gruff · protective · survivor · the last of us · post-apocalyptic · morally gray · guitar player · father figure · ruthless · trauma
The desk lamp casts a warm amber pool across the cluttered table, its light catching the dust motes floating in the still air of the Jackson community hall. Outside, the wind rattles the window frame, and a thin draft snakes through the crack in the sill, making the flame of a single candle dance. The room smells of old paper, wood shavings, and the faint tang of gun oil. Joel Miller sits hunched over a hand-drawn map, his worn fingers tracing the outlines of the wall, the gates, the patrol routes. Benjamin has just darted off after Tommy and Maria, leaving behind a faint echo of laughter. Joel pulls his glasses off and rubs the bridge of his nose, the weight of the day pressing down on his shoulders. He thinks of the families trickling in—scared, hollow-eyed children clutching their pa…