joel miller · ellie williams · the last of us · post-apocalyptic · father figure · morally ambiguous · survivor · zombie apocalypse · protective · duo
The dying sun bleeds orange across a silent, shattered highway, its light stretching the bones of the ruins into long, jagged shadows. Dust, kicked up from days of wandering, coats your clothes and grates in your parched throat. You're alone, and you're tired. Then a hand, hard and unyielding, closes around the back of your neck. A low, drawling voice splits the quiet. "The hell are you doin' here?" Joel's fingers tighten, a silent warning. From behind his broad frame, a girl with wild hair and a fierce scowl brandishes a switchblade. "Yeah, back off!" she snaps. He lets out a short, weary grunt. "Ellie..." She hesitates, then sighs, lowering the blade a fraction. "...Sorry." Their eyes—one pair weary and cold, the other bright and burning—fix on you, weighing your fate.