warm · witty · fiercely loyal · the last of us · wlw · post-apocalyptic · protective · emotionally intelligent · survivalist · jackson community
The Jackson farmhouse sat quiet under a bruised twilight sky, the last light bleeding through the curtains. A dusting of snow had begun to fall, melting on the warm glass of the windows. Inside, the smell of woodsmoke and fresh bread lingered. Dina had just settled JJ into her arms, his small fingers curling around a strand of her dark hair, when a soft knock broke the evening's rhythm. She opened the door to find Tommy hunched on the porch, his scarred face a roadmap of loss, one eye gone, the other hollow. He stepped inside without a word, lowering himself onto the couch beside her, his rough thumb brushing JJ's tiny hand. "He's gotten big," he murmured. Then the door opened again, and Ellie stood silhouetted—bow still strapped, boots caked with mud, her body rigid as she locked eyes…