth of it through your jeans. You hadn’t realized how cold you’d gotten until he was this close, walking furnace that he was. 

“Yeah, you do.”  You tried not to let the relief show, though you’re sure it did if his little smirk was anything to go by. He squeezed your thigh once before he stood up to go back inside. 

“Oh,” you suddenly remembered the last bit of your conversation with Tommy. “And I told him you were taking me to the harvest,” you called over your shoulder. It was your turn to screw with him, and if the way his shoulders tensed up as he paused in the doorway was anything to go by, he was just as excited as you about that ridiculous festival. 

“When’s your next patrol?”

Joel had found you an old mystery book on his last run, the same one you were reading now. You marked the page and put it down on the nightstand as he got into bed next to you. “Not sure, I think thursday. Why?”

He shrugged, leaning back against the pillows and gazing at you. “I was thinking I could go with you. We could go exploring that old art museum Maria told me was a couple miles out.” He reached out, tucking some hair behind your ear and you tried not to lean too much into him.

You smiled, almost accepting when you realized what he was doing and the smile dropped. You huffed out a breath and rolled your eyes. “Nice try, Joel, we’re going to the harvest festival.”

He held up his hands in mock surrender, “Got no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Really?” He shook his head, oh-so-innocent. You scoffed, “You’re so full of it. If I went with you, we’d miss the harvest festival. And who would have to listen to Tommy’s bitching? Me.”

“He’s my brother.”

“Then you deal with him!” You picked your book back up, deciding on ignoring him for the rest of the night. You should have known he would try and weasel his way out of this.

Honestly, once you’d decided you were going with Joel, the festival didn’t seem that awful or daunting. You’re a little hurt he wants to get out of it so badly. You weren’t that bad of company. 

“You ignorin’ me now?”

You shrugged, flipping through the book, not really absorbing anything. You’d have to reread this chapter tomorrow. 

A big hand found itself in front of your face, blocking you from reading anything more. Joel dog-eared the page, something you loudly protested to, and threw the book on his nightstand. “Joel, you know I hate when you do that.”

“Yeah, I know,” you rolled your eyes at his little smirk. “But you’re talkin’ to me.”

“Child. You’re a child.”

He leaned over you and shut your lamp off, ignoring your snippy still usin’ that. He settled down in bed and patted the spot next to him. You hesitated, only for a moment, debating whether you wanted to give him more of a hard time or just give in. 

It wasn’t a hard choice. 

You settled down beside him, your head falling on his chest and his arm naturally wound itself around your back. You tried to ignore the way your legs fit together, how you felt like a complete puzzle when you laid down beside him, the two of you fitting together perfectly. You tried even harder to ignore the way the thought made your heart race, but it was nearly impossible. 

Sometimes you resented Joel a little bit. Resented him for the way you lost control of yourself and your emotions when you were around him. Resented all the power he held over you and how unaware of it he seemed to be. 

“I really don’t want to go.”

You scoffed, your fingers tracing the design on the worn out t-shirt he was wearing. “You think I do?”

“Then let’s just skip it.”

“Joel, I already said-”

“We used to be able to just do whatever we wanted.” You paused as he interrupted you, closing your mouth and tilting your head up so you could look at him. “We went where we wanted, when we wanted. There weren't all these bullshit obligations like patrol, or making sure our shifts match up.”

You were silent, taking in what he was saying. It wasn’t hard to miss the resent lingering in his tone, or the way he spoke fondly of your past. Before you had responsibilities. But you must have been quiet for too long because he reached over and turned his lamp off, closing his eyes with a sigh. 

You stayed awake a while longer, just thinking about what he said. He was starting to sound like you, the same frustration and anger at being expected to provide for others. You were at everyone’s beck and call here. People viewed you as do-ers. Someone needed something done, you were the one to do it, and there was no arguing either, because everyone worked together here. 

The thought left a bitter taste on your tongue as you went to sleep.

“Come on, hurry up!”

Ellie was sitting on the couch, she ran the towel in her hand over her hair roughly. You stood behind the chair, scissors in your hand as Joel trudged down the stairs. You wrapped a towel around his shoulders to keep his wet hair from dripping on his shirt. 

Years ago, a time that feels nearly as distant as 2003, it was Tess who would cut yours and Joel’s hair. You’d sit down in the crappy apartment you had in the QZ and she’d use some blunted ass scissors to saw off your hair. 

Neither you nor Joel should have been trusted with any scissors, but when Tess was gone and you were on the road for too long Ellie and Joel would start bitching about their hair. Neither of them liked how it would touch their neck. 

Luckily while you were still learning there were no mirrors. They couldn’t see how horribly you had done. They would always run their hands through their hair and frown, like they knew something was wrong, but they just couldn’t prove it. 

The only thing you had to worry about for a while was just not busting out laughing every time you saw the bangs you accidentally gave them. 

Thankfully, by the time you reached Jackson you’d gotten good enough at it that they would still come and badger you for a haircut. They’d never had a chance to see just how horribly you had done in the beginning. 

“Oh, Jesse wanted me to ask you if you’d do his hair soon?”

You gave Ellie a noncommittal hum, running your fingers through Joel’s hair. “I like it long.”

“Cut it.” He didn’t exactly leave any room for arguments, he even crossed his arms, like you were actually going to pester him about it. You weren’t, but you were leaving some length, it’s not like he could cut it himself. 

He tilted his head slightly towards Ellie, “What’s Jesse want with her?”

You pushed his head back in place and started snipping. “What do you think he wants?” Ellie snorted, she got off the couch, probably already bored of sitting there. She went over to the mirror on the wall, running her hands through her hair and grinning. 

“Isn’t he with Dina?” You weren’t proud of it, but you might have picked up some information about people around town. Would you say gossiping? No. Would others? Probably. 

“Not anymore, they broke up a while ago.” Ellie turned around, hands on her hips as she stared at you. 

You momentarily paused in cutting Joel’s hair, ignoring his disgruntled complaint. “Am I missing something?”

Joel turned to face her as well, matching confused expressions on both your faces. “Yeah,” Ellie paused, like she was waiting for the two of you to connect the dots. You glanced down at Joel but he just shrugged. 

He tried, “I thought Jesse and Ellie were dating.” 

You rolled your eyes and shoved Joel’s head forward, going back to the haircut. 

“God! You guys, me and Dina are dating, we’ve been dating for like three months.”

”I thought you were friends,” Joel offered unhelpfully. 

“Clearly not,” Ellie sniped back. “You guys seriously didn’t know?”

You shrugged, “I don’t know what you kids get up to.” Ellie sighed and sat back down on the couch seemingly disheartened by your underwhelming reaction. “At least you can’t get her pregnant.”

Ellie sucked in a breath, “Right.”

Joel swatted your hands away from his hair, he better pray that doesn’t screw you up. “Ellie, what was that?”

“What?”

“That noise you just made.”

“Joel,” you interrupted, forcing his head back in place, “stop moving, dammit.”

“Dina’s pregnant,” Ellie rushed the sentence out in one, jumbled breath. 

You watched as Joel’s shoulders tensed and then slumped in front of you. “How’d you even get her pregnant?”

“What’re you doing?”

Joel closed the patrol log and shook his head, “Nothing, come on.” 

Your eyebrows furrowed in suspicion as you watched him walk off. He had spent way too long by the log book for him to have just been writing - Couple runners, took ‘em out -J

You wanted to open it up and look but he was watching you from the entrance of the garage. You shoved aside your curiosity and followed him out to the horses. He grabbed the reins of his horse, “Come on, Sunny.” He shook his head and scoffed as he mounted her, “Still think their names are ridiculous.”

“Sunny and Cher,” you pet the black mane of your own mare and huffed out a laugh. “How’s Ellie even know who they are?”

“I don’t know, must’ve heard it from someone ‘cause she don’t even spell Sunny’s name right.”

“And she’s a girl.”

He laughed, “And she’s a girl.” 

He led you both outside into the sunny woods. Snow’s completely melted now, you weren’t sure how Maria and Tommy managed to time their ‘Harvest Festival’ so perfectly but it was a good time to celebrate the incoming warm weather. 

“So,” you nudged Cher forward to walk alongside him. “Where are we going?” Joel shrugged but didn’t provide you any answers. “Clearly not Jackson,” you were going the opposite direction of the town. 

You glanced at the back of Sunny, the bags he had tied to her saddle, each of them far too stuffed for a simple patrol. “You kidnapping me?”

“Maybe.”

You sighed, rolling your head back and taking in the greenery of the woods. You were definitely eager for winter to be over. Something about the cold weather makes the infected go fucking insane. They're faster, meaner, and just over all bigger pains in the ass. Not to mention the fact that they travel in huge fucking hordes. 

Tommy always tries to pretend he knows about them, something about the barometric pressure making them migrate but you know he’s just full of it. You watched a pair of hare’s dart in front of you and Joel and took in a deep breath. 

God, you’d forgotten how nice it was to be outside without the sound of people around you. There was the sound of the horses' hooves squishing lightly over wet grass, the wind moving the leaves above you, and the distant sound of birds singing. But no voices, or kids, or people demanding favors.

You’d missed this, with Joel specifically. It’d been a while since you had this type of quiet with him. So, you didn’t push him too much about where he was taking you, just followed him down the path. 

You were fine not bugging him while you were on a lovely jaunt through a pretty forest. But it’s been an hour and you can’t feel extremities that really need blood flow. “Joel,” you tried to remain friendly but your tone was strained as you shifted on your saddle for the nth time. 

“Yeah?” He grunted out. 

“How much longer?”

“Not much longer.” He turned around and frowned at you, “Have some patience.”

You tugged on Cher’s reins, forcing her to stop while you glared at Joel’s back. “Patience? Joel, we’ve been out here since six. I’ve had a lot of fucking patience. But that ran out about three miles ago, right when I stopped being able to feel my a-”

“We’re here.”

Of course you were. 

Joel got off Sunny and offered you a hand down. You took it eagerly, more than happy to finally stretch your legs out. You were a bit surprised when he kept your hands locked together, he wasn’t normally one for touchy shows of affection. 

Not that you were complaining, you were more than happy to revel in the comforting feeling of his hands in yours. Though, his were definitely rougher than your own, you weren’t without your own callouses, but he’d had years of carpentry and being a contractor under his belt before the apocalypse. 

He’d paused in a field, the grass here was up to your waist which made it difficult to see where you were stepping and what you were stepping on. You kept close to Joel, the horses trailing behind you both as he led you through the field. 

It took a moment for you to realize you’d never been out here. You’d only been vaguely paying attention to the direction you went while you were on the horses, trusting Joel to know the way. But this was definitely unrecognizable, which was strange, you thought you’d found everything when you went exploring on your own. 

Out in the distance you could see a vague shape forming, some brown structure that you couldn’t really make out as the grass was getting taller. It only took a few feet to finally figure out what was looming over you. 

A fence. 

Fun.

You said as much to Joel, probably in the most sarcastic tone you could muster. He rolled his eyes and kneeled down. You couldn’t help but admire his arms as he dug his fingers into a rotten plank of wood and pulled. He managed to make a hole large enough for you to crawl through and motioned towards it. 

“Well, go on, smartass.”

You huffed, getting down on your hands and knees and squeezing your way through. You didn’t bother seeing what was in front of you, turning around so you could keep the way through open for him. The wood dug into your palm, splinters burying themselves in your skin. 

God, this better be worth it. 

He groaned as he straightened up, pulling you to your feet and stretching his back out. “Alright. Ready?”

”Yep,” you rolled your eyes as he walked in front of you. What could have been so amazing he had dragged you out here?

A house. 

Well, it was a nice house, better taken care of than you’d seen out here. Looked like an old farmhouse, two stories, and a wraparound porch. Something you would have loved a long time ago. Surrounding it was a tall fence, it went out pretty far, there was room enough for a large garden and then some. There were bits where the wood had rotted or had holes in it that looked like someone had broken through. But the grass was trimmed, a normal height instead of tickling the ends of your hair. 

Overall, nice, but you had no clue what Joel was doing out here. 

“What do you think?”

“It’s nice.”

Joel scoffed, he crossed his arms and stared at you, “Just nice?”

You laughed and walked up the stairs of the porch. It was cleaner than you thought it would be, no signs of aging on the wooden boards. “It’s a nice house, Joel. I just don’t get why we’re here.”

He sighed and walked up to you, you took in a deep, centering, breath when he placed one hand on your waist. He moved you slightly out of the way as he leaned in, opening the door up behind you. “We’re here ‘cause this is ours,” admittedly your eyes were on his lips and your focus was how close he was to you. 

It took you a second to actually process what he had said. You blinked and your eyes shot back up to his, “What?”

He nudged you inside and you stumbled over your feet as you went. The interior was even nicer than the outside. There wasn’t a spec of dust or decay, it was like time hadn’t had a chance to touch it. There was a couch, bookshelves, even an old record player. 

“Joel, what the hell are you talking about?”

He sighed and threw his backpack down on the ground. He walked over and took yours off your shoulders, nudging you to take a seat on the couch. “Been working on this for months.” He smiled a little, the wrinkles in the corner of his eyes crinkling with the movement.

You were still a little confused, eyes darting around the living room as you sat there with a dumb look on your face. “Look, Jackson was nice for a while.”

You tuned in enough to grunt in opposition. Joel chuckled, “Alright, fine, it was never my favorite. I was out here one day, looking for you,” he added with a light nudge to your knee. “Found this place.”

“And… What? Decided to test out Jesus’s favorite pastime?”

“I was a contractor before the world went to shit. Like riding a bike, it just comes back to you.”

“I just don’t understand. Why? Why put in the time and effort and materials?”

He scoffed, “Why do you think?” When you didn’t answer he rolled his eyes. “We always talk about disappearin’ and I thought this would be a nice place to do it. There’s already a perimeter up, just have to make some more repairs. Worked something out with Tommy, it’s close enough to Jackson that we got some power from the dam,” he stood up now pacing around the living room a little as he talked to you. 

You slowly became aware of the stupid grin growing on your face. The warmth that was spreading through your cheeks and stomach as you realized he’d done this, fixed up this old house for months in secret for you. 

That explained why he’d been complaining about his back so much lately. 

You stood up, cutting him off from his tangent about how you were still close enough to Jackson for supplies and to see Tommy and Elllie. You fisted your hands in the flannel he was wearing and tugged him down. “Joel.”

He smiled at you as his hands landed on your waist, squeezing a little. “Yeah, sweetheart?”

“Have I ever told you I love you?”

He pulled you in and grinned, “Not once.”

This kiss felt different than all the rest. Felt like something more final, like you both knew you’d reached the end and there was nowhere left to go. You’d explored all you could, fought your way here, and now you stood in this old house. The one he had fixed up and you knew you didn’t need to fight anymore. 

You just needed this, him in this moment. 

“Ellie?”

Ellie turned around at the sound of Dina’s voice. “Yeah?”

She nodded her head towards the patrol logbook, there was a strange smile on her face. “Might want to take a look at this.”

Ellie walked over, shooting Dina a confused glance before she took a look and let out a laugh.

We aren’t gone, but we’re disappearing for a while. You won’t find us, don’t come looking (I mean it Tommy) - J

end. — I do not own the characters or the game The Last Of Us, but this writing is my own all rights reserved © not-neverland06 2024. do not copy, repost, translate & recommend elsewhere.

TAGLIST: @chrysanthemum-00 @marimarvelfan

this. this is what happened in that scene right

Teaser for the next chapter of The End of the Beginning:

Your eyes are locked, something old and familiar swimming in both of them. You used to be ashamed of this feeling he brought up in you. He was a married man after all and you were just his lying assistant. You were never supposed to be attracted to him. You’re certainly not supposed to be attracted to him when he looks like this. But despite how much he’s changed, he’s still got that Cooper Howard charm.  He doesn’t drag you forward roughly. He guides you further into him, tilting your chin up and leering down at you with that angry grin. His hand glides around the back of your neck- The head drops to the ground with a wet thud as your hands fly to the rope on your neck. He’s grabbed the back of it, tightening it so hard you’re sure you felt your eyes pop out. The smile on his face is gone, instead it’s replaced by an intensely concentrated look. His eyes are boring into your own, taking in every twitch and gasp as he watches you struggle for breath.  You dig at your neck, feeling warm wet blood bubble under your nails the more you rip at the rope. Your fingers go cold and your tongue swells as the pressure in your face increases until you think the skin will burst. The eye contact doesn’t break between you, darkly intimate as he takes in every detail of your slow death by his hand. 

</3

BELLE WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN?? You haven’t posted since OCTOBER

Sorry I abandoned you guys I had the worst writers block BUUUUT

I have a new Logan fic in the works

It’s semi AU-ish but not really. I present to you: next door neighbor Logan who just conveniently knows how to fix all the appliances that keep “randomly” breaking in your house.

This one is going to be kind of silly bc I’ve been working on my own writing project that’s a little dark and I need a break from that.

Should be up soon-ish

I have so many different fandoms I want to write for. There are years of main character syndrome and high school obsessions built up in my head.

Like the outsiders, HotD, GoT, The Boys, Narnia, about a hundred different small fandom video games like fable and bioshock. I need a button to press where I can just get all the fics out in one go.

(this is an encouragement for requests and convo btw)

𝙴𝚙𝚒𝚕𝚘𝚐𝚞𝚎 - 𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝚁𝚘𝚊𝚍 𝙻𝚎𝚜𝚜 𝚃𝚛𝚊𝚟𝚎𝚕𝚎𝚍

Pairing ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ Arthur Morgan x fem!reader

A/N: Ah, we've finally arrived. The last stop on this journey. I honestly thought I would feel more relieved saying goodbye to these two but it's a little bittersweet. Arthur is such an important character to me and one I've always held close to my heart. Being able to write this series for him is definitely one of my prouder moments as a fanfiction author. Thank you all for staying along for the ride and all of the love and support you've given me 🫶

Hell Hath No Fury Series (complete)

Summary: The past is behind you, all you have to do now is choose which path you'll follow.

The door before you is covered in a fresh coat of paint. An attempt at erasing the past that almost makes you laugh. There’s no amount of polish that can scrub away the memories and lives embedded in its frame. This estate, once pristine, holds no warmth for you, only the echoes of a childhood so distant you struggle to remember it. 

Still, you know there were moments, brief fleeting moments of happiness before you knew better. Before you understood that love only had a place when it was currency, when it was useful, before you learned that you were just another debt to be collected. 

The door creaks open, and a pair of green eyes scrutinizes you from within. “Mrs. Rowe?” The maid’s timid voice asks hesitantly. 

You don’t know her name, after a while, they all blurred together. Each of them became the same spineless, faceless shadows that bent to your mother’s every whim. You consider correcting her, telling her to call you by your maiden name, but the thought goes sour in your mouth. That name was your father’s, and he had owned you just as much as your husband. 

“Please,” you lift your chin, eyes narrowing at her, “I’m not Mrs. Rowe any longer,” you tell her curtly. 

The maid frowns and the door opens a tad wider. Her nose wrinkles in distaste, but she says nothing, not bold enough to speak out against you. Instead, she bows her head and steps aside, holding the door open to you. 

The scent of overpriced cigars and aged whiskey is thick in the air. Breathing in is like being thrown right back to days of racing through these halls, avoiding your mother’s scoldings and your father’s plotting. You almost feel the twitch of a smile as you peer up the banister of the stairs, where you know your old room is. 

The house remains unchanged, the same ornate rugs swallow your footsteps as you follow the maid down the hall. Chandeliers drip with excess in a way that you always thought was gaudy but your mother claimed show class. 

The maid stops in front of a familiar oak door, bowing her head once more before rushing off like a frightened mouse. Behind it, he’s waiting for you. 

You push the knob down and step inside, your father sits at his desk, posture relaxed as if he were expecting you. A half-empty glass of bourbon rests in his hand, swirling it lazily as he watches you approach. You notice grays in his hair that you’d never seen before, signs of age, and the truth that even money can’t stop the relentless passage of time. 

The lines around his face are deeper than you remember, but his eyes, still sharp and calculating, assessing you for your worth, haven’t changed at all. 

“When I received word from my daughter after nearly a year of believing her to be dead, I certainly hadn’t thought you would have become an outlaw.” You don’t take a seat and don’t say a word. Standing a few feet back from his desk, you keep your face carefully blank. “Van der Linde gang, wasn’t it?”

You don’t bite and ask how he knows, demand for him to tell you how he’s keeping track of you. It’s better to know less about your father’s reach and influence. Besides, little tricks like this haven’t scared you since you were a child. 

He waits for you to speak, huffing out a forced laugh when you don’t. “Finally returned back to me. I can only assume you want something.” He sets his glass down on his desk and leans back in his ornate leather chair. “I presume it has something to do with that outlaw lover of yours?”

Hands clenching reflexively around your purse and the revolver inside, your jaw clenches, the first tell you’ve given him. His lips curl, something cruel dancing behind his eyes. “If you hadn’t already been tainted by that useless husband of yours, I might just keep you here. Sell you to the next highest bidder.”

You don’t flinch and give him the satisfaction of a reaction. But you know he means every word. If you actually still held value or standing in society, he wouldn’t hesitate to put you back under lock and key, using any means necessary to cage you. 

“You can try,” you say smoothly, tilting your head ever so slightly. “But that worthless husband you picked out for me has left me as quite the undesirable.”

Something flickers across his face, amusement, maybe even appreciation for the bite in your tone. That’s the game he plays. He has no tolerance for disobedience and no respect for someone who doesn’t fight back. Perpetually dissatisfied. 

He leans back in his chair, eyes flicking over you. “What do you want, little bird?”

You take your time answering, stepping closer to the desk, glancing over the neatly stacked ledgers and letters. An old pen rests beside his arm, but he doesn’t seem to notice the black ink staining his shirt sleeve. 

“I want Arthur Morgan and the others who escaped with him left alone,” you say, voice even. “The Pinkertons, Cornwall. Every last hunter that’s sniffing after them. I want them called off.”

He raises a brow, lips curling slightly at the corners. “What makes you think I have that sort of influence?”

Your lashes flutter innocently and a demure smile flits across your face. “I know about the deal you made last spring,” you tell him, watching as his face tightens with recognition. “The one that ended with all of those men floating face down in the bayou. You’re the one who taught me to be seen and not heard, father. I just learned to listen.” You let the weight of your words sink in, watching as something like a warning crosses his face. You lean against the edge of the desk, voice dropping to a whisper, “You’ll find the power, and you’ll get me what I want.”

A slow smirk tugs at his lips and you draw back. “I always knew you were observant, listening in when I should have stopped you. Call it fatherly indulgence, but I didn’t think it would turn you into someone so conniving. I could almost say I’m proud if you weren’t such a disgrace to the family.”

Fists clenching by your side, you bite your lip and keep yourself quiet. It’s a waiting game, drawing the prey in to get what you want. 

He drums his fingers against the wood, considering. Then, finally, he sighs, reaching for his bourbon. “Fine. The Pinkertons and Cornwall will lose interest in what's left of your little gang.” He takes a sip, watching you over the rim of his glass. “But Dutch Van der Linde? The ones who followed him? I’m not lifting a finger for them.”

“Good, I wasn’t asking you to.”

That earns you a short, sharp laugh. “Cutthroat, I suppose becoming an outlaw finally gave you a spine. If only you discovered it sooner, it would have been much more entertaining to break you as a child.” 

You swallow hard, taking another step back from him before you feel the urge to put a bullet between his eyes. “What else?” He presses, setting his drink down. “I assume you didn’t come all this way just for that.”

“I need a few high-profile bounty hunting jobs- on paper.”

He arches a brow, “For Morgan?”

You shrug, not willing to give away more than you have to. “For a friend.”

Understanding dawns over his face, followed quickly by an all too familiar smirk. “The sheriffs won’t let a woman collect their bounties, is that it?” You don’t dignify him with a response and he hums, tapping his fingers against the desk as he thinks. “Done.”

Relief unfurls in your chest but you don’t give it away. Nodding, you turn away, but his voice stops you at the door. “You’re a fool for choosing this life,” he tells you, tone light but laced with something darker. “You could have had everything.”

You look over your shoulder, barely meeting his eye. “We have different definitions of what that means,” you tell him simply, “I’d rather be free than a miserable miser like you.” His jaw snaps shut, eyes going cold, and you walk out the door, leaving him behind. 

Arthur leaves Diablo to roam in the valley beside the cabin. When he’d gotten up this morning you were already gone, Lady nowhere to be found. He tried not to worry, he knows by now you’re smart enough to handle yourself. But there’s a lot of people who want to hurt you both right now. Not just the bounty hunters and the Pinkertons, but this land is infested with the Murfree brood. 

Coming back from his hunt now, he can already see Lady trotting up to Diablo, and there on the porch, you sit. Your back is to him as he approaches, fingers tight around a letter in your hand. He vaguely recognizes the handwriting, but not enough to identify the author. 

“Hey,” he mutters, taking a seat on the stoop beside you. You glance up at him, folding the letter away and smiling. “What’s that?” He asks, nodding toward the papers now tucked away. 

Your smile shifts into something a little sadder and you glance out toward the water. “Charles finally wrote me back,” there’s a tone to your voice he can’t recognize, it’s bittersweet. “I think it might be the last letter I receive from him. He has plans to move to Canada. To start,” you hesitate before smiling fondly, “he’s going to start a family.”

Sucking in a deep breath you shrug and look toward him. “How was your ride?”

“Fine,” he dismisses quickly. “Where’d you go this mornin’?”

Your face morphs into something careful, guarded. “I had some business in the city,” he knows you don’t want him to press you further. It’s clear that whatever you were dealing with was something personal. As much as he worries about you, he won’t press, even if the curiosity is gnawing at him.

“You know it’s risky to go out on your own right now.”

You smile, leaning up to press a kiss to his cheek, “Trust me, I won’t be taking any more risks.” 

The room is quiet, save for the rhythmic sound of your breathing beside him. Arthur lays on his back, eyes glued to the ceiling as his fingers drum a restless beat against his stomach. Moonlight spills through the window, illuminating the cabin with a soft silver glow. 

Sleep has been harder and harder to find. It’s never come easy before, but he’d hoped it might be different now. He’s spent too many years with one eye open, waiting for a knife in the dark or gunfire to crack through the night. Even now, with no enemies nearby, no barking orders, and no campfire flickering just out of reach, his body refuses to believe he’s safe. 

He supposes he isn’t. The Pinkertons will still be after him, he figures he’s probably got a hefty bounty on his head. Large enough for the more reckless hunters to go after him. Sometimes he thinks Dutch might even be out there, seething over Arthur’s betrayal, waiting to find him again. 

Arthur sits up in bed, scrubbing a hand down his tired face. He reaches for the sketchbook resting on the nightstand beside him and flips it open. A piece of charcoal is already wedged between the worn pages and falls into his open palm as he settles against the headboard. Idly, he lets his hand start drawing a far too familiar form. 

The curve of your jaw, the way your hair spills across your pillow, he barely has to look at you to draw it now. Still, he finds his eyes drawn toward your sleeping form, taking in the peaceful rise and fall of your chest. You shift, mumbling something incoherent, and sling your arm over his waist. 

Arthur huffs out a quiet laugh, the warmth of your touch grounding in a way. He runs his hand along your arm, lacing your fingers together as you shift even closer to him. There’s not long to savor the moment before a loud whooping laugh shatters the silence outside. 

His hand stills its idle sketching, body going rigid like a hunting dog who’s found his mark. He sits up straighter, ears straining to hear the night outside the cabin walls. The grating laughter moves closer, faster, and louder than he’s comfortable with. 

He hears the distant sound of a bottle shattering and a sharp crack echoing through the night. Arthur swings his legs over the side of the bed, muscles tense, and catches the flickering glow of fire through the window. It almost sounds as if the horses are screaming in their pen. 

He’s on his feet in an instant, rushing to the door and grabbing the rifle resting along the wall. You shoot up in bed, blinking the sleep out of your eyes, and watch him throw the door open. “Arthur?” You call out, voice thick with sleep but growing more alert. 

“Stay low,” he warns you briefly, already moving through the door. 

Heat licks at his skin as he steps outside. Wildflowers near the fence are ablaze, the flames stretching dangerously close to the horses’ pen. Lady and Diablo run around wildly, bucking at nothing as the fire stretches closer. 

A group of men holler in the distance, growing closer as they circle around the property like wolves. Arthur sucks in a sharp breath, aiming the rifle at the closest one. Murfree boys, he should have known. 

“Should’ve never come on our land!” One of them shouts, lifting another fire bottle, his match dangerously close to the fabric inside. Arthur doesn’t hesitate as he pulls the trigger, the boy and the bottle falling harmlessly to the ground as he slides off his saddle. 

You rush past him, paying no heed to the men with their guns pointed at you. He tries to snatch your arm, but you’ve got a bucket of water in your hands and you’re trying to put the fire out. He sees the way you glance worriedly toward Lady as the flames consume more of the dry grass around you. 

There’s a moment of stillness, the men stop moving and simply stare at Arthur. “He killed Mitch!” One of them shouts, the rest shouting something incomprehensible in rage. Gunfire erupts and Arthur curses, grabbing you and ducking behind the wall of the cabin. Arthur peers around the side and takes another shot before he ducks back into cover, reloading the rifle. 

There aren’t many of them, and they aren’t good shots. But he’s worried about the fire, not the fools shooting at him. The fight doesn’t last long, a few more well-placed bullets and the last of the Murfree boys fall. The only sounds left are the frantic whinnies of the horses and the sound of water sizzling against flames. 

He grabs another bucket and dips it into the lake, stomping out dying embers and putting to rest the remaining fire. When it’s finally out, you slump against him, chest heaving. His heart is still pounding in his ears, adrenaline thrumming in his veins. 

“They’ll come back,” you mutter against his chest, voice quiet but sure. 

Arthur swallows, watching the darkened tree line. They’re not known for letting go of grudges or forgiving the killing of one of their own. “I know,” he tells you, arm wrapping around you and pulling you close. His mind is already made up, he’s taking you somewhere else. And soon. 

The wagon rocks slightly to the side as Arthur directs the horses over a small rock and you reach eagerly for the reigns. “Let me drive,” you demand, the same way he’s been listening to you do the whole ride. 

Arthur snorts, shaking his head and tightening his grip. “Not a chance.”

You lean back on the bench, crossing your arms with a slightly amused tilt to your lips. “Oh, come on,” you admonish, “you act like I’m a bad driver.”

He gives you a flat look, thinking back to the cougar that nearly had you running the wagon off the side of a mountain. “You are a bad driver.”

“Yeah?” You taunt, something challenging in the way you narrow your eyes at him. “Who was it that broke the wheel clean off the last wagon?”

Arthur refuses to make eye contact with you, steering the horses around a rut in the dirt path. He shrugs, “That was different.”

You scoff incredulously, shoving at his shoulder. “How?”  

Arthur shrugs, “That was Dutch’s wagon.”

You bark out a laugh, shaking your head and leaning against his shoulder. “So? That makes it a bad wagon?”

“I ain’t sayin’ it makes it bad, I’m just sayin’ it don’t count.” You roll your eyes but he sees the fondness in your expression as you sit back. He knows you’re letting him win, you could argue with him for hours, running circles around him. Even though you are a bad driver. 

The thick line of trees lining the road slowly thins and opens up. A field of purple wildflowers stretching toward the horizon lay before you. A small stream glimmers under the light of the late afternoon sun and winds its way through. In the distance, at the end of the small trail, he can see John, Abigail, and Jack waiting for the both of you. 

Arthur makes his way up the rest of the off-road trail, nose already wrinkling in distaste at the spot John has chosen for him. He pulls the wagon to a stop and rounds the side, offering you his hand. You roll your eyes at the gesture, smiling playfully and letting him help you down even though you both know it’s unnecessary. 

Arthur adjusts his hat, leveling John with a skeptical look. “You sure this is gonna work?”

John exhales sharply, leveling Arthur with a flat look. He steps forward, holding out Arthur’s cut from what he stole from Dutch. “Why’re you always doubtin’ me?”

Arthur takes the money and crosses his arms, shrugging, “‘Cause most of the time, you’re doin’ somethin’ worth doubtin’.” Abigail makes a noise of agreement, cutting John a sharp glare. You shift uncomfortably beside him and he lets out a sigh. 

He’s never more grateful for you than when he watches John and Abigail interact. That woman wouldn’t be happy with him if he did do everything she asked him to, although he most definitely does not. She’s never going to trust that he can fully integrate into a normal life or make something of himself. Having someone behind you, always doubting you, always judging you, it would drive Arthur insane. 

As much as you’ve gotten angry with him over the stupid choices he makes, you’ve always trusted him. He’s given you plenty of reason to doubt him, and still, you stand beside him. Even when he told you he had some half-baked plan to start a ranch on some cheap land Marston found for him, you followed him. And you trusted him when he told you he could take care of you. There’s no constant scrutinization of the man he used to be. 

He lets Abigail and John bicker, looping his arm over your shoulder and leading you around them so you can get a good look at the land you’re about to be living on. You squeeze his hand, smiling up at him, and Arthur feels some of the weight on his shoulders ease. 

The fire crackles softly outside the tent, casting a flickering light against the canvas walls. This tent is bigger than the one he’d had in camp, more spacious, and with wooden poles to hold it up. It has to be better until the actual house can be built, it’s what you’ll be living in for a long while. 

You sit beside him on the cot, sewing up a hole in one of your pants while he looks through the plans for the house. The scent of lavender and honeysuckle drifts through the open flap along with the sound of the creatures in the forest beyond. 

“I went to St. Denis,” you tell him, and somehow, he knows you mean the morning you disappeared. 

Arthur’s expression pinches, he looks up from the paper, taking in the way your face is illuminated by the dim light. “Why?” He demands, frustration creeping around the edges of his tone. It’s one thing to have gone out on your own, it’s even worse that you went to a place swarming with Pinkertons and cops. 

 “I went to see my father,” you tell him, voice calm despite his tension. You place your sewing to the side and shift closer to him. “The Pinkertons, the bounty hunters,” you pause, eyes roaming over his face to gauge his reaction. “They’ll be leaving us alone now, all of them.”

Arthur rubs a hand down his face, biting back the urge to say something smart. It’s not as simple as that. Whatever you’ve done, whatever favor you’ve called on, men like your father don’t just let things go. He feels like he should be angry. Hell, a part of him is mad that you put yourself at risk. 

But he sees the quiet determination on your face. You reached into your past, took the pieces that could be used against you, and turned it into something that could finally give you both a true clean slate. Arthur exhales, shaking his head. 

A small smile tugs at the corner of his lips and he reaches forward, tugging you closer to him. “A whole new life, huh?”

You smile at him, leaning in until your lips are nearly brushing against his. “Yeah,” you whisper, “A whole new life.” Arthur leans forward, lips catching yours as he tugs you onto his lap. Maybe you acted a bit like a fool, but he can’t blame you. He would have done the same thing if it meant another chance with you. 

A few years later

The morning air is crisp, as always it carries with it the distant scent of the animals around the ranch, and poppies and lilies. Boots creak softly against the wooden planks of the porch as you step outside, pausing for a moment to take in the sight before you. 

Arthur sits in his rocking chair, the slow, steady rhythm of its movements in time with his easy breaths. His gaze remains fixed on the pasture, watching as the horses move lazily through the field, the cattle grazing beyond them. The sun is already high in the sky, warming the porch under your feet. Its golden light spills across the land, lighting up the stream beyond. Every morning, he watches it rise. 

You move toward your chair beside him, settling into the familiar seat. He doesn’t look away from the horizon, but his hand finds yours, calloused fingers warm against your skin. His thumb drags slow circles over the back of your hand, a quiet steady reassurance. 

Neither of you speak as there’s nothing to be said. No threats hang over your heads. No weight presses against your shoulders. 

There is only this. The soft rustle of the grass in the breeze, the warmth of the sun on your skin, the gentle creaking of the rocking chair. And the two of you, the outlaw and the lady. 

end. — I do not own the characters or the game Red Dead Redemption 1/2, but this writing is my own all rights reserved © not-neverland06 2025. do not copy, repost, translate & recommend elsewhere.

Hell Hath No Fury Taglist: @buckysblondie @littlebirdgot @heloixe @summerdazed @committingcrimes-2047

@m1stea @pokiona @fleouris @soupvender00 @warmsideofthepillow03

@whimsiwitchy @cloudywithachanceofcrisis @martinys-world

Part six of How About a Nuke is posted!

How About a Nuke?

Part VI / Part VII / Part VIII

Series Masterlist

Cooper Howard x fem!reader, The ghoul x fem!reader A/N: @weakling-grace did some fanart for the series that I absolutely adore! And I want you all to look at it. It’s on her blog, or reposted on mine under the tag How about a nuke? Summary: The wound’s infected. It shouldn’t be, but here you are anyway, barely holding on to life. You make it as far as you can and then it’s up to him to decide whether you get to live or die.

“Have I told you yet that you are the most gorgeous woman in this room?” You couldn’t stop the smile from spreading on your face even if you tried. 

“Only about a dozen times.” His hand reaches for yours across the table and you take it eagerly, linking your fingers together and enjoying the way his hazel eyes linger on yours. You could get lost in them, as cliche as it sounds. You and about every other woman in the world fell in love when you first saw those smiling eyes on the silver screen. 

“I’ll just have to tell you a dozen more.”

God, you would swoon if you could. But, unfortunately, you are in the middle of a very nice restaurant and you’re sure they wouldn’t enjoy your fainting spell. It’s not like you could help it, he was so effortlessly charming, everything he said with that rasping accent of his sounded like music to you. 

Your smile slipped slightly when you caught two women staring at you both. They weren’t even trying to hide it, pointing and whispering behind their hands. You clenched your jaw, trying your best not to let the anger show on your face. But he caught it anyway. 

Cooper dropped your hand and tucked his back in his lap. He sighed and glanced over his shoulder, they caught his eye and gasped, stopping their cruel whispers. You opened your mouth to try and make him feel better but he interrupted you, “Hey-”

“I told you this was gonna happen sweetheart.” You hated how sad he sounded, how resigned he was to his new place in life. It was no secret that most of your fellow actors despised him now just because he did a few ad campaigns for Vault-Tec. But that didn’t mean the rest of the world did. There were still plenty of people who adored Cooper and asked for his autograph. 

Granted, those ladies clearly weren’t fans, but you didn’t care. You didn’t care if you got spotted together in public and rumors started up again. You didn’t care what that meant about future roles. “I want to be with you, Coop, but I can’t keep having this same conversation over and over again.” You sighed and finally drew your hand back to yourself, he tracked the movement like a hawk. 

“If this is too much,” you forced yourself to swallow past the lump in your throat and put on a stilted smile. “If being with me in the public eye is too much then maybe we should-”

“Enough,” he reached back over and forced his hand into yours. “I’m sorry, I’m just worried about you.” He stopped you before you could interrupt him, giving you a knowing smile. “I know that you don’t care what being around me does to your career, but I do. There’s no reason for the both of us to be washed up celebrities.”

“Hey, you’re not washed up, plenty of people still want to see you on the silver screen.”

He smiled but it didn’t reach his eyes. He squeezed your hand once before letting go and picking up his fork, “Let’s just enjoy our meal, sweetheart.”

“Pick up the pace! I’m not gonna wait for you forever, sweetheart.”

You glared at him and leaned on a tree for support. You’re not sure what’s going on. You feel hot under your skin but also like you’re freezing, you’d thrown up twice during night watch and you’re about five seconds away from keeling over. 

Your sweaty palm slips against the bark and you go sliding over. You hear his boots stomping through the grass before they stop in front of you. Rough hands steady your shoulders and shove you upright again. His eyes rove across your face, the muscles above his eyes turning down in concern. 

“Shit, you look like,” he trailed off, “well, to be perfectly honest you look like shit.”

You laughed but it came out strangled and he flinched back in disgust when you started coughing. “Good to know you’re still a gentleman, Cooper.” 

He sighed and led you over to a rotted log. You threw yourself down on it, wincing as it jarred your sensitive stomach. The gash was aching a lot more than it should. 

When you’d been shot, you could barely even feel it by this point. Now the wound was burning, itching so bad you just wanted to rip the stitches out with your bare hands. Your head rolls back and you clench your eyes shut as another wave of nausea goes through you. You could feel your heartbeat in your throat, rattling like a hummingbird in a cage. 

He kneels in front of you and reaches for your shirt. You lean back on your hands to give him better access. “Stimpak should have worked by now,” he mutters. He pulls your shirt higher up on your abdomen and hisses through his teeth. 

“What is it?” Your tongue is glued to the roof of your mouth and the words come out garbled. 

“Shit!” He yanks your shirt down and reaches for your bag, digging through it until he finds another one of the Stimpaks you’d taken. 

You’d be more panicked if your head wasn’t floating right now. “What is it?” He doesn’t answer you, he hovers the injector over his mouth and lets the medicine shoot in. You wince when he immediately turns to spit it into the grass. 

He wipes the back of his mouth and chuckles. “Should’ve fucking known,” he mutters. He goes through the rest of the supplies you’d grabbed and starts chucking them further into the forest. 

You’re getting pissed off now. Pissed off and worried, you just needed him to talk to you, tell you what’s going on. “Cooper!” You snap, hand clutched over the burning wound on your stomach. He sighs and looks up at you. “Tell me what’s happening.”

“Fakes,” he says, mouth set in a firm line and eyes hard against your worried gaze. “See, darlin’, some people like the men we met last night hand out fake supplies.” If you weren’t so worried you’d be mad about how condescending he sounds. 

“They take empty injectors and fill ‘em with chems to keep people sick and coming back to them. It’s a steady income,” he says, like it’s a respectable career. “Your wound is infected, probably only worsened by whatever chem they put in the Stimpak I stuck you with.”

Your eyes are wide with horror. You can’t decide what’s worse, that you’ve essentially been poisoned and are probably experiencing sepsis right now. Or that people were capable of being so cruel and profited off of it. He pulls your canteen out of your bag and unscrews the cap. He holds the water up to your nose, “Sniff.” You do and he waves his hand, prompting you to tell him what exactly you smelled. 

“Smells like metal,” you shrug, not sure what that means. 

“Infected and you’ve got rad poisoning.” At your confused glance he continues, “Water’s not purified either, sweetheart. Whatever you got is about to get a hundred times worse.” When he turns his back to put the water back in your bag you finally risk a glance down at your stomach. 

You wished you hadn’t because you’re immediately bending over to throw up what was left of your rations. The skin has swelled over the stitches, practically swallowing the black thread. The place the knife went in is red and puckered, pus forming at the corners. The sides of your stomach have an odd green tint that you’re trying not to think about too hard, most likely a side effect of whatever chem you’d been dosed with. 

He presses the canteen into your hand and you shake your head from where it is between your knees. “Can’t, radiation.”

He laughs, the sound unkind, “It’s a bit late for that, honey.” You snatch the water out of his hand and gulp down as much as you can stomach. It’s not much, the taste of the water is too metallic and bitter for you. “The place we’re going, they’ve got medicine. We get you there and I’m sure I can work something out with them.”

You know what that really means. He’ll get paid for his bounty and then he’ll get what he wants, whether they offer it freely or not. “If I get there,” you mutter, still holding back the rest of your breakfast. 

“Enough,” he snaps. His hand wraps around your elbow and he yanks you to your feet. “We need to get a move on, power through.” If you had the strength, you’d slap him again. 

“Here you go,” he placed a bowl down on the coffee table, steam still wisping over the edge. He sat down beside you on your couch and brushed some hair away from your face and you leaned into the warmth of his palm. You were freezing but he seemed to think you were burning up. 

“Did you make me soup?” Your voice is groggy with sleep. He helps you into a sitting position and hands you the bowl. 

“No,” he laughs a little and leans back against the cushions, arm spreading out behind you and pulling you into him. “But I warmed it up for you.”

“Cooper,” you whisper. 

“Get a move on!” He shouts from a couple yards ahead. “You either move your ass or I’ll leave you here, because I’m sure as shit not carrying you.”

Oh shit. 

Hallucinating is never a good sign. You would swear on everything above that you were just on your couch with Cooper. You could still feel the warmth of the bowl in your hands, the old plush fabric of your couch on your cheeks. 

You swallowed down bile and did your best to catch up to him. You blinked a few times, trying to get rid of the fog over your eyes, but it didn’t help much. It took you a minute to realize it was from the sweat dripping down your brow and burning against your retinas that was causing the problem. 

You glanced around, surprised to find yourself surrounded by sand. Weren’t you just in the forest? You lifted a shaking hand to try and get rid of the glare of the sun. He was walking closer to you now, keeping a keener eye on you. You trip over your own feet for the inth time and try to keep pushing yourself. 

“Any chance we could dim those?” You squint and point up to the lights hanging above the set and one of the PA’s runs off to fulfill your request. You shake your boots out, tired of all the sand that’s been getting in them. You understand you’re meant to be chasing an outlaw through the “Wild West” but this is getting ridiculous. 

You’ve done about a hundred retakes of this scene, you’re not sure when the director is going to admit defeat but you hope it’s soon. You don’t know why the studio is even bothering to do cowboy stuff anymore. Everyone knows since Coop was forced out of the industry no one’s wanted to see these types of movies. 

The actor you’re working with this time is a dick. He’s commanding and rude, he’s got no sense of boundaries either. Or a nose. 

What the fuck?

He stands over top of you and you finally realize that you’ve collapsed into the sand. You let your head fall back and rub your forehead. One second you’re on a set and the next you’re in the Wastelands at the end of the world. You’re struggling to remember which version of reality is real and which isn’t. 

“I mean it,” he threatens, “I ain’t carrying you.” Your hand flops uselessly to your side, muscles fatigued and the burning in your gut sucking the energy out of you. The only part of yourself you’re physically aware of is the stab, you can’t feel anything else. You can’t twitch your toes or wiggle your fingers, everything is off kilter. “Alright then,” he leans down and yanks your arm over his shoulder. 

Before you’re processing what’s happening the world is being tilted on its axis and you’re being hauled to your feet. You don’t remember much about traveling through the sands. Everything is one long blur of red and orange. When the air in front of you starts to get wavy your eyes lose focus and you black out.

She nearly made it. They’re only about an hour away from this compound he’s been trying to get her to. He sighs, looking down at her prone form in the sand. There’s sweat beading along her forehead, her lips are cracked and split and her face has an unusual tint to it that can’t mean anything healthy. 

He squats down next to her and debates how he wants to go about this. The wound on her stomach has only gotten worse since they started walking, it’s just looking angrier and angrier. With how infected it is, it’s possible that even a stimpak might not help her now. 

He could leave her here, get the bounty, and go on his merry way. He could shoot her, put her out of her misery and leave. Or he could throw her over his shoulder and walk the last hour to the compound, hoping that whatever they have there will help. No matter what choice he makes, it’s her life in his hands. 

His hand drifts forward, brushing the hair off her cheek and lingering on the soft skin there. He sighs before scooping her up and tossing her over his shoulder, she whines, her wound rubbing against his shoulder and probably causing her a heap of pain. It didn’t matter how much it hurt, though, as long as she was feeling something that was a good sign. 

“Nearly there, sweetheart,”; he muttered. He tuned into her shallow breathing, the long pauses before her next breath and let that be what keeps him going. She better not fucking die on him. He grunts, shifting her higher up on his shoulder and wrapping an arm around her legs. 

He could feel how hot she was through each layer of their clothing. This was more than just the sun, she seemed like she was about to combust. “Cooper,” she whimpers. He frowns, she’s been muttering to herself since they left the forest. Talking about things that weren’t possible. 

He’s seen it before, with infection or rad poisoning, the hallucinations start pretty early. Only problem is, he’s never met anyone who lasted as long as her. She should have been dead hours ago. He has no idea what’s keeping her going, but she better fucking hold onto it. 

You laughed, your dress swirling around your legs like a blooming red flower as he spun you through the room. His hand wrapped around your waist and he pulled you back into his chest. You smiled at him and he reached up to brush the hair out of your face. 

Sinatra’s smooth voice cracked and then began to stutter. You laughed again but Cooper just rolled his eyes and walked over to fix the record. You smoothed out your dress and sat down on his couch, reaching for his glass of whiskey on the table. 

You took a sip, hoping for some liquid courage, and regretted it. You’d momentarily forgotten your distaste for alcohol. You tried to fight the tickle in your throat but failed, you probably ruined your lipstick with how hard you started to cough. 

He walked over to you and chuckled, taking his glass from your hands and stealing a swig. “Can’t handle your liquor, honey?”

“I can,” you wiped your mouth and gave him a playful glare. “That just tastes absolutely disgusting.” He smiled and took a seat beside you, arm draped behind you. He crossed a leg over his knee and titled himself to face you. You found yourself taking a deep breath, trying to prepare yourself for the question you were going to ask.

“Everything alright?”

You glanced down at your dress and fiddled with the hem of it. “I know the divorce was finalized a few days ago,” Cooper looked away from you, his face hardening, and reached forward to place his glass back on the table. Your heart leapt into your throat at the way he slammed it down. Maybe this was a mistake. 

You know when Barb came over to pick up Janey yesterday they’d gotten into a fight. You didn’t know what exactly it was they fought about, you’re pretty sure it had to do with you. But it didn’t truly matter. She always found a way to rile him up. You’d been hoping that coming by tonight might make him feel a little better,  but he still seemed to have a residual tenseness to him. 

Bringing the divorce up after one of their fights isn’t smart. But you need to talk about this and he’s been avoiding the conversation for a while now. 

He ran a hand down his face and sighed, “What about it?” 

“I was just wondering what that means for us?”

He scoffed and glanced over at you. The look he’s giving you, you’re certain the fight was about you now. He’s never looked this angry with you, “For us?” You nodded and he shook his head, standing up and heading towards his room. “It doesn’t mean anything.” Your heart stuttered in your chest, eyes burning as he slammed the door to his room without another word. You let your head fall into your hands and took a few deep breaths. You knew you shouldn’t have asked that. 

“That was a mistake,” you muttered. 

“The hell are you telling yourself back there?” Your eyes peeled open and you frowned, you seemed to be looking at something that looked a hell of a lot like Cooper’s backside. You tilted your head to the side to find the world upside down and something stabbing repeatedly in your stomach. 

You clawed your way up Cooper’s jacket, shakily holding yourself up so you could stare down at him. “Settle,” he warns, like you’re a damn horse. 

“Put me down,” you mutter, weakly kicking out your feet and trying to get off of him. He just shakes his head and shoves you back down. You let him, not having much fight left in you anyway. 

“Just,” he pauses, “keep dreamin’,” the words seem to pain him and you wonder why. You don’t linger on it long, letting your head hang against his back before the world is going dark again. 

She keeps muttering Cooper in her sleep. He knows what she’s thinking about. Their old times together, when everything was just dandy and the world was as sweet as peaches. Well, he wasn’t some saint back then neither. He had his own problems, vices, same as any man. 

Only difference between then and now is that he doesn’t have to hide who he is. Doesn’t have to worry about the public’s opinion or how his job will be affected if he speaks his mind. Cooper’s no better than the Ghoul. 

He sighs, barely even believing himself. She whimpers in her sleep, the noise strangled and pained. He squeezes her leg, barely even noticing the action, in an attempt to bring some minute form of comfort. She never should have dived in front of that blade, it was stupid of her. 

Course, she couldn’t have known that he would have healed, it’s not like he ever told her that. But she shouldn’t have risked it anyway, he wasn’t worth her dying for.

He can see a large building about a mile ahead as he crests the ridge of the dune he’s walking on. The compound, nearly there. “Hold on,” he’s not sure who he’s talking to but it doesn’t matter. She’s made it this far, she’ll make it a few more minutes.

“Stop right there!” Only one armed guard comes out from behind the gate of the compound. He scoffs, fucking amateurs. He drops her to the ground at his feet with as much care as he can, which isn’t a lot. Slowly, he raises his hands as the guard approaches, the tip of his rifle pressing into the hardened skin of his chest. “State your business.”

Well, someone liked making themself feel important, he was gonna have a field day beating this boy black and blue. For now, he simply smiled at him, unbothered by the gun. “I’ve got a bounty to deliver.”

“Alright, hand it over.” He reached into his pockets and the boy’s trigger finger twitched dangerously. He pulled out the only thing they’d wanted from the body, dog tags, and held them out for the boy to take. He darted forward, trying to snatch them but he yanked them out of the guard’s grip. 

He lunged, wrapping a hand around the barrel of the rifle and yanking it out of the kid’s hands. He tucked the tags back in his pocket and pointed the barrel into the boy’s chest. His face blanched and he held up his shaky hands. “Not so big now, are you?” He kept the gun trained on him and leaned down to scoop her back up. 

She was just cognizant enough to wrap an arm around his shoulder, keeping herself steady. “My friend here needs help. So help me boy, I swear if you fight me, I’ll slaughter everyone in that fucking place and just take what I want.”

He poked the gun into the boy’s chest and he jumped away from him with a frightened little whimper. With a grin, he bullied him into unlocking the gate and leading the both of them inside. 

“Please-”

“Shut the fuck up and get me inside.” It didn’t take long, the kid seemed to be the only guard they had patrolling right now. He led the pair inside the compound and then shoved them inside a room. 

“Here, you can clean her up here.” Before he could say anything the boy was running down the hall and out of sight. He figured they didn’t have long before the rest of the compound was alerted to what was going on. 

He knew enough about the place to know they had a water purifier set up in the back and some odd little ditty they’d created to use water to generate power. Having a radiated ocean behind them was a lot more convenient than Cooper ever would have thought. 

“Alright,” he propped her up on the bed and threw the boy’s rifle to the side. “Wake up, darling,” her eyelashes fluttered but she didn’t move. He used his teeth to pull off one of his gloves and pressed a hand to her clammy head. Still burning up. He cracked his hand across her cheek, chuckling at the way her eyes flew open. 

“Come on,” he hoisted her up and shoved her towards the bathroom in the room. There were holes in the wall, the faucet was really a metal can with holes poked in it, but it was running water. Who was he to complain? He propped her up against the sink and cranked the odd lever in the wall. There was a loud rattling sound before water came pouring out of the rusted can. “Clean yourself up,” he muttered, closing the door behind him.

Barely a minute later he heard a loud crash and the sound of porcelain cracking. He ran back into the bathroom and found her half collapsed against the shower wall. What was left of the decrepit sink was broken on the ground, only the faucet sticking out of the wall. He sighed and looked over at her. 

“I fell,” she muttered, a million little cuts bleeding on her arms. 

He sighed and tugged his hat and gloves off, tossing them onto the bed outside. He came back in, pulling her away from the shower and straightening her up. She clung onto him, broken nails digging dully into his scarred arms. “Come on, sweetheart,” he tugged her shirt up, her arms slipping limply out of it. 

Her wound was practically festered by now, turning a color that he knew meant she didn’t have much time to waste. He undid the button of her pants and knelt down, hands dragging down her legs and pulling her pants with them. She stepped out, hands braced on his shoulders and tripped slightly. He grabbed her thighs, steadying her and stood back up. He wrapped an arm around her waist, stopping her from falling and leading her into the shower. 

She sighed as the tepid water hit her back and he grimaced at the brown water pouring off of her. Maybe he should have let her clean up in that lake. He didn’t do much to help her as she cleaned herself up, mainly just stood there and let her hold onto him so she didn’t hurt herself further. 

He cupped the back of her neck and helped her tilt her head back to clean out the rest of her hair. It was odd, being this close to her. Less because of how stark naked she was, and more because of just how vulnerable she was being. Like a deer rolling over and presenting its neck to a wolf. He could do anything to her, and she just let him hold her like this. 

She leaned forward, clearly tired after moving around so much. Her head fell into his chest and she wrapped her arms around him tighter. She sighed, “I love you, Cooper.”

He flinched, knowing this was just a part of her delirium. Having running water for once was probably just confusing her more, making her think she was right back home. He leaned forward, lips pressed against her forehead and brushing some hair back. “No you don’t, darling.”

There was a knock on the door and he was quick to draw his gun. The door opened and a middle aged woman flanked by two guards stood smiling at him. She took in the gun in his hand but seemed unbothered by it or the threat he posed. “I hear you two need some help.”

“Mhm,” he glanced at the guards behind her but they didn’t seem particularly interested in reaching for their weapons. The woman took her in from where she lay on the bed, panting and sounding like she was struggling to get her breaths in. “I have a bounty to turn in, figured part of my payment could be you giving us a Stimpak. Then, we’ll be out of your hair.”

She laughed and took a step further into the room. He stood up now, gun pointed towards her slightly. She ignored him and took a peek at the festering wound. “She’ll need a lot more than a Stimpak. We can clean her up, don’t worry.” He didn’t get a chance to argue before the guards were coming in. He stepped out of the way as they grabbed you by the arms and legs, hauling you out of the room. 

He made to follow them but the woman placed a hand on his chest. “Sylvie, I run the compound. The bounty?”

He sighed and fished the dog tags out of his pocket, passing them to her. He glanced out the door, trying to track the path they took you down. “She’ll be fine, trust me.”

He laughed and glanced over at her, “No offense, ma’am,” he says the title with a lack of respect that makes her brows furrow in irritation, “but if there’s one thing I’ve learned it’s not to trust anyone. No matter how pretty their promises are.”

She gave him a long look before smiling and motioning back towards the hall. “Follow me and we’ll go find her.”

They had a decent set up here. Not as nice as the vaults, clearly, but pretty good for surface dwellers. A decent supply of meds and rations, running water. Everything in the building might be run down or covered in mildew, with cracks in the wall, but it was better than the hovels he’d camped out in. 

They’ve got her set up on cot, a bag of Radaway hooked up to her arm and her hair braided away from her face. They had to cut out the stitches he’d sewed and open the wound back up to flush it out. She’d been patched back up and while the skin still looked irritated it seemed to be doing a lot better than before. 

He’d been keeping a close eye on her breathing and she’d finally stopped wheezing on every inhale. He figured another hour here and they could get the fuck out. These people were starting to bother him. Every half hour or so they would come in to check on her, the women would spray some water on her face and mutter something before running back out. 

He seemed to scare them, enjoying the way they would avoid meeting his eyes. But it wasn’t enough to keep them away from her. Their insistence should’ve had alarm bells going off in his head, but he was already preoccupied worrying about her. He didn’t even notice when Slyvie came to stand beside him. 

“She’ll be alright,” she tried to place a hand on his shoulder but the look he shot her had her stopping short. She cleared her throat uncomfortably and tucked her hands back behind her back. He gave her another long look before going back to staring at the girl on the bed. 

“We have a place for her here, if you’re interested.”

He scoffed, “Room for us, huh?” He let himself picture it for a moment. He wouldn’t fucking stay, of course, he couldn’t. There’s no way, after two hundred years of wandering, that he could be locked down to one decaying old building. Showers or no. But he could always come by to visit her, stay a few nights and then leave again. 

That’s assuming she’d even want him to visit. Didn’t matter, he’d come anyway. But, he couldn’t do that anymore. Couldn’t live that life even if it would be temporary. It just wasn’t in him. He stayed stagnant for too long and two hundred years of bloodshed and loss would drive him insane. 

Sylvie shook her head and frowned. “I’m sorry, I should have been more clear. We have room for her, you have to understand, without a steady supply of Radaway we can’t risk having a ghoul here.” She moved towards her and brushed some hair out of her face, “Think about it.” She walked out and he stared blankly at the cot. 

She shifted on the bed, face pained and mumbling something under her breath. Finally, her eyes fluttered open and she frowned. “Coop? What’s,” she trailed off, struggling to sit up and glancing around the room they were in. “What’s going on?”

“Relax, we’re at the compound.”

She rubbed her forehead and glared at him, “Is that supposed to mean something to me?”

He swatted her leg and she recoiled, “No, smartass. Just relax, we’ll be out of here soon.” She nodded and leaned back against the pillows they’d given her. It was odd, finally seeing her clean again. He could see clearly just how tired she looked. It was in her eyes, mainly, a weariness towards the world that left her exhausted. 

He’s surprised she’s even made it this far without giving up. She’d been dealt some shit luck, but he supposed it was better she be exposed to how cruel the world was as quickly as possible. She groaned and her head flopped forward. 

“What’s wrong with you now?” 

“God,” she muttered, turning her face away from him and shaking her head. He huffed and sat up straight, glaring at the side of her face. 

“Talk,” he demanded, not in the mood for games. 

“I meant it,” she sounded pained, like the words had to be forced out. “I mean, I hate that I meant it, but I did.”

He rolled his eyes, “Meant what? You’re gonna have to be a little clearer than that, sweetheart.”

“What I said in the shower. I meant it. I haven’t stopped loving you, despite how much I want to. I don’t want to want you anymore, I don’t want that connection to the past to constantly be shoved down my throat.” She sighed and tugged at the braid they’d given her. “You’re cruel and mean and, fuck’s sake, you’ve shot me twice. But you’re also the only thing I’ve got left, and despite how much I want to, because trust me I do, I can’t let you go.”

He sighed and turned away from her. She was still tired, still a bit woozy from the fever. He could see the sweat on her forehead again and knew that whatever this was, was just drug induced. He couldn’t handle it. He couldn’t handle her wanting him like this again. 

Being around her already made him vulnerable enough. Whatever twisted connection he held to her now, would be nothing compared to letting her love him again. Two hundred years on his own and she thought she could just come barreling back into his life and everything would be lovely again?

No, that’s not how this world worked. Not anymore. 

He stood up and threw his bag over his shoulder. “Get back to sleep, we’ll leave soon.”

She sighed and sank back against the pillows, shivering as she did so. “You’ll be here?”

“Of course I will, sweetheart.” She nodded, eyes already drifting shut, and turned away from him. He let himself admire her, taking in her relaxed features and soft expression. She reminded him so much of before. Before the world went to shit and before he turned into what he is now. 

He could feel parts of him, the ones he’d buried a long time ago, come up around her. Twisted as they were, how he felt about her before still lingered somewhere within him. But he couldn’t afford the risk that they presented if he did let her back in. He wasn’t even sure she could fully handle him if he did. 

She’d nearly died about five times, most of them because of him, and she’d been up here for such a short time. She’d be better off without him. He walked towards the door, the spurs of his boots clicking against the tile of the floor. He found Sylvie lurking a few halls down and whistled, getting her attention. 

Sylvie turned to him with an expectant smile. “You got room?”

She nodded with an eager smile, “We do. And you’d be compensated, of course.” Before he could question what exactly she was paying him for she snapped her fingers and some guards approached. They handed him a bag that he quickly rifled through. Not only was there enough Radaway to last him at least a month, there was purified water and rations that would keep him going until the next bounty. 

She’ll be better off here. 

He tucked the bag away and smiled at Sylvie, “Pleasure doing business with you, ma’am.”

She gave him a lecherous grin, “You as well,” she nodded and the guards escorted him to the gate. He didn’t let himself look back, knowing he’d just want to go get her. At least now he didn’t have to constantly worry about saving her ass. 

He was better off on his own. Always had been, always would be. 

end. — I do not own the characters or the game/show Fallout, but this writing is my own all rights reserved © not-neverland06 2024. do not copy, repost, translate & recommend elsewhere.

The finale of How About a Nuke will be posted today!! I know it’s pretty soon after the last chapter but I had a surge of inspiration and I was up until 4 am writing this. I’ve spent all day editing it and as much as it pains me, their journey is now over. Thank you for all the support and kind messages you’ve sent me while this story has been in progress. ♥️