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i got you.

hello! I was hoping for a Joel miller imagine where the reader gets hit on in a bar when she’s dating Joel and he sees this and confronts the guy and hits him because he’s aggressive and is all protective over the reader!

I love your writing and this would be amazing thank you xx

A/n first joel request,, slay

update: watched the new episode, bill and frank, still crying 

i feel like this gives post outbreak joel a little more bc of the physical protectiveness,, but i can't remember if there's much/any descriptions of like literal bars in the QZ,, i've only watched the show and i don't remember seeing details,, like ik there's alc/pills available, but actual bars??

idk it's possible i've missed it or forgot bc i have terrible memory

so enjoy my 'makeshift' bar concept as i try my best to deviate from canon as much as possible

not to shamelessly self promo,, but if you like this fic i have another joel fic with what i feel like is a more developed version of this dynamic (bc it’s longer and more internal monologue centered) here and i’m making a part 2 for it so if you like these vibes and want something similar, it’s there, it exists :) 

----

You're staring again, and trying your hardest to convince yourself that you're not. It's more than pointless, it's bordering on ridiculous.

Joel Miller is not some fleeting crush that’d fit somebody in grade school better than it’d fit you. Not anymore. You know what you are. You've had a talk. The kind of talk that you didn't think existed anymore in this world.

It wasn't exactly the rom-com 'what are we', but after a man Joel was dealing with got a little too friendly, it led to an argument. One you didn't fully understand, especially since Tess practically lived by his side.

Don't pretend, you might come off as all innocent, but you're too smart to be that naive. Men like that only have one intention.

And that had rightfully infuriated you, because after weeks of lingering touches that could be justified with a few words but never were and all the goddamn looks, he had no right to lecture you about another man's intentions with you. His intentions don't matter because that has no affect on me and who I am. Why the fuck does it even matter?

Why does it matter? It had been this subtle scoff of a response that made you take a step back. That made your back brush against the wall of his apartment. Because I don't want other men like that lookin' at you, let alone speaking to you.

The world stopped spinning on its axis and all the air preparing to leave your lungs was trapped with no where to go. Too many implications. 'Other men like that', the inclusion of himself in men that had those intentions. Maybe even more importantly, the implication that he’s some sort of exception.

 Even more deafening, your response: Well maybe I wouldn't speak to them if you didn't entertain ev--

The rest of your sentence, whatever it would have been, was lost to his mouth on yours. A snapping of tension that took its time fizzling down to something less consuming. Something that allowed you both to talk enough to make it clear that Joel was yours and you were his.

It wasn't a magical snapping into place like it might have been in a world without the outbreak. In some ways, it added a new layer of hesitance, and in other ways it propelled you forward. There are growing pains with anything new, and the whole relationship thing is definitely new to you. Especially in this world.

If only you could get past staring. Maybe after Joel secures the whiskey-bourbon-hybrid whatever they're passing as alcohol these days from a less than trustworthy trading contact, you'll get buzzed enough to graduate to handholding, or at the very least, you'll be able to do something besides sit there.

You're starting to feel insane. How is making out easier than the small things? Maybe the setting is more at fault here than you. In the outside world, any form of attachment could easily be twisted into weakness. It’s likely best that you keep some distance from Joel here, especially with the way other men keep looking over at the two of you. 

It’s not like you’re never awkward about the little things when confined safely between the walls of Joel’s place, that’s slowly but surely starting to feel like it’s at least partially yours, as well. But the way you get in public is something else entirely. It’s probably for the best. There are already too many eyes on you. 

Like the guy with red hair that glints oddly in the yellow light of the stranger’s building. He’s swaying slightly, a dark looking glass in his hand that he’s yet to release in the entire time you’ve been here. Every time one of his friends leaves him, his gaze returns to yours. 

Your skin crawls each time, but you keep your expression as stoic as possible. Joel’s getting better at trusting you, better at letting you serve as a sort of backup in the way that Tess usually would. You know that if it came down to it, the man that keeps looking at you wouldn’t be an actual issue, and you know Tess wouldn’t let it get to her. 

Ugh. Another thing you want to get yourself to stop doing. Comparison. It’s ugly and so insignificant. Tess didn’t exactly welcome you with open arms when you first showed up, but you get that. And eventually she warmed a little. You think she’d still trade you for a few ration cards, but she doesn’t hate you. She’s, at the very least, no longer skeptical of you. The other day you caught her hiding a smile over a joke you made.

But it’s hard not to compare. They were the closest thing either of them had to a support system for years before you showed up, and you know that they’ve been together casually. Always casual. Joel stressed that part, but that doesn’t mean it’s an easy thing to know, especially now. 

You bury the thoughts the way you often do and turn your attention back to Joel. Back to staring. At least you’re consistent.

A man peaks out of the closet that seems to be the source of all the alcohol. He gestures vaguely in your direction. “That’s us,” Joel says, voice flat, “Wait here, I’ll be back.” 

Nodding as if to dismiss your own thoughts, you beg your mind to not create imaginary problems by reading into him telling you to stay. He’s walking a few feet away to get some boxes, it’s not the rejection insecurity is making it out to be. “I’ll hold down the fort, keep away trouble.” 

Joel blinks, turning his head in your direction briefly. The corner of his mouth turns up slightly, which is more of a reaction than he likes to give when in these kinds of places. He shifts his hand casually, his fingers brushing against yours briefly as he stands. The gesture is small but immediately dislodges the lump in your chest. 

“I’ll believe it when I see it.” It’s little more than a whisper, but there’s something hidden beneath the roughness of his tone. A pinch of lighthearted humor that’s only visible to you. 

It eases you even further. Joel turns away, moving behind the long table serving as a sort of bar counter. You tap your fingers against the surface without much thought, taking a second to absorb the easiness of it all. It’s rare that getting anything require so little. You don’t think anything’s ever come as easy as sitting on an uncomfortable bar stool. 

“So...” You blink, posture straightening as your eyes flit to the source of the sound. “Guard dog finally left you alone, princess?” 

Okay. Ew. Of course it’s the guy that’s been staring you down since you first sat down. You have to fight to not let your nose wrinkle. There’s no good in reacting, in escalating the situation. “Not a guard dog.” 

You hope that it’ll be enough to show that you’re not interested. “Aw, not feelin’ too friendly, baby.” Ew. You’re torn between cussing him out or actually punching him. Neither is an actual option. Places like these are a minefield and you refuse to be the one to set off a series of explosions. “Maybe you’ll cheer up after a drink, could get you one.” 

Turning your head, you take a breath before replying. “I have enough friends.” The stranger is clearly apart of a group. You don’t know if you could call them all friends, you’re not sure there’s enough casual trust in the world left for genuine friend groups. But they’re at least acquaintances, or work associates, or maybe they met here, equally inebriated enough to accept each other. It doesn’t matter, the point is they were chatting up a storm before he decided to wander over here and bother you. “And it looks like you do, too.” 

“Fine,” he relents too quickly, “Let’s not be friends, then.” His hand shoots forward, landing firmly--and disgustingly--on your waist. “Let’s be something else.” 

You’re unsure if you’re more repulsed by his hand on you or how terrible that line was. Your own hand clasps his, pushing and pulling in an attempt to create a space. He’s relentless, even when your nails start clawing at him. “If you want to keep your hand, I suggest getting off of me.” 

He blinks at your threat and then grins, flashing a smile that’s missing teeth. And then he laughs. A cold chuckle that makes its way beneath your skin. “God, I like them feisty.” 

Shoving your fingers under his, you manage to pry him off of you. Your foot moves, heels smashing into his toes as subtly as possible. “And I like them when they know how to fuck off.” 

His smile broadens, a cynical undertone to the look that makes it worse than before. “Oh, darling,” his hand finds your arm, tugging you forward, “You’re gonna pay for that.” 

“Pay for what?” Relief washes through you before you’ve even fully registered the familiar, even timber of Joel’s voice. He’s speaking in a lower tone than usual, an icy rage that you can feel in your bones and it’s not even directed at you. “Touching what’s not yours, ‘cause you’re the only one doing that.” 

There’s probably something you should say. A subtle warning to not go beyond scaring off the man that is clearly incapable of respecting a woman’s autonomy outside of another man’s claim over her. To not take it too far because it’s not worth it. Because you have it under control. Relatively.

Instead, you’re silent as the man releases you. He takes his time assessing Joel. The stranger is physically smaller and Joel does have that edge that only comes from someone that’s lost enough to be dangerous to anyone threatening what’s left. 

The man holds his hands up in defense, his glass sitting precariously between his thumb and pointer finger. “Easy, man.” You don’t even have to look at Joel to know that that was the wrong thing to say. “I didn’t mean any harm, if you set the price right, I’d be--” 

The rest of the proposition is taken care of by Joel’s fist connecting with the man’s jaw. You hear the audible crack before your mind can make the connection between Joel’s quick movement and the man’s silence. 

Holy shit. Joel didn’t just throw a punch, he threw a punch meant to shatter bone. He barely glances at you, and you’re too focused on the fact that Joel’s standing there, completely fine like he didn’t exert enough force to knock over a grown man. You blink as Joel extends the arm he’s been using to hold the small case. 

You’re too shocked to do more than take the box. The implication of why he’d hand you the box while still standing there doesn’t settle until Joel’s throwing another punch. Each hit is more committed than the last, even when the stranger’s knees give in and he collapses. 

Yeah, there’s definitely something you should say. Now. Like right now. You’d never ask him to hit anybody once, let alone do whatever he’s doing now. But words like ‘stop’ and ‘okay, think he gets it’ all jam themselves so far down your throat, you wouldn’t be able to pry them out with a wrench. 

All you can do is watch. It’s the kind of morbid fascination that reminds you of what it felt like to drive a little slower when passing a car wreck. You’re rooted in place by a realization that’s always been there at the back of your mind, an implied awareness. Joel’s more than just prone to violence when he needs to be. He’s angry. 

It should scare you. Terrify you. Your stillness should be some byproduct of that. But it’s not. Joe’s not a danger to you, he’s a danger for you. 

It’s a level of protectiveness you never thought you’d experience. Your chest feels warm. You hope you’re not messed up enough to consider this some grand display of love. However, there’s a vulnerability in the violence you can’t deny. You’re in a public place, the kind of morally questionable people that are far from above exploiting vulnerability. And yet here he is, announcing an undeniable attachment. 

Joel finishes, chest heaving and hands still curled into fists. The low light makes the thin layer of sweat on his skin seem like he’s practically glowing. His knuckles are already evidently split and swirling in distinct shades of blue and red. You’re mesmerized. 

“You can’t do that shit here.” 

That’s it. The only reprimand. In the world of before, he would have gotten the cops called on him. He would have gone to jail. 

Joel looks up, mumbles something under his breath that sounds suspiciously close to fuck off. He then looks at you, gestures with a tilt of his head for you to follow, and walks forward. 

You try not to think of what it must look like when you follow, quickening your steps to get closer to him after you’re out of focus. When you reach the door, Joel pulls it open with one hand and reaches for your fingers with the other. 

----

The way your eyebrows draw together when you’re examining an injury is different than the way they pull together for anything else. It’s too focused to be concerned and too concerned to be focused. 

Joel could stare at that expression for longer than he’d ever admit to. He could concentrate on that little line above your forehead and forget about everything else. “I’m fine,” he mutters, knowing that there’s no real point. You’ll do what you’re going to do when it comes to these kinds of things.

You nod absentmindedly, another small sign that you’re not as here as you normally odd. “It’d be awfully sad if you died of something as small as non-fungal infection.” 

He swallows, minding that look behind your eye. Things are still normal, you’ve yet to show any sign of rejection. He kept your fingers locked practically the entire way here and you let him. Never pulled away. 

It’s not like he needs to apologize. Joel did nothing wrong. He even gave you a minute to handle the situation, but the man was relentless. The kind of asshole that takes advantage of a world with little order to prey on women. Joel would do it again. And again. And again. There are no regrets there.

You’re not naive. You know what you signed up for when you accepted him. He’s never hid that from you. That doesn’t change the fact that you’ve always had a pension for forgiveness, a pinch of empathy the world hasn’t managed to snuff. 

“You’re dramatic, anyone ever tell you that?” 

A touch of a smile pulls on the corner of your mouth. “Hm. Think I’ve heard that once or twice from this one guy. Dark hair, dark eyes, cute, but not really my type.” 

Joel smiles, a partial laugh escaping him. “Really?” 

Turning over his hand with a gentleness he still finds difficult to understand, you press a quick kiss to his palm. You move back into your previous position so quickly it almost feels bashful. “I think you know the answer.” You flip his hand so that his knuckles face you again and go back to cleaning them. “You know, you didn’t have to...I wouldn’t have ever asked you to do that.” 

Joel can’t help his partial smile at that. Like there was ever any doubt. “I know,” he manages, “You’re not that.” 

It takes a second for you to understand what he’s implying. That you’re not like him. Yes, you get mad and you have nothing against putting people in their place, but you don’t like hurting people. Your lips part awkwardly, like you want to say he’s not that either, but you can’t. He just proved it to the both of you. 

“Nothing wrong with being like that,” you say, all too casual, “So don’t say it like it’s this big thing.” There is no end to the level of understanding you offer him. He doesn’t deserve it, he never will. “And you’re not like that in the way you mean. That asshole was, you’re not.” 

Joel lets out a low breath. Of course, even this you’d find a way to reframe. “You’d think so.” 

“I’m right.” It’s a quick reply, and the exact kind of response he expected. “You’re not a shitty person just because you beat up some guy or any of the reasons you’re thinking. New world, new morals. Accept it.” 

Your lips pull together into what’s almost a pout in your determination. Always so sure when it comes to him. “Mhm,” he breathes, watching your surprise at his compliancy. You know something’s coming, but not what. Your awareness does little to help you when Joel twists your hand in his pushes you back against the couch. “And what about you?” 

He hasn’t grabbed your hands yet, but you stay still, eyes trained on him. “I am a lot meaner than you think I am.” 

He tilts his head down to hide his amused expression. Your version of mean is fighting back. “You want to prove it?”

Purpose

“This is the fic I talked about here

Summary: Episode 3 was too beautiful for me not to write a fic where bill’s letter makes joel think about reader 

anyways this isn’t an exact recreation of the episode,, it’s more about location and the vibes of the episode

----

The words won’t stop echoing in his head. Again and again, a round of bullets bouncing around in his mind, desperate for a target to pierce. Bill’s letter was written in anything but malice, yet it still manages to pry into Joel, get under his skin the way nothing has in a long time. 

Purpose. Saving, taking care of who’s worth it. The mention of Tess. The way his mind keeps floating to you. 

He shouldn’t. You haven’t been around long enough to even scratch at the surface of what Bill and Frank had. He knows that, but his mind won’t stop weaving the sentiment in Bill’s words to all the bits of you he knows. The tempo of them matches the sound of your laugh, the emotion behind them tethers itself to the tugging feeling that lingers in his chest whenever you tilt your head and look at him with those eyes when pitching something he’d instinctually say ‘no’ to.

It’s never a form of manipulation, either. It’s always teasing, always pushing in good humor, always innocent. You never take advantage, never try to. He doesn’t even think you know that you have that specific look. One person worth saving. 

There’s a soft creaking of floorboards. Joel turns his head instinctually, body stiffening in an instinctual preparation for the worst. Oh. His eyes find you and his stance instinctually eases. “Guys.” You’re more excited than you want to seem, completely unaware of the thoughts in his head. “They have hot water.” 

Ellie recovers faster than he can. For a brief second, Joel feels a pang of something oddly close to jealousy at her ability to interact casually. “No, shit--really?” 

“Really,” you confirm, “Does anyone want the first shower or can I steal it?” 

Turning her head, Ellie briefly looks like she’s considering asking for it instead, but then her eyes flit back to Joel. He’s staring, a little more out of it than she’s yet to see him. There’s something bordering on awkward in the way that he’s watching you. 

Oh. The realization finally hits Ellie. A hot shower would be amazing, but putting it off for a little will definitely be worth this. “I’m okay with that.”

You nod in her direction with a quick mumble of appreciation before turning your eyes to focus on Joel. You’re not doing the plead-y thing. His thoughts swell. Of course you’re just waiting patiently for an answer, genuinely willing to give up the first shower spot that you could have just taken. 

“Joel?” 

Shit. He hasn’t responded. “Ye--” It’s a small sound that’s not quite a word that Joel quickly disguises by clearing his throat. “Yeah, go ahead.” 

Ellie’s eyes are burningly obvious. Even if you didn’t notice, Joel’s never hearing the end of it from that kid. 

You lean against the doorway. “You good?” 

“Fine,” now he’s replying too quickly, “Just--Bill said a lot more to me than he ever has.” Great. His second mistake. The last thing he needed to do was hint at emotion, the one thing guaranteed to sway you away from the promise of a hot shower. “If you ask me about my feelings you’re losing your first shower spot and I’ll run the sink until it’s icy.” 

You cross your arms in front of your chest. “You wouldn’t, Miller.” 

“Try me.” 

He can feel your eyes burn through him, can sense the way you see through his shit. You don’t push, you just straighten your stance, “Fine, you’ll only have that threat until I’m out of that shower.” 

Joel keeps his expression flat. “Plenty of time for me to think of a new one.” 

“Looking forward to it.” 

 When you disappear out of his line of sight, his breathing improves and worsens all at once. Joel curses the ridiculousness of it. Sure, there were certain thoughts when he was around you before the letter, but this is something else. Something he needs to get over fast.

He lets his eyes drop towards Ellie and he takes her grin as the gut punch it is. “I’ve never seen you shy--it’s cute.” 

“Don’t.” 

She doesn’t even have the decency to pretend to be influenced by the gruffness of his voice. “Don’t what?” 

The false innocence in Ellie’s tone isn’t worth engaging with. Joel glares, turning to leave the room before anything else can be said. 

----

Leave it to the end of the world to teach someone how to appreciate the little things. A lifetime of warm showers with a guarantee of water that could hold the temperature long enough for someone to really feel clean and Joel doesn’t think he’s ever understood the world of good a shower could do someone until now. 

You had been diligent, worried about taking up the time and heated water from anyone else, but when you stepped out of the bathroom, hair still wet, Joel practically forgot how to look you in the eye. It’s not that the shower changed you completely, though clean and safe is a good look on you, it’s that it made things feel normal. The kind of normal that would take nothing to slip into and turn to habit.

He had practically ducked out of the room when Ellie told him to go ahead since he so clearly needs a shower more than she does. It felt like the beginning of some kind of scheme, but there was nothing he could say with you in the room. So what if Ellie makes a comment or two? That doesn’t mean she knows anything. It’s not like Joel...he doesn’t. He can’t. Not with you. 

As he showers, he thinks of not thinking. Focuses on dislodging those thoughts from his mind. The echo of Bill’s words hold firm as they merge with memories of you. 

What makes a person worth taking care of so completely? Does the worthiness come from kindness or personal attachment or some natural, intrinsic quality? 

It doesn’t matter. No matter how many times he runs through all the potential categories, Joel knows who always fits it. 

“Well, don’t you look pretty.” Ellie’s voice snaps him out of that train of thought. Before Joel can reply, she turns, “Don’t you think so?” 

You blink, Joel briefly debates locking Ellie in some other room until it’s time to go. You take your time glancing over at him. “Yeah.” It’s been too long since things that mattered in the past have come up for him. He isn’t used to being overly aware of his appearance. The strangeness of it is daunting. “Joel’s the prettiest.” 

A cop out enough answer. It’s an easy way to appease Ellie and keep from turning something casual into something weird. Joel mentally scolds himself for being surprised. What else could he have expected? That you’d immediately jump to describe your opinions on his appearance? 

There’s no way that would have been a particularly good thing. He may not be as aware of his appearance as he was before the world changed, but he knows that he’s both older than you and made up of tattered edges more akin to shards than anything else. 

Ellie starts to approach the doorway. “I’m gonna take a shower.” Maybe that will help Joel regain control of whatever ill timed spiral this is. Removing Ellie’s comments and sideways glances definitely won’t make things worse. “For at least 30 minutes.”

It’s said with a deliberate slowness and Joel can feel heat settle in his face. “Just go.”

She holds her hands up in mock defense before turning and finally leaving. Joel frowns at the realization that his mental tension doesn’t immediately vanish with her. 

You turn casually, “That was weird.” 

“She’s a kid,” he mumbles, “Kids are weird.” 

There’s not that much space between the two of you. A casual distance that could be destroyed by a few steps. It’s an impulse that burrows itself deep beneath his skin. Joel straightens to avoid giving into the need to be closer. 

“Yeah.” It’s a breath, casual and flat. Joel finds himself unexplainably grated by the sound. He’s not the kind of person that dwells on others. Especially not in this way. “You know what’d be fun?” 

Joel swallows at the easy transition. You walk past him and towards the wooden table top. He isn’t sure what your goal is until your fingers bend around a neck of a bottle of wine. There’s something particular about the way the corner of your mouth tugs upwards. Mischievous. 

“I-” He clears his throat again. “I’ve gotta drive.” You say nothing, but that touch of an almost pout and the goddamn head tilt. “We need to stay alert.” 

You let out a sigh, turning the bottle in your hand. “You’re going to get out-of-it drunk off of one glass of wine?” 

He can’t afford anything right now. “You might.”

“You’ve never seen me drink.” 

So much indignation. Joel fights against a grin. You’ve spent most of your adult life in a post-outbreak world. There likely hasn’t been much opportunity for you to build your tolerance. And at this point, he feels like he knows you, and nothing about your personality or general being indicates that you’d be able to handle your alcohol. 

Sure, he doesn’t think you’ll genuinely be drunk after one glass, but he also doesn’t believe you’ll stick to that. A light buzz here wouldn’t be the worst thing, but it’d be inefficient. An additional distraction that Joel is doing his best to keep from.

Joel sighs at the accusatory way you raise your eyebrows. “I can still tell.” 

You roll your eyes. “I should go through with it just because you said that.” He watches you set down the bottle.

The lack of protest hits him harder than it should. It was a small thing to ask for and there was such a genuineness in the way you introduced it. You know what’d be fun? Even your defense was framed innocently. You’ve never seen me drink. Like the whole idea was more about the two of you than the actual drinking. Like you’re friends more than you are just friendly. 

Once again, his mind latches back onto the letter. An element he doesn’t need in the air right now. “Y/n.”

“I said we didn’t have t--” Joel grabs the bottle and takes a quick sip before you can finish your sentence. The immediate half-laugh-half-scoff that follows makes it all worth it. “Classy.” 

He does all he can to keep from smiling, but he isn’t sure he’s fully successful. “Always have been.” 

It’s the stupid kind of joke that you and Ellie would have exchanged a look over. You two would have picked it a part, pointing out the evident laziness of it. Instead of that, you laugh again before pushing away from the counter. He’s still as you walk towards him. 

The entire thing is casual until your eyes meet his. Joel’s body instinctually locks into place. It’s a form of defense, of keeping this moment from shattering. Your hand moves forward slowly--or maybe you’re moving normally and everything just feels slow when you’re focusing on him like that--until it finds the bottle. The tip of your fingers brush against the back of his palm. 

For a second, that’s all that exists. All that matters. You squeeze the bottle and Joel lets you take it. “You know it’s hard to measure a single glass without the actual glass.” 

You set the bottle down and turn your attention towards finding any type of cup. Joel keeps quiet as you find the set of long stemmed wine glasses. You set out two of them and fill them each a little less than halfway. A reasonable amount. A controllable amount. 

Turning back to face him, you hand him a glass. 

“One glass.” 

Nodding once, you pick up your own. “One.” Extending your glass with no warning, you quickly clink them together. A soft cheers. 

----

About three glasses later. 

“...That doesn’t,” laughter, “make--make sense.” 

There’s no slurring, but the small giggles pressed sporadically throughout the single sentence cues Joel in on something he should have taken into consideration about two glasses ago. You’re tipsy. Not drunk or fully out of it, but buzzed in some sense of the word. Buzzed enough to not even pretend to follow on his comment that hadn’t really meant anything. 

Joel sighs, forcing a bit of annoyance into the sound. “Maybe not to you.” 

You pout without reservation. “That’s rude.” 

Reaching around him without any tact, you try to find the bottle. “That’s enough.” 

Joel can deal with how you are now, but any further could be risky. It’s not like the three of you are settling in this house. His hand finds its way to your wrist as you try to squirm back. It takes you less than a minute to still. Joel doesn’t pull away. A second longer. Just to be sure. 

He returns your hand to his side gently, easing you back into place by your wrist. “I’m not drunk.” 

There’s no argument in your voice, no protest or anything that gives any indication of your flat observation. The certainty in your voice settles against Joel’s skin like a second layer. It doesn’t feel like it’s coming from the same person that just couldn’t get through a sentence without being interrupted by a fit of laughter. 

Joel’s chin tilts downwards in a barely there nod that he trusts you to pick up on. “Never said you were.” The realization that he hasn’t let you go yet hits him with no warning. His pointer finger and thumb are still grasping your wrist. It’d be so easy to turn over your hand and let your palms meet. “We should keep it that way.” 

“I trust you.” You breath out the words reluctantly, like you’re annoyed by the truth of it. The casualness of your voice has to prove that you don’t mean anything by it. Smiling almost, you breeze past what you just said. “This is fun. I haven’t gotten wine buzzed sin--” The cut off is jarring, but Joel knows better than to push. “Awhile. Since Ruth.” 

A name that has only ever slipped out from time to time. Joel’s picked up on enough pieces to know that it’s sore subject. “You don’t have to.” 

“I know.” Your eyes feel distant, you’re going somewhere else now. “Ruth was like a grandmother to me. Sweetest old lady, tough as nails, too.” You laugh again, the sound sharply bittersweet. “She didn’t like being handled or taken care of, but she was getting a little older and she--she was developing some kind of early memory issue. One day we got into this warehouse and it was full of wine. So we drank and then...” Eyes practically glazing over, you angle your chin downwards. You wipe at your face with the back of your palm. “I don’t know how I didn’t know. She had been talking about not wanting to live in a world where she couldn’t remember her children or-or take care of herself, and she’d been struggling a little more.” Joel swallows once as you pause. “She waited until I fell asleep. Left a note saying she’d never be a burden.”  

Joel relaxes the fingers wrapped around your wrist and turns his palm outwards. You meet him half way, interlocking your fingers with his. It surprises him more than it should. 

There haven’t been many times in which Joel actively reflected and wished that he could be different in some way. It’s his ability to remain detached and distant from emotions that have allowed him to last. But if he were some other version of himself, he’d be able to say something insightful or sympathetic or maybe even kind. 

But he’s not, so after the second, the only thing he can manage to say is, “Sounds like the kind of person you’d care about.” 

It feels like a wrong reaction, and maybe it would have been for someone else, but you give no indication of being upset. You let out a sad kind of laugh. “You know, now that you mention it you do kind of fill the grumpy, old lady void in my life.” 

The implication of your joke should sting more than it does considering the mess of his train of thought today, but it tugs at something in him instead. “Funny.” 

“Just like Ruth would have said.” 

He sighs, too aware that his expression doesn’t project the right kind of annoyance. You’re smiling again, though, like you’re pressing your lips together to keep from laughing. It’s a reset, knowing that you’re feeling better and that in some way it’s because of him. 

It clicks then. Settles like the world after a storm. Joel understands. It’d be easy to build a life out of protecting someone. He sees how it’s the kind of purpose that can burn away the frayed edges of someone that seems to be made of them. 

“Y/n.” His throat feels dryer than he remembers it being. There’s an uncertainty in where to go next, but you feel the shift the same way he does. Joel sees it in the soft nod of your head. “Y’know what Bill said in his letter?” His eyes flit away from you, “’About purpose and...” 

You were exploring the home when Ellie read the letter, but you had picked it up and read about half of it before Joel took it back. It was a bit petty, but you didn’t press. It’s his business more than yours.

What you had read had gotten to you and you didn’t even know Bill and Frank. It must have Joel, even if he refuses to let it be obvious. “I know it must have been hard to hear, but it--what I did read sounded like a better way to live than most did even before.” The response fits you. Of course you’d see it. “Sorry, that was--that was probably overstepping. They were your...” You hesitate, unsure if friend or associate would be more fitting. “You knew them and--” 

“No,” he breathes, “You’re right.” Joel takes a moment to just look at you, to take in what it feels like to be standing somewhere safe, holding your hand. “It does sound like a good way to be.”

Joel doesn’t know what to take from your reaction. The way your eyes widen just enough to be noticeable. You didn’t expect that level of candor from him, especially not about something so close to feel-y. “You think it’s unrealistic?” 

Your question comes out almost hesitant. It’s the kind of thing you would have never asked if it hadn’t been for the wine. The way you clamp your mouth shut after speaking is evidence enough. 

There’s so much he could say to that, but nothing feels like it’d fit. “Not for you.” 

You smile again but it doesn’t reach your eyes. “It isn’t for you, either.” Eyes briefly dropping, you tact on an almost shy, “If you wanted it. I know you’re...” Tilting your head in that one way that always gets under his skin, you settle on, “Most comfortable with what you know.”

Joel presses his lips together before correcting his expression into something more neutral. The sensation that he’s teetering on something twists at the air in his lungs. “You sayin’ I’m set in my ways?” 

Your amusement feels genuine again, free from whatever had been eroding at it before. His words are another step forward, an attempt at meeting you in the middle. “It’s not a bad thing.” When Joel raises his eyebrows, you let out a sigh. “You’ve said worse about me.”

He fights down a grin. “Doesn’t sound like me.” 

“Yeah, you’re a damn sweetheart.”

This time Joel lets himself react in the form of what’s almost a laugh. “That’s more like it.” Your eyes soften and there’s a warmth there that Joel doesn’t know how to hold onto. It melts at a part of him he didn’t think existed. It’s dangerous, more risky than the wine. “Do you think you’d--you want that?” 

You blink and Joel can find no way to blame you for your hesitance. The question was blurted out so haphazardly, so unlike what it is and now it’s looming over the both of you. 

Your mind is racing in a way you can’t justify. It’s not the question, but the way it came out of Joel, coated in a layer of hesitance that practically felt nervous in a way that doesn’t suit him. “Yeah.” The single syllable is so low it almost feels like a secret. “I--I think I do.” It’s surprising to you. “You said it yourself--it’s a good way to be. I’m sure for some people, it’d even be peaceful.” 

Joel’s jaw briefly locks at that last part. “And if it’s someone that can’t give you that last part?” 

The hollowness of the question startles you out of your initial reaction. The words alone would have been fine if they felt less raw. Your mind can’t wrap around them this way. “I uh--I’d probably be the unpeaceful one.” You don’t think you can describe it in a way that anyone would understand. “Caring about anyone that openly and trusting them to do the same...I don’t think I’d be a natural at that.” 

You don’t want to dwell on your words or the honesty of them, so you move on the only way you can think to: “What about you?” 

He should have known that you’d ask. He should have thought through some kind of response that wouldn’t leave him exposed. Then again, maybe that was the point of leading you here. Bill and Frank were here one day and now they’re not. 

“Y/n...” You’re silent, waiting patiently for the end of his sentence. There’s so much to say that none of it can come out. It traps itself in his throat. Too much about the day he first met you, the first time he heard you laugh, the first night when Ellie fell asleep with her head on your shoulder, the fact that knowing you’re okay could fix practically anything. “I don’t know why I’m still here and I’m not too sure Bill was right about me, but I...” The words jam in on themselves and Joel takes it as an opportunity to drag his thumbs across your knuckles like this might be his last chance to do so. “I think you might be part of it.”

The lack of immediate response twists at his stomach. Joel moves to take his hand back and at the last second you snap back into reality. You squeeze his hand, pulling him back towards you. “Joel...” You’re watching him so intently Joel needs to do something. He steps forward. “Are you--are you saying--” 

Sometimes action comes more naturally than words. Joel knows that, knows the familiarity of jumping into something when there’s nothing left. He moves his hand up your arm and settles it on your shoulder. His other hand brushes against your cheek. He pauses long enough to give you a chance to protest. You don’t. 

Closing the distance between you is a snap of everything into place. He can’t remember the last time something felt so natural. You melt into him, fitting into place like you’ve always been there. 

You’re warm enough to melt through all of his reservations. Joel places a hand on your side, pulling you even closer. It could be an eternity or it could only be a few seconds. You start pulling back first, Joel chases after you, grazing his teeth against your bottom lip.

You move back only enough to breathe, but you can’t bring yourself to let go of him. “Joel.” You want to tell him you get it now and that you agree. That you’d come back to this again and again. That he’s your purpose. “It’s you.” 

It’s the only thing you can say, but that’s okay. You trust him to understand.

----

Taglist: @ciniluv

hold me close to your heart

Summary:

Maybe decades-old grief is messing with his head, making him see relationships where they don’t exist. Perhaps she’s excited to be back with Marlene, far from his grumpy ass. But he will never forgive himself if he doesn’t say this.

‘You’re gonna be immune for the rest of your life,’ he points out. ‘If I’ve got a say, you’re gonna have plenty years more for them to come up with this world-saving cure. Promise me you’ll remember that before doing anything rash.’

Her eyes widen, and she screws up her face in the way that means she’s chewing the inside of her cheek. ‘We can… wait?’

OR

Joel convinces Ellie to come back to Jackson before they rush into a cure. And in the meantime, he's tasked with the very important job of finding her new nickname.

Notes:

As it turns out, finishing The Last of Us right as AO3 went down is the fastest way to end up with a fic sitting in your Google drive, waiting to be posted. Joel and Ellie deserve a happy ending, and by god am I going to pretend they live in a universe where they get it!

Read on AO3!

Safe as Houses

Read on AO3 🏘 Buy me a coffee ☕

Summary:

Joel can't undo what happened, but he can help her heal.

When he suggests they head back to Jackson, she agrees.

The cycle repeats ten times. Her silence. His rambling. More silence, when he runs out of things to say and his stitches rub his skin raw. Encouraging her to eat food she can't even look at. Sleeping within arm's reach. Waking up a few hours later to screams caused by a nightmare she won't breathe a word about.

He doesn't tell her he's getting weaker. He blames his stumbles on invisible branches and his pained grunts on his aching knees and the snow.

He stops asking why she's so quiet, and she never mentions his side. They return to the same stilted, one-sided conversations from when they first met, their roles reversed.

When he hears the hooves five miles outside Jackson, he nearly collapses on the spot.

By some miracle, he makes it all the way to the fence before he does.

OR

Making it back to Jackson doesn't promise Joel and Ellie safety. But it does offer them one thing the open road didn't: a home.

Notes:

Hi everyone!! This fandom has absolutely taken over my brain, so when I was thinking about doing some writing practice to improve on some areas I struggle with, I figured why shouldn't I make it Joel and Ellie themed?

This fic is all the same universe, but each chapter will be sort of it's own story. There's a couple of different things I wanted to try writing, and this chapter is about switching POVs without accidentally headhopping! If there's anything you want me to include, let me know and I'll be sure to try and squeeze it in.

I hope you enjoy reading this fic as much as I enjoyed writing it!

I just watched The Last Of Us episode 3 and it's so fucking beautiful!!!!!

Seeing a gay couple live their best fucking lives doing whatever the fuck they want without bigotry or hatred towards them makes me so fucking happy

And seing gay characters decide their time has come not because of homophobia or prosecution for their orientation but because they love eachother and want to die together because of that and nothing else is so beautiful

I can't describe how much I cried deep tears seing all of this! Just seing them be old and happy

Seing the dumb things they argue about because they can both be petty and shit

How can anyone hate seing that!?

Is hate really so deep in so many people's heart that they will see something so beautiful and still decide to hate? The final act of loving your partner is ignored because your heart is so hate filled that it makes you blind?!

How????

I MADE AN ELLIE PLAYLIST

Just saying- Ellie would be a girl in red fan 🤷

TLOU Episode 8

I unpacked my feelings about Ellie & Joel

Joel got stabbed in the same spot Sarah got shot

"And when you go take this heart I'll make no more use of it when there's no more of you"

ellie williams.

DON'T LOOK DOWN -> the last of us

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Hi...so I'm absolutely losing my mind over this show. I have some friends who have played the game that are head over heels for it as well, but as someone who's never played, I'm SOLD. I'm in love with the world, with the characters, with the set design, EVERYTHING. Ever since I saw episode one I've had an idea rattling around in my head for an OC, so I did what I always do — come to Tumblr to flesh them out! I hope you enjoy this and please let me know if you do through comments or reblogs!! Remember that if you like a fic or any post for that matter, you should like and REBLOG it, because likes mean next to nothing. Support your fellow artists and spread the love!! Enjoy, my lovely readers <3

PAIRING: PLATONIC joel miller x fem!reader (I'm talking some SERIOUS found family stuff here) WARNINGS: Heavy use of guns and weapons, mentions of the apocalypse, DETAILED descriptions of violence, trauma, and death. Family member death. I definitely sobbed while writing this SUMMARY: After losing her family and getting found by the Fireflies, Y/n goes with Ellie and Joel on a treacherous journey to Salt Lake City.

"I spy with my little eye...something blue."

"Is it the sky?"

"No, dipshit, that's too obvious." Ellie said with an eye roll.

Y/n just scoffed, shaking her head. "Joel, you got any ideas?"

"How 'bout we start with making this the last round of this game?" he said gruffly. Ellie just gave him a glare and muttered something about him being a killjoy underneath her breath. Joel cleared his throat, looking around them — the open field to the left, the forest to the right. "You got me."

Ellie groaned, her head dropping. "It was Y/n's backpack, duh." she said. "Which, I'd like to add, has two guns in it. Not one. Two."

"Cause I actually know how to use them, genius." Y/n replied. "I'm kind of shit at aiming, but I can't point and shoot until the cows come home. If there's one good thing about the apocalypse, it's that it taught me some basic life skills really damn fast.

"Aren't you from Arizona? Hunting season's pretty much year-round down there. Didn't your dad take you out hunting or something?" Joel asked.

At those words, something in Y/n's eyes glazed over. "No. No he didn't." she said, her voice flat. After a moment, she sniffed and rubbed at her nose, turning her head away so as not to let them notice. But Joel saw. She coughed. "Come on, we should pick up the pace if we want to make it to Bill's by sundown."

With that, she sped up until she was walking a good ten feet in front of them. Joel watched her with confusion, which Ellie noted.

"She does that when she doesn't want anyone to see her cry," she explained quietly. "She's got some rough family stories."

"We all do." Joel replied.

But Ellie just shook her head, glancing back at Y/n. "Not like hers."

Ellie and Y/n huddled behind the hole in the wall, listening to the sounds of gunfire come and go. Pop, pop. Silence. Pop. Y/n could barely stand it. She flinched at the familiar sound of gunfire now.

Y/n popped out above from hers and Ellie's hideout and fired a few times into the open, not sticking around to see if she'd actually hit one of their attackers. She always figured it was better if she didn't know. Based on the number of shots coming from their end, she could tell that Joel was wildly outnumbered. They weren't FEDRA or Fireflies, but they had a big enough group to overwhelm one man. Glass shattered as a bullet from the other side shattered through the truck's windshield. Y/n peeked out as glass rained down on Joel. He was alone as the enemy approached. And Y/n couldn't let that happen.

Joel carefully made his way to the other side of the truck as someone stepped in through the obliterated doorway of the laundromat. Glass crunched under his feet. Every step he took brought him closer and closer to discovering Joel. They were running out of time.

Y/n turned to Ellie suddenly, startling her. She put her hands on either sides of Ellie's face, looking at her with an expression so serious that she knew it was in her own best interest to shut the hell up. "Listen to me, you need to stay here. Don't get up. Don't move. Don't even think about it. Don't get a bright idea and try to play hero, alright?"

Ellie gave a quick nod and Y/n stooped down, unzipping her backpack as quietly as she could and pulling out one of her pistols. She began to creep to the hole in the wall, but Ellie grabbed her sleeve before she could come into view. "What are you doing?"

Y/n turned back, trying not to let the fear coursing through her show to the younger girl. "I got a bright idea."

Y/n crept carefully through the hole in the wall as the man stepped closer towards Joel's hiding place. She held her breath, both hands wrapped around the pistol, her pointer finger on the trigger.

Crunch.

The man wheeled around, and Y/n, caught off-guard, abandoned the gun, placing a strong kick to the man's stomach. He stumbled back and the gunfire resumed, stronger now than ever. Joel used this moment to leap out of his hiding spot, jamming the butt of his rifle into the back of the man's head. He crumpled on the spot, blood pouring from the point of impact.

"I told you to stay there." Joel said angrily.

"I don't listen." Y/n said. A single gunshot whizzed past them and they crouched down to avoid it.

"If you go leaping into open fire, what's to stop Ellie from doing the same, huh?"

"She wouldn't follow me out here."

"How do you know?"

"Because I told her not to."

"I told you not to. And you didn't listen." Joel said, reaching up to fire. There was a yell as his bullet met its target, and the gunfire ceased instantly. He went to reload, but found the barrel had jammed.

Y/n stood up, glaring at Joel. "She listens to me. She trusts me." she said. "You're just the guy in charge of taking us from Point A to Point B."

"Trust isn't the point here, okay?" Joel replied, standing. "You're not setting a good example for her."

"You're not my dad, Joel!" Y/n replied, her tone low and harsh. "Ellie is the closest thing I've got to family. Once we reach Salt Lake City, I'm going to be the only one she has, and I'll be damned if I take that away from her. I can protect myself. So worry about yourself."

Joel had no answer for that. Suddenly the silence they were surrounded by seemed impossibly loud. Either they had killed their attackers or frightened them enough to make them turn around and run. Y/n wasn't sure which she'd prefer.

"Are you guys done arguing so I can come out now?" Ellie's voice came out muffled.

Y/n gave Joel one last pissed off look and turned around. "Hang on, I'm coming to get ya!" she said, heading back to the hole in the wall. "Here, hand me your stuff and I'll—"

The sudden sound of the back door to the laundromat bursting open silenced her. There was a gunshot and a yell — whether it was from Joel or his attacker, she couldn't tell. Y/n didn't wait to see what was happening before she practically shoved Ellie back into the hiding spot to keep her out of harm's way.

Y/n turned as someone in dark clothing knocked Joel to the ground, scrambling on top of him pressing his rifle to his neck to choke him. "Now you're gonna fucking pay! What you fucking did, you fucking killed yourself, motherfucker!" the guy shouted, his voice filled with rage. Joel struggled against him, but his grip stayed firm, pressing harder and harder down on his throat. His shoes squeaked against the floor as he tried desperately to move away, but it was useless.

The gun weighed heavy as Y/n lifted it. Arms straight out, finger over the trigger. Joel's struggling was becoming weaker and weaker with every passing second. Beads of sweat collected on Y/n brow. This was no time for indecision. No time for fear. She grit her teeth and gripped the gun even tighter.

Bang.

The man let out a yell as he fell to the side, slumped against the wall. Joel immediately began to gasp and wheeze, taking in heaving breaths of air. Y/n stepped closer, the gun still held out, and she saw that she hadn't killed the man.

He was leaning against the wall, his chest heaving violently. When he removed his hands from under him, they were slick, coated with blood. He struggled to get himself up, grimacing at the pain, and Y/n realized with horror that he couldn't have been much older than she was.

He was just a kid.

"No, no, no, no, no! It's okay! It's okay. It's over. We're not fighting anymore." he shouted frantically, holding a bloodstained hand out to stop her. His voice had completely changed from before. What had been violent rage was now desperate pleading. "I'm gonna go home. I'll tell everyone you're good." he said, his voice choked with tears.

Y/n swallowed, refusing to lower her weapon as a lump in her throat began to form.

Suddenly he sobbed, his voice becoming high-pitched in distraught terror. "I don't know what to do. My legs don't work."

She had shot him in the spine. She must've paralyzed him.

"My mom isn't far, if you could get me to her." he cried.

Joel slowly began to get up, but Y/n was frozen in fear. She couldn't move, couldn't breathe. All she could do was watch this terrified kid beg for his life.

"We could trade with you guys. We could be friends. I didn't know!" he said, panting through tears. "I'm Bryan! I'm Bryan. What's your name?"

Y/n's throat constricted. Tears rushed to her eyes and she didn't stop them, but her body knew better. Tears were weakness. She pushed them away almost as an instinct, but something was still weighing heavy in her chest. Bryan.

Joel's hand suddenly reached out, grabbing the pistol from the top. Y/n suddenly became aware, her eyes darting to Joel's. He said nothing, but the look on his face said all she needed to know: You know what I have to do.

Slowly, she let go of the pistol and found that her hands were shaking violently. He turned back around, causing Bryan to panic. "Wait, wait, wait!" he shouted, doing his best to drag himself further away. all he was doing was backing himself further into a corner. Suddenly he reached into a holster and pulled out a large hunting knife, dropping it to the ground. "You can have it...It's a good knife." he said, his voice becoming even more ragged.

Joel bent down and took the knife from him. Y/n was feeling something she hadn't felt in a long time. Not since the time she watched her mother's eyes close for the last time.

Joel turned to her. "Get back behind the wall." he said.

"No, no, no, no! I'm sorry! Please, please. We could just talk! I'm sorry, I'm sorry!" Bryan shouted, holding his hand out as if to shield himself from them.

Y/n tried to speak, but choked on her words. She paused, not sure what to say. "Joel," she said finally, her voice coming out as nothing more than a rough whisper.

Joel's expression hardened. "Y/n. Get back."

But she couldn't leave. Bryan was crying out to her, apologizing to her, begging for help. There was nothing they could do to help him, and there was nothing he could do to hurt them. But he had seen their faces, and now he knew their names. And that kind of information was deadly.

Y/n just shook her head, her eyes glazing over just as they had earlier. Joel realized then that there was no convincing her. The damage had already been done. So he turned away from her and cocked the pistol.

"No, please! Please! I'm sorry!" Bryan's cries became even more frantic. "Please! You don't have to! No, no, no! We can just talk!"

He was babbling now. Y/n couldn't move. She looked at Bryan, and for and for one fleeting instant, she saw herself that one December night seven years ago. The night she lost everything but her life.

"Mom! Mom! Mom!"

Bang.

Two days. It had been two days since Y/n had said a word to Joel or Ellie. It had also been two days since Joel had put a bullet in Bryan's head.

She walked like someone possessed, eyes staring blankly ahead, face frozen with no expression.

Ellie did her best to goad her into conversation, but she may as well have been talking to a brick wall. Y/n never replied to her questions or laughed at her jokes. Ellie didn't scare easily, but now she was terrified. Nothing quite like this had ever happened.

The only time they ever heard a sound from her was late into the night, when she thought they were both asleep. That was when she allowed herself to cry.

Joel awoke on the third night to complete silence. As the forest floor came into focus around him, he saw Y/n sleeping bag laying flat on the ground, empty.

He sat up, images of the worst immediately coming to mind. He looked to his other side and saw Ellie, fast asleep in her bedroll. `That calmed some of his nerves, but left a lot of his questions unanswered.

The sun was just barely beginning to rise in the east when he got up, looking around himself for any sign of Y/n. There were none. So, after glancing back one more time to make sure Ellie was safe, he picked a direction and began to walk, hoping to find the elder Pain in His Ass.

He wasn't sure how long he had walked before he found her. She was sitting on the forest floor with her back against the thick trunk of a tree, her knees tucked up to her chest with Joel's jacket draped over them. She looked up when he came around, her eyes red-rimmed and swollen.

For a moment, neither of them said anything, merely accepting the others' presence.

"I'm sorry I took your jacket." Y/n said. Her voice was rough and gravelly, and Joel discovered with surprise that he had almost forgotten what it sounded like.

"Don't worry about it." he replied. "Mind if I sit?"

She said nothing, giving a small nod and turning back to stare off into the distance. Joel moved to sit down next to her, grimacing at the pain in his joints as he did so. Y/n continued to sit like there was no one else there, her blank gaze focused on the horizon.

Joel had a pretty good idea what was bothering her. She had shot someone. And what was worse, she'd left them in pain. He almost thought it would've been better if she'd have killed him with the first bullet.

"Y/n—"

"He was crying for his mom." she said suddenly, cutting him off. "He was crying for his mom and you shot him."

Joel went silent for a moment. He'd had to do things he never imagined himself doing — that had been one of them. "I couldn't take the risk."

She knew what he meant, of course. She understood why he'd done it. And, most of all, she was almost sure that if she'd been in his position, she'd have done the same thing. But seeing firsthand what it looked like to beg for your life reminded her of things she'd rather leave in the past.

"My father was a smuggler." Y/n said, her voice hollow. "We never asked what he did; we just knew that, because of what he did, we lived a lot better than a lot of other people. I'm not really sure what he did — if he had made a bad deal, or double crossed someone that shouldn't be crossed, but I woke up on Christmas morning to gunshots coming from my living room. I should've stayed in my room, I know. But I couldn't just sit there and wait. My whole family was down there. So, I went to see if my dad was okay. He was dead before I got down the stairs. My mom grabbed me and my sister as these three guys pointed guns at our faces. She was screaming at them, begging them not to take her children, begging them to take mercy on us. All three of them shot at once."

Her voice stayed firm and toneless as she spoke. "By the time the bullet hit, I had accepted that I was going to die. My eyes shut and I never once thought they'd open again. But..." Y/n pulled down the hemline of her shirt an inch to reveal a thick white scar just below her collarbone, "fate took pity on me that day. Marlene found me just before I bled out. She kept me alive. And when I woke up, I was in the worst pain I'd ever experienced. All I could do was scream for my mom, ask if she was okay. I never got a straight answer, but I already knew what had happened. I just didn't want to believe it."

Joel listened carefully, his and Ellie's conversation echoing in his mind:

"She's got some rough family stories."

"We all do."

"Not like hers."

She was only seventeen years old — he knew that from the beginning. But now that truly seemed to sink in as he looked at her, sitting with her knees tucked to her chest, huddled under his blanket like it was a coat of armor.

"You shouldn't have had to see that," he said. "No one should."

Y/n nodded in agreement. She knew that it wasn't fair. That none of this was fair. But that didn't change that it had happened, or that she'd have to carry it with her wherever she went. It never really got lighter — that was the thing. All the memories did was get harder and harder to hold.

Her glass expression shattered then as she turned to him, tears falling out of her eyes before she could stop them. "I'm trying so hard to hang on, Joel, I really am," she said, her voice finally breaking. She all but collapsed, leaning her head on his shoulder as hers began to shake with sobs.

It had taken Joel years not to see Sarah in every kid he met — but things always fell through the cracks. When he'd least expect it, a sudden laugh or sarcastic comment would take him back to Austin, back to his daughter, and for a moment he'd almost forget that she was gone.

This was one of those times.

"Oh, Y/n," Joel said quietly, wrapping an arm around her. This girl was not Sarah. No one would ever be Sarah. But right then, Joel was almost sure that she was the closest he was ever going to get at a second chance.

"I'm sorry I don't listen," Y/n said through tears. "I know I need to set a good example for Ellie, but if we lose you...I can't be sure I can get her to the Fireflies by myself. We need you. I..."

She stopped herself just short of saying I need you.

"Hey, it's alright. It's okay. You're not gonna lose me." Joel said. "And sometimes...sometimes you just can't listen. You can't take unnecessary risks, but sometimes the situation demands them. You have the sense to know when that is. The world needs more people like that. Like you.

"Don't even think about losing anyone, okay? You just can't. This whole thing, it's like walking on a tight rope. You look down, that's where you're going. So don't look down."

Y/n was coming back to her senses by now, her shoulders stilling and her tears coming to a steady stop. She nodded, wiping away at the last few stray tears and sitting up. "Don't look down," she repeated. "Is that why you're so grumpy all the time? Because you're always looking down?"

She sort of half-smiled in a way that reminded him so starkly of Sarah that he almost forgot to breathe. But he recovered, giving her a wry grin in return. "It's questions like that that make me want to throw you in a lake."

"Please, with your balance, you'd throw yourself in before anyone else."

𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐋 𝐎𝐑 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐋 -> e. williams

PAIRING: ellie williams x fem!reader WARNINGS: mentions of past trauma, head injuries, amnesia, underage drinking SUMMARY: the reader is ellie's best friend from FEDRA school who, after a run-in with an infected, suffers from a bout of amnesia, after years apart, ellie and y/n are handed over to joel to bring to the fireflies. their reunion is bittersweet due to y/n's condition, leading them to play a game of ellie's imagination in order to piece together the past.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: So I may or may not have taken the concept of "Real or not real?" from the Hunger Games, but LET ME BE OBSESSEDDDDD. Once I had this idea, I couldn't get it out of my head. My little creativity monkey wouldn't shut up, thus this fic was born. I don't know, I think it's adorable! Enjoy! also, mild spoiler because i just thought of it and it's funny: ...and they were roommates.

"And then you punched her right in the jaw! I'm not kidding, she had a bruise for the next couple of weeks. Couple stitches in her lip too," Ellie said, excitedly recounting a story from the past. "Obviously, Captain Kwong threw you in the hole for another two weeks, but it was worth it. At least, that's what you said."

You almost laughed at the story, forgetting momentarily that you were the star of it. At least the old you had the balls to do all the things you wish you could do now. "I sound pretty badass."

"You were," Ellie said without a beat. Then, more confidently, "You are."

You paused, sobering up a bit at the reminder. Sometimes when you heard these things about your past, you couldn't believe it. You were like some mythological legend you heard about but never imagined you could be ― and yet it was you. Nothing changed between the two versions other than time. Well, time and a traumatic brain injury. You couldn't really leave that bit out.

Ellie seemed to notice your sudden solemnity and was quick to change the subject. "You know, you were the one who introduced me to Pearl Jam?"

You looked up, interested.

"Yeah, yeah you did. You smuggled all these cassettes in and we'd listen to them on my Walkman. God, we'd be up until two, three in the morning just playing that shit on repeat. Our dorm guard hated us because we'd talk over it, too. Woke everybody up. We made a loooot of enemies back then."

"Seems like it. But, to be fair, you seem like kind of a difficult person to be around."

Ellie's jaw dropped as she feigned offense, throwing the pebble at her. "I'm very pleasant company, thank you very much."

Y/n rolled her eyes, muttering something sarcastic under her breath. There was a bottle of some amber liquid, hidden from Joel, closed in her fist. It burned when she swallowed it, but enough sips made her head heavy. It was nice. Warm. Almost fuzzy, even. She set it down, sighing deeply. "Sometimes I get these...these glimmers of the past, but I'm not sure if they're real or if I just made them up."

Ellie stopped. Contemplated. She leaned over, taking the bottle from Y/n's grip, and looking down the barrel to see how much was left. She wanted to help Y/n. She did. In fact, there was nothing in the fucking world she wanted more. It just so happened that what she suffered from was the most unhelpable problem in the fucking universe.

There was only one thing she could think to do to try and unravel the enigmatic fucking past.

"How about we play a game?" she asked, taking a swig from the bottle. "You tell me something you think you remember ― something from your glimmers ― " she added with a grin, "and I'll tell you if it's real or not real."

Y/n paused, thinking. "Real or not real. That could work," she mumbled. "Okay, um...I'll start with the first thing I remembered: my favorite FEDRA food was beans on toast."

"Easy. Real," Ellie said without a beat. "Every Wednesday you were so excited for that shit. It was fucking disgusting, too. I didn't get it. Still don't."

Y/n felt a pang of excitement in her chest. Something she remembered had been real. Not an illusion, but fact. That meant that maybe, maybe, she could recover.

"Gimme that," she muttered, taking the bottle from Ellie and taking a celebratory sip. The other girl laughed as Y/n swallowed, grasping for some other memory to recount. "Okay, um, there was a girl. We both hated her. Her name was...oh fuck, what was it? It started with a B."

"Bethany?"

"Yes! Bethany."

"She was the one you sent to the infirmary! Real." Ellie said, bubbling with excitement too. She could see how happy Y/n was now, knowing that she was slowly but surely grasping bits of her past. And that, if anything, made her a little happy too.

They started passing the bottle back and forth. Question, drink. Answer, drink. Warmth hummed in both of their chests, tearing sobriety in half.

Y/n's cheeks burned pink in the moonlight. "Okay, I'm not super sure about this one, but were the walls of our dorm blue?"

"Mm, not real," Ellie replied with a shake of her head. "Maybe that's something else though? Like maybe your house had blue walls?"

"Yeah, maybe."

Y/n's face had fallen a bit ― whether it was because a glimmer had been wrong or from the mention of home, she wasn't sure. It occurred to Ellie then that she may have had memories of home that she wasn't telling her. Maybe because there wasn't a person alive that could confirm them.

Either way, something had upset her. And Ellie didn't like that.

"Hey, you're, like, 6 for 7. These glimmers are pretty fuckin' reliable."

"Yeah, I guess," Y/n said, her grin returning. "Okay, next one...oh, I remember this one. It's about you."

"Oh?"

"Indeed. You're the star, Ellie. So: there was a night that we went out on the roof and stared up at the sky for hours. You told me random shit about the moon and space ― cause you love that stuff. Real or not real."

"Real," Ellie confirmed. "It happened a couple times, actually. I think the last time was when we..." she trailed off, pausing briefly. "No. Never mind."

Y/n looked up, hastily cutting off her sip from the bottle. "Come on, what? You're withholding information from an amnesiac? That's, like, borderline illegal. Come on, I'm a big girl. I can take it."

But there were some things that Ellie, upon recognizing Y/n's condition, decided not to tell. There were some things you couldn't force on a person. And if history repeated itself, so be it. but if not, Ellie wouldn't be the one to force it.

"The last time we went up, I nearly pushed you off the roof, and you accused me of trying to murder you. Excuse me for trying to avoid a touchy subject."

She immediately regretted lying.

Y/n rolled her eyes, taking another sip. "Yeah, okay. Maybe it's better I don't remember that part. There's no stopping me from smothering you in your sleep."

Ellie laughed quietly, but Y/n sensed that she'd been slightly put out. Desperate to continue the game, she searched for any of the so-called glimmers she'd gotten recently. They'd all been fairly boring ― games of dodgeball, training at FEDRA school, and then...

Oh.

There had been one glimmer that had stopped Y/n in her tracks. One that had woken her up in the middle of the night, heart beating so violently she could feel it in her teeth.

That one, she hoped, was real. But if it wasn't ― if it was just her imagination playing tricks on her ― and she asked Ellie anyway? That had the potential to be catastrophic.

When she was silent for a little too long, Ellie cocked her head, trying to discern the calculating look on Y/n's face. "What?"

"Hm?" Y/n asked, eyes still frozen to the ground. "Oh, nothing. Boring glimmers, blah blah blah."

"No, hey ― I want the boring. If we're going to get your memory back in tip-top shape, that means leaving no stone unturned. Come on, lay it on me. Boring as hell. Go."

Y/n sighed, throwing her head back. "Fine. Boring it is, I guess. I sucked at math. Real or not real."

"Real. You sucked bad."

"Expected. I was a fast runner. Real or not real."

"Hell yeah you were. Put me to shame. Real."

"Ah, some good news, finally," she joked. "Um...you didn't like me when we first met. Real or not real."

"Jesus, you're really exposing me here. Real."

Y/n's jaw dropped. "What?"

"Yeah. You smiled a lot and talked nonstop. I couldn't get you to shut up."

That sent Y/n into a fit of laughter, throwing her head back so quickly she almost tipped over, sending herself sprawling against the forest floor. "So when did you realize I wasn't a pain in the ass?"

Ellie paused, thinking. "Our third day of training. This girl, Megan, made fun of me because I couldn't make it all the way up the rope. Before I could tell her to fuck off, you stepped in. You called her bleached hair tacky and told her to find a more original insult. And when she didn't back down, you swung. She beat your ass, of course ― you couldn't fight for shit back then. But that was when I realized you were a pretty damn good roommate. And I started to listen when you talked."

Y/n's brows had furrowed halfway through the story as a new glimmer rapidly began to reveal itself. "You'd sneak out after lights out to visit me in the infirmary. You brought the Walkman with you and gave it to me to keep throughout the day."

Ellie swallowed, nodding. "That's real."

Y/n nodded in response, staring down at her dirty sneakers to avoid looking at Ellie. The other glimmer ― the terrifying one ― burned hot on her tongue, begging to be recounted. It was a risk, of course it was. But the old Y/n seemed to live in peace with those, even if they left her with a black eye.

"There's one more," she said quietly, her throat constricting. "I loved you. Like, really loved you. And I think you loved me back. Real or not real."

The bottle swayed in Ellie's hand. Y/n tore her eyes away from the ground to look up at Ellie, her heart thumping. And in the pale moonlight, she saw a nod. "Real."

one thing i don't see enough people talking about is that davis is clearly eating more than the rest of his "flock". we see in the dinner scene that his plate is heaping, while everyone else has only a very small amount. maybe they wouldn't have had to resort to cannibalism if david didnt need his little fucking power trip meal.

(SPOILERS for The Last of Us, episode 5)

i had to get this out of my brain i’m so sorry