▬▬▬▬▬ ❛ ᴊᴏᴇʟ ᴍɪʟʟᴇʀ ❜
✷ :: ❝ in my corner of the world,
killing is a love language ❞

𝗧𝗔𝗧𝗛𝗘𝗩𝗘 𝗦𝗜𝗠𝗢𝗡𝗬𝗔𝗡 ,
𝗖𝗢𝗟𝗢𝗨𝗥𝗟𝗘𝗦𝗦 𝗠𝗨𝗦𝗜𝗡𝗚𝗦

𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒓𝒕𝒆𝒅 . . . 6th of march ,, ²⁰²³
𝒑𝒖𝒃𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒉𝒆𝒅 . . . 24th of april ,, ²⁰²³
𝒇𝒊𝒏𝒊𝒔𝒉𝒆𝒅 . . . ???

˚ ༘♡. ꗃ﹕ 𝐁𝐄𝐒𝐓 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃 𝐈𝐍  . . .
𝚖𝚘𝚍𝚎  ,,  𝒅ark
𝚏𝚘𝚗𝚝  ,,  𝒈eorgia
𝚏𝚘𝚗𝚝 𝚜𝚒𝚣𝚎  ,,  𝒔mallest
𝚍𝚎𝚟𝚒𝚌𝚎  ,,  𝒎obile

∴ ৎ ָ࣪ 𓄹. ❱ · 𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒  . . .   ♥︎ ִ

────── &&.   𝕳𝑬 𝑫𝑰𝑫𝑵'𝑻 𝑺𝑯𝑬𝑫                    
A SINGLE TEAR AS HE WENT TO HIS STRANGE NEW GRAVE, OF WHICH HE WAS NOW A STRANGE KIND OF THING INBETWEEN THE DEAD AND THE LIVING. He had already given his sympathies to those more deserving than him. Paralysed in his red pool of regret, a flame of heavy and terrible guilt bursts through his poisoned heart. Everything is burning now, his soul, body, outside, inside, heart, and flesh. Does he understand what he's done? Does he really understand? Is his mind still his own, tame and human?

He feels it all more painfully now, the fog dispersing in his mind as his heart beats fast and loud. He can't think straight with the odd thumps against his skull. He hasn't been able to think straight since the accident.

That's what he liked to call it. An accident.

Grieving, grieving, constantly grieving. That's all he can do now. He mourns what could have been, what will not be, what he can't save, and what he ended. Everything bleeds, and it swallows him whole. It's just him now, with his wounds in the violent red rivers of a now quiet land where no human treads.

The war is everywhere in him. Maybe it is him. Under his skin, his true self, there is a streak of growing madness. The mark on his left arm sinks its teeth in deeper, a tidal wave to his senses. Red outlines the broken surface, the fanged dents of corruption a biting reminder.

Look at what you've done, see what you've started to become, what you will become. He stands still, disobeying the morbid order as he breathes heavily.

No. He seizes the bloody knife again, letting shame and panic take over. There is no hesitation in his brutality as he brings the weapon to his wounded arm; it's the only pain he's glad to inflict.

There is creation under the blade: a horrifying torture that he must endure for his remedy. Pain edges into every crevice, but he lets it in. If pain can purify the body, his will be pure.

In agony, he worked the blade to make it deeper. His teeth sharpen like knives as they clench together, the white pebbled gates unable to conceal his gut-wrenching yells. They bounce off of the abandoned walls, but no one would answer their echoed calls. Screaming was nothing new to this world, and it had been that way since the outbreak.

If anything, a scream was lucky: better them than you.

Each slice, each harsh drag back and forth, turns the clock back. He feels more and more human with every sensation of skin slapping against bone, separating them. He grasps the stale air, anything, any movement, any sound to drown the ringing in his ears. His knife draws backwards again, skin hungering for the wound. An excruciating slice. Torn skin. Everything becomes tainted with the colour of rotten blood spurting everywhere. His vision is collapsing in on him already, but he keeps going. He keeps sawing, and sawing, and sawing until SNAP!

Bone is cut, separated from its home. It slides down the slippery red slope and onto the floor. His left-hand slaps limply against the surface, but that's the only movement it makes, and will ever make again. He sputters his first, clean breath of the night.

He now has a better view of the hand, bitten to the bone. Too distant to be his, he convinces himself. The veins don't move any further, a pause in nature's cycle. The scars turn into calligraphy, a ghost story written in blood.

His body deteriorates rapidly from there, sending him to the floor in a wheezing slouch. He can't breathe, he can't move, he can't feel anything.

Good, his voice whispers in the depths of his tainted mind. He was satisfied with how human it sounded, free of screeches and clicking.

He blends in with his surroundings for the most part, the bodies behind him in no better shape than he is. The only difference was their still chests and the requirement of all four limbs. The former was coming though. It was coming for him, and he wanted it to.

He wanted - no - needed to feel human one last time . . . and what was more human than dying?

All is calm, fresh, and motionless. No sound disturbs the stillness of the air, allowing him to drift. He assumed that he'd drift away faster, like a sunset sky, but death is slow. It floats him along the bay of time that a circuit-bled memory now recites for him.

He says their names in his head, carrying each syllable into the darkness with him as he feels blood encircle his limp body. He can't confidently say that it's all his.

Samantha. I scared you. I'm sorry.

Jeremy. I disappointed you. I'm sorry.

Brian. I understand you. I'm sorry.

Poppy. I love you. I'm sorry.

Max. I hate you. I'm sorry.

Jason. Fuck you. I'm not sorry.

Remembering them keeps him wakeful and hinders his rest with grief. He wrote their names on his heart as though on the door of some dark ancient house: who once lived here has long been dead.

Only a ghost inhabits him now, a monster floating between heaven and hell. Please, he begs no one in particular, let my debt be paid.

His eyes confess to the fatigue of living, flickering like a dimming light. He loses his sight, everything blurring together in a colour he's too far gone to recognise.

In his spiralling haze, a black blob comes towards him, something he mistook for an angel. It's time, He told himself.

A shadow casts over him, looming there for a long moment. His left arm is kicked away from him, blood splattering his face. He doesn't flinch; it feels more natural on his skin than rain.

The blob is close enough to eclipse his vision, submerging him into complete darkness as he takes his final fall into the abyss. It's done, it's over, he reminds himself in relief. He's okay with letting it all go, . . . but something ruffles the passive air of death, a cruel hand on his blood-coated body. Fingers dig into his fleshy shoulder tightly, possessively, predatorily, pulling him out of the depths he had dived into.

His last clear memory for a long while would be his own blood-curdling screams as he sheds a waterfall of tears for himself, his body being claimed by another fate worse than death as it's strapped down to a machine that slowly lowers towards him.

His debt comes in the form of more blood and violence.

˚ ༘♡. ꗃ﹕ 𝐅𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 . . .
𝓢𝐄𝐁𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐀𝐍 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐍  𝖺𝗌  ━━━━ˎ˗
ℛ𝙴𝙳𝙰𝙲𝚃𝙴𝙳  !!  ⊹ ━━
༄ ‧₊˚ ❪  𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝘀𝗶𝗹𝘃𝗲𝗿 𝗵𝘂𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗿  ❫ °୭̥

❛ i don't feel bad about killing people.
that's just survival. i feel bad that
i've killed people and liked it ❜

𝓟𝐄𝐃𝐑𝐎 𝐏𝐀𝐒𝐂𝐀𝐋  𝖺𝗌  ━━━━ˎ˗
𝒥𝙾𝙴𝙻 𝙼𝙸𝙻𝙻𝙴𝚁 !!  ⊹ ━━
༄ ‧₊˚ ❪  𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝘀𝗺𝘂𝗴𝗴𝗹𝗲𝗿  ❫ °୭̥

❛ i've struggled a long time with survivin'
no matter what. you keep finding
something to fight for ❜

&&&
FEATURING . . .
bella ramsey     ellie williams
giancarlo esposito     enzo marino
anna torv     tess servopoulos
gabriel luna     tommy miller
merle danbridge     marlene
lamar johnson     henry
keivonn montreal woodard     sam
the rest of tlou cast     their respective characters

˚ ༘♡. ꗃ﹕ 𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐘𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 . . .
𝗮𝘃𝗮𝗶𝗹𝗮𝗯𝗹𝗲 𝗼𝗻 𝘀𝗽𝗼𝘁𝗶𝗳𝘆 !!

ᴠᴏʟᴜᴍᴇ : ▮▮▮▮▮▮▯▯▯
⇄  ◃◃   ⅠⅠ   ▹▹  ↻

˚ ༘♡. ꗃ﹕ 𝐁𝐄𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐄 𝐖𝐄 𝐁𝐄𝐆𝐈𝐍 . . .
𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈 . . . this fic will contain strong language, violence, blood/gore, body horror, presumably disturbing/graphic descriptions, allusions/mentions of SA ( fuck u, david ), murder, death, suicide, physical & emotional abuse, torture, slavery, manipulation, along with other potential subjects some may find upsetting.

please read the warnings and do not read anything you are uncomfortable with.
look after yourself !!

𝒅𝒊𝒔𝒄𝒍𝒂𝒊𝒎𝒆𝒓 . . . i do not own any canon character in 'the last of us' franchise, nor do i claim to. all rights go to the writers and creators.
i only own my oc and his backstory.

❪  𝟬𝟬𝟮.  ❫   i haven't played the game, so most of my knowledge on the universe comes from the show itself, a playthrough i watched from youtube ( probably markiplier ), or a quick google search. the plot here in this fic will follow the storyline of the hbo max tv show.

❪  𝟬𝟬𝟯.  ❫   i am also not american, so please just ignore / go along with any words that are spelt in a different manner than what you're used to.
thank you!

: :   ❛ 𝓐𝙐𝙏𝙃𝙊𝙍 𝓝𝙊𝙏𝙀  ❜   : :
╰───╮; we're going for a red theme today, folks! i've never done this solid colour layout before so let me know what you guys think! i quite like it tbh.

do i have a joel fic already in the works? yes, but i have no self-control. i need this outlet in my life, just like i need another joel miller fic in my life.

the oc is nameless right now because i wanted to be all cool & mysterious. you'll know his real name eventually, i promise. it's all just a part of the ✨ reading experience ✨
there will also be more info on the introduction in later chapters because i know some of ya'll must be confused. all will ( hopefully ) be revealed!

updates may be slow due to upcoming exams, so please just be patient with me. most of you are absolutely wonderful and very understanding, but i felt i needed to put it out there anyway because i'm posting this right before study leave.

thanks for reading!
love you all!

∴ ✷ ❱ · TRGDYCOILS !! ━━━━
( 1.6k words )