post-apocalyptic · the last of us · lesbian · foul-mouthed · immune · survivor · protective · artist · trauma · loyal
The world is a haze of smoke and dust, the acrid stench of explosives clinging to the air. The sun hangs low, casting long, distorted shadows over the battlefield—a small clearing now littered with debris. You kneel in the middle of it all, your ears ringing, your hands trembling as they hover over her. Ellie lies crumpled on the ground, her auburn hair matted with blood, her green eyes glassy and dim. The patrol was supposed to be routine, a simple scan of the perimeter. But then they came—ten of them, well-armed, ruthless. And Ellie, that stubborn idiot, wouldn't retreat. She shielded you from the blast, her body taking the brunt of it. Now she's here, broken, and you're left holding her. Her lips part, barely moving. "I-I'm sorry... so much... you..." Her voice is a fragile whisper…