Synopsis: In the final weeks of August, a guarded and intellectually disarming young woman named Inga, settles into Jackson, Wyoming, after a grueling trek from Upstate New York. Her overly-corrective and somewhat abrasive way of doing things, doesnât quite meld with the town's hopeful veneer for normalcy. But when her patrol duties partner her with Joel Millerâthe puzzling shape of their relationship, nudge them both to reexamine the fragile beliefs that've shaped their post-outbreak lives.
Mentions: Joel Miller, Maria Miller, Tommy Miller, WLF, Jackson-AU (Canon-divergent)
Series Word Count: ~150k, each chapter is between 500-3k words.
Chapter Masterlist | AO3 | (74/74) Completed
*Chapters marked with an asterisk contain mature or suggestive content.
Chapter 1 | The Orphan from Upstate
Chapter 2 | Particular Organizer
Chapter 3 | Decorating
Chapter 4 | Observations in Still Rooms
Chapter 5 | Pacifist Footwork *
Chapter 6 | A Quiet Yes
Chapter 7 | Dry Heat, Drier Humor
Chapter 8 | Where the Body Remembers *
Chapter 9 | Almost Maybes
Chapter 10 | Route of Rumination
Chapter 11 | Heat Index
Chapter 12 | Under the Frozen Lake
Chapter 13 | Measures Half Spoken
Chapter 14 | Longest Road Back
Chapter 15 | Sharp, Then Cold
Chapter 16 | Pressure Cabin
Chapter 17 | A Long Cold War *
Chapter 18 | Abandoned Inhibitions and Warehouses *
Summary: What can I sayâŚitâs the last chapter my friends. We get a glimpse into Inga and Joelâs life a few years after the birth of her child.
*This chapter draws upon the lyrics of Peter, Paul and Maryâsâ500 Miles, originally released in the 1960s.
Mentions: Joel Miller, Post-Outbreak Jackson, Inga (Mid-twenties protagonist, OC).
Authorâs Note: I must admit there were actually several iterations of this chapter that I'd been sitting on for a couple of months, but after weighing each version against the final stretch, I felt like it made sense to step into a quieter moment (that was a little more time-ambiguous). So, this third configuration was the final version.
Wherever this ending may leave you, hopefully there were enough through-lines between chapters to make for a satisfactory ending. Should you ever return to re-read this work, I hope you will find it just as riveting <3
Chapter Masterlist | Divider by @lupineshieldmaiden
Chapter 74 | 500 Miles
âLord, Iâm OneâŚLord, Iâm Two,â a voice surfaces somewhere from behind, but it is shrouded from visibility in the dense meadow.Â
âLord, Iâm Three...Lord Iâm FourâŚâÂ
 âLord, I'm five hundred miles from my home,â the melody continues just as Joel pauses to scan the field, and a bare foot bobs up from between the sea of green blades.
 âFive hundred milesââÂ
He quickens his stride, weaving through the waist-high bluestems.
âFive hundred miles, Five hundred miles, Five hundred miââ He interrupts mid-verse, parting the verdant wall to discover Inga outstretched beneath him. The strap of her cotton smock, sagging lazily from one shoulder.Â
Blinking against the sun, the bridge of her freckle-dusted nose creases as she tries to make out his expression.Â
âWhat?â She smiles, propping herself onto her elbows.
âAnd just what the hell are you doinâ all the way out here by yourself?âÂ
âYou knowâŚfigured I could go for a strollââ
âWithout so much as a knife?â Joel interjects, the absence of gear dawning on him before the rest of her answer can follow. He shakes his head, gesturing blankly to the flattened grass, ââInga, come on. You canât be this reckless.â
âOf course not,â she perks. âI saw you make a detour off of the northwestern trail, so I figured I stood a fighting chance.âÂ
âAnd what fighting chance is that?â he huffs out in disbelief, âThat Iâd sweep in guns blazinâ to save you?â
 âOh, come on. Donât get all sour on me now, Joelââ Inga chuckles. âThink of what Peter, Paul and Mary would have to say.â
âInga. You werenât even born in the same decade as that releaseââ
âIt sounds to me like youâve proven the very point I was going to make,â she smirks with a conspiratorial gleam in her eyes,âOnly an old geezer like you could be lulled overââ
But Joel hurdles into the firing rangeâsnaking his hands through the crowd of green blades until Inga is wrestled into his arms. He lets out a breathless laugh, taken by her sincere ear-to-ear grin. How easy it felt to hold her like this without doubts.Â
Caught beneath the hem of her dress, he brushes his thumb along the rise of her thighâand Inga stills, gazing up into his dark backlit lashes. The late-August heat wafts slowly overhead, amplifying the hummingbird thrum of every alive and real thing that bats beneath her skin. Then, after a steadier breath, he adjusts his touch a fraction and pulls back to just stare.
âMiaâs with the kidâŚâ she mutters, eyeing him.âIf thatâs what you were wondering...â
âWasnât the first question that came to mindâŚâ he yields, tugging her closer. âAnd exactly how long have you been out here playin' clicker-bait?âÂ
âWell, thatâs kind of between me and Peter-Paul-Mary.â Â
âNot polite for you to pull those folks into your private affairsââ
âOh, so now youâre worried about being polite?â
He exhales through his nose, failing to steer towards higher ground. Except Inga doesnât seem intent on letting him off easy anyhow.
âFine...â She sighs theatrically, before softening her voice to a whisper, âSince you really oughtaââ
But Joel knows better than to give her breathy nuisance a shot at stealing the last inch between their lips.
As he strode past the stables on his way back from the tool shedâa scurrying, small-bodied flash, suddenly zipped out of the corner of Joelâs eye, hauling him to a stop. Between the pile of hay stacked outside of the stables, and the ominous shadows lurking from within, the hiding spot felt all too obviousâmostly, for reasons having to do with age, than any tactical logic. And when Joel decides to brave another foot towards the heap, he watches as the tiny conspirator burrows deeper into the straw with a muffled giggle, disappearing into some great secret. His tangle of dark curls, unknowingly caught between the golden spindlesâalong with the book spine poking out from the base of the pile.Â
He figured the crunch of the sun-baked dirt would be loud enough to alert Inga to his arrival, but even her mind seemed to be adriftâfocused entirely on working the wide-toothed comb between the horseâs mane. He paused to watch the late afternoon breeze kick up the loose strands of hair in soft whispers, but after she'd felt him watching her quietly for long enough, she turned to acknowledge him.
Joel leaned his back against the barnâs exterior, folding his arms across his chest.
âKid gave me a lookâŚâ
âOh?â Inga slowed mid-brush. âAnd exactly what kind of look are we dealing with here?â
âLike I was interruptinâ some covert operation,â Joel pulled his brows together in thought. âReal conspiratorial...wouldnât be surprised if heâs drawinâ up battle plans in broad daylight.â
She laughed shaking her head as she eased the strap buckle into place, and after another minute Joel sidled up beside herâtucking the stray flyaways back behind her ear with a reminiscing look. He glanced behind him once more as a precaution, before meeting her with a softer tone, âSomehow, Iâve never managed to ask you about the nameâŚâ
Parting the chestnut-colored mane into thirds, Inga blinked away at the gate as she answered, âSolâŚit means sun in Latin.â But a hesitation hovered behind the words. As if describing the entirety of what his being meant, was too great of a task, even for her. ââBut more than that,â she decides,âHe is my light. Out of the darkness.â
Joel stood stunned, unsure of what to say.Â
âNot because Noahâs love had died with him. In thatâŚplace. It seeped into Sol. Into all of us."
"Like the sun.âÂ
Inga nodded, reaching to brush a small spec of dirt from his cheek, keeping her gaze fixed on him as she rose to press an unhurried kiss up to his lipsâcollapsing twenty-one years of grief, into one sure breath. Into a woman who'd chosen him against every impossibility. At every juncture. After death. And even in their afterlife mess of a world. Â
ââSo thatâs why Joel always looks at Mommy funny,â a small voice piped up from the tussled straw.Â
Inga turned sharply in its direction as Solâs head surfaced, grinning, ear to ear.
âA-ha!â she gasped diving into the heap and swooped his tiny frame into her arms. âAnd donât you think youâre getting away with whatever scheme you were cooking!â
âMommy!â Sol giggled uncontrollably in her arms, âI surrender!âI surrender!"
âToo late!â Inga nuzzled another kiss into the crook of his neck. âShouldâve picked a better hiding spot!â
Joel smiled watching the lifelines seep from both ends. How Solâs dot-speckled nose scrunched in the same ways his motherâs did. An elasticity that sprung forth through those clumsy curls. Because even if it was just a flickered momentâthe world had not robbed them of this one truth. Of something unrestricted by aftermath. From the battered seams of this earth. From sores and open-faced wounds that were perpetually caught between becoming and being split anew. Reaching through. If only, inch by fragile inch, out of a millennia of microcosms. Out of feeble half-truths, where all matter would eventually return to bone and soil. To dust. But how many of those years could exist suspended outside of those odds, was no longer important. So he crossed the distance to pull them both into reach.Â
Because so long as he was here, the shape of this unconditional light could still be held between them.
I always forget just how vacuous and wildy incongruous Veronica Rothâs Divergent book series was, but my algorithm likes to do this thing where it floats a reel of Four/Theo James onto my feed every once in a blue moonâŚwhich, of course, inevitably compels me to do a rewatch of the first filmâŚ
COME TO LEARN THIS WEEKENED, tHaT ROTH IS RELEASING AN AU booK where TRIS picks a different faction during the choosING ceremony?!2???
but anyhow, this is all to say I got wine drunk with my girlfriends and found this Peter Hayes fic that scratched a part of my brain from 2012 I didnât think was possible lol
I always forget just how vacuous and wildy incongruous Veronica Rothâs Divergent book series was, but my algorithm likes to do this thing where it floats a reel of Four/Theo James onto my feed every once in a blue moonâŚwhich, of course, inevitably compels me to do a rewatch of the first filmâŚ
COME TO LEARN THIS WEEKENED, tHaT ROTH IS RELEASING AN AU booK where TRIS picks a different faction during the choosING ceremony?!2???
doing a re-read of this biblical text for the 4th timeâŚitâs kind of remarkable how every year that I do, it becomes all the more necessary to revisit it again
Summary: After weeks of avoidance, Inga at last takes to packing her belongings up from the second floor apartment, only to make another discovery in the process.
Mentions: Joel Miller, Post-Outbreak Jackson, Inga (Mid-twenties protagonist, OC).
Chapter Masterlist | Divider by @lupineshieldmaiden
Chapter 73 | Of Mothers
By late October, the outside air had turned coarse again, rattling the fossilized cottonwood leaves free in harsh thrusts. Into back alleys, and between buildings, before ensuing a slow invasion of the lobby floor. A fast-encroaching winter bite that still came as a shock whenever Inga reached for the railing, and climbing up those stairs had become a small, infuriating battle with every passing week. Â
As she paused at the landing to shift the weight of the canvas bagâgripping the bottom of the tote with one hand, and her thigh with the otherâInga nearly missed her footing of the first step thatâd been swallowed by those wilting umber hearts.
âMotherfuckerââ she hissed, clenching her jaw with a lurch, hauling the bloated stack of mappings in a huffed annoyance.
It also didnât help that her gloves and knit layers had effectively morphed her into a walking sponge, soaking in, what felt like gallons of perspiration at the first sign of friction. There was really no excuse for her to still be climbing those stairs near the end of her second trimester.Â
ââNow what in Godâs name has gotten into you this time?â Thundered out a voice from the ground floor, ââDonât you even think about movinâ,â Joel scorned her as he hurdled himself up the steps.Â
âIt's those fucking leaves,â she huffed in defense. âI can manage on my own just fine.âÂ
Ignoring her grumblings, Joel reached to pry the bag free from her hands, meeting her peeved glare from behind the swollen stack. Even as he offloaded the weight, her bottom lip remained pinched in a scowl-like pout, undeterred by his all too frequent reprimandings.Â
âAnd just how exactly did you think you were gonna get away with haulinâ these, Miss âI-Can-Manageâ?â He grumbled, tucking a wind-blown lock behind her ear, even while Inga nipped a bite at his finger in defiance.
âI have my ways⌠besides, I wonât be pregnant forever. Youâll get whatâs coming.â
âIâm sure I will,â Joel huffed out a laugh, helping her climb the rest of the way up, âLetâs go, you Ing-stigator.â
After Inga had fished out her keys to unlock the door, Joel tailed in behind her, planting the bag down just past the front entryway before straightening,âAm I allowed to enter the premises, or have you got some undisclosed weapon hidinâ in that bag of yours?â
Turning to eye him, Inga clicked her tongue to the roof of her mouth before answering.
âFine. But if I hear even a peep about my looking at the mapsââ she retorted, tilting her chin away from him as her arms crossed over her chest. But it had been enough for Joel to whizz his way over, smothering the offense in a barrage of kisses until she swatted at him to stop. As Inga shifted the already full tea-kettle back onto the stovetop, Joel rounded back to shut the still open door, and retrieved the canvas bag from the floor, planting it onto the dining table with an emphatic thud.Â
It was a wonder to watch her balance cordiality with the scraggly moving boxes and cratesâmany of which had encroached upon the last of the living room floor. A treaty sheâd devised between her body and the other emptied rooms that permitted her to move about the space with the lightest tread, in spite of how un-accommodating it had become. There was, perhaps, a part of her that was still reluctant to accept the reality of the move. That even if sheâd packed most of her belongings and books awayâthe option to shift them another inch over, was still something she could refuse.Â
Even when the last of the renovations within the ground unit had been completed two weeks earlier, Â the step-stool thatâd been exiled for months under her kitchen sink, had somehow managed to see the light of day before Joel had. Shuffling alongside her every step over the kitchen floorboards, after sheâd finally conceded to the strain of reaching for things on her tippy-toes at around the four month mark.Â
While Joel tugged out the nested terrain maps and log-books, Inga settled into the chair across from him and passed off a pluming mug of tea.Â
âI donât expect you to explain everythingâŚâ she announced suddenly, curling her left hand over her belly. âBut that WLF SoldierâŚRea. She was part of Willa's camp, wasnât she?â
Itâd been months since heâd heard the nameâthe sound of it, mincing his own words and the inside of his mouth as much as the memory of her had. After all, Joel had forcibly swallowed the betrayal the moment Noahâs body failed to surface from the vault. Making Ingaâs survival his only objective.Â
âYeahâŚâ He finally answered, clearing his throat of the bitter kickback from the memory. âWhen I had gone to retrieve the last of my things, I learned from Willa that sheâd bleached the camp of any, and every trace of her being there. âDidnât even leave behind a loose buttonâ is what Willa said.âÂ
âMakes sense since sheâd been sidelining intelâŚâ Inga mumbled, tracing the rim of her mug. â...Also confirms the reason behind those DPA-spiked zones. They werenât exactly that far out from Willaâs camp.â
âIâm just angry that I hadnât pieced it soonerâŚâ Joel retorted, shaking his head. âIt wouldâve prevented so much shit frââÂ
But Inga preferred him not to fill in the rest, stilling him with a small squeeze of his hand from across the table.
âWe canât change any of that now, Joel,â she answered with a softer tone, ââAnd if it helps, at least you were right about the stairs. Carrying the little one should feel like something special, but today it just felt like another weightâŚâ
Despite disagreeing, Joel huffed out a small laugh at thatâbrushing his thumb over her hand to give a little room for the lulling aroma of orange peels and mint to trail between them. And in doing so, heâd noticed that a few sleepless creases had since scored faintly under her eyes. Only a few days had passed between the last time heâd checked in, but something else appeared to be weighing on her.Â
âI remember that when Sarahâs mom hit her seventh month, she about done cursed out every piece of furniture in the house. Was convinced that even the fridge was out to get her.â
âNo kidding,â Inga let out a small chuckle. âIâve definitely been feeling some of that fridge aggression lately.â
âShe hated it, not being in control of her body,â Joel smirked, blinking up from his cup. âI didnât get it at first. Thought it had somethinâ to do with pride, but it was because she was grievinâ in passinâ. Mourninâ a version of herself that she was leavinâ behindâŚ
âBut then there was this one nightâwhere she was wrapped in one of those ugly, knitted throwsâlooked up at me like sheâd just intercepted some divine message from aboveâŚand told me that the baby felt like a flame only she knew how to hold.â
Ingaâs lips pressed shut, pondering the sentiment.Â
âShe said that?â
âYup,â Joel nodded, âFell asleep on the spot without another word.â
âHm.â Inga exhaled, continuing to sip on her tea as Joel shifted out from his seat to rinse and dry his own mug. Heâd reflexively taken to packing away the remainder of the dish-ware into a nearby box, and when Inga eventually sidled up to him, depositing her cup into the sink without a wordâJoel brushed his hands dry and followed after. Pausing mid-stride when she'd retreated into the near-empty bedroom.
Then, after another long count, Joel stepped past the doorway and laced his arms around her belly from behind, âWhatâs on your mind, sweet-pea?âÂ
Brushing his fingers with a tentative touch at first, Inga then curled her hands over his, letting her head rock back against his chest.
âI know what youâre thinkingâŚbut Iâm not protesting the move because of that.â
âAinât nobody rushinâ youâŚjust want to make sure that when you do, itâs because you know how strong you areânot the other way around,â He answers, pressing a softer kiss to the nape of her neck.Â
âI thinkâŚâ Inga muttered hesitantly, turning in place to look up at him, âI think Iâd like to move the rest of the things down there tomorrowâŚâ
He nodded, waiting for the rest of her words to work their way up to the surface.Â
âBut for tonightâŚif itâs okay with you, Iâd like to spend it here. One last time. With you.â
It hadnât been the answer heâd been expecting, but after another steadier breath, Joel guided them both over to the solitary bed, helping to ease Inga onto the ledge of the mattress, before climbing into the space she'd left for him while he unlaced his boots. For a few minutes, Joel shifted undecidedly until Inga inched a little closer. And when her timid gaze at last met his, so did her touchâguiding his palm up, over the curve of her belly, and along her waist. As he traced small circles over the mound, Joel waited for her breathing to steady, tucking the top of her head snug beneath his chin.
âThank you,â he whispered, almost inaudibly. âFor lettinâ me into your world, Inga. Even if itâs just with the bags.âÂ
Then, Inga tilted her head to look up at him. To find those small amber-colored specks that lived in his eyes.Â
âI should be thanking you, Joel. For everythingâŚâ she murmured, brushing the line of his jaw with a unhurried touch. âThis worldâŚit wouldnât be possible without you here to help us.â
And as she glanced back up to him, from that little valley that wedged between their bodiesâJoel pulled her closer so that her next breath was at last between their lips.Â
With every room in the apartment stripped down to a winding caterpillar of repurposed crates and old cardboard, Inga felt herself recoiling at the sight of a finish line. Justifying her circling over of scuffed-up floorboards and dust-bunnied specimens, from behind the now vanished excuse that was her sofa. A deliberately decelerated marathon of packing a yearâs worth of items, as if it werenât the equivalent of five lifetimes. Towering stacks of scavenged media and nick-nacks, some of which had cropped up entirely on their own. Or by Noah, more exactly. A few too many times, Inga had stumbled upon things she'd almost forgotten hadnât belonged to her, but to themâor rather, âto himâ without the linkage. Packing the foraged copies proved to be the most debilitating task of all. More than the scent that still seeped from his clothes.Â
It had thrown her brain into a spiraling swarm. That even when sheâd felt herself falling out of love with Noah in some small ways, death had exploded the floor, along with the whole buildingâright out from her. Leaving no consideration for even an inch of consolation. And with every paralyzing heave, hours of clutching and wincing into a dead-ended room while she folded each thingâit had unearthed more unanswerable questions. More faces sheâd never know the names of, or valuables thatâd lost their rightful owner. Sheâd been left with a thousand frail traces of a man who'd pummeled head-first into her world, and even more horrifically, out of it. A suspended graveyard of who-knows-how-many 'past Noahs'.Â
She had refrained from addressing the stack closest to the window, for this reason aloneâthe one that had been planted in the furthest left corner of the living room, where sheâd find him splayed out, basking in the late afternoon sun. His legs, propped up against the wall whilst he flipped through a print from the floor. Itâd become a shrine far too sacred to touch. A part of her, almost believed that if she just kept things as they wereâthen, maybe, sheâd blink to finally find him perched upright againâwearing that same cocky grin on his face, that always led to some winding tangent and his tongue down her throat.Â
It was precisely why that red spine had come as a whiplashed obtrusion. Not having remembered the fact that sheâd been the one to pilfer the copy in the first place. Joelâs âBelovedâ. And while every fiber in her screamed to refute the possibility that Noah mightâve foraged a copy of his ownânot ever having to have shouldered the discovery of that nightâshe understood this to be far from the truth. Especially, as he had been the one to pack their bags for the convoy out east.
With trembling fingers, Inga slipped the fogged maroon spine free from the stack but then froze at the weight of something foreign tucked between its pages. As she cracked the book open a fraction, she felt the air compress in her lungsâlearning, that a halved sheet of lined-paper had been folded into its spine.Â
Iâm hoping that youâre not too upset with me for sneaking this one into my stack. Because if Iâm being totally transparent here, Iâve already read it. Like twice, seven or so years ago.Â
From what I can recall from it now though, there was something about shared accidents that I really liked.Â
You once told me that cartography only mattered to ancient civilizations because it served as a roadmap for empiresâfor trade, and territorial control, and that modern civilizations had been the first to treat maps like cultural objects. As a record proof of someone having lived, rather than how much was left of where itâd been.Â
I think people are a lot like that too. I mean, besides being an actual living recordâwe carry the imprints of our surroundings in a similar way. Things that are sometimes carved and stomped into this earth. But I think thatâs its because of the pathways that exist between our lives now, and our lives from beforeâthat they extend, instead of âbeginâ or âendâ with any one person. So in case you ever forget, Inga EngstrĂśm, I carry your every imprint in me.
Even when I am nowhere and you are somewhere else entirely, I still hold you in my bones.
âN.
Clasping a hand over her mouth, Inga let her shoulders tumble forward, curling herself over that worn red book of sun-bleached pages as if its portal could soak a fraction of her spilling grief. Keeping there, until the only assault sheâd felt when she looked down at it, was from the tussled kick of a nimble, growing child. Proof of something sounder. Of a promise that carried a thousand microscopic imprints of her beloved, and one that would someday speak them aloud.Â
(Next Chapter)
Authorâs Note: Hello my dearest readers!
Firstly, Iâd like to thank each and every one of you for having tuned into this fiction over so many monthsâeven as it now nears its completion. It feels as if this work has experienced a dozen separate lifetimes, but if I can speak truthfully here for a moment, writing it has become increasingly difficult over the last few months.
Many of my colleagues, academic peers, or family friends have been fielding the horrific effects of the warsâboth in Iran, and with the on-going assault in Ukraine. This is all to say that it's become ostensibly impossible for me to justify writing this fan-fic work at timesâas there is not an hour, nor a day that passes, where I am not mourning the violence of these atrocities.
In fact, Iâd landed on writing this very series as a result of itâafter my own family abroad was affected by the invasion in February of 2022, and I was in desperate search of some alternative world. I know that this avenue, for so many of us, serves as a haven for speculative imaginingsâas an opportunity to depart into something that exists outside of the ânow'âso, wherever in the world you may be, I hope that you are suffused with the love and hope of others. With an insistence to keep fighting, and to keep envisioning new realities that move beyond this wretched one.
Thank you again for having stuck around to read what happens next, and although I am not entirely sure when the final chapter update will occur (or if anyone really cares for that matter lol)âI am so endlessly grateful for the sanctuary this universe has provided to navigate some of these grievances. I also hope...that should my stupid little sci-fi drafts or speculative works, make their way into the worldâyou might piece my voice in them.
Okay literary superstarsâI have been gobbling up so much speculative haunted fiction over the last few months (specifically in the dystopian/post-apocalyptic realm) so here were some of my faves! Reading these works seriously catalyzed a number of changes and prose considerations across my own writing, so if any other writers (or readers) are in search of some TLoU-esque literary fuelâI hope this list finds you!
But on a separate note, it was remarkably difficult to find apocalyptic fiction that had meaningful romance woven into the plot without feeling cheap, or ones that had characterized the virus/end of the world with enough detail, that it didnât leave me wanting to bash my head into the wall every few pagesâŚ(No, I am not exaggeratingâand yes, I am looking at you Ms. J*neva Rose)
Severance by Ling Ma (2018)
Not to be confused with the TV show, this novel is about an invisible virus that possesses individuals by way of memory and nostalgia. It primarily follows a meandering twenty-something protagonist working in NYC and how her world dissipates in a matter of months because of the outbreak. She remains alarmingly insistent on keeping up with her day-to-day work commitments, despite the fact that she soon becomes the only remaining person in the city. Haunting in unassuming and poetic ways, but also has just enough yearning woven into the subplot to keep you gripped (the shark fin partyâGOD đ).
Annihilation by Jeff VanderMeer (2014)
Wow this book really blows sensory and descriptive writing to a new height. As a reader you spend the first third of the book simply trying to figure out who or what to believe in, only to learn that what really is afoot is something else entirelyâŚIâm currently reading the next book in the Southern Reach series, and I fear I have the hots for ControlâŚ
Loneliness & Company by Charlee Dyroff (2024)
Speculative fiction/novel about AIâbut not in that annoying âmachines are taking over our livesâ kind of way. Itâs much more tragic and regressive, as in, the lead is building an AI chat bot to essentially address a loneliness crisis which the government refuses to articulate in this dystopian world.
The Employees by Olga Ravn (2018)
ListenâŚI think this book is by far the weirdest little number I've read. Itâs about a group of researchers and staff on board of a ship that is observing a series of objects from another planet (I know its a little sci-fi-y, but stick with me here for a second). The novel is organized as a series of interviews and testimonies of various crew members who are both human and humanoid, but the distinction between the two becomes increasingly misshapen with every testimony. And when I had learned that this work was written as a companion piece for an artist exhibitionâafter the factâI literally refused to pick up and read anything else for the next week. Really loved it. P.S. if you read it, only look up the artworks afterwardsâthat material discovery was an experience in itself.
Leave the World Behind by Rumaan Alam (2020)
Sort of, but not quite, a covid fic. The novel lags forward with a slow introduction and glimpse into the internal world of each lead character (primarily oscillating between Amanda and Clay, the parents in the novel), but offers enough psychosexual delusion and impending doom to compel you to figure out the crisis at hand with themâwhich inconveniently unfolds in the midst of a vacation trip to the Hamptons.
couldnât really tell you why the most recent chapter (72) got slammed with the mature content labelâŚbut in case the post doesnât surface in your feed, you can read the latest update on AO3
Summary: Inga learns to navigate the shape of her grief between growing pains and in the changing of seasons.
Mentions: Joel Miller, Maria Miller, Post-Outbreak Jackson, Inga (Mid-twenties protagonist, OC).
Chapter Masterlist | Divider by @lupineshieldmaiden
Chapter 72 | Weeping Plums
The sun had an ethereal way of seeping through the greenhouse panels come four-o-clock, and Inga found it to be the one place she wanted to spend her quieter hours in most. It had once been an unspoken ritual between her and Noah to meet there, tending to seedlings until their fingers smelled of earth, or until enough quiet somethings had been whispered to every nimble growing thing. Augustâs humid days had eventually lost their scald, so it made drifting between the rows of overgrown tomato vines and squash a slower race.
Tugging gently at their stems, Inga harvested the fruits, relishing in the lush cadmium reds and amber tinges thatâd soon paint Jacksonâs terrain. In the final days of July, she had traded out her cut-off denim shorts for a long cotton skirt per Miaâs recommendation, and its elastic waistband proved to be one fewer discomfort she had to deal with; she found that pairing it with a half-buttoned blouse did the trickâleaving just enough room for the breeze to catch quick pecks over her belly whilst keeping her mobility unrestricted. It was a small but certain bump now, no longer just the bloated curve of a meal, and in noticing Inga pause to soak in the sun, Mia glanced up from the next row over.Â
âIâm telling you,â she smiled, âby the end of next month youâre going to need help putting on socks.â
The corner of Ingaâs mouth twitched up into a faint laugh. âSure. But thatâs a problem for October Me.â
From across the lot, Joel had been unloading recovered gear from a returned convoy when he spotted her. It looked as if her body had finally given up on negotiating how much space she was allowed to take up, and this returned sense of assurance brought him a lot of comfort. Against the summer breeze, Ingaâs wispy waves had been nudged free, and for a moment thereâJoel almost felt his breath catch with them. The same way it had on the night heâd realized he could no longer look at her as anyone but the person he wanted to protect most.
Having noticed this lingering glance, Martha sidled up at the open truck bed. âItâs good that sheâs startinâ to look like herself again. A different selfâŚbut still her.â
Joel nodded, then, after a brief pause, Martha continued again,âYou knowâŚNoah used to bring her there every other Friday.âÂ
He slowed, glancing sideways to watch her speak.
âTheyâd pluck and prune those plants for hoursâŚI think maybe it was his secret way of reminding her that things could still grow in this world.â
âHe was a good man.â Joel remarked, shifting his gaze back to the bed after a long second.
âAnd she sees that youâre tryinâ to be one too.â
While reaching for the next bin, Inga spotted them both from afar and raised her hand up to wave at them, so Joel straightened, nodding in acknowledgment. But, after another breath, Martha nudged his elbow knowingly. âGo on,â she said. âYouâve earned a few soft moments.âÂ
Because from the foot of the greenhouse, Inga had stepped forth to reach for the sunâs embrace and for his.
Her knock arrived brisk and inconsequential, familiar to him now for how frequent itâd grown to be in the last few weeks. Despite Joelâs voiced suggestion of offsetting her more tedious community assignments, he had also expressed to Tommy in private that her share of menial labor be reducedâat least until she had caught up to the prohibition and made a point about it. Which was precisely why the sight of her juggling that towering crate of plums nearly had him take the door off its hinges.
âJesus Christ, Ingaâyou canât just hitch fifty pounds of plums across town,â he grumbled, shifting the crate out of hand. âWhy didnât you let someone else handle itââ
âI did let someone else handle it,â she huffed, recovering her breath. âAlex helped.â
Joel peered out of the doorway, where Alex, was of course, nowhere within sight. âThat son of a bitchâŚIâm gonnaâŚâÂ
âItâs true!â she smiled, undeterred. âHe bolted to avoid this exact reaction from youâif anything, you should be happy I went directly here instead of lugging them up to the second floor.âÂ
He shook his head in disbelief, then reached for the brimming tote of glass jars dropped beside her.âThe hell you need this many plums for anyway?â Joel remarked, ushering her indoors. âWe got enough mouths in Jackson to take care of the surplus..â
âWell thatâs the thing, these are the leftoversâŚfrom the leftovers.âÂ
Joel blinked at her, waiting for the rest of the punchline to arrive.Â
âTheyâre too ripe to keep for any longer, so I figured I could turn them into jams.â
And the way she had arrived at this conclusion, essentially chucked whatever rationale Joel had mustered out the window. Of course it was a perfectly sensible solution. But the fact that sheâd found a way to sneak in those very physical exertions heâd made a point to removeâonly scrambled his brain more. Inga seemed to pay him no mind though, leaving him to stew on his own as she headed into the kitchen to wash her hands. Shifting the last of the heap onto a nearby table, he reluctantly pivoted back to the partially re-wired lamp. The thing, which looked equally disoriented against the tsunami of pitted fruits now.
At the end of the third month in Ingaâs pregnancy, her hair had seemingly bolted in length overnight. It served in some ways, as a quiet reminder that with enough time, even her own body was capable of returning to a once familiar version of herself. Of a version that had been held by Noah, and by Joelâbut also one, where she held another new growing person of her own.Â
Satisfied by the scope of work she had carved out for herself, Inga exhaled softly and took to rinsing each of the purple lumps. The first hour passed with a rhythmic cadenceâcutâpitâand set the oozing halves aside. So after getting through about three dozen of the fruits, she rinsed the magenta stains from the cutting boards and peered into the other room.Â
Predictably, Joel had abandoned the project in the living room altogether, diverting his attention instead to some meaningless repair elsewhere in the house to avoid impeding on her âproductivityâ.Â
But as Inga returned to the mound of gooey halved plums, she felt the aches in her knees encroaching. So, she pulled a chair up to the stove. Some part of her was perhaps unwilling to acknowledge that it may have been overly-ambitious to jam all thirty odd plums in one sitting. Since, in her mind, stirring the sugary goop had to have been the least demanding stage of the whole operationâbut it didnât take very long for her to see how misguided this judgment had been.
About half-way through the second hour, Inga felt herself losing steam. A line of half a dozen jars had been filledâbut every time she lifted the heaping saucepan to spoon jam between jars, the aches in her wrists had grown more acute.Â
Maybe it had been the sight of half-depleted weeping plums that had finally set her off, but the moment Inga lifted the second batch of plum jam to spoon, her eyes broke into teary streams.Â
Joel had only meant to check in about dinner, but the second he spotted Ingaâs folded frameâher face tucked between her knees on the chairâthe last restraint in him broke. In six short strides he knelt down at its foot and flicked the burners off.Â
âHeyâheyâsweetpea, what happened now?â he asked, brushing his hand over her hair. There was a snot-filled shaky breath before she finally lifted her head, her lip curling into a small pout.Â
âNothingâŚâ she feigned, voice frail.
âWell, are you hurt?âÂ
For a long moment, Inga didnât answerâdiverting her gaze over to the window where the last light had begun to depart. Then, she nodded her head âyesâ through the slow, teary-eyed trance.Â
âTell me where it hurts, Ingaââ Joel added with a softer tone, reaching to hold her hand in the space between them. âYou know you donât gotta keep this from me.â
She sniffled, willing the words to surface, âI just hate that my body is failing me more often now. When Iâd asked Alex to help with the plums, it felt like I was imposing on himâeven though he didnât blink twice at the requestââÂ
âIts just thatâŚâ But the rest seemed to choke her.
âI know babygirl, I know it ainât easyâbut believe me youâre not harminâ anyone by askinâ for helpâleast of all from Alex.â
She shook her head with a muffled sob, still avoiding his eyes.Â
âItâs just that Noah wouldâve assumed all of those things without explanationâŚâ the words emerged between her shaken breaths, âand it hurts to not have him thereâŚto not have someone who knows how to read between those aches.â
Joel nodded, waiting for the rest of it to be voiced.
âAnd I feel like Iâm a horrible person for still wanting to be touched. Like there's something seriously wrong with me for wanting to be cared for by someone,â Inga forfeited, blinking quickly against the tears. âI just donât know how to do this on my own, JoelâŚâ
And after another long minute, her eyes finally lifted to meet hisâthough not without a helpful nudge to her cheek.
âYouâre not a bad person for wanting to be cared for, Inga,â he remarked cupping her face. âAnd thereâs also no world where youâre a terrible mother for asking for any of those things.â
She offered a small, barely there nod, and softened her pout.
âTell me where it hurts,â Joel continued, and after a small pause, Inga tugged his hand over to the jointed dips in her knees. He nodded, noting a lingering tenseness, âWhere else?âÂ
Then, slowly, Inga guided his hand over to the three other quiet confessions: the inside of her wrists, the top of her left rib, and just above her hips. Joel glanced up at her puffy-eyed expression, and helped her upright to move to the sofa.Â
There was a momentary hesitation on her part at first, but as Joel tugged her legs the rest of the way over into his lap, she relaxed backwards into the cushionsâpermitting for his touch to return. His thumbs traced over her knees in tentative unhurried clockwise strokes, before massaging more firmly into the aches that had built. And when Inga had finally let her eyes close, he too followed with a bygone confession of his own, âYou knowâŚby the third trimester, this was an every night occurrence for Sarahâs mom.â
Her lidded eyes blinked open, and Inga reached to brush his elbow in reassurance as Joel continued.Â
âSome days, with extra care around the knees, and on others, her left shoulder.â
As more time passed between each touch, Inga felt herself no longer overthinking the implications of having confessed her invisible wounds so plainly to Joel, and he had sensed this, shifting her a little closer so she would not have to rest so awkwardly on the sofa.Â
When the both of them cradled lengthwise onto the sofa, he asked again, âThis still okay?âÂ
And Inga nodded, sounder. Unafraid. Then, Joel reached to tuck a wispy strand of hair behind her ear before returning his hands back to the ridge of her hips. He listened carefully to the range in her exhales, for the draw of her breath to easeâadjusting his touch until the right balance could be foundâeven if she was still reluctant to phrase the hurt. But in doing so, Inga had also felt herself let go of those weeping plums. Of how determined she had been about saving the leftovers of leftovers. She could not jam them all in one go, but maybe, some part of her hadnât actually hoped to anyway.
(Next Chapter)
Authorâs Note: Admittedly, I've been sitting on this imagery for too many months but never quite figured out how to write it until nowâŚbut there was just something so deeply personal about the âweeping plums' serving as a direct representation of her grief, so I hope you can find comfort in this one. <3
Summary: June eventually stretches into July, and Maria at last finds a moment to check in with Inga. Joel, of course, has a scheme of his own (because apparently men can only cope by building shit).
Mentions: Joel Miller, Maria Miller, Post-Outbreak Jackson, Inga (Mid-twenties protagonist, OC), Mia (Mid-twenties, OC).
Chapter Masterlist | Divider by @lupineshieldmaiden
Chapter 71 | Between Two Floors and Two Palms
With every lapsed day in June, Inga found herself slipping back into Jacksonâs once-familiar rhythmâdawning sprawling humid greenhouses and wax-coated maps with a renewed steadiness. The bite from the mid-afternoon chills was something she had yet to accept, but whatever apprehensions sheâd harbored about her bodyâs peculiar changes in passing, had for the most part been softened. She made her way over to Mariaâs office that afternoon to deliver an updated crop list after having spent the last two days knee-deep in pesticide treatments. And when she appeared in the doorway, announcing herself with a clunked knock, Maria glanced up in surpriseâthe desk fan, exhaling a whirring breath between them.Â
âWell, hey there,â she remarked, catching the faint dirt streaks along her palms. âTo what do we owe the pleasure?âÂ
âFinally have that updated crop list for you,â Inga replied, stepping into the room. âSeemâs like the easternmost greenhouse is finally back on track. It's also been helpful to have so many extra volunteers this seasonâsince we were overzealous with the radishesâŚâ
Maria nodded, flicking through the first few sheets, âThatâs great to hear. Tell Divya that thereâs no such thing as too many radishesâŚâ then paused her thumb over the corner of the page.Â
âHow have you been Inga?â she asked, glancing up slowly.
The question had been unexhausted so many times now, that Inga had simply begun answering with more practical truths, âI-umâŚI think itâs been helpful for me to get back into my routines.â
âThat wasnât a rhetorical question,â Maria remarked, her gaze remaining steady.Â
âWhat do you mean then?âÂ
Folding her hands over the table, Maria leaned back in her seat an inch before continuing. âA few weeks ago, I ran an inventory check on the infirmary cabinets and noticed we were short a pregnancy test.â
The discovery was of course bound to happen at one point or anotherâbut actualizing the thing into words still shook Inga a little.Â
âAt first, I thought it mightâve just been a miscount,â her voice softened, âBut then Tommy mentioned that you had gotten sickâŚhe figured it was grief, but Iâve been around long enough to know when someoneâs carrying more than just mourning.â She watched as Ingaâs eyes dropped to the edge of the table, unanswering.Â
After another moment, she added more gently, âYou know Iâm not here to pull it out of you. I just wanted to make sure you knew it was nothing to be ashamed of. It's not something you need to hide.â And somewhere in her chest, Inga felt the knot loosen just a fraction.
âI thinkâŚthat even in this ungodly mess of things, Noah found a way to reach through,â Maria continued,âto remind you that you still matter in this world. That even if he isnât here anymore, it's necessary for you to survive. For the both of you to survive.â
Inga had made a point to push this possibility out of mind in the following days after Noahâs death, but Mariaâs own confirmation of the small promise had pricked her held back tears once more. Without over-thinking the impulse, Inga finally side-stepped around Maria's desk to embrace her. âYouâre never alone in this, Inga.â Maria whispered, pressing her cheek into her shoulder. And Inga nodded in agreement, because she understood that she'd been given a world where she didn't have to be.Â
It was a mystery how the construction seemed to have missed her entirelyâbut when Inga had returned from the archive room that afternoon, the crisp wood-chipped smell froze her sharp in her steps; the lower level of her building had always carried a stale odor of disuse, but this was because its ground unit had once held an optometry clinic. And in all her time there, Inga had never seen anyone set foot in itâwhich suggested that itâd likely been vacant long before her arrival.Â
Today though, something had shifted.Â
A stack of wood planks had appeared in the back corner of the stairwell; tucked from view beside a roll of insulation. Someone had taken to gutting the old clinic. But oddly enough, it began to feel as if every time Inga was somewhere within earshot, the faint rumblings of the drill or sawing would inexplicably still.Â
To this effect, the six weeks thatâd passed since their return, had also willed time to do that strange thing where it pulled just far enough ahead, that others stopped counting. So while June's warm breath had funneled into Julyâs humid mouthâInga had now reconfigured her errands to fall earlier in the day to avoid the mid afternoon slug.Â
Weeks earlier, she had caught Mia and Elias secretly pilfering a second box fan from the communal appliances in storage, which meant she was now equally as entitled to its benefits as they were.Â
Upon returning to her own apartment that morning after borrowing Miaâs temperate living room for the last few days, she finally caught the clangs she was convinced sheâd hallucinated. And with an iron-clad certainty. The surprise of her shy knock had managed to startle the hammer out of hand and reveal the culprit on the other side.
Inga smiled to herself, stepping back from the door for a second before decidingly pivoting course to the mess hall instead (if only, to delay the discovery for another moment). Sheâd been given a headâs-up by Ava the night before that a batch of scones would be making a special appearance at breakfast. So if anything, the universe had given her an excuse to pluck a few ahead of the rushâsince the crumbly buttered triangles could also double as a peace offering for having blown up the operation. With the carefully bundled treats in her bag, Inga braced the unit again with a firmer knock.
There was of course the same feigned silence on his partâbut after another minute, Joelâs voice finally surfaced. âYeah?â
âItâs me,â she replied gently.Â
Slowly, the door creaked open to reveal Joelâs wood-dusted shoulders. âLet me guess, youâve known for the last week now, huh?â he grumbled out annoyed.
Inga nodded emphatically, fighting against the smirk threatening her face. Then, peered in from the doorway, âIs it okay for me to come in?âÂ
Joel side-stepped and let her in without much rebuttal, leading her in to see the old partitions of the clinic thatâd been knocked down.Â
A hall-like path had been sub-divided between two rooms. Over the floorboards ran a stream of wiring that was yet to be concealed, but at the front-most part of the entryway, stood a towering stack of salvaged building materials.Â
She wondered how in the world Joel had timed the deposits right under her nose, only for Miaâs conspiring suggestion of a âcool zoneâ to be made clear.
Following Ingaâs eyes, Joel nudged her towards the shelf-lined wall at the back of the apartment, âThat used to be the optical exam room. Figured I might as well tear the whole thing down to get some proper light in. So you could have a place for all your books.â
She turned in place, taking in the transformed belly of the building.Â
âItâs beautiful.â
A part of Joel had wished to have made more progress for how small the area of the carpentry work wasâbut knowing Inga, the ruse couldnât have been kept up for very much longer.Â
âMost of the wiring I had to barter for,â he continued. âTraded my last pair of long-range radios, but I think it was the right call.â
Though, in trying to nod at this, Ingaâs eyes had begun to spill.
In three sharp strides, Joel reached her trembling hands. âOhâŚbaby,â he whispered, holding her still. âAre the bookshelves really that ugly?â Inga huffed out a small tear-filled laugh and he tugged the canvas tote from her shoulder, motioning them over to the work bench. Then, after a steadier exhale, his palms carefully curled back over hers.Â
âI justââ she began, voice fraying. âI didnât think I could still have any of this.â
He tilted his head, nodding in understanding.
âNoah and I had made a promiseâŚBut I guess Iâd just accepted that this promise had died with him.â
âA home for the both of you, right?â Joel offered.
Inga nodded, wiping the snot above her lip.Â
He recognized that these teary-eyed episodes, which occured more often without noticeâhad less to do with the weight of her grief, than the many physiological changes she was learning to navigate.
âI thought about that tooâŚâ He continued after another long moment. âNo grieving person should be asked to abandon the one place that still holds every trace of a lost life,â Joel remarked, brushing her wet cheeks,ââregardless of if that person happens to also be two months pregnant.âÂ
She let out a small chuckle at that.
âPoint isâyou donât gotta choose, Inga. Whether it's this home, or some other,â Joel remarked, glancing down to the hands that had folded over her waist. âIt'll be thereâbetween the both of you. Donât matter under which roof.âÂ
Inga let go of a steadier breath, nodding in agreement, âThank you, Joel. For reminding me of that.â
(Next Chapter)
Authorâs Note: Yes, you are not hallucinating, I did in fact update this god-forsaken series after three-ish months. Thank you for your patience and I hope you get your fill-of-fluff for the new year; the next chapter is lit-rallllllly just going to be comfort coreâŚ. because why??? I'M THE BOSS OF THIS DEMENTED UNIVERSE, so anything goes đŤĄđ¤Ş
happy new year to every hopeful WRA reader still awaiting an update and those who have abandoned their readership altogether <3
I wish for 2026 to be kinder and filled with more love.
also, if anyone ever tells you that indulging in fanfiction is some personal ailment, then they are probably not very interesting and likely havenât flossed in the last three months...
hello my sexy and brilliant readers, just here to float a small update/timeline about the next WRA chapter(s). Unfortunately, studying for the GREs has basically absorbed every available part of my life among other obligations. Itâs looking like the soonest Iâll be able to publish anything isâŚ..the week after thanksgiving. I knowâŚitâs miserable. I have rough drafts of things, but am taking my time to finesse and fine-tune the texts (especially since theyâre the last four).
Iâve been reading a lot of autofiction or weird girl fiction in between to cope, and wanted to share that the chapter in Ling Maâs novel, Severance, where Candice meets Jonathan for the first time at the Shark Fin partyâŚand he just sits in her bedroom waiting for her, is seriously the most devastating thing Iâve read in the last few monthsâŚ. GodâŚto be falling in love at the end of the worldâŚ.
anyhow, if you have asks or thoughts on just about anything feel free to send âem over!
