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endlessthxxghts · 2 months

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Best I Ever Had

Jackson!Joel Miller x afab!reader | w/c: 2.3k

Summary: Someone tries to hit on you on your night out with Joel, insulting your man in the process, and oh you don't like that. You blow off some steam in more ways than one.

Content/Warnings: Reader is able-bodied, no physical descriptions. Feminine perception of reader and feminine pet names (Joel calls you mama and babygirl), but no pronouns used. Reader's a fucking badass and can hold their own fights (probably Joel's too, tbh). Slight description of reader getting physical/violent with another person (bby has some anger issues). Established relationship. Implied age gap (exact number unspecified). A bit of insecure Joel. 18+ MDNI! Dom!reader !! Sub!Joel !!!! P in V unprotected. Slight breeding kink (reader just likes being filled, no children talk). Joel has a fast refractory period (don't think too much on it, just enjoy). Definitely some overstimulation. Cockwarming. Riding..straddling.. Teasing. Begging. Edging. Sloppy making out. Multiple orgasms. Please let me know if there’s anything I missed that should be up here!

A/N: Some get post-nut clarity, but I get post-nut lust. This was the product of that. Hope you enjoy, my angels. Thank you @honeyedmiller for beta’ing 🩶 also I picture both game Joel or hbo Joel, so it’s entirely up to you what you wanna visualize ;)

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It was a busy night at the Tipsy Bison. Everyone was out. Everyone was mingling, getting to know each other. As if it wasn’t a small town already, but hey, it wouldn’t hurt to make sure you really knew the people living in this little forever-town.

Except, Joel was not one to mingle—especially on nights like tonight. Tommy insisted that he come, it’ll be nice, he tried to reason.

He eventually agreed. Not because of Tommy, though, but because of you.

You knew Joel was a certified grump, through and through. And you love Joel, you really do. But the post-apocalyptic world caused you to react differently than your man. Yeah, you’ve become tougher, harder to break, harder to trust. However, you crave any sense of normalcy you can find. So on occasion, you like to go out and get to know the people of the town. You like human interaction.

And when they say opposites attract, the saying couldn’t have been more true. Joel was absolutely smitten the day he met you. It’s been a long time coming between you two—with his vulnerability, or lack thereof, and his initial unwillingness to accept that he can finally relax and unclench his jaw—but you’re together now, stronger than ever, and everything is worth it.

You are worth it.

Which is exactly why all you needed was to give one raise of your brow during his protesting before Joel promptly shuts his lips and takes a defeated breath, fixing his answer to Tommy. “Oh, hell. Alright, brother, we’ll be there.”

And to be quite honest, Joel would go as far to say that tonight’s little get together was actually decent for once. That is, until he sees you waiting on the bartender for his beer and your old-fashioned, and a man—a boy—approaches you.

“Hey,” you heard a voice beside you say. Not realizing it was meant for you, your attention stays on the bartender. Still, the voice persists. “I was thinking, uh-” you look at the guy then, eyes staring him down in a way he perceives as a challenge.

He clears his throat. “I was thinking I could buy you a drink?”

“No, I’m good,” you say shortly. The bartender comes up to you, pulling you away from the guy’s feeble attempt at flirting. You tell the bartender your order, and before you can take another moment to speak, the guy pipes up.

“Put it on my tab,” he smirks triumphantly, taking a closer step to you.

You pull yourself away on instinct— out of disgust, but your eyes stay trained on his gaze. You’re pissed, but this naïve little boy has no idea. Both of what you're capable of and what the older man, your older man, across the bar is capable of.

“Thanks,” you smile, “my boyfriend’s gonna appreciate the free drink,” you tell the guy, turning to Joel and giving him a sweet smile. You’ve been feeling his stare the second this waste of space walked up to you.

Joel would pounce if you told him to. He knows you can handle yourself, though, and you confirm it through that pretty smile you flash him. He can’t deny the way his cock twitches at the way this scene is unfolding. Part of him is begging for the guy to try something more, to test you—to unleash you.

The guy scoffs the second he sees Joel. “That old man is your boyfriend? Come on, baby,” his hand reaches for the crook of your elbow. “You can do so much better than that,” he taunts.

And that was the something more you needed. Immediately your hand takes hold of his wrist, twisting the man to face the bar in a rough fashion as you lean him over the bar counter, his arm twisted behind his back, shoulder ready to snap out of his socket with the tiniest of movements.

“Wanna say that again?” You seethe, knocking the breath from his lungs as you push him into the wooden counter.

“I said—”

He’s cut off by his own high-pitched scream. You push his arm higher, a sharp pain shooting through every nerve center in the guy’s arm.

“Sweetheart,” a southern twang says softly, but it’s not your man. Tommy. “I know he probably deserves it, darlin’, but it’s not worth it,” he says, not wanting to aggravate you more. Everyone knows not to test you.

Well, apparently not everyone.

You roll your eyes, knowing Tommy’s just trying to keep up the liveliness of tonight. “Fine,” you mutter. Leaning closer into the guy, you whisper into his ear. “Talk about my fuckin’ man like that again, and I’ll snap your shoulder so fuckin’ hard, Jackson’s doctors won’t even know what to do with ya. Ya hear me?” You’re not from the South, and before the outbreak, you’ve never even been. But get angry enough, and Joel’s twang possesses you.

You release the crying boy with a shove, and you back up, wanting to pull yourself away from the situation. Your back is met with something hard, and immediately you know who it is. You soften in his touch as his arms immediately wrap around your waist. “You alright, babygirl?” Joel rasps in your ear. You can feel his fucking hard-on pressed against your back.

The guy looks at you and Joel, chest still heaving as his face turns into disgust, a fuck you muttered under his breath, an aftertaste of jealousy on his lips.

Smiling wildly at the guy in front of you, you snake your hand up to wrap around Joel’s jaw before you turn your head back and tilt your head up, pulling Joel into an open-mouthed kiss, your tongue pushing into his mouth as he eagerly sucks it, lapping up your spit. He groans into you, his arms pulling you impossibly tighter into him.

You pull away with a harsh nip to his lip, feeding off the little whimper Joel lets out. “Baby,” he whines.

You look back to the guy, and the silent audience you’ve accumulated. “Come on, cowboy,” you breathe. “I’m not done with you.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he replies happily, spinning you two around and walking out with you still pressed against him.

The bar stays quiet after a beat. Tommy’s hand slaps the bar counter before he speaks. “Well. Get the music back going unless y’all wanna hear ‘em goin’ at it all night!” The bar roars in laughter, the music coming back to life.

Before returning back to Maria, Tommy turns to the guy. “You. Out.”

He scrambles without looking back.

“Oh my God, baby.”

“Fuck— I- I can’t, baby, I can’t hold it much longer, baby, I need to come.”

“Just one more second, baby.”

“Mama, please,” he cries out, his head lolling from side to side on his sweat-soaked pillow as you grind your hips into his pelvis, lifting yourself on and off him every other moment. His hands hold onto your hips, not in a way to control your movement but to simply feel you.

“Oh, come on, be a good boy for me, baby,” you moan, your hand fixing itself onto his jaw to make him look at you. “Just wanna feel you twitch inside me a little bit more ‘fore you make a mess inside me, okay?”

“Oh, fuck— yes, yes, mama, yes, okay,” he rambles, trying his hardest to breathe through the pleasurable pain as you take and take and take.

A particular grind sends your back arching, his pubes soaked in your arousal nudging perfectly against your clit, sending an electric pulse up your spine. You cry out in ecstasy, your climax hitting you instantly. “Oh fuck, oh shit- fuckfuckfuck, baby, come with me— come inside me, baby, fucking fill me,” you nearly scream, hoping that boy can hear you now.

“Shit, baby, oh my God- fuck- I’m coming, mama, holy fuck- I-” he stutters, his thigh muscles shaking underneath you as you bounce on him through his climax, the mix of his spend with yours bouncing lewdly across the walls of your shared bedroom.

Your hips come to a slow but never stop, your chest heaving as you lean down to bring your lips to Joel. You let them ghost across his lips, but you don’t let them touch. He knows better not to chase it, not yet, anyway. He can still feel you fuming.

You can do so much better than that.

“Can you fucking believe him?” You whisper against his lips, barely audible yet fucking scary nonetheless.

Joel thinks that boy is right, deep down. Even though he’d never want you to leave him, and you’d never want him to leave you. Joel thinks that there’s a crumb of moral rightness in that statement. But he keeps that to himself.

Nevertheless, you know Joel like the back of your hand. He doesn’t need to utter a lick of anything to you. You already know what he’s thinking.

“Joel,” you say again. “I asked you a question.”

All questions must be answered.

Fuck.

“Y-yeah, baby,” he rumbles, too distracted by the comments from the bar, but mainly still caught up in the way his softening come-covered cock is still nestled inside of you.

You sit up now. A whine leaves his throat at the movement. “So you do believe him?”

Only then does he realize what he said. His eyes shoot up to yours. “W-wait, no, baby, ‘m sorry, no. No, I don’t believe him, baby,” he panics.

You quirk your eyebrow at him.

“The fuckin’ audacity on ‘em,” he adds for good measure.

You’re silent for a beat. Then—

“You’re lying.”

Joel’s heart starts to race. “No, baby. Please. Mama, I’m not lyin’,” he tries.

Still straddling his hips, you grab onto his bicep, pulling upward. He gets the hint and sits up. He’s still inside you, his cock slowly growing to full mast again the longer you sit here.

You’re face to face now. His arms are loosely wrapped around your waist, your arms tightly around his neck.

“Look me in my eye,” you whisper, “and tell me you’re the best I ever had.”

Joel audibly gulps.

Slow— so slow, your hips begin to move again. A breathy little moan escapes your mouth, and he lunges forward for you, his tongue dancing along the tip of yours, swallowing your breath. You allow it.

“Tell me,” you groan into his mouth, practically swallowing his tongue as you shallowly bounce yourself on him.

“Baby,” he whines, getting lost in this dance of heat and sweat he’s become utterly addicted to.

You break yourself away from his mouth, not allowing him the option to reach for you anymore. He pulls back, eyes wild and sad. His mouth turned down into a literal pout.

“My poor baby,” you mutter. “Tell me what I wanna hear,” you say again. “Or you’re not getting my lips nor are you coming for the rest of the night,” you tell him, switching back into your grinding motion to stimulate your sensitive bud, letting him feel the way your pussy flutters around him.

“Baby,” he begs again as you grind, your warmth forcing him to another climax. Please don’t make me say it, he’s trying to convince you.

Your fingers find their home at the base of his salt and pepper curls, tugging them in warning. “Tell. Me.”

You force his body down to lay flat on the bed again, towering over him, allowing your body the space to lift yourself off of him, only his tip inside of you. He takes a sharp breath in, knowing what’s coming.

You drop yourself down on him, fucking yourself on his cock at a bruising pace. You grab his hands and drag them up to your chest, wrapping his thick digits around you encouraging him to squeeze.

“Fuck- mama, I’m gonna—”

“No the fuck you’re not, baby,” you moan, lost in the pleasure but still rightfully in charge. “Swear to God, Joel, gonna leave you fucking swollen and pulsing for a fucking week— oh fuck,” you cut yourself off, a familiar sensation building at the base of your spine, sending you convulsing around his length yet again.

Joel’s eyes clamp shut, finally giving into your request so he can finally let go. “I— shit, I’m the—” a rugged moan forces itself out, “—the best you ever had, mama, please, the fuckin’ best, baby,” he cries out, his hips bucking up into you as he covers every inch of you with his spend.

“Shit,” you moan, his words affecting you a lot more than you anticipated, your hips doing overtime, unable to find it within you to stop even as he begins to soften. “Yes, fuck, that’s my boy, shit—” you breathe, “—the fucking best, always make me feel so fucking good, baby.”

His hands finally use their strength, trying his best to slow you with ease, his nerves reaching the point of painful overstimulation. “Alright, baby, alright,” he winces.

Recognizing his limits, you immediately begin to slow, lowering yourself onto his heaving chest. You let him slip out of you this time, giving him an actual break. “I’m sorry,” you whisper into his chest.

“For what, baby?” Joel responds with a kiss into your head.

“Did I go too far?”

He couldn’t help the belly laugh that shakes the both of you. You immediately sit back up, your hands on his chest to keep your limp body up. “What?” you glare at him.

“Too far? Which part, darlin’? Nearly breakin’ that guy’s shoulder or my dick?”

A belly laugh erupts out of you this time. Taking a moment to compose yourself, you respond. “...Both.”

“Mmm…” Joel puts on a fake thinking face. “Maybe to the former, but not at all to the latter,” he hums, his hands finding the back of your head to pull you in for a chaste kiss.

You hum into his lips, a smile stretching across your cheeks.

Resting your head on his chest, you let a few moments pass before you speak again. “Tommy’s not gonna invite us to another one of those, huh?”

“Probably not, mama,” he smiles. “Probably not.”

I’d love to hear what you think!! Any feedback or interactions with you all truly brightens my day. So so so much love for you all. Thank you for being here 🩶

I cannot get myself to write for Joel or for TLOU without mentioning the horrors occurring in Palestine. Please check out the links in my navigation + bio to learn about the situation in Palestine and also learn about some ways in which you can help🇵🇸. Reading and interacting with those links takes 5 minutes of your time at the bare minimum.

graphics by @saradika-graphics (middle divider in fic by me)

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nebulainatree · 1 year

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My superpower is that I get so obsessed with something that I cannot stop thinking about it long enough to sleep. It's also not a superpower and actually is a curse

#This rp server I spectate in has irreversibly changed my brain. And my sleep schedule. I need mental help #Nebbie posts #Nebbie text posting #Send fucking post #it is four thirty am here and I have to bike to school tomorrow. I'm gonna be sick #Wanna hear my ideas? My fucking Ideas? I've got Ideas wanna fucking hear?#First my oc VK who I've talked about once and never made a ref sheet for has a full name now. She's not just initials anymore #Did you know? In a post apocalyptic setting VK would grab a fucking musical instrument and learn to play it and start singing to cope #Little buddy is there for moral support and is also the only other thing that keeps her going aside from badly singing Turquoise October #One and Disc are. Actively becoming the worst power couple in the world. Awful awful people who would kill you for sport #At least One has trans swag though. He's still obsessed with makeup and fashion and turf wars even when the world ends #No ideas for the inkling guy who's unnamed or any other minor splat ocs I've got. Woo #Driving me actively insane. This rp server is driving me crazy insane in a positive way. If only I had the guts to actually tell anyone #I need to scream somewhere about it. Praying no one from that server looks at my blog ever. Or just specifically this post #I told them I read every single rp message in the server (5k+) and like. That I really liked it but #How do you tell someone that something they do has like. Chemically changed you to an extreme extent. How can I ever say that #They're like STRANGERS I've said like FIVE words to them. It's like I walked in on a FAMOUS person #The parasocial is. I want to actually be friends with these people they're so cool but I've put myself into a parasocial thing #They've already got an established friend group and like. I've never been able to join an established friend group #I did it ONCE in middle school by fucking LUCK and it's never happened again. Spect 7 was my magnum opus #I tried to join a friend group one time in the Hollow Knight community and then it just crashed and burned so.#I guess I've just got a doomsday sort of view of interacting with people now. I've never had it work out before #God damn. Earlier I was thinking that past 3am is my poor decision making time and it's so true. Fuck. God damn #Whatever. I need a 3am emotional rambling tag.#It's 4am but whatever #To clarify ig. You can reblog this because the actual post is funny (to midnight me at least) just pretend these tags don't exist lol

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prokopetz · 8 months

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Do you ever have a passive gripe with the way trade is represented in medieval/sci-fi/post-apocalyptic fiction? I can't shake the feeling that those are societies that have moved beyond the need for abstract currency - that such forms of trade are more a concession for the viewer to analogize trade to our world instead of offering some kind of unique barter for a world.

A medieval peasant isn't gonna want gold coins for jack because the next trade caravan is two seasons away, they'd much rather a useful tool or some extra fertilizer. Credits in science fiction universes can become worthless due to Future™️ hackers setting their bank accounts to extraordinarily high values, so extra parts for firearms and spaceships are much more useful. Caps in Fallout just make no sense in a world where food and water are few and far between!

I feel unreasonably grumpy about this and I wanted to know if you have any kind of insight to this kind of thing.

There are a couple of only partly related problems here:

1. The idea that the economies of most sci-fi and fantasy settings, as depicted, don't make any sense. This is absolutely true, because most science fiction and fantasy authors don't really think about that sort of thing – their settings only have economies to the extent that the details of those economies are relevant to the plot, which they usually aren't.

2. The idea that it doesn't make sense for currency to exist in these settings because most of them logically ought to have barter economies. The trouble with this assertion is that there's no such thing as a barter economy. Yes, you can describe what one would look like, but no civilisation which has ever actually existed has operated in this fashion. It's a made-up idea – at best, a spherical-cow approximation of how the exchange of goods and services operates in a stateless society, and at worst, complete bullshit.

Consequently, whether or not it makes sense for anything like currency to exist is going to depend on the particulars of how the setting's economy operates (i.e., all the details that that are getting glossed over in point 1, above). About the most we can say in nearly all cases is that we simply don't have enough information about a given fantasy or sci-fi setting's economic structure to know whether it makes sense to have currency or not; we can't just assume in the absence of further details that things will default to a barter economy, because – again – there's no such animal.

#media #tropes #fantasy #science fiction #sci-fi #gaming #video games #tabletop roleplaying #tabletop rpgs #worldbuilding #game design #economics #politics #swearing

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southernsolarpunk · 2 months

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I am once again posting the solarpunk manifesto because I keep seeing people saying that solarpunk is just an aesthetic

Inspired by Solarpunk: A Reference Guide and Solarpunk: Notes Towards a Manifesto

A Solarpunk Manifesto

Solarpunk is a movement in speculative fiction, art, fashion, and activism that seeks to answer and embody the question “what does a sustainable civilization look like, and how can we get there?”

The aesthetics of solarpunk merge the practical with the beautiful, the well-designed with the green and lush, the bright and colorful with the earthy and solid.

Solarpunk can be utopian, just optimistic, or concerned with the struggles en route to a better world , but never dystopian. As our world roils with calamity, we need solutions, not only warnings.

Solutions to thrive without fossil fuels, to equitably manage real scarcity and share in abundance instead of supporting false scarcity and false abundance, to be kinder to each other and to the planet we share.

Solarpunk is at once a vision of the future, a thoughtful provocation, a way of living and a set of achievable proposals to get there.

We are solarpunks because optimism has been taken away from us and we are trying to take it back.

We are solarpunks because the only other options are denial or despair.

At its core, Solarpunk is a vision of a future that embodies the best of what humanity can achieve: a post-scarcity, post-hierarchy, post-capitalistic world where humanity sees itself as part of nature and clean energy replaces fossil fuels.

The “punk” in Solarpunk is about rebellion, counterculture, post-capitalism, decolonialism and enthusiasm. It is about going in a different direction than the mainstream, which is increasingly going in a scary direction.

Solarpunk is a movement as much as it is a genre: it is not just about the stories, it is also about how we can get there.

Solarpunk embraces a diversity of tactics: there is no single right way to do solarpunk. Instead, diverse communities from around the world adopt the name and the ideas, and build little nests of self-sustaining revolution.

Solarpunk provides a valuable new perspective, a paradigm and a vocabulary through which to describe one possible future. Instead of embracing retrofuturism, solarpunk looks completely to the future. Not an alternative future, but a possible future.

Our futurism is not nihilistic like cyberpunk and it avoids steampunk’s potentially quasi-reactionary tendencies: it is about ingenuity, generativity, independence, and community.

Solarpunk emphasizes environmental sustainability and social justice.

Solarpunk is about finding ways to make life more wonderful for us right now, and also for the generations that follow us.

Our future must involve repurposing and creating new things from what we already have. Imagine “smart cities” being junked in favor of smart citizenry.

Solarpunk recognizes the historical influence politics and science fiction have had on each other.

Solarpunk recognizes science fiction as not just entertainment but as a form of activism.

Solarpunk wants to counter the scenarios of a dying earth, an insuperable gap between rich and poor, and a society controlled by corporations. Not in hundreds of years, but within reach.

Solarpunk is about youth maker culture, local solutions, local energy grids, ways of creating autonomous functioning systems. It is about loving the world.

Solarpunk culture includes all cultures, religions, abilities, sexes, genders and sexual identities.

Solarpunk is the idea of humanity achieving a social evolution that embraces not just mere tolerance, but a more expansive compassion and acceptance.

The visual aesthetics of Solarpunk are open and evolving. As it stands, it is a mash-up of the following:

1800s age-of-sail/frontier living (but with more bicycles)

Creative reuse of existing infrastructure (sometimes post-apocalyptic, sometimes present-weird)

Appropriate technology

Art Nouveau

Hayao Miyazaki

Jugaad-style innovation from the non-Western world

High-tech backends with simple, elegant outputs

Solarpunk is set in a future built according to principles of New Urbanism or New Pedestrianism and environmental sustainability.

Solarpunk envisions a built environment creatively adapted for solar gain, amongst other things, using different technologies. The objective is to promote self sufficiency and living within natural limits.

In Solarpunk we’ve pulled back just in time to stop the slow destruction of our planet. We’ve learned to use science wisely, for the betterment of our life conditions as part of our planet. We’re no longer overlords. We’re caretakers. We’re gardeners.

Solarpunk:

is diverse

has room for spirituality and science to coexist

is beautiful

can happen. Now

-The Solarpunk Community

#solarpunk #solarpunk action #solarpunk manifesto

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deimostes · 2 months

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leonid fashion! there's not much access to different types of clothes in the post-apocalyptic future, but here's hypothetical fits if she did. shadow and omega didn't raise her with any staunch ideas about female mobians traditionally wearing clothes, so she never cared about "covering up" or even gets dysphoric about it in the first place; fashion would just be fun for her. shoutout gnc trans girls <3

propaganda for @sonic-fankid-showdown! vote for leonid :)

#sonic the hedgehog #leonid the cyborg hedgehog #sonic oc #sonic fankid #sonic au #sonic future au #ocs #fanart #digital

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plague-of-insomnia · 2 months

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WIP Wednesday: Sebardagni Post-Apocalyptic Domestic Sickfic AU

I know no one cares about this idea aside from me, but this is the first thing I’ve been able to write in months, and I really fucking need the escapism of Sebastian having two men taking care of him even when the world has fallen to pieces.

I have a few scenes for this written I may end up posting on AO3 later, but for now, enjoy this scene.

The concept for this AU is this: the world ended a few years ago, and Bard, Agni, and Sebastian have been surviving together. Sebastian is chronically ill, so he and Agni mind the homestead while Bard goes off on excursions for supplies. It’s not an easy life, but overall, they’re happy.

~#~

Sebastian balanced carefully. The forearm crutches Bard had fashioned for him fit better than anything he’d managed with since the world collapsed and meant he wouldn’t do just that onto the floor—even if his muscles were weak.

He’d finally managed a few hours’ sleep, exhaustion and one of Agni’s herbal treatments helping to ease his breathing long enough to dream.

And what a dream it was. He couldn’t wait to hurry out of the small bedroom they shared in this tiny mountain cabin and tell Agni about it. As bittersweet as it was, it had felt so wonderfully real, he could almost ignore the perpetual tightness in his chest.

“Agni! Agni!” Sebastian cautiously eased the door open.

The cabin was cozy, a main room with a fireplace, kitchen, and sitting area, a bedroom and bath, and a cellar Sebastian couldn’t access—too many stairs— where they stored food for the winter.

The fire illuminated the room as Agni worked. From the way the orange sun had colored the bedroom, Sebastian suspected it was evening, which would mean Agni would likely be busy prepping their dinner.

Things had been harder lately, since Bard had been gone for weeks now—73 days, exactly, not that Sebastian had been counting—but they made do. Agni wasn’t as skilled a huntsman as Bard, but between their garden, preserved stores, chickens and goats, they managed. Agni had to coax Sebastian more often than not to eat as it was, so he barely dented their food stocks.

“I dreamed Bard came home and he found me medicine, and—“ Sebastian’s voice cut out immediately as he realized he heard Agni speaking to someone. And then he saw him. “Bard?”

The man was perched on a stool at the kitchen island, looking ragged and thinner than Sebastian remembered, but very much not a dream or a ghost.

“You’re alive?!” Sebastian’s eyes filled and he pushed himself to move as fast as he possibly could, dropping his arms from his crutches so he could throw them around his lover. “Agni and I were worried you were never coming home.”

Bard’s strong arms supported Sebastian in their embrace so he wouldn’t lose his footing, enjoying this connection. He smelt like tobacco and sweat and days out on the road, but more than anything, like hope.

Sebastian didn’t even care if Bard hadn’t been able to find any medicine for him. He was just so relieved he began to sob as weeks of emotions he’d been damming up broke free.

“Hey, hey, you’ll make your breathing worse. I’m all right. I missed you both and thinking of getting back here to you kept me going. You know I don’t die easy.”

Sebastian’s legs ached, and Bard sensed his growing instability and helped him sit down beside him. A moment later, Agni set a steaming mug in front of him. The frothy liquid was green. Another one of his herbal concoctions?

“It’s matcha. I lucked out.” Bard scratched his cheek. “Got caught in a bad storm a couple towns over and took refuge in a partly burned-out old asian market. I moved some shelves to help create a barcade and found a whole supply of the stuff that had been overlooked by scavengers.”

“The caffeine will help your breathing,” Agni said with a warm smile. “It’s not medicine, but it was a good find.”

Sebastian tried not to frown as he took a sip. It was bitter, but Agni had added some of the honey from the bees he kept to sweeten it. He didn’t want to ruin their happy reunion by suggesting, again, that maybe it was time Agni and Bard moved on and left him behind. He was too frail to travel, and Bard was having to spend more and more time on the road, detouring farther and farther from their home base in order to find any medicine to help ease Sebastian’s symptoms.

Even before the world fell apart, Sebastian had been ill. But after, the stress and lack of medical care meant his condition had deteriorated significantly, and if they hadn’t found this cabin by chance, he knew he probably would have died years ago.

Sometimes, he wondered if that would have been better for both Agni and Bard, even if he kept his mouth shut as he listened to them talking, Bard regaling some of his adventures while Agni finished prepping their food.

They’d have rabbit stew tonight, thanks to Bard’s catch, and Sebastian cherished the warmth of the mug in his hands as he tried to enjoy the limited happiness of this domestic snapshot.

He did like it here, in their little cabin. The woods shielded them from most of the horrors of the dying human world, and the fresh, dry air eased his breathing some. He loved their little home and garden, and enjoyed helping Agni with the animals when he was well enough to venture outside. He thought, despite his illness and the reality of their new world, he might be content, if Bard didn’t constantly have to put his life at risk for Sebastian’s sake.

Sebastian shivered as one of Bard’s coarse hands played with his long hair, curling a strand around a finger.

“I missed you both so fucking much,” he said. Sebastian could see the fear in those blue eyes, that he’d probably worried he might not make it back, or that by the time he did, only Agni would be waiting for his return.

~#~

Reblogs appreciated as always!

Liked this? You can see more of my writing on AO3.

#black butler #黒執事 #wip wednesday #sebardagni #sebastian michaelis #post-apocalyptic au #bardroy #agni #sickfic #domestic au #poi writes #poi og #snippet #disabled sebastian #bard

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justrainandcoffee · 2 months

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The Wandering Jew (Alfie Solomons x fem!OC)

"Welcome to end of the World", Alfie said.

Alfie x Rose Masterlist

Summary: It was like an apocalyptic movie. First it wasn't that bad, or that was people thought, until it was that bad. Rose landed in London with the idea of returning home a week and a half later, but few days after that, the PM decided to close everything. His flight was cancelled and getting a new one was an impossible mission. The world is facing a new era and she's there trapped in an Inn, in a distant city with a complete stranger and his dog.

Warnings: Just topics related to covid-19.

Words: 2K. || I'm rewriting the first chapters I posted last year. I changed several things and I'm happier now. You can find the rest of their modern story here.

Series masterlist.

18th March 2020.

The world was starting to panic because of the new virus created in China. Or maybe it was a sick bat that, like a domino effect, caused thousands of deaths already. China was closed, countries around it, too. Italy was collapsing slowly and the WHO already declared that this new virus, called COVID-19, was a pandemic.

Yet, millions of people continued with their lives as always. Working, going to classes, visiting friends or relatives and others, like Rose, were travelling.

Born in London in 1988, Rose Coldwell was returning to her city after eight years living in New York where she moved with her mother and two brothers. She received an important job offer back then and the money was beneficial for the four of them. Louis, her youngest brother went to high school and Samuel, the second brother, begun to study law in a good college there. Now the youngest was studying architecture and Samuel was part of a law firm in Manhattan.

Rose, on the other hand, ran her own fashion blog and had a small business. Nothing too extraordinary, but something that made her happy. After several years of sending mails and filling out forms to be part of any international fashion event and equal numbers of rejections, she sent a mail to be part of an international convention there in London and she was accepted. 2020, it was going to be an unforgettable year, she thought.

And she was right… but the reasons were going to be quite different.

The plane landed and she felt she was returning home like the prodigal son, or daughter. Not even once since she left the country she returned there and it was a pleasant feeling to be back on her land.

Some people around her in the airport were walking fast avoiding the multitude. Some were wearing masks, some not. A woman wearing one was offering alcohol to sanitize people's hands. An old man sneezed and caused several disgusted faces from people around him.

'Probably he's just allergic,' she thought.

While she was waiting for her baggage, she checked her phone. Her mother called her several times and also one of her brothers. She ignored them for now, once she was in her bedroom, she'd be able to call them.

"I think he needs to close everything."

Rose heard two men talking near her, one already had his suitcase, but the other not.

"Johnson already denied that, Luke. We're safe, he said."

"And you believe him?" the one named Luke, asked. "Give the virus a couple of days and we're doom, Fred."

Rose's heart started to beat fast. The fact that she was on the other side of the ocean away from her family, suddenly terrified her. But she shooed those thoughts from her mind. The UK under a strict lockdown sounded ridiculous.

The Wandering Jew was an Inn that opened its doors in 2017. The most popular in all Candem Town and its surroundings. Rated by its guests with five stars in websites like booking.com and full of positive feedback.

The Wandering Jew had over 60 rooms and five of them were almost a suite. Not like a the ones you would find in the most expensive hotels, but still quite elegant.

But most of all, The Wandering Jew had a man named Alfie Solomons, the owner.

Alfie bought the building, that was about to be demolished, in 2016 and hired people to reconstruct it. From engineers and architects to construction workers. One and a half years later, it was finished it. It costed him several thousands pounds but it was worth and he was happy with it.

His apartment was above the Inn, so he never really left that place, except to walk his dog and closest friend: Cyril. Every late afternoon it was common to see both of them walking out the Inn to go to a park and spend an hour or two there.

During the day, while Alfie was behind the reception counter, Cyril usually was sleeping next to his feet or greeting some guests.

And that was exactly what Cyril did that 18th of March.

The reception was empty in that moment, most of the guests were out visiting some places and few others were sleeping or at least they were in their bedrooms. Cyril had been chewing his favourite tennis ball, when he heard a taxi and he stood up quickly. The dog ran towards the glass door and spied from there. Alfie barely paid attention to him.

Cyril was excited. He didn't know her, but the dog was still happy. He could smell her as soon as she left the taxi and now that he could see her, his tail was wagging faster than before. His excitement caused to Alfie to finally raise his eyes from the newspaper and put attention to Cyril who was now hopping.

Alfie saw Rose for the first time while she was pushing the glass door with her body. In one hand she had her baggage and in the other her phone. She was speaking with someone and was clearly upset. And had every reason to be mad. The one on the other side of the line, was a bastard whose only purpose in his life was to harass her. No matter how many times she blocked him, he always get a new number to call her.

"Go and fuck yourself, dickhead!"

Alfie was amused, without no doubts that was the best entrance ever. And a very pretty one.

He saw her sliding her phone in her pocket and then watching at Cyril who seemed to be more than happy after she petted him gently. Cyril ran towards Alfie and barked at him.

"Did you see her? Did you?" He seemed to say.

"Calm down, boy," Alfie said to the animal and then he looked at her who was already in front of him at the reception counter. "I'm sorry, he's usually quieter."

"Don't worry, he's nice! And I love dogs." Rose smiled at him and he did the same. "I booked for a room online, two weeks ago. Coldwell is my last name," she told him.

After giving him her ID, and while he was checking the information she paid attention to the place. She had already seen several photos online and she liked it but the Inn was really nice. The paintings on the walls were warm and several represented the sea. A plant over the counter called Wandering Jew, like the Inn itself, captured her attention. Her mother used to have that kind of plans when they lived in London. She asked herself if the Inn's name was because of those plants or there was another reason.

"Everything is okay, Ms. Coldwell," he said giving her ID back and also a key "Room 44. Welcome and I hope you enjoy your days here."

"Thanks! I will!"

"Every room has a phone that communicates directly with this one," he said pointing at a black one over the counter, "if you need anything you can call me... us. Call us."

Rose chuckled and nodded "Thanks…"

"Alfred. Alfie."

"Thanks, Alfie."

Two days later, the 20th of March, it was obvious that things were out of control. Hospitals were saturated, the numbers of sick people were increasing, flights become to be a necessity and there weren't enough planes. Countries like Italy, Greece and France were collapsing under the virus. And several of them closed their frontiers. Boris Johnson had already a rope around his neck but he refused to start a quarantine yet.

"No, I'm not admitting new guests," Alfie said to the person who called the Inn "I'm sorry."

His right hand, Ollie, was next to him. Both of them were waiting news from the government but there was nothing except empty words and promises about a bright future.

The convention were Rose had to go was cancelled because the organisers were sick and it was suspended. And in top of that she received an email saying that her original flight to return home was cancelled. The company gave her the money back but they didn't say anything about a reschedule.

She returned to the Inn that afternoon only to see in the TV that was in the reception, that there were riots everywhere. Demanding a lockdown, demanding more medical assistance and some demanded Johnson's and the Queen's heads.

Both men, Rose and an old woman were paying attention to the BBC journalist who was in front of one of the hospitals.

"Welcome to the end of the world," Alfie commented.

He wasn't that wrong.

The night of the 22th of March, it was chaotic. Finally the lockdown was imminent and some people was already leaving the Inn. Ollie, who worked the night shift, was giving them their money back for the days that they couldn't stay. That night Rose didn't sleep. She tried to get a flight and she could hear her mother's voice in her head "you should listen to me."

And yes, Mary Coldwell was right but it was too late now for any regrets. Rose needed to return with her family, the thing was how.

The next morning it was officially confirmed the beginning of the quarantine. Alfie again behind the counter, was attending the remaining guests who were living the Inn. Including those who refused to leave. One particular woman was complaining about the lockdown and she was basically blaming Alfie because of that.

Alfie was trying to remain calmed but this Karen wasn't making things easy.

"You can't expelled me like that. I paid for my bedroom for three weeks and I've been here for only one. I want to stay here for three weeks!"

"But you can't. You can go to 10 Downing Street and talk with the Prime Minister about your holidays, if you want. I'm just a citizen following these new rules, ma'am. Pick up your belongings and get in your car and return home. Stay there until the Quarantine is over."

Rose was sitting on one of the armchairs at the reception. Phone in hand, refreshing the airlines website every two seconds, but not avail. Everything was collapsed and there wasn't any flights. The news showed people sleeping on floors and she knew that was her fate and she was really upset. So hearing that woman was ending with her patience.

"I'm going to sue you, you'll see! And you're going to regret it! This is a complete nonsense! There's no such thing as a virus!! It's the media! And the left and…"

"Shut the fuck up, for once! Fuck!"

Both Alfie and the woman stared at Rose who was frowning. The first one smiled, but the woman seemed offended.

"I didn't pay to be insultated!"

"I'm doing this for free," Rose replied.

Gasping, the woman warned Alfie with a lawyer one last time and left the Inn, according to her, to search a better place to stay. She found none.

The rest of the guests left the Inn without drama and by 4pm only Rose remained there. From all the guests that The Wandering Jew had there at the moment, she was the only one living in United States, the rest were all over Britain. In consequence, the only one having problems was Rose.

"Any luck?" Alfie asked watching her with her phone still in hand.

"No. Not really. My brother is trying to help from his home but he's not having luck either."

"You can stay here for tonight if you want," Alfie said.

"I was planning to go to the airport and stay there."

"Sleeping on the cold tiles in middle of a pandemic? I'm sorry but it sounds risky."

"But…"

"I hanged the sign. For everyone here, the Inn is closed. Don't worry."

"Just for tonight, I promise," she said.

Alfie agreed.

"Just tonight."

How wrong both of them were.

#alfie solomons #alfie x rose #alfie solomons x oc #alfie solomons x ofc #tom hardy #peaky blinders #modern au #the wandering jew

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teejays-things · 6 months

Text

Abby Anderson- AI generated fics.

some reader-insert stories i’ve had AI generate for me.

some of these scenes might not make sense or might be repetitive. I mean this is AI lol.

Abby and Reader being mommies <3

In the quiet moments between scavenging and navigating the post-apocalyptic world, a bond deeper than survival blossomed between Abby and you. Amid the ruins of the old world, love took root, and the two of you found solace and strength in each other's company.

As time passed, your relationship deepened, and a shared dream emerged – the desire to build a semblance of family in a world that seemed determined to erase such notions. It was against this backdrop that the idea of a child took shape, a glimmer of hope in a seemingly endless struggle.

Months later, in a small, hidden enclave that you and Abby had come to call home, the soft cries of a newborn filled the air. Together, you held your daughter in your arms, her tiny fingers wrapping around yours, a symbol of resilience and the enduring power of love.

Abby's protective instincts, once reserved for the harsh realities of survival, extended to your little one. With a careful touch, she cradled your daughter, her eyes reflecting a mixture of awe and unwavering commitment. The challenges of the outside world were still ever-present, but within the confines of your makeshift home, a sense of warmth and belonging flourished.

One day, as Abby was teaching your daughter how to fashion makeshift toys from scavenged materials, you couldn't help but smile at the scene. "Look, kiddo, a little doll from these scraps. It's not as pretty as the ones from the old world, but it's made with love," Abby said, her gaze softening as she handed the tiny creation to your daughter.

Your daughter, still learning to grasp objects, giggled and clumsily reached for the doll, her eyes lighting up with joy. You joined them on the makeshift rug, your heart swelling with gratitude for these simple yet profound moments of family.

As the days passed, you and Abby took turns soothing your daughter during restless nights. One evening, after Abby had settled her back to sleep, you found her gazing at the stars through a crack in the makeshift roof.

"She's a blessing," Abby said, her voice tinged with emotion. "I never thought I'd find this in the midst of all the chaos."

You wrapped your arms around her, sharing a silent acknowledgment of the journey that brought you to this point. "We found something worth fighting for," you replied, your gaze meeting Abby's with a shared sense of determination.

Late one evening, you found Abby sitting by the dim light of a makeshift lantern, a book in her hands. Your daughter nestled against her chest, her eyes wide with curiosity as Abby read a story about the world that once was. "And they lived happily ever after," Abby concluded, her gaze meeting yours with a soft smile.

Together, the three of you faced the challenges of this new life, weaving a narrative of love, resilience, and hope. In a world defined by loss, your family stood as a testament to the strength found in unexpected connections, turning the bleak canvas of the post-apocalyptic world into a canvas colored by the bonds of love and the promise of a better tomorrow.

One afternoon, you and Abby found a quiet corner of your enclave, surrounded by makeshift pillows and blankets. Your daughter, now a little explorer, crawled between you, her eyes wide with curiosity.

"What do you think, little one? Shall we build a tower?" Abby suggested, reaching for a pile of scavenged items that could pass as building blocks.

You chuckled, "Sounds like a plan. Let's see if we have an architect in the making." The three of you began stacking the items, each block met with an enthusiastic giggle from your daughter.

As the tower reached an impressive height (by post-apocalyptic standards), Abby playfully pretended to lose her balance, causing the tower to wobble. Your daughter erupted in laughter, her infectious joy spreading to both of you.

"Who knew the apocalypse could be so much fun?" Abby quipped, a playful glint in her eyes.

Another day, as you prepared a makeshift dinner, Abby joined in, holding your daughter in her arms. "Hey, little chef, wanna help stir the soup?" Abby asked, guiding your daughter's tiny hand with hers.

With exaggerated concentration, your daughter mimicked the stirring motion, a proud grin spreading across her face. "Good job, sweetheart! You're a natural," Abby praised, exchanging a proud glance with you.

As you all sat down for the meal, your daughter attempted to feed herself, resulting in a charming mess. "Looks like someone inherited your eating skills," Abby teased, wiping a small smudge from your daughter's cheek.

"Like mother, like daughter," you replied with a laugh, savoring the precious moments of family amid the challenges of survival.

Late at night, as you and Abby settled your daughter to sleep, a quiet lullaby filled the air. Abby hummed a gentle tune, her fingers brushing softly against your daughter's cheek. "Sweet dreams, little one," she whispered, her voice a soothing melody.

With a shared smile, you and Abby retreated to a quiet corner, reflecting on the day's moments of laughter, mess, and love. In the glow of dim lantern light, your makeshift enclave became a haven filled not only with survival but with the rich tapestry of a family sculpted by the enduring bonds of affection and shared joy.

One evening, after your daughter had drifted into a peaceful sleep, you and Abby found a quiet moment on the makeshift balcony of your enclave. The dim light of the fading sunset painted the sky with hues of orange and pink. With a shared glance, you leaned against the railing, a comfortable silence settling between you.

Abby spoke first, her voice soft, "Remember when we first met? It feels like a lifetime ago."

You nodded, a smile playing on your lips. "It's incredible how much has changed since then. We've built something special here."

Abby's gaze lingered on yours, a depth of emotion shining in her eyes. "I never thought I'd have this—a family, a home. I owe it all to you."

Brushing a strand of hair from her face, you replied, "We've built this together, Abby. It's not just me. We found something worth fighting for in each other."

As the night settled in, you and Abby retreated to the warmth of your enclave. With a makeshift blanket fort and a flickering lantern, the atmosphere became intimate. The two of you shared stories, reminiscing about the past and dreaming of a future beyond survival.

"I used to think the world ended with the outbreak, but maybe it's a chance for something new," Abby mused, her fingers tracing patterns on the blanket.

You leaned in, capturing her hand in yours. "Maybe it's a chance for us to build a different kind of world—one filled with love and moments like these."

In the soft glow of the lantern, surrounded by the remnants of the old world, you and Abby found solace in the simplicity of connection. Together, you embraced the present, knowing that every shared moment was a small triumph against the chaos that surrounded you.

Months later, in a small, hidden enclave that you and Abby had come to call home, the soft cries of a toddler filled the air. Your daughter, a bundle of energy and joy, became the center of your makeshift world. She toddled around, her curious eyes taking in the remnants of a world she would never know.

One day, as Abby fashioned a small toy for your daughter, you couldn't help but smile at the scene. "Look, kiddo, a little doll from these scraps. It's not as pretty as the ones from the old world, but it's made with love," Abby said, her gaze softening as she handed the tiny creation to your daughter.

Your daughter, still learning to grasp objects, giggled and clumsily reached for the doll, her eyes lighting up with joy. "Mama made this for you," you added, exchanging a proud glance with Abby. The three of you sat together, surrounded by makeshift toys and the warmth of shared laughter.

"What do you think, little one? Shall we build a tower?" Abby suggested, reaching for a pile of scavenged items that could pass as building blocks.

You chuckled, "Sounds like a plan. Let's see if we have an architect in the making." The three of you began stacking the items, each block met with an enthusiastic giggle from your daughter.

"Who knew the apocalypse could be so much fun?" Abby quipped, a playful glint in her eyes.

"Like mother, like daughter," you replied with a laugh, savoring the precious moments of family amid the challenges of survival.

"I think our little one enjoyed that," you remarked, watching your daughter's eyes flutter closed in contentment.

"She's got good taste in stories, just like her parents," Abby replied, her arm wrapped around both of you. In that moment, surrounded by the remnants of a broken world, your family stood as a beacon of love, resilience, and hope—a testament to the enduring power of connection in the face of adversity.

Abby spoke first, her voice soft, "Remember when we first met? It feels like a lifetime ago."

You nodded, a smile playing on your lips. "It's incredible how much has changed since then. We've built something special here."

Abby's gaze lingered on yours, a depth of emotion shining in her eyes. "I never thought I'd have this—a family, a home. I owe it all to you."

Brushing a strand of hair from her face, you replied, "We've built this together, Abby. It's not just me. We found something worth fighting for in each other."

"I used to think the world ended with the outbreak, but maybe it's a chance for something new," Abby mused, her fingers tracing patterns on the blanket.

You leaned in, capturing her hand in yours. "Maybe it's a chance for us to build a different kind of world—one filled with love and moments like these."

As the night deepened, the fort became a haven for whispered confessions and shared laughter. Abby's eyes sparkled with a tenderness that transcended the harsh realities of the world outside. "I never imagined finding such joy in the midst of all this," she admitted, her fingers tracing gentle patterns on your arm.

You smiled, savoring the warmth of the moment. "We've created something beautiful here—a family, a home. It's a testament to what love can withstand."

Abby leaned in, capturing your lips in a lingering kiss. In the quiet intimacy of your makeshift fort, surrounded by the echoes of your daughter's dreams, you and Abby discovered that, even in a world shattered by chaos, love had the power to rebuild and redefine.

In the aftermath of your shared intimacy, the atmosphere within the makeshift fort shifted. The quiet, previously punctuated by hushed whispers and gentle exploration, now became a sanctuary of shared contemplation. Abby's fingers continued their soothing pattern on your arm, tracing invisible lines that mirrored the unspoken connection between you.

As the lantern flickered, casting a warm and intimate glow, Abby's gaze met yours. The vulnerability exchanged in those quiet moments spoke louder than words ever could. The tangled sheets and the soft rustle of fabric served as tangible reminders of a shared history, a refuge created amid the chaos outside.

Your daughter, oblivious to the complexities of the adult world, stirred in her sleep, prompting a shared smile between you and Abby. It was a testament to the delicate balance between parenthood and maintaining the essence of your relationship amid the challenges of the post-apocalyptic reality.

In the quiet aftermath, you found solace in each other's arms, the fort transformed into a haven where the weight of the world could be set aside, if only for a moment. Conversations unfolded naturally, blending moments of shared laughter and introspective musings.

Abby's voice, a comforting melody, filled the air as she shared stories of her past and dreams of the future. The vulnerability exchanged in the aftermath of your shared intimacy created a space for honesty and a deeper understanding of each other.

As the night progressed, the makeshift fort became a place where love, connection, and shared intimacy intertwined with the echoes of a once-forgotten world. In the dim glow of the lantern, surrounded by the remnants of the old world, your family, forged through love and resilience, stood as a testament to the enduring power of connection in a world reshaped by hardship.

The morning sunlight seeped through the cracks in the makeshift fort, signaling the start of a new day in your enclave. Your daughter, full of boundless energy, tumbled into the room with an infectious giggle. Abby and you exchanged amused glances, already anticipating the flurry of toddler antics that would follow.

"Good morning, little explorer!" Abby exclaimed, scooping your daughter into her arms. "What adventures await us today?"

You joined the playful banter, "Maybe a quest for the legendary toy stash? I heard it's guarded by the fearsome plush dragon."

Your daughter's eyes widened with excitement, her tiny hands clapping. "Dragon! Dragon!"

Abby grinned, playing along, "Alright, brave adventurer, we shall embark on a daring quest to uncover the treasures hidden within our fortress!"

The fort, now repurposed into a castle of imagination, became the backdrop for the morning adventure. Boxes transformed into mythical creatures, and discarded fabrics became royal capes. Laughter echoed through the enclave as your daughter, Abby, and you embraced the magic of storytelling and make-believe.

After the epic quest, the three of you settled in a cozy corner, surrounded by a makeshift picnic of scavenged treats. Abby produced a small wooden box, a relic from the past, filled with a collection of colorful buttons.

"Look what I found on our last scavenging run. A treasure trove of buttons!" Abby announced, her eyes twinkling with excitement.

Your daughter's eyes widened, fingers reaching for the vibrant buttons. "Buttons! Pretty!"

Abby carefully spread the buttons on a cloth, and the three of you began sorting them by color and size. Each button became a tiny world of discovery, a moment of shared fascination and joy.

As the morning unfolded into afternoon, the fort became a space for creative expression. Crayons and pieces of salvaged paper turned into an impromptu art session. Abby, armed with a makeshift crown of twigs, declared herself the "Queen of Crafts," eliciting peals of laughter from your daughter.

In the midst of the artistic chaos, you found a moment to capture the scene with a makeshift camera fashioned from scavenged materials. Abby posed with exaggerated regality, while your daughter, adorned with a lopsided crown of her own, giggled in delight.

As evening approached, you and Abby took turns reading stories to your daughter, the makeshift lantern casting a warm glow on the tales of adventure and friendship. Your daughter nestled against Abby, her eyes heavy with contentment.

Abby whispered, "She's got a love for stories, just like her parents."

You smiled, appreciating the simple joy of these shared moments. "Our little bookworm in the making."

The night settled in, and as you and Abby tucked your daughter into her improvised bed, the fort transformed into a sanctuary of dreams. The rhythmic sounds of a lullaby hummed by Abby filled the air, lulling your daughter into a peaceful slumber.

In the quiet moments that followed, you and Abby found a corner of the fort to share a quiet conversation. The glow of the lantern reflected the smiles exchanged between you, a silent acknowledgment of the richness these small moments brought to your lives amidst the unpredictable landscape of the post-apocalyptic world.

As you gazed at the makeshift family you had created, surrounded by remnants of the old world and the warmth of shared laughter, the fort became more than just a structure of survival. It was a canvas for love, creativity, and the enduring strength found in the unbreakable bonds formed amid the challenges of this new reality.

Abby, tracing patterns on your daughter's makeshift bedspread, remarked, "I never thought I'd find this kind of happiness in a world like ours."

You turned to her, sharing a tender smile. "Love has a way of finding us, even in the most unexpected places."

Your daughter, even in her sleep, let out a soft sigh, a testament to the security she felt within the fort of your family's making. As you and Abby settled into a quiet night within the fort's embrace, the echoes of shared laughter and whispered conversations lingered, weaving a tapestry of connection that outshone the shadows of the world beyond.

Sick reader

As the grip of illness tightened, every movement became an effort, and the fort that once symbolized comfort felt like a battleground. The warmth of Abby's hand on your forehead provided a fleeting moment of relief, but the persistent chill refused to subside.

Abby's voice, a soft melody of concern, cut through the fog of your discomfort. "You're burning up, love. We need to bring that fever down."

A feeble nod was your response as you buried your face in Abby's neck, seeking solace in the familiar scent of her. "I feel awful," you admitted, your voice muffled against her skin.

A gentle hand cupped the back of your head, Abby's fingers threading through your hair. "Shh, it's okay. I'm here."

The makeshift bed felt more like a sanctuary as Abby tucked you in with extra care. The soft touch of her fingers against your cheek brought a brief reprieve from the persistent ache.

Your daughter, sensing the gravity of the situation, wobbled over with a concerned expression. "Mama sad?"

Abby, ever the pillar of reassurance, knelt down to her level. "Mama's not feeling well, sweetheart. We're going to take care of her, okay?"

Your daughter nodded solemnly, her tiny hand reaching out to pat your arm. "I help Mama."

As Abby moved to fetch a damp cloth to cool your forehead, you clung to her with a desperate whine. "Abby, it hurts everywhere."

Abby returned promptly, pressing the cool cloth against your forehead. "I know, love. This will help. Just focus on getting some rest."

Despite the discomfort, a soft smile formed on your face as Abby's fingers traced soothing circles on your arm. The fort, once a backdrop for joyous play, now became a haven for healing.

Hours passed, the ebb and flow of fever dreams blending with the comforting presence of Abby. Your daughter, determined to contribute, presented a small cup of water, her eyes wide with earnest concern.

"Drink, Mama. It make you feel better," she urged, mimicking Abby's earlier actions.

You took a sip, the simple act bringing a momentary sense of relief. Abby, sitting by your side, squeezed your hand in silent encouragement. "Good job, sweetheart. You're helping Mama a lot."

As night fell, Abby nestled beside you, providing a reassuring presence. Your daughter, curled up on the other side, clutched a makeshift teddy bear, her eyes fluttering with exhaustion.

Abby's voice, a lullaby in the quiet night, soothed your restless mind. "Try to rest, love. I'll be right here."

You shifted, seeking comfort, and Abby adjusted to accommodate your weakened state. With a sigh, you murmured, "I just want to feel better."

"I know," Abby whispered, her fingers tracing gentle patterns on your arm. "We'll get through this together."

In the stillness of the fort, time seemed to blur, but Abby's unwavering care remained a constant. As the fever ebbed and flowed, moments of lucidity brought a renewed appreciation for the warmth shared within these makeshift walls.

Days melded into nights, and with each passing moment, your strength slowly returned. Abby, ever attentive, kept vigil by your side, offering comfort in the form of gentle touches and encouraging words.

One afternoon, as the haze of illness lifted, your daughter toddled over with a bright smile. "Mama better now?"

You managed a weak but genuine smile. "Much better, sweetheart. Thanks to both of you."

Abby chimed in, her eyes reflecting relief. "You did great, little one. Mama's on the mend."

In the aftermath of sickness, the fort, once a refuge for playful adventures, transformed into a symbol of resilience and love. Your daughter, with her tiny hands and unwavering spirit, and Abby, with her steady presence and tender care, had turned the battle against illness into a testament of familial strength.

As the fort embraced a newfound tranquility, the echoes of shared laughter returned, this time layered with the triumph over adversity. With Abby by your side and your daughter's infectious giggles filling the air, the makeshift enclave stood as a sanctuary of love, resilient in the face of life's unpredictable challenges.

Now, with the worst of the illness behind you, Abby suggested a change of scenery. "How about some fresh air, love? A little walk might do wonders."

You nodded weakly, appreciating her thoughtfulness. As you slowly made your way outside, supported by Abby's steadying arm, the cool breeze carried a sense of renewal. The fort, while comforting, felt confining after days of illness.

Abby guided you to a quiet spot where you could rest. The dappled sunlight filtered through the leaves, casting a gentle glow. You leaned against Abby, taking in the serenity of the moment.

"Better out here?" Abby asked, her eyes filled with concern.

You smiled, feeling the warmth of the sun on your face. "Much better. Thank you for taking care of me."

Abby pressed a tender kiss to your forehead. "Always, love. That's what we do for each other."

As you savored the tranquility, your daughter toddled over, a flower in her hand. "Pretty flower, Mama!"

You accepted the gift with gratitude. "Thank you, sweetheart. It's beautiful."

Abby joined in, "Our little gardener is quite the artist."

With newfound energy, you engaged in a simple game of peek-a-boo with your daughter, laughter replacing the earlier pallor of sickness. Abby's watchful eyes reflected both.

Amid the attempt to enjoy the fresh air, a sudden wave of nausea surged within you, a stark reminder that the remnants of illness still lingered. Clinging to Abby for support, you felt a bead of sweat forming on your forehead.

Abby sensed the shift in your demeanor, concern etched across her face. "Love, are you okay?"

You attempted to nod, but a sudden bout of nausea overwhelmed you. Without warning, you lurched forward, and Abby swiftly guided you to a more secluded spot, away from the makeshift fort.

Your daughter, sensing the tension, toddled after you, her eyes wide with worry. "Mama? What happened?"

Abby knelt beside you, holding your hair back as the unfortunate events unfolded. The fort, once a sanctuary, now witnessed a raw and vulnerable moment.

You tried to apologize through the discomfort, "I'm sorry, Abby. I thought I was feeling better."

Abby, ever composed, offered reassurance. "It's okay, love. These things happen. Let's take it slow."

As you leaned against a tree, catching your breath, Abby fetched a makeshift canteen filled with water. "Take small sips. We'll wait here until you're ready to go back."

Your daughter, though puzzled, attempted to bring a sense of comfort. She handed you a soft cloth, her tiny hand pressing it against your forehead. "Cool, Mama. Make you feel better."

You managed a weak smile, touched by her empathy. "Thank you, sweetheart. Mama just needs a moment."

Abby's supportive presence and your daughter's genuine concern created an atmosphere of understanding. The fort, no longer just a backdrop for play, became a sanctuary for vulnerability and acceptance.

After a few minutes, as the queasiness subsided, Abby helped you stand. "Take it easy, love. We can head back whenever you're ready."

As you leaned on Abby for support, your daughter clung to your free hand, her expression a mix of curiosity and compassion. The fort, once a symbol of resilience, now bore witness to the nuances of recovery.

With each step back, the fort felt more familiar, and the sense of unity within this makeshift family strengthened. Abby's steadying presence, your daughter's innocent concern, and the shared acceptance of vulnerability turned the episode into a testament of the genuine connections forged amidst the challenges of the post-apocalyptic world.

As you settled back into the fort, Abby fetched a blanket and gently draped it over your shoulders. "Rest here for a while, love. We'll take care of you."

Your daughter, undeterred by the recent events, nestled beside you, offering a small plush toy. "Bear makes everything better, Mama."

You chuckled weakly, grateful for the simplicity of her gestures. "You're right, sweetheart. Bear does help."

Abby, sitting close, spoke softly, "You've been through a lot, but you're doing great. We're here for you."

In the quiet aftermath, the fort became a haven of recovery, a space where vulnerability was met with unwavering support. As you closed your eyes, enveloped in the makeshift embrace of blankets and love, the fort echoed not just with laughter but also with the resilience found in shared moments of acceptance and care.

Abby’s hot voice

As the night settled over the fort, casting shadows that danced in the dim light, you found a moment of quiet intimacy with Abby. The makeshift walls seemed to cocoon the two of you in a secluded space, away from the remnants of the day.

Abby, sitting by your side, traced gentle patterns on your hand as you gazed into the darkness beyond. The air was charged with a subtle energy, prompting you to speak your thoughts.

"You know, Abby," you began, your voice soft in the stillness of the night, "I've always loved your voice."

Her gaze shifted to you, curiosity in her eyes. "My voice?"

You nodded, a small smile playing on your lips. "Yeah. It's soothing, comforting. I love listening to you talk, especially late at night like this."

The shadows seemed to embolden your words as you continued, "It's more than that, Abby. I think your voice is really hot."

Abby's eyebrows arched in surprise, a mixture of amusement and warmth in her expression. "Hot, huh?"

You chuckled, feeling a hint of bashfulness. "Yeah, hot. There's something about it that just... I don't know, it gets to me."

A playful glint sparked in Abby's eyes. "Is that so? I never thought of my voice that way."

"It's true," you insisted. "Especially when you speak softly like you do now. It's like a secret shared between just the two of us."

Abby's laughter, a gentle melody in the quiet night, resonated with the vulnerability of the moment. "Well, I'm honored to have a 'hot' voice, then."

The fort, witnessing the exchange, felt like a sanctuary for confessions and shared intimacies. As the night wore on, you found comfort in the soft cadence of Abby's voice, the warmth of shared laughter, and the unspoken connection that deepened with each whispered revelation.

#lesbian #ai generated #abby x reader #abby the last of us #abby anderson #abby anderson x reader #abby tlou #fluff #x reader #reader insert #ai #the last of us #tlou2 #moms #family #lgbtq #abby x you #fanfiction #abby anderson x you

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peyton-warren · 1 year

Text

Threat of Exile

Characters: Gender Neutral Reader, Captain Syverson

Pairings: None, I dont even think Reader likes Sy let alone "likes" him.

Fandoms: Sandcastle, Henry Cavill characters

Word count: 1234

Type: dystopian, survival, post apocalyptic.

Warning: 18+. Minors DNI. End of the world as we know it. Some use of guns, lock picks and horribly disrespectful hand gestures.

Summary: Reader is out on a supply run with Syverson.

Author's Note: not betaed. I admit I channeled my writing for The Walking Dead while working on this. But what else was I supposed to with the challenge of writing this for @the-slumberparty's Week One Game I Spy where i ended up with the Theme: Survival and the Setting: post apocalyptic? Bolded words are the ones supplied in the rules to the game. I managed to get all 3 in here.

Ask Box: Open

Masterlist

You were glad to be out doing something, happy that Spring had finally arrived and Winter had pissed off, at least for now. What you weren’t so pleased about was your partner on this trip. You got why Syverson was who in your rag-tag bunch of survivors was in charge of supply runs. But his on-point, nonsense, all the fucking time was wearing on you. You haven't seen any threats in months! No strangers, no wandering groups of other survivors moving in to take potential supplies. You weren’t sure you were gonna be able to take another couple days of recon with him.

You found yourself behind him, making faces at one of the other 2 person teams you were out with. Janet and Tim tried to keep straight faces as Sy gave them nonverbal instructions with you mocking each of his movements in earnest. With a growl and a pop of his neck, he turned back to you as the others headed towards the house next door to the one you were walking up to. “Can you not do that shit while we are out in the world? It’s barely tolerable when we are home-“ as if a recreated 18th century fort in the middle of a state park was any sort of home - “but out here, you need to cut the grab ass.”

You couldn’t stop the eye roll even if you wanted to, but you should have stopped the mocking salute. “ Sir. Yes, Sir.”

In a millisecond, you found yourself smashed against the wall beside the front door with a rather pissed off military officer in your face. “I will leave your ass out here without a second thought if I think you are going to endanger us.” His arm was bent across your collarbone, painfully digging into you, a breath’s distance from your windpipe. His steely blue eyes were frosty and unwavering as you tried to remember you needed to draw in air.

“Got it,” you eek out in a soft voice.

With a small emphatic amount of added pressure to your chest, Syverson dropped his arm and waved his hand at the front door. “You’re up,” he muttered to you, stepping to the side and turning his attention to your surroundings.

You had no idea that learning how to pick locks in college was going to come in handy in such a fashion, but you pulled your pick kit out of your cargo pants and selected the proper tools for the deadbolt on this door. After a few fiddly moments, the lock gave way under your ministrations which you announced with a small exclamation of glee.

You stepped away as Sy reached for the handle, turning it slowly as you swapped your tool kit for your side arm and flashlight. This part you took as seriously as he did. You never knew who or what was beyond lock doors, especially when you were scavaging for supplies. When the world ended 14 months ago, people slipped back into their baser instincts, kill or be killed ruled the world more now than it ever did before.

The two of you cleared the first floor with practiced ease. The home appeared to be a basic suburban middle class home. The family who lived here- mom, dad and 2 perfect children plus an adorable Labrador retriever if the photos on the walls were to be believed - seemed to have locked the door that last fateful day, going off to work and school, never to return again.

Heading to the stairs to the next floor, rounding an end table holding a long dead bouquet of flowers, you found yourself praying for the family as you often did while clearing homes on supply runs. You prayed they were ok, that they survived and if they did they were all as ok as they could be in this world.

Following the broad back wrapped in sweaty, dirty cotton, you were able to clear the rooms on the second floor quickly. Dropping his long arm to his side, Sy nodded to you, even though you already knew the drill. “See what’s of use up here, I’m gonna have a look downstairs.”

Sliding the hand gun into the holster on your hip, you pulled a zippered tote bag from your backpack as he headed to his own assignment. You made quick work of the kids' bedrooms. Not much of value there. You had so few kids in your group any more anyway, the illnesses taking most of them early on. You swiped a pink bunny holding a red heart for Abby, the 16 year old that had basically become your little sister since the world ended.

Heading to the master bedroom, you began rifling through dressers and closets, stuffing useful clothes into the bag in your hand, leaving the frills, lace and heels alone. Pulling open a final drawer, you whistled low at the treasure trove of personal delights you had stumbled upon. None of the toys were probably of any use to you or the group back home, but you did stuff the arm and ankle leather cuffs into the bag along with their restraints and a couple pairs of well made handcuffs . You were not thinking you needed them for anything more than keeping someone from hurting themselves or others, not for the original intent of them. Though somewhere in the back of your mind you wondered what Syverson would think of them. You guessed he was likely just as uptight about that as he was about recon.

Sweeping through the closet for needed clothes and other bits, you wandered back out into the bedroom. Something shiny on top of the dresser next to the closet caught your eye. Money had long since been deemed useless by everyone you had come across, frivolous as anything else useless including jewelry. Didn’t stop you from running your fingers over the delicate gold chain laid on the lace covered wooden top. They paused over the tiny diamond pendant, barely a breath of a stone, but stunning nonetheless. With only a hint of guilt the old you would have felt you swept it up and clasped it around your neck, tucking it under your shirt collars. Patting it once, you reached for your backpack and the tote bag now filled past the zipper’s capacity.

Quietly, you made your way downstairs to find Syverson carefully repacking the bag at his feet, tugging it closed. “We good?” you asked before he could.

With a nod and grunt, he stood to his full height, pulling the bag up to his bulky shoulder. With a jerk of his chin, he asks if you want him to take yours from you. Your response is just a shake of yours, stubborn to let him help you. God forbid he thought for two seconds you were not actually pulling your weight. You’d be regulated to kitchen duties or some other monotonous task instead of never being allowed out of the palisades of your home. You’d rather choke on a rattlesnake than face that as your lot in life.

Sy paused on the front porch, waiting for you to relock the deadbolt, re-securing the house on the off chance someone wouldn’t come along and bust down the door to get at the contents. Syverson was an odd duck. But you had to admit you were glad he was on your side.

General Tag List: @littleone65; @mysweetlittledesire

#navy and roo's sleepover #Challenge writing #captain syverson fic #captain syverson #captain syverson fanfic #captain syverson fanfiction #henry cavill characters #sand castle #sand castle fanfiction #captain sy #captain sy x reader #syverson #syverson x reader #sy x reader #captain syverson x reader

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