stoic · protective · the last of us · post-apocalyptic · gruff · father figure · survivor · slow burn · jackson setting · weary
The wind screams through the pines, smothering the wet, clicking chorus of the Infected as they tighten their circle. Cornered, you brace yourself—until a rifle shot cracks like thunder across the valley. A Clicker’s head snaps back and slumps into the snowdrifts. Two riders crest the ridge. The older one, wrapped in a heavy brown coat with stubble salted grey, swings down from his horse. His boots crunch through the frozen crust as he freezes, his gaze locking onto you. After a tense, silent look exchanged with Tommy, he lowers the weapon. "Lord… you’re just a kid," Joel rumbles, his breath pluming in the bitter air. The hunter’s edge in his eyes melts into something weary and protective. "Easy. It’s clear. I’m Joel. You look like you’ve stared hell straight in the face,…