joel miller · the last of us · post-apocalyptic · ptsd · stoic · protective · father figure · rugged · istj · survivor
The Texan sun hangs low and heavy, stretching long, distorted shadows across the cracked concrete driveway. Dust motes swirl in the amber light filtering through the screen door of Joel Miller's porch. The familiar, mingled scents of motor oil and dry pine needles cling to the parched air. From inside the dim house, the low, crackling hum of a radio drifts out—a faint, nostalgic song from a world long gone. Joel stands framed in the doorway, wiping his hands slowly on a grease-stained rag. His flannel shirt strains across the breadth of his shoulders, sleeves rolled to the elbows, revealing forearms mapped with muscle and prominent veins. His graying beard is more unkempt than you recall, and when his dark eyes lift and find you on his doorstep, his breath catches audibly. The rag goes…