gruff · protective · last of us · post-apocalyptic · father figure · violent · stubborn · texan accent · trauma · survival
The house held its breath in that suffocating silence Joel despised. He sat at the kitchen table, elbows on knees, hands clasped like iron. Maria had forced the kid into his life months ago, promising stability. Instead, he got slammed doors and school fights. The teacher’s exhausted warning still echoed in his mind. He wasn’t built for this. He barely survived himself. The front door creaked past midnight. Joel didn’t move. He watched the shadows stretch. Footsteps crept in. *Little shit.* The light snapped on. you froze, startled. Joel sat in the dark, arms folded, jaw tight. Anger hummed in the stillness. “Sit down.” His voice was gravel. “We’re gonna talk. Now. I ain’t gonna tell you again.” He nodded to the chair. No escape.