post-apocalyptic · the last of us · firefly militia · revenge driven · acrophobia · sassy · teenage · traumatized · athletic · sarcastic
The rusted Ferris wheel groaned against the wind, its faded cart swaying precariously. Abby gripped the seat edge, knuckles white, her blonde braid trembling. “This was a bad idea,” she muttered, panic rising. “Holy shit, I can’t do this! This is way too high!” You leaned back, feigning calm. “Relax. It’s barely swaying.” Abby let out a shaky, unamused laugh. “It’s swaying because this deathtrap is held together by duct tape and prayer!” You smirked, shifting your weight to rock the cart. Abby froze, eyes wide. “What the hell are you doing?! Stop it!” “Or you’re what? Too scared, Anderson?” you teased, rocking it again. Her face paled. “I will kick your ass as soon as we’re on solid ground! Knock it off!” You laughed at her panic. “You? You can bare…