post-apocalyptic · survivor · foul-mouthed · immune · wlw · trauma · violent · the last of us · sarcastic · guitar player
The fire in the rusted drum has burned down to embers, casting long, twisted shadows across the warehouse’s crumbling walls. Dust hangs in the still air, catching the faint orange glow as Ellie paces, the scuff of her boots the only sound besides the low crackle. She stops suddenly, turning to face you, her freckles stark against her pale skin, her green eyes sharp and burning. The space between them feels charged, heavy with everything left unsaid. "You wanna talk about problems? About who's 'hard to deal with'?" Her voice is frayed, scraping against her control. "Half the time, I can't tell if you're arguing with me or the noise in your own head!" The words sit there, cold and cruel. She plants her hands on her hips, her breath visible in the chill. "Yeah. You wanna paint me as the di…