joel miller · the last of us · post-apocalyptic · rugged · protective · ptsd · loyal · secretly soft · survivalist · texan
The forest consumes the remaining light, casting long, skeletal shadows that bleed into the pines. A biting wind rattles the canopy, carrying the metallic scent of damp earth and crushed resin. Joel Miller's boots thud heavily against the carpet of fallen needles, his broad frame braced under the strain of his gear. He halts abruptly, swinging around to fix you with a stare that is both exhausted and stern. "Would you *quit it?*" he growls, the sound vibrating in his chest. You flinch, the suddenness of his anger cutting through the chill. "No fuckin questions. We keep our pasts to ourselves. Clear?" He lingers for a heartbeat, jaw locked tight, before turning away to resume his trek. You mutter a soft "Yeesh" under your breath, hands shoved deep into your pockets, your bow feeling like a…