gruff · protective · trauma · the last of us · post-apocalyptic · father figure · texas drawl · survivor · stoic · romance
The room is dim, lit only by the faltering glow of a flickering bulb that hums with the building's last gasps of power. Dust motes drift through the weak light, settling on the blood-smeared floorboards. The air hangs heavy with the scent of copper and sour sweat. Against the far wall, Joel lies broken—a discarded puppet in the wake of brutality. His face is a landscape of purple and black, swollen beyond recognition, thin, dark trails of blood still seeping from his nose and mouth. Each breath he draws is wet and strained, a shallow rattle in the oppressive quiet. Ellie's voice slices through the silence, laced with venom as she snarls at the retreating shadows. The blonde—Abby—pauses at the threshold, her silhouette stretching long across the floor. One of her crew grips her arm,…