#joel miller character study

[penvisions]

gone to the dogs {chapter 5}

Pairing: Boston QZ! Joel Miller x Reader ; brief mentions of Boston QZ! Joel Miller x Tess Servopoulos

Summary: Joel dwells on the new facet he's been witness to, internally overthinking over everything his had become and what it once was.

Word Count: 6.6k

Warnings: canon typical violence, canon typical language, canon typical gore, outbreak fic, age gap (only by about ten years), angst, mean joel miller, joel miller is uptight, degrading language, sexual language, sexual proposition, violence, heated interactions, adult language, fighting, argumentative language, mutual disdain, sexual content, implication of sex work, unprotected piv, sexual acts, reader is snarky, reader gets violent, minor injuries, reader meets joel toe-to-toe with insults and it's amazing, both reader and joel pov, lemme know if there are any i missed!

A/N: aaaaaand i'm back. please lemme know what you think?

ao3 link || series masterlist || joel miller masterlist || ko-fi

It’s confusing, the way that he feels about you.

There are warning bells sounding inside his mind, even before the trip to Lincoln to meet with Bill and Frank. While that had helped to establish another partner for trade with a different set of goods, it also allowed him a glimpse into the person you had once been. It had made him begin to think of who you had been and the things the world had done to make you into who he knew you as.

He had been as genuine as he was able to when he approached you in the shower you had indulged in his growing attraction of you. The way you had seemed almost welcoming of him even as you stood naked underneath the stream of water and the whisper of his harsh words from the night before between you. You had allowed him in, had talked with him quietly, none of the biting words you both typically shared.

And then they came back, tinging the air and attitudes flaring the closer you got to the zone.

He doesn’t understand the pull he feels to align in your orbit, the way his appetite could only be sated should you provide toward it.

But he’s all too aware of it that morning as he groans and rolls over to find the bed empty. Tess is at the table, watching him with a detached look on her face. He had started out on the couch, unsure of when he had fallen into her orbit much like he’s used to, much like he’s realizing he’s doing with you.

“Cane dropped off some deliveries for you. I’m going to work, laying low for a while.”

He grunts, pushing himself off the bed. His head hangs between his shoulders as he scrubs aching hands over his face. The hush of his facial hair loud in the silence.

“Didn’t mean to kick you out of the bed.”

“You didn’t. You stayed on your side the entire night.”

“Still.”

“Look, you’re the one who put up the boundary, I’m not gonna push it. We can share a bed without it meaning anything. It’s just sleep.” She’s not upset, at least not that he can sense of her knowing her tells and tones, but she’s not happy either. More…reserved and resigned, willing to play along with the things he had confessed to her as they lay in a furnished house, in a nice bed, with blankets and covers that weren’t matted with dirt no matter how hard they scrubbed them in the sink.

“Gotcha.”

She was out the door before he could finish turning to look at her over his shoulder. He could hear you moving about in your space next door, the slow way your steps move atop the aged hardwood and threadbare carpet with such little sound. So light on your feet, like always. He’s seen it more times than he could count, the way you tip toe up landings of stairs ahead of him, feet light and steps quiet to not draw any attention to you. Always covering your tracks, minimizing the impact you have on your surroundings. Human or otherwise.

‘He can’t sleep, it’s too quiet. He keeps hearing the creak of floorboards, the soft voices of others through thin walls, vehicles patrolling the streets. His mind won’t quiet like the phantom sounds he hears that tell of life in the zone. He’s struggling with being away though he can’t stand to be there in the first place.

It’s an odd feeling, like he doesn’t belong. Anywhere.

The older men have ‘welcomed’ them into their home, albeit he’s sure their hospitality is more of an extension from their fondness of you and Frank’s delight in Tess. Not for him, never for him. A dangerous thing. A dangerous man. Someone to keep an eye on, to tread carefully and cautiously around. He thinks of how he’s had to use his hands, shut off parts of his brain while others shut down on their own in the wake of everything he’s been through, the things he’s done in the name of survival and protection.

And while he regrets, he also revels. In the things he didn’t know he was ever capable of. The things he never wanted to be capable of. He sees in in everyone, the potential. It’s instinct at this point, he sees in himself, in Tess, in you, in Bill and Frank, everyone he interacts with. It makes him a cautious man, exactly the same at the two who had offered him room and board for the night.

Though he doesn’t know if he would’ve done the same, if he had been in their position.

Maybe to Tess, maybe to you. But not another man. It’s hard to tell what they carry in themselves, hard to tell what he carries still and what he’s forced out of his mind.

He doesn’t startle when a soft hand begins to wander over his side, gently holding to his waist.

“What’s got you breathing so heavy?”

“Nothin’,” Is his immediate response, even in the cover of darkness he doesn’t want to open up his mind to the woman beside him. He can’t, she has her own history that plagues her. He knows about some of it, some of it he doesn’t. Some of it may be his fault, some of it is his fault, and he doesn’t…can’t handle hearing the confirmation even if he already knows. Already senses that his lack of willingness to talk, to put voice to things, the way they’ve lived dwells on Tess’s mind far too much. Especially now…

“Joel…” A sigh of her own fills the air, he can feel it on the back of his neck where she’s leaning into his space, arms wrapping around him as they always do. Cradling him, allowing him a moment to feel and not be the one providing, protecting, defending. She allows him that, the chance to just be. Even if he rarely feels like he needs to, even if he feels the need to far more often than he’d like to admit.

Her hand snakes lower, thumb hooking in between the worn leather of his belt and the waistband of his jeans. He had refused to change out of his clothes, while she had willingly and quickly shucked off her own clothing for the set of soft pajamas neatly folded on the bed when they had retired for the night. A finger dangles lower, feeling for him beneath the rough fabric and his mind short circuits.

He….he doesn’t want to. Even as the familiar flare of pleasure roils deep in his body.

“Tess, no.”

“Are you sure? Could help you to relax, actually get a decent night’s sleep for once.” She doesn’t move her hand lower or more firmly, she doesn’t lean into him more, but her words tell of her own willingness and something in him freezes.

“I said no,” He rumbles, feeling at odds with the way pleasure begins to unfurl in his nerves. A natural response to the woman beside him, the only woman he’s known in such a way for over two decades. A lie, his mind decides to betray him, he’d had you just the other day. In a way he’d never anticipated and it had set his nerves on fire and stalled his mind, his bravado crumbling the second your body responded and you touched him in return. It had been electrifying, the way your sounds

“I don’t, I can’t. It’s…it’s not fair to you.” It’s not that he doesn’t feel anything for her, on the contrary, she’s stuck by him for years. Knows him as well as he knows himself, or maybe even more at this point as he’s lost so much of who he used to be. Who he used to think was a good person, a good neighbor, a good brother…a good father. A thoughtful person who watched out for his own, protected and provided for his own as best he could with the hand he had been dealt.

“Don’t you dare make this about me, Joel.” Her voice betrays her, eyes searching his own as he rolls to face her head on, to face his decision and any consequences head on. She’s beautiful, his heart laments.

Her hair is smooth and shiny from a shower she had been allowed to indulge in, with actual hot water and products that he had recognized from his many trips to the store to try and find something to tame tighter curls than his own. Her face is more relaxed than he has seen in- ever, he thinks.

And of course, he would ruin the first real moment she’s had to herself in years. Since before the end of the world, probably.

Joel Miller, a failure once again.'

He shakes the memory from his mind, hoping that today can begin the new page he's intent on beginning.

“I keep forgetting y’all are relatively new here. But the way it happened was, she came outta nowhere, no one knew who she was. Barely recognizable among the mules used for trade to avoid suspicion when the zone first started changing.” The guy is surprisingly willing to talk with his drinking companions, unaware of Joel listening intently as he nurses his own glass.  The room muggy and the air stale as the underground cellar is all but turned into a speak easy. “But then one day the man guy who came from the free lands beyond the walls was found dead with his throat ripped out. Teeth marks and a bloody fingerprints stamped on his forehead. Then all of a sudden, she’s in the middle or in charge of every trade, of every product coming in or out of the zone.”

“She was a mule?” The incredulous statement is just that, a statement. A matter of fact that Joel can feel even in the absurdity of the words uttered by a stranger. A theory he’s had since Frank had checked on you, one on one. The worry and anxiety he had expressed at the way you two had been separated spoke more than the story he was sure to never hear the entirety of. It would explain how you knew so much, every small gap in the fence. Every officer to work with, which ones to avoid. The camaraderie he’s sensed between you and some of them even if your face falls the second you turn away from them. How some of them, how some people of the zone, flock to you.

There are no more mules, no more women who are used to trade. Everything done between willing participants, the use of those unwilling eradicated by someone who had been in their place once. He can almost picture it, even if he doesn’t want to. A younger version of you, terrified but cunning. Biding the time until you could take your power back.

“That’s the rumor, she didn’t even come into the zone proper or get registered, FEDRA turns an eye on her because they benefit from her supplies. Some of them fall at their feet for the chance to interact with her.”

“Shit, she’s really got everyone wrapped around her little finger.”

“People tried to report her, rat her out to soldiers because of how much she was charging but she never got caught and then the next day whoever tried to do it would show up dead. The only person who didn’t was her brother, who watched after her like a damn guard dog, day and night. Those damn little paw print stamps were on everything from that point on, the same ones used now.”

Everything froze in the room as the sound of thunder boomed overhead, the heavy sound of tanks rumbling down the road up above following the sound of rain falling heavy.

“You mean to tell me, some little girl who was being used as a mule ended up being in charge of the entire smuggling scene?” The young woman refilling drinks and taking ration cards couldn’t quell her curiosity, the talk of you buzzing all around the room. It was only natural, you were a woman holding control over something, she was but a server working out a debt in the underground bar.

“She ain’t no little girl anymore. Bitch is fit to tear people apart if she even so much as senses they’re thinking of turning her in or ambushing her. Things got a little different after she turned her own brother in, claiming he used her as a mule too to save her ass from getting caught. But no one really bought the lie when the scene didn’t change after his death. She’s always alone though, no one was looking after her until Miller showed up. But damn if she wasn’t hard to find, kept to the shadows and had soldiers doing most of the trading for her.”

The woman glanced over at Joel, not lifting her eyes to meet his as he placed a card on the table to signal he wanted another pour. She did so, his gruff nod of acknowledgement catching her off guard when he didn’t reach for her in a move she was far too used to at this point. When she pocketed the card, he reached out and slipped another few into her hand directly.

She didn’t say anything and neither did he. Draining his glass, he stood and exited the seedy basement.

He stands outside in the alley, letting the rain sprinkle on his face and neck, reveling in the cool feel of it as it sobers him up. He’s still coming down, the day had been long as he realized just how much he had taken. The events of last night play over his head, the snarl of your lips, the heft of your words, the feeling of the cut off fingers thudding into his chest as you pinned him down. His neck stings as the salt in the rain touches the thin cut on his neck and he thinks over the words of the other patrons.

He feels something swell in his chest, a mixture of emotions knows is tainted by dangerous ones. Like desire.

You had been a mule. Not even legal when the outbreak happened, forced into working the underground scene. Separated from the only person who you had known, forcefully from the way he recalls the conversation between you and Frank. But yet…you had flourished. Grown thick skin, a pelt of protection, a snarl to your lips, and threat to your words. A mirror of who he had turned into, the thought heady as it swirls around his mind.

You had made something of the situation, taking it over and blossoming into someone who had the power instead of being controlled by it. There was no doubt you were behind the ransacking of the apartments once they had returned to the zone. He wondered why for a moment, before he realized that it didn’t matter. He and Tess would fall in line, rather be a part of it and work with you than find themselves on the other side of the line and working against you or competing with you.

It was…admirable, he had to admit. Even if he couldn’t stand the air you sometimes adapted around him. Matching his comments, his attitude, his undermining and authority when he put his foot down. He sees it for what it truly is now, a match to his energy. To hide your own meanings and intentions by butting heads with him. Not at all a false notion, as he’s seen real annoyance and frustration flare to life in your eyes more than once. Now that he’s seen another facet of who you are…

He wonders if…if he were to calm down, would you do the same? He’s tired, the days dragging on and the circumstances getting more dire. He didn’t want to waste energy he didn’t have.

He must’ve been standing there for longer than he realized, because the young girl who had been serving steps out, steps faltering as she sees his shadow close to the door.

“Oh! I’m…you startled me.” He sees that same sparkle of fear he had in your own face, though it’s more apparent, more glaring in this scenario. She doesn’t quickly hide it, gloss over it like you had. She’s innocent, she’s doing her best with what she’s got. But it’s not enough, it will never be enough. For either of you. For him.

“Didn’t mean to.”

“Thank- thank you, for the cards.” She takes a deep breath, as if stealing herself. “Do you want-“

“Don’t wanna see you in there again, you hear me?” Joel cuts her off, aware of his drawl encompassing his words more than usual. The gruff way he shoves the sentiment from deep within his chest, thoughts of a younger version of you in his mind, of his own daughter being forced into the same situation. Of how unfair and disgusting it is, the way women are treated in the end of the world, like just another possession to control and seek after. If he can prevent it in this case, then he would.

“You go home and you stay home, do the work organized by the zone. Only the work organized by the zone.” He catches her eyes, dipping his head in order to do so. She’s frightened, unsure of what is going ton, but she’s remained quiet. A nod of her head is all the answer he gets. “You need anything, you come to me. Food, water, clothing, a place to hide away. No strings or favors attached.”

“Y-yes, sir.”

And then he’s shrugging off from his spot against the wall, shoulders of his jacket damp just as his curls begin to feel the weight of the rain collected on them. It isn’t much, but it’s something. He’s tired of wasting energy in an endless fight for hierarchy, he just wants to feel like a person again. You allow him the space to, your hesitant revelations of late letting him know that there’s a yearning to feel normal that lives in you too.  

The tear of your skin from the barbs is hidden by the pelting rain much like the scream you suppress into a huff of breath, the snag of it pulling a slight whimper in the base of your throat. Muscles tensing, you continue to haul yourself over the top of the fence, the barbs dragging further as you move over them and allow yourself to fall on the other side. Rolling, you try to minimize the impact, your feet finding purchase and you take off down the dim street as search lights continue to search the part of the city you just escaped.

Steps quiet, the adrenaline coursing through your veins spurs you forward, jacket intact but shirt beneath it torn and you hold a hand tight to your middle with a hiss.

The rain comes down in heavy sheets now, just a sparse sprinkle when it had first started. But now thunder and lightning accompany it. The sky lighting up with every deafening boom and you tried to stick to the shadows of the buildings, using them as hideaways as you made your way back to your building.

You barely plopped down into the chair when you heard the muffled voices of your partners next door.

Shrugging from your jacket, you pulled your hair up out of the way before you began to pull the saturated shirt from your upper body. A hiss fell from your lips when the torn fabric stuck to the still bleeding cuts on your middle. Holding your breath, you carefully removed it and tossed the thing to crumble into a heap on the floor. The bite of your belt buckle into your stomach was ignored as you took a healthy drink from the bottle of amber liquid beside you on the table.

“Fuck,” You whispered to the empty apartment as you began to open the sterile packs assembled on the tabletop.

You’re barely on the second pinch of your skin at the needle’s end when the hinges on the door creak. A lucky thing that you recognize the man walking through it, having blanked out on locking it in your haste.

“Hey, I’ve got those credits you-“ Joel trails off when the door opens easily and he’s privy to the scene of you trying to stitch yourself up. Hands trembling slightly and head craned at an awkward angel to best see the spot that needs tending low on your stomach.

“Just set them on the table.” You don’t look up from where you pierce your skin with the needle, silver medical wire catching the light as you pull it as taut as you safely could, blood seeping through the wound at the action. Twin drops of it trailing down your skin to sink into the fabric of your undone waist band pulled to the side, undone belt clinking with the motion of you reaching for another swig of liquid courage.

“Let me,” Joel’s voice is quiet, nearly soft in the way it lacks the gruff edges normally adorning his words.

He’s scooting another chair closer to you, his hands wiped clean on the abandoned cleansing cloth you used among the supplies. His thick fingers carefully extract the needle from your own, mindful to not pull at the work you’ve already managed. His other hand replaces yours where you had been holding the wound closed, eyes narrowing when he could hear the sharp inhale you took and the faint whimper that sounded out on your exhale.

“Does this mean I’ve got a hunt tomorrow?”

“Unless you plan on beating the shit out of a fence,” You try to joke, but the words get caught in your throat when the sting of the thread moving in your skin causes you to shudder. “Hold on, let me-“

“I gotcha, won’t move until you give me the go ahead.”

Ignoring how close he is to you, kneeled before you with his hands so warm against your middle, you reach for the dime bag stamped with your mark and down the four pills inside with another swig of the amber liquid.

“Okay,” You grit your teeth against the unsavory taste, the feel of the pills slipping down your throat. It was what he was waiting for, before picking the task up again.

The shabby apartment is quiet save for the harsh pattering of rain, distant booms of thunder and the even breathing of you both. The air is tense, if only just a bit, neither willing to break almost peaceful spell that had befallen after such a hectic few days and tense weeks. A crux, almost, that you found yourself teetering on with the man. One path that would lead to continuous arguing, violence and second guessing each other or one path that would lead to a better understanding of each other and allow for things to flow more smoothly.

Joel’s wiping away the blood smeared into your skin as best he can now, the end of the stitches tied neatly off and knotted so they remain secure and do their job well. Eight of them, all in all. The cut a harsh line in the soft spot of your belly, the pudge that had begun to form and stubbornly refuse to burn off even after long days of trekking and working despite a lack of nourishing food. It reminds you of how you looked before, when you were able to be the person who you had always wanted to be. But the end of the world had laid ruin to a lot, including the full shape your body had once been.

“Any others?” Joels fingers are wrapping around the bottle of whiskey, a full swig taken followed by another. You can’t help but watch as his throat bobs with the action, your body feeling the narcotics begin to kick in. Tingling sensations skating across your skin and chasing away the pain of the day, of the night, of survival. If only for a moment.

“Dunno, body feels like one big bruise.”

He sighs, shaking his head slightly as he regards the supplies sprawled on the table. Then the tremble of your left hand, the way your palm is inflamed and the cuts there you either don’t register or are ignoring.

“Let’s start with your hand then…” He’s silently thankful when you allow him to grasp it lightly and pull it into his space to look over.

It’s late, sleep evading you the second the pills began to wear off and the pain of your injury flared.

Pulled you up from the depths of your induced sleep. From the shower Joel had helped you to take, to the inspection he had done for anymore injuries. His quiet voice, the deep rasp of it had lulled you as he laid you down once the drugs and exhaustion took over.

You’re pacing in the little free space of your bedroom, in front of the window. The rain is still falling, though the storm seems to have passed. You’ve got one of the small stamps that had been molded and carved out from a bit of rubber. Tumbling the item in your good hand when you hear the floorboards groan underneath someone’s foot.

Spinning around, you see the dark outline of Joel in the doorway, filling the frame as he simply watches you. And it’s unnerving how at ease you feel seeing him there in the middle of the night, when he’s never been in your apartment longer than a few hours to discuss runs or plans. To help with rationing cards, food, or portioning out contraband.

“Y’need to rest. Antibiotics are gonna take it out of you when they kick in.” He’s quiet, voice low as he stands in his spot.

“Pain woke me up, took another pill to even it out.” You keep your voice low, not wanting to break whatever spell is still cast over your apartment. The one that allowed for you both to see each other as people, as equals. No overly harsh words spit at each other. It’s allowing you to glimpse at who he is in his own moments, in the quiet of the evening, in the dead of night when there’s no one to perform for, no one to front for.

“C’mon, lay down. Pacing is just gonna irritate the stitches.”

“You don’t control me.” You can’t help but breathe out heavily, the heft of your body and the pain throbbing in your middle making you irritable despite the atmosphere.

“Not tryna control you, tryna take care of you,” Joel is moving toward you, his frame towering over your slightly hunched over one. He’s all shadows in the darkness of the room, the streetlamps are out on your block. When you take a step back and tighten the grip around the stamp in your hand, he sighs. “Even though I know you don’t need it, least of all from me.”

“I don’t.” You can’t help but rebut. The paranoid part of your brain thinking this was all just some sort of game, some con he was pulling on you. Always on the lookout, always on alert. And it’s tiring, just as much as it is rewarding.

“Tess does, sometimes.” He tries to reason, tries to appeal to you. “I do, too.”

You think back to the way he stalls in moments beyond the walls, when he thinks no one is looking. How he bumps a fist to the center of his chest as if to dislodge something. The pressure of the world and this life settling sharp and heavy in his chest, making it hard to breathe sometimes. Your eyes linger on the scar about his temple, those on his knuckles, the cracks of his knees as he takes big steps up or around something. The palm he holds to his back and the swagger you know he doesn’t deliberately put into his steps as he treads down the hallway at the end of a shift.

“Only had my brother to take care of me. And it was only for a little while.” You confess, heart seizing at the memories of your brother. His last smile to you. You blink back to reality when there’s a tug of your hand. Joel is unfolding your fingers from around the stamp, thick fingers gently prodding at the skin beneath the gauze wrapped there.

Huh. You had been unconsciously pushing into the wound with it, mind relishing in the sting.

“Gonna tear it even deeper, doin’ that.” He’s pocketing the stamp, and you think to argue against it but as you part your lips to do so he’s swooping down to brush his nose against yours. “Lemme distract you another way, yeah?”

“You’re seriously propositioning me right now?” Your words fall short when you don’t step back from him any further. Body already shimmering at the mere suggestion of his moving against it.

“Only if you’re willing.” It’s an honest response, a genuine one. There’s no teasing.  

“What’s the point?”

“The point?” He’s pressing his forehead to yours. “The point is for you to see me, for you to know that I see you. To see that I’m tryna meet you in the middle.”

“But…why?” You whisper, unable to quell the almost giddy sensation of curiosity as you realize he’s being completely open with you right now. That he’s not playing games or trying to manipulate you, nor is he trying to prove a point like he had been the first time around.

“Because I’m tired, Cane.” He admits, “Tired of fightin’.”

“Fighting is half the fun of being paired up, get to rile you up.”

“Fun? Girl, you gotta twisted notion of fun.”

“You don’t even know the half of it.” You smirk, sure he could feel the corner of your mouth pressed to his cheek as you whisper into his ear. But you match the tone of the energy still flowing about the room, the energy flowing between you and press your lips to his in a kiss.

It’s soft, the way his lips move against yours. No nipping teeth or forceful tongue. His hands snake around your waist and pull you to him, body warm and overwhelming as you feel the way he’s already hard.

The kisses turn deeper as clothing is removed, pressed to lips, to shoulders, to the bare skin of your breasts as they are revealed to the cool air. Nipping now, against peaked nubs and exposed thighs, just as your nails leave faint marks of their own on his back, on the front of his stomach where hairs trail down to his weeping cock.

The world stills as he enters you, bodies in tune to each other and your mind blanks as he nestles himself deep and stills. Twin groans of appreciation echo in the air, loud and sharp. His lips find yours in a chaste peck, tasting the soft groan of reverence as it sounds from between them.

“Look at that, little pup just needed something nice and big to fill her up, huh?” He grinds his hips into yours, the coarse hairs surrounding him tingling where they rub at sensitive skin. “To help her calm down and quiet those thoughts in her head.”

“Sh-shut up.” Your words don’t carry any heat behind them, as your eyes clench shut and your body sings in tune with his. Your hips buck, your walls clench, and your breathing heaves. He’s got you exactly where he wants you and he knows it. You know it too, but that doesn’t mean you’re going to submit. Not completely at least, there was no fun in that. But you know that, just under the surface of newfound acquiescence, that the man reveled in the banter you shared. Because you did too.

You trail your hands down from his neck to his shoulders, unclasping them from behind him to push him up. He’s moving with you, willingly, even as you crowd against him and shift him to his back. His eyes are blown wide, pupils taken over as you glimpse them in a strike of lightning that brightens the sky.

“Gonna show me whose boss?” He taunts, even as you can feel the rapid beat of his heart where you hand rests over his chest. Grounding you as you lower yourself back onto him, the glide of him easy as his slick and your own scent the air. “Cause tha’s mighty fine with me.”

“You sure? Didn’t seem to like it all that much the other day.” You gasp as the head of his cock catches deep inside you, sending a bolt of pleasure through you body as thunder booms overhead.

“I was high outta my mind, ain’t my fault.” He grunts out as you settle flush against him. Leaning forward to press your face into the crook of his neck. Your teeth sink into the skin there, tongue tasting the salt of his sweat as you place open mouthed kisses up to his good ear.

“Everything is your fault.”

“Yeah, I suppose it is. But you seem to like this outcome, I sure as fuck do.” He circles his hips, meeting your own swivel, twitching deep inside you as he grips tightly to your hips. His fingers will leave marks, but you think for a moment that it might be glance them in the mirror until they fade. They tighten, gripping to steady you as he begins to thrust up, punching the breath from your lungs with each delicious drag of his length.

“Just this once.” You moan out, voice rounding out as you begin to flutter around him, your stomach tightening as heat and pleasure burn through you. You lean back and rest your palms on his thighs. Hips circling and grinding at a fast pace. The pad of his thumb is pressing to you, jolting you forward and breaking your rhythm momentarily. Your body sings, pleasure cresting and washing over you in waves that could drown. But you catch your breath and ride them out, eyes beginning to droop even as you feel the hot spurts of Joel’s own release paint your insides.  

It’s early, the sun barely showing signs of nearing the horizon. The deep, velvet blue of night lightening in pinks and oranges that begin to color the room and allow you to see the man you felt in your bed the entire night.

Joel is still naked, the thin sheets and coverlet covering only his lower half, allowing you a full view of him beside you. He’s breathing evenly, deeply. You had ended up with your large shirt back on, to help keep the stitches a little cleaner once you had been cleaned with a dampened rag. Something you hadn’t expected of the man, even with this new…shift in the air.

It was peaceful, the night taking a turn you hadn’t expected. And your mind ticks and tocks with the possibilities of now having a somewhat more willing Joel by your side. A guard dog that is sworn to you, should you allow him to. A person who wants to appease you and ensure your safety, in all aspects of your life now, not just as a benefit to their own.

“Don’t look at me like that.” Joel’s sudden voice catches your own even breathing, taking you off guard.

“Like what, Miller?” Recovering quickly from your introspection, you roll your eyes; sure he can feel the motion even with his back still turned to you on the other side of the bed. Of course, he had felt you admiring the muscles of his broad back, the way his shoulders were dusted with faint freckles and dotted with dark moles, much like his strong neck and arms. The narrowing of his waist down to his hips, the dimples he had there just above his firm and shapely ass. He was beautiful, though you wouldn’t admit it to him aloud. “You’re not even facing me.”

“You know what.” He rumbles, voice impossible deep and devastating with sleep that clings to him, refuses to let him go even as he begins to stir in the early hour. A shiver runs down your spine, filthy words from last night

“You’re conceited, you know that?”

“Didn’t seem to mind it last night,” He’s smirking as he rolls over to finally reveal his waking face to you. Eyes softer than you’d ever seen them, relaxed almost as he begins to come back to himself and the world. His curls are a bit wild from his sleep, from the night before when you had run your fingers through the tresses, tangled them and pulled them tight. “Tellin’ me how good I felt, how big I was. Gave me a reason to be conceited, darlin’.”

“Oh no, don’t you start with that. You may have a big dick but it don’t mean you gotta act like one.”

“Like what?” He parrots, teeth glinting as he brandishes a wolfish grin at you. You feel the corners of your mouth twitch, a smile fighting to flourish, and you purse your lips so he can’t see it. Brows furrowing, you lean up and

“You know what.” You parrot back, dodging his ducking head as he prepares to nip at you again. It’s a slow roll away and out from under him, but he allows the movement, leaning back onto his knees more to make space. “We got a trek today, want to check out the hotel and then the old bunker underneath the west end hospital.”

“Long trek.”

“Old man, if I can handle it so can you.” You slowly stand to your full height, stomach pulling as the stitches are moved about slightly. Hands over in front of you as you gauge the slight blossom of discomfort.

“Let this old man into your bed.” His hands are hovering over you, ready to catch you should you fall, ready to do whatever they could to help should you need it, should you ask him to.

“Yeah, well, figured he needed something sweet to keep him in line. What’s sweeter than a pretty little thing than me, hmm?”

“God damn, you’re insufferable.” He huffs, the bed springs groaning as he disappears from his spot behind you. You look over your shoulder to see him pulling his ragged jeans back on. He’s turned away from you but that doesn’t stop you from watching him as he does so.

“You too, Miller.” You’re shoving him toward to the kitchen, intent on him starting a serving of coffee before the day truly begins, the sun beginning to shine through the broken blinds and thin curtains as it rises above the towering wall that surrounds the zone. “Now go make some coffee, yeah?”

“Only because you asked so nicely.” He let’s the momentum of your push carry him across the threshold into the rest of the apartment. He’s smirking, you can tell by the tone of his voice but you don’t let it simmer in your chest for too long before you’re focusing on cleaning the wound and replacing the bandage over it. Dressing for another long day, but at least you’ve got a more willing guard dog by your side to accompany you outside the walls now.

Everything seems to be falling into place, tempers easing, and your power no longer being questioned but accepted. You try to shake the feeling that something bigger is wavering on the horizon, now that you and Joel have found common ground and somewhat of an understanding.

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[pedropascalito]

The Last of Us Joel Miller Character Study S1E1: Coffee, Tea, or me?

Joel drinks coffee, as we know, and btw, this is the most number of fingers I’ve ever seen Pedro put on a cup. But…

…who drinks the tea? Sarah? Lady friends who spend the afternoon chatting with Joel when he’s between contractor gigs?

I love the idea of Joel being the neighbor everyone’s trying to get with and Sarah put the tea accoutrements there to help Joel be at least marginally hospitable during their efforts. And she counts the tea bags that get used while she’s in school.

I’d drink his tea.

[netherfeildren]

Joel

A Fear of God story : Series Masterlist

Pairing: Joel Miller x OFC

Summary: The thought sounds on the anvil of your mind every night at four am on the dot, the song of grasshoppers and slumbering, fatherless children singing around you; I am lost, and if I read a little bit confusing, it is only because I am confused amidst the battleground of my grief, and it is difficult to find my way back now that he is not here to guide me.

A/N: this was only written for myself, but i’ve decided to share with you, as well. if you’re a fear of god reader please know that this isn’t part of my official story line, and again — only an exercise for myself, but as this is written about birdie i’ve decided to include it as a part of the birdie’s house anthology. i apologize for any confusion or emotional turmoil this might cause, but rest assured that i’m desperately hoping to have something else up for birdie and joel for his birthday and that i plan to continue to write for them after that as well.

Content Warnings: Character death; Grief/Mourning; Description of death/injury; Unreliable narrators

Rating: Mature

Word Count: 2.1K

Read on AO3

JOEL

The billboard said “The End Is Near”

I turned around, there was nothing there

Yeah, I guess the end is here

Phoebe Bridgers, I Know the End

The week before it happened, you watched a pack of wolves take down a moose. Old and stalwart and with a sort of strength only an animal that stands apart from all others in the hierarchy of nature can hold. Something unrelenting about a creature like that, that was made all the more shocking for the way the wolves had surrounded the old thing, tricked and felled the beast that for so long had stood solitary and unmoving. 

There were so many things you knew about Joel after all these years. He was a father, a husband, a brother, a friend. Once he’d been a monster. Everything about him had been red. He’d tried not to cause harm. He’d failed more than he’d succeeded. 

He had loved you. You think, more than any creature had loved another in all of man’s history. Or… at least sometimes it had felt like that. He had made you feel like that. 

He is killed in the seventh year of your life together. Only seven little years which seem like nothing in the face of everything. Nothing in the face of the destruction of the whole world, and then the rebirth of it right here in this farm house in Wyoming, but which you know, no matter what they might seem like in the aftermath, were really everything, the only time that has ever mattered. 

You remember that sometimes when you’d look around the kitchen table, the girls sitting around laughing and screeching and raucous with so much joy it seemed imaginary and untouchable, it felt like the whole world was sat existing around that oak table he’d made for you. The whole world right here at our kitchen table, Joel. 

You remember the last time you heard his voice, right before he went out into the frigid snow to look for Ellie: Don’t you love me, Birdie bird?

Oh, shut up. And then whispered right into the reddened sea shell of his ear, Here is what I see in your eyes right now: myself, reflected back at me – more love than has ever existed before in all history. And then his laugh – you’re laughing and when you laugh I want to carve the face of the world in your image. Lena zooming by your legs as you kiss for the last time, a blue ribbon in her hair. 

Half a century from now, no one will remember us, but I will never forget you. 

Remember the first time we met? Bated breath and racing heart, and the sound of the rest of your life ringing in your ears. 

Remember the stitches in your palm? The first time I took you inside of me and all the times thereafter? When you pulled our first daughter from my body – and then the two others? Her first birthday? The countless birthdays after that? Remember the endless happiness so intense it was almost painful sometimes? Remember how much I love you?

But of course, he cannot. He’s not here anymore, and nothing hurts worse than the memory of joy when you’re living through grief. The thought sounds on the anvil of your mind every night at four am on the dot, the song of grasshoppers and slumbering, fatherless children singing around you; I am lost, and if I read a little bit confusing, it is only because I am confused amidst the battleground of my grief, and it is difficult to find my way back now that he is not here to guide me. 

They’d hurt him so badly. Fractured him in a way that not even your hands could mend, your years of study and practice futile in the face of such destruction. He’d fought hard, he’d tried to get away. This is the least comforting thing you could ever imagine. 

What does it do to a person to be confronted with the inequity of their purpose? To have worked tirelessly for so many years only to fail when the moment was most dire. 

Fracture of a different but equally devastating nature. And that moment of final realization, that there was nothing to be done – his bones had carried him for so long, you rest now, we’ll be okay, whispered into his mangled ear, half a chunk missing, savaged. You did good, Joel. You did good, my love. 

The sound of Ellie’s voice telling herself over and over and over again that he was okay; he’s okay, he’s okay, he’s okay. 

And she’d said to you: I wasted so much time being angry at him, for what? For loving me too much? For keeping me alive? For making a decision that now, with the clarity of age and a child of my own, I would have made exactly the same way? I wish I could walk in his shoes through that hospital all those years ago. I’d take his exact same steps – not a single pace different. And now he’s dead. And all that anger was for nothing. And our reconciliation feels so fraught, so meaningless in the face of all that time now. No matter that we’d had years after to be together, to be a family. All I can focus on now is the time lost, the sight of his crushed skull, the night I pushed him away before you, his face full of pain and regret. And the sound of his screams at the end. 

Ellie tells you: I remember the sound of his screams better than anything else. The sound of him screaming out for me, for you Birdie – Birdie, Birdie, my Birdie. Begging for help, but actually, I’m not sure, she says. I’m not sure if that really happened or if my nightmares imagined it. 

[I still think of you on your birthday. I’m sorry for everything, she thinks, when she lays in the grass with her sisters and looks for shapes in the clouds without him now. I only see you in the spaces between them. And she asks God why He didn’t work harder to save him. And He spits in her face and asks why she didn’t do the same.]

So, there are still our children. There is still Ellie. This family you’ve gifted me. The whole world abandoned here at our kitchen table. How can death exist when that exists? How can your death exist when they’re still here?

Don’t stop to think. Don’t interrupt the scream. 

And you tell yourself, no this wasn’t supposed to happen, but the universe laughs and grips you by the throat; the gladiator scream goes on. Salt the earth, there’s nothing to return to. 

And yet… that isn’t true either. Four little faces look up at you. Three sets of his eyes. 

You were furious at the sun the day after he died. How could it just continue to rise as if nothing had happened?

And after all that, it is like this: You scream for seven days and seven nights.

You don’t get out of bed for thirty days. 

You cry every single night for a year. 

This is different. A strange and terrified sort of place. What does it mean to lose the basis of your entire existence?

And Ellie? Ellie, Ellie, Ellie, Ellie, Ellie. What is Ellie going to do without him? How is she going to be okay? The sound of her cries: Don’t let me be alone. Please, God, don’t let me be alone. I never wanted to end up alone. You need to make sure she’s okay, you need to take care of her the way that he would, the way that he’d want you to.

Ellie loses her mind for a little bit. After your thirty days in bed, she calls her turn, tells you and Dina that she’s leaving, that she’s going. That she’ll bring you back a vengeance you could never want and lay it at your feet, and you cup her chin gentle in your palm, and ask, What does it matter now, honey? Connie’s voice ringing in your memory. He’s gone now, what difference would it make?

She tells you that he would have done it for her, and you cannot refute such a claim. He would. He’d do much worse. He’d turn himself back into that monster we both know he had inside of him.

“So I need to do this.”

And you tell her: “I’m begging you not to. Me, who belonged to him, who knew him in a way no one else in the whole world did. I’m asking you not to. I’m still here. The girls are still here. We need you. We need you as a reminder of him.”

“You’ll remember him anyways,” she tells you, which is true.

“But you’ll make the memory all the better,” And so she does not go, for a time.

Ellie stays, and you have a funeral surrounded by the people of Jackson who respected a man who was good. A man who took himself for a monster for so long, even though he never said it out loud, but you knew, you saw. All that time apart, all that fear, fear, fear, the very fear of God struck into his heart, afraid of what he was, of what the world and a little girl with green eyes more than thirty years ago had made him into, but then, look at what we’d turned around and made together. 

And you whisper to the apparition of him in your dreams: Joel if you were a monster, surely it was some sort of divine monstrosity. 

So many people leave remembrances at the gate of the farm, the whole of Jackson. His brother, holding you up gripped beneath the elbows so as to not frighten your children, and Ellie is crying but trying to pretend she’s not, which somehow makes it worse than if she were to throw herself at the base of his coffin and howl. 

You give her his jacket after that, and she smells like him all the time until the day she doesn't. Until the day it’s been so long since the last time that he was alive that his scent fades and leaves forever. She wears that jacket everywhere, to work, to hunt, to bed. Leaving her wife, leaving her family, leaving her sisters, leaving you because eventually she does – leave, and she wears his jacket. An inevitability like so many other things in life, you’re unable to keep her forever, and for a time she does go. 

And you will never forget him, you will never move on, you will never stop telling your daughters about him. He lives on in them. And you wonder why it is that no one ever talks about the physically intimate aspect of grief? Of missing your person and wanting them and needing them, and your body physically craving relief from that singular person and never being able to achieve it fully ever again to completion like he could give it to you because he’s just not here. 

He was, in every way, all that anyone could ever be. 

I cried every single day for a year. The day I stopped, I put him inside of a drawer within myself and was never able to move myself to tears again. 

Seven years since then, and you go to his grave for what you tell yourself will be the last time, recognize the lie for what it is, a single slab of carved stone, and you think, he doesn’t belong here, even still after all these years, and yet this is the only place he will ever be again. 

He should have been made into a redwood, the tallest thing in the entire world. Let him be a tree. You’d climb and climb and climb, like that night with Beth, so long ago you can barely remember the sound of her voice most days. You’d climb, and he’d protect you one more time like he had so many times before. 

Joel, years ago, when we were first married, I had a strange dream: I’d had to walk down a staircase that led far beneath the earth. As I traversed it, I had to move through all of our happiest memories, the births of our daughters, the birthdays and celebrations and the long nights together, dinners, breakfasts and laughter, lazy afternoons at the lake, in bed together, still endlessly fascinated with each other despite all the times we’d found ourselves in that exact position. But when I reached the end, I’d be able to come upon our worst moment, see what it was in preparation, perhaps, for what would come to pass. 

I feel as though I have finally reached the bottom of that staircase, and part of me would like nothing more than to have never begun the journey down, but had I not, then I would have not lived through all the rest of it. And in the end, that was worth everything else.

That last night again, in my memory: Don’t you love me, Birdie bird? 

Close your eyes, he whispers, it’ll be worth it, the last taste of his mouth. 

My eyes are still closed.

Netherfeildren's Masterlist

Updates Blog

[marvelmisstress7]

The thing is, is that Joel isnt a "good guy" he never has been since the start of the story. He may have flinched and the bullet missed but what kept living wasnt the same Joel Miller. Our Joel's morals are wacked as fuck, practically dont exist. Stealing, smuggling, selling drugs, cold blooded murder are all just part of survival for Joel. It dosnt faze him. So when put into the situation where he has to choose between his daughter and the world? Of course he is going to pick his daughter, he wont loose another child. And what does the world matter to him? He didn't care for the world before Ellie and he still dosnt after. The only thing that has changed about Joel it that he has someone he loves, someone to not just kill for but live for. He will protect her in every way, killing, lying, to keep her safe. And god help any motherfucker who gets in the way.

[baleful-blurbs]

i love bella sm <3 she's a perfect ellie (will not be taking criticisms to that fact)

[charliemason]

꧁ ELLIE WILLIAMS CHARACTER BOARD ꧂

i could write multiple essays about this girl if u are wondering

[whxtedreams]

A CHARACTER STUDY

Oath Broken and Sound Bound - aka Astaria and her broken boys

A post full of quick character backgrounds & questions about them BEFORE the fic begins. Their views and answers may or may not change throughout the story. Although this fic does include multiple Pedro charaters, the main character is Din and the OC! Astaria.

If you have extra questions to ask them, let me know and I'll add them if they give spoiler free answers.

Series Masterlist

DIN DJARIN

Age: 43 Occupation: Witch Hunter

Quick Back Story

He was adopted as a child by the Hunters and raised to be one of the deadliest Witch Hunters to roam the Kingdom.  Although he’s cold and ruthless, he still holds the same fascination towards the witches as he did as a young child. That part of him, could never be taken by the Lords with all the training they forced upon him.

Now he has adopted a kid in the Hunters Camp that doesn’t talk and he’s beginning to believe that this child, Grogu might be a cub hiding in the wolf’s den. And by that he means he thinks this kid was stupid enough to stumble into his camp full of Witch Hunters, as a Witch….This very small and helpless child has crawled his way into whatever heart Din has left and Din decides it might be time he left to find the kid a new home.

When the Lords task Din on traveling to the forbidden south to hunt a group of dangerous witches they believed to be hiding there, Din finds the perfect time to take the kid with him for “training”. For the Lords won’t look for the kid in the south.

He’ll take the kid, kill some witches and drop Grogu off somewhere safe and tell the Lords the child died in training. Simple right?

Random Questions

What is something they regret? He’s not sure if he can talk about that.

How do they spend their downtime? Spending time in the Hunter camp, teaching the children there how to hunt witches. He doesn’t exactly have a lot of down time as he spends most of his time hunting Witches.

Any irrational fears? Machines. He’s thought about his hands getting stuck in them too often. He’d rather work on something with his hands than use a death trap. Also Grogu. He’s not sure why but the way that kid looks at frogs makes him uncomfortable.

How do they show they’re uncomfortable? Silent, frozen.

What’s their view on magic? It’s interesting… but also forbidden and a curse on the land. Din will kill any sign of magic, after he let’s it linger for a second.

What’s their view on the Lords? He has devoted his life to them, taken an oath to rid the lands of witches and magic. He is nothing without them.

Favourite sound? He’s never thought about that.

ASTARIA LOWELL (OC!)

Age: 26 Occupation: Witch, Flower gatherer

Quick Back story

Astaria was born after the Witch Hunt spread across the lands, raised in a hidden coven on an island surrounded by the mainland. Her life is quiet, peaceful on the island with her found family and of course, her familiar Sarah the Fox. She did not know her true family, but she can not imagine a life not raised by a group of old women.

She tends to her flowers and sells them in the nearest village on the shoreline, something she believes she’s doing in secret since the High Priestess forbids any witches to leave the safety of the island. The High Priestess knows of course. She actually watches how creative Astaria gets in her escape attempts. She could tell her she can leave by the boats she has stored in the boat house for her own ventures to the mainland but watching Astaria struggle is much more entertaining.

And after all, Hunters don’t venture this far south. She should be safe in the village, right? There’s definitely not the Kingdoms deadliest Witch Hunter in the village who has a strange fascination with Astaria. No- of course not, Witch Hunters DON’T venture this far south for a reason.

Random Questions

What is something they regret? Not looking into her bloodline earlier. Too much time has passed now and all leads of who she is has vanished with time. She says she’s content with her life but sometimes her mind wanders to what could have been.

How do they spend their downtime? She loves practicing her magic in the safety of the island. She loves experimenting on her plants and watching them come to life. She loves listening to Ezra’s past ventures and Frankie’s time in the skies. She loves to spend time with the animals. She just loves life and everything it has to offer her.

Any irrational fears? Fish. They’re slimy. They have cool stories though.

How do they show they’re uncomfortable? She will say “I am uncomfortable.” Turn around and leave the encounter.

What’s their view on magic? Her life is her magic. If the High Priestess wouldn’t yell at her for sleeping outside on the ground where the magic is stronger, she would sleep outside with the animals.

What’s their view on the Lords? She hates what they have done to the Kingdom, her people. But she understands. She’s as afraid of them, as they are of her. 

Favourite sound? The sound of nature. The birds chirping in the morning as she wakes. Frankie’s laughter when Ezra manages to make him laugh. Ezra’s whistle when he’s doing something he shouldn’t be.

EZRA (???)

Age ???? Probably in his 30’s but he’s also talked about being over 100 and a wizard from a far land cast a youth spell on him. No one actually believes this. Occupation: He’s said about about everything by now, who knows what he actually does. Except for a thief, everyone knows he’s a thief.

Quick Back story

Ezra is a liar; don’t believe a word he says. In fact, no one knows if Ezra is his real name as the name dragged on his lips as he introduced himself. It’s a miracle he didn’t call himself the first thing he saw. Imagine, “Suuuuuuuunwaaaaater. Sunwater. My name is Sunwater.” He’s also definitely never done that before.

He lives in the coven with Astaria and Frankie as the High Priestess has a tendency to bring in strays, and he is by all definitions: a stray.

He tells people he’s a pirate and although it’s obvious he’s traveled the planet, it’s also obvious he’s NOT a pirate. He was abandoned by the crew he claims to be a very important member of, left on the shores of the Kingdom to die. They probably grew tired of his lies and constant rambling. No one could blame them after spending an hour with him.

But despite all this, Astaria has grown to like his stories, for what they are: stories. And Frankie, well Frankie doesn’t know how Ezra stole his heart but Ezra has always been a thief.

Random Questions

What is something they regret? Absolutely nothing. Everything he’s done brought him where he needs to be. But maybe, if he were to think of one thing, it would be crossing Joel Millers path before arriving at the coven. Yeah, he definitely wouldn’t do that again.

How do they spend their downtime? Mostly spent with Frankie. He studies his maps and also loves telling his stories to anyone who will listen. that list is shrinking but he knows either Frankie or Astaria will always listen to him. As much as Frankie complains about it, he senses when Frankie comes searching for a story to take his mind off things.

Any irrational fears? his tongue being cut off. It’s been threatened too many times and he’s worried someone might actually do it. Also Joel Miller.

How do they show they’re uncomfortable? somehow he rambles MORE. And MORE. But somehow it makes more sense?

What’s their view on magic? He’s been studying it for years. He’s spent time in other lands where magic isn’t frowned upon and fell in love with what people have done with it. He wishes he could learn but for some reason no one will trust him with anything?

What’s their view on the Lords? Very easy to manipulate, he barely tried and they gave him free passage of their lands. All he had to say was he was a ruler of some made up land without any proof and they believed him? No wonder they’re so weird about magic, dumb as rocks and will believe anything. People that dumb and easy to manipulate really shouldn’t have access to armies. 

Favourite sound? Most people would say his favourite sound would be the sound of his own voice, and he would say they’re rude. They’re right. But he also loves the sound of the sea. He loves different accents. and most importantly he loves the sound of Frankie’s snores.

FRANKIE MORALES

Age: 40 Occupation: Ex Dragon Rider

Quick Back story

Frankie spends most of his time daydreaming of the skies, his head in the clouds. He was a Dragon Rider. Key word: was. Frankie was one of the Kingdoms best Dragon Riders but when the Lords ordered for all Dragons to be killed and he had to watch his family, his children, shot from the skies, well, Frankie hasn’t exactly been the same since. It’s been seven years since the Lords deemed Dragons and their Riders an enemy of the Kingdom as they began to believe they held the same forbidden magic as witches: how else could they fly?

Frankie fled his home and spent the first year on the run before the coven took Frankie in when he washed ashore of the island six years ago. And he had a peaceful life there until Ezra strolled in four years ago. Frankie complains about how Ezra has stuck to this his side like glue, but everyone knows he has a soft spot for the thief. They live together after all.

Random Questions

What is something they regret? He should have been up in the skies with the rest of his squad. Should have died with them. But he won’t say that, it makes Ezra quiet and that’s always a dangerous thing.

How do they spend their downtime? These days it’s mostly with Ezra. His… partner is very good at keeping his mind focused and not on his past. He think he loves the mornings the most, when he wakes up with Ezra and he tells Frankie about his dreams as he holds him. Yeah, he likes that.

Any irrational fears? He doesn’t like the ocean. He knows the skies over the Kingdom like the back of his hand, but the ocean? Too big, too deep. He doesn’t like that he can’t see the bottom of the water. A shiver even runs up his spine when Ezra talks about his time on the ocean.

How do they show they’re uncomfortable? Normally he finds something of Ezra to hold onto, as he’s always close by. Before he would have yelled and took command and nothing would make him uncomfortable — but these days, he’s not the same person anymore.

What’s their view on magic? It’s beautiful. He loves watching the witches and wizards of the coven work. He loves watching Astaria and her plants. He loves- loved his dragons. He loved them more than anything. He loves how Ezra tries to feel the magic in the earth, tries to bargain with the witches to teach him. Frankie feels the magic, but has no interest in using it. Not anymore.

What’s their view on the Lords? Frankie doesn’t want to talk about them.

favourite sound? The wind. Storms. The way Ezra’s voice never seems to tire when he rambles for hours on end. His dragons.

JOEL MILLER

Age: 58 Occupation: Don’t ask.

Quick Back story

Joel Miller wants to be left alone.

He used to live in the city with his wife and child but when a rival carpenter accused his girls of witchcraft to get him out of the business, well Joel lost everything.

The ten years that followed their deaths is something he does NOT talk about so it’s best not to ask him about that. Trust me, you don’t want to know.

Now Joel lives a solitary life with his dog, Ellie. He hadn’t wanted her at first but after she slept on his porch for three weeks straight (and he certainly did not leave food out for her each night) he finally let her inside and she hasn’t left his side since. He definitely doesn’t panic when she ventures off when he goes on a horse ride with her.

So when Din arrives at his doorstep to cash in his favour with his newly formed crew consisting of; a completely normal girl who he definitely doesn’t see talking to his animals like they can talk back, a fox that won’t stop staring at him, a kid who doesn’t talk and has the weirdest fascination with frogs, a pathological liar he wants to kill more than anything and a Dragon Rider without his Dragon, Joel wishes he never asked Din for a favour ten years ago.

Random Questions

What is something they regret? He should have left the city sooner. Shouldn’t have done a lot of things after.

How do they spend their downtime? He carves owls out of wood and sells them at the nearby village. And before you ask, no he won’t make you anything else- he ONLY carves owls. And he likes to ride down to the rivers with Ellie, she likes the water. 

Any irrational fears? Mushrooms. they’re slimy and look weird.

How do they show they’re uncomfortable? They grunt or glare.

What’s their view on magic? Joel doesn’t want to talk about magic.

What’s their view on the Lords? Joel doesn’t want to talk about them.

Favourite sound? The quiet. The fire crackling. His guitar. And Ellie’s sneezes when she sticks her head in pollen again, that’s always funny.

These varients of characters have been in my head for weeks. Ezra has my heart, just as I want to hug frankie. Joel deserves happiness. Astaria's heart is too big for the world and Din is in a straight up murder cult istg.

[granite3]

word vomit connecting bills letter to joel and ellie

i havent seen any people talk about how bills letter to joel parallels him and ellies relationship later on and (atleast in my opinion) partially plays a part in/foreshadows his decision to save her. “I used to hate the world and i was happy when everyone died. But i was wrong because there was one person worth saving. That’s what i did. I saved him. Then i protected him. That’s why men like you and me are here. We have a job to do. And god help any motherfuckers who stand in our way.”

Joel hated the world when Sarah died, but he was wrong because the person worth saving for him later on was Ellie. and he did exactly that, he saved her and he protected her. he slaughtered an entire hospital just to save and protect her because without Ellie he would again get stuck in his pessimism/misanthropy. (i’m not entirely sure on what type of philosophy that would be so please forgive me if it’s not pessimism/misanthropy)

sorry if this doesn’t really make sense but i was going through my camera roll and found a video of ellie reading out the note and immediately thought of this and wanted to share it, thank u for listening to my rambles

[sealluzz]

ocs w fan art doodle dump :p !!!

[phongdraws]

not sure how to draw him… in the meantime, have these practice sketches I might color later ✍️

[penvisions]

I’m really liking gone to the dogs! I mean that’s what fanfiction is for, being able to explore all kinds of different stories and paths.

I’m glad to read that Joel and Tess aren’t ready for Canes next move! Of course everyone has their soft moments but I like that Cane is totally badass too! I kinda liked Joel sneaking away to listen in on the conversation too, that clearly showed he does care in some weird way, even if he isn’t ready to admit it yet hahaha!

Wish you all the best and I am excited for read more and see what Cane does next :) 💕💕💕

thank you so much, bb! this is certainly a different path than i normally explore and it's been so much fun c:

and yessss, i had to put that in there to show that he's not as hardened as we see him in the beginning of the show / game. or even if he is, he's still soft in some instances. it's only seven years after the outbreak in the fic and yeah he's done the raider and attacking stuff to get to boston, but took a step back a little to try and make life worth living in the zone. his circle is small, and as much as he and cane snap at each other, they are partners and he will protect her should the situation arise 👀 at least the joel in my fic lol he's still a snarky, meanie but hey, it's fun to write lol

[pedropascalito]

The Last of Us Character Study S1E1: Joel's Stairwell: Second Story

I previously studied Joel’s bedroom for what we can learn about him from his home environment and possessions. I’m going to keep doing character studies of Joel based on his living spaces. This will be a series while I wait for Season 2. 

Their stairwell is both narrow and steep; Joel's shoulders almost touch the sides from some angles. I also noticed how many ceiling layers there are in the space between the kitchen, garage door, and this cramped stairwell. (Even the pictures are tightly grouped together!)

(Bonus: boob light!)

And, the stairway doesn't lead to an open area on the first floor, but instead to a fork between the main floor kitchen and living room. (I wonder if anyone has ever crashed into that partition wall after falling down the stairs?)

It doesn't seem like space for a full stairwell was included in the initial blueprints of this home, so I took a peek at the exterior and noticed something unusual: the second floor appears to be located only over the garage area, shown behind Joel's head below, rather than running the length of their home. And, no other homes in our view of the street have a second story.

My hypothesis? Joel is a contractor, and at some point after he purchased the home (with Sarah’s mother?), he added the small upstairs area to increase their space, hence the tight stairwell, forks to the kitchen and living room, and uneven, layered ceiling areas. Maybe Sarah was on the way and they needed more space? I love the idea of him working on their home at night and on the weekends, preparing for their baby girl. 

It just hurts more knowing Joel might have purposefully put this work into his home to make it more comfortable for his little family to live here.

btw, this is the face I make too when I'm searching for coffee in the morning:

[elliebeanwilliams]

okay I’m gonna fucking do it.

Im Gonna write a fic about ellie and joel and their capacity for violence.

[the-reason-to-believe]

Today | End of episode 8 - Ellie POV

Summary: She felt nothing. Every ounce of her was filled with deep, howling, unbearable nothingness. Empty. Ellie's POV at the end of episode 8.

Also posted on my AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/45624529

Length: 970 words

She felt nothing.

Every ounce of her was filled with deep, howling, unbearable nothingness.

Empty.

She opened the door and walked. Or at least she thought she was. But she couldn’t really tell. All these pictures, moments, nightmares were closing in on her. Like demons in the dark, ripping her apart. He was still holding her down. Her own screams echoed inside her head.

There was blood. Blood everywhere. And the smoke was still choking her. The world wasn’t the world anymore. It was gone and Ellie had gone with it. She couldn’t see, couldn’t hear. Couldn’t breathe. And between all the layers of empty, Ellie wasn’t Ellie anymore. She couldn’t even feel her own body. Maybe she was a ghost. Maybe the flames had gotten her. Maybe he had gotten her. And this was what was left.

Only when he grabbed her, did she move. Her body moved. Her body was still there. She didn’t really do anything, her body did it all for her. Screamed. Hit and hit and hit the man in front of her. Wiggled, fought for reasons she couldn’t grasp. Ellie always fought. Never stopped. Fought like hell. Somehow. Somehow the fight hadn’t left her when everything else did.

But he didn’t … he didn’t attack her.

“Ellie! It’s me!” Her name. He said her name. He said her name. Joel.

She blinked. Made herself see. Really see. She needed to be sure it was him. That this was real.

“Hey, look! It’s me. It’s okay.”

His face, frowning. Dark eyes searching hers frantically. Worried. Pained. As if he could see all the terrible things that happened from only looking at her. He said words she barely heard. Everything was out of focus. But this was him. This was Joel. He was alive. He was here. He had come to get her.

He had come for her.

Here.

It all came back to Ellie. Crushing down on her. Ripping reality into pieces. Ripping her soul in all directions. Suddenly it was there: The panic, the dread, the unbearableness. The cold. Ellie was cold. So, so cold.

And she wasn’t sure she would ever feel warm again.

But the only thing in the world that seemed to matter was Joel being here. Him instead of solitude. Him instead of them. Joel. Warm, so warm with all of who he was. Joel. Who so desperately tried not to be warm at all. Who so desperately didn’t want to let her in.

But here he was. Just for her.

“He …” Ellie couldn’t hear her own voice speaking. The words were hanging somewhere out in the distance, barely real. What was she even trying to say? She couldn’t … she just couldn’t puzzle them together on her tongue. She had everything and nothing at all to say. There was neither a beginning nor an end. No story. Just terror. Like the nightmares you couldn’t ever really piece back together once you woke up.

Her hands reached out to Joel by themselves.

Because the only thing she desperately needed was safety. Warm, comforting safety. And Joel was just all that.

So she leaned in, not really thinking about it. Not even considering he could push her away.

And he didn’t.

He pulled her in. Put his arms around her. Held on to her. Tight. Like his life depended on it. And like she desperately needed. Close. Safe. A lifeline saving her soul. Just a little bit. With him she was safe.

She slowly caught her breath.

Heard his voice whisper, shush her shaking body. Over and over again.

“It’s okay. I got you, baby girl. I got you.”

He got her.

He got her.

He got her.

The world fell away, when she buried her head in his shoulder.

When she breathed.

When she, at least for a second, forgot the horror.

Pretended none of it happened.

Until he slowly, carefully let go.

Until he looked at her.

Until the pain in his face came back and her horror became his horror.

All Ellie could do was stare.

Her body wouldn’t move. Was too cold. Mostly from the inside.

The facts reverberated in her head.

Today Ellie had killed two people.

Today Ellie had met a demon.

Today Ellie had almost died.

Today Ellie had survived.

A part of her was gone. Lost forever in the shadows of this village. A part she could never get back. Like somebody had broken her into pieces. No matter how much mending she was gonna do, it would never be like it was before.

And Joel knew it, too. It was written all over his face. In the way he moved. The way he took off his jacket and put it over her shoulders. To give the only tiny little bit of warmth that he had to give. Not just a piece of clothing. It was a piece of him.

Today they had lost each other. Today he had found her.

Today they had become some kind of family. Something, Ellie couldn’t grasp. But it was there. A connection that would forever be there. The way he held her. The way his pain came from her pain.

When they stumbled through the snow, the darkness of the world shifted. It was still there. All consuming. Relentless. But it had lifted just a little. While Joel guided the way. Held on to her, held her up when her wobbly legs wanted to give in. Made sure she wouldn’t fall. Ever again. Ellie had no idea where he got the strength from, when he was still limping from his injury. But somehow, he managed. Somehow, he got them both out of there.

Out of the dark. Into another kind of grey painted world. A grey that might not ever go away again. And maybe they would manage.

[soft-cryptids]

GUYS do you want to see some Joel or Javi fanart next?? Fair warning you’re probably getting both I just need to know in what order to work on them lmao

[keeperofthebees]

Live blogging the hospital scene cause I'm finally sane enough to watch it.

the music is quiet and somber and the noise is dull. because this is not a big powerful revelation. this is solemn. a solemn vow to save a girl. Doesn't matter who he kills to do it. Joel knows he is killing people. Innocent people, guilty people, he doesn't care and it doesn't matter. Armed or not. Surrendering or not. It doesn't matter. People with friends and families and lovers. It doesn't matter. It's wrong and he's a murderer and he's damned for it but he has to. Ellie is at the end of this. That is all that matters. Ellie is going to be alive because she is his daughter and he is going to go get her. He knows he's wrong. But he's a father. That's all he has left. He had one daughter and he lost her. He will be damned if he loses another. He already is. It doesn't matter