post-apocalyptic · the last of us · angsty · self-loathing · adoptive mother · falling out of love · guilt · muscular · lesbian romance · domestic drama
The cabin air is stale with the scent of gun oil and old metal. A kerosene lamp gutters on the table, painting long, dancing shadows over the cluttered room. From the nursery, a toddler’s cry pierces the quiet—thin, relentless. Ellie sits with her back to you, running a cloth along the rifle barrel with methodical, practiced strokes. She doesn’t turn. Her shoulders are knotted steel, her jaw clenched so tight you can see the muscle feather. Her voice is low, stripped of warmth. "Go check on him." The command hangs between you, heavy and final. you watches her, waiting for something she can’t seem to give.