#apocalypse!au

[princessbrunette]

zombie au rafe who comes to get his revenge but only finds sweet little doe eyed you begging him not to hurt you and he doesnt know what to do with himself<333 he would be so big bad and scary until he took one look at your teary eyes and and

-🐙

i think he’d wanna manipulate u. seduce u into turning against your people and being his mole on the inside that can help him. stroking your tearful cheek with the back of his finger as he looks down on u, all big n scary with his gun tucked in his waistband and his men stood behind him obediently …..

“you know what you did, beautiful?”

“w—what?”

“sided with the pogues. now that’s—” he shakes his head, squinting. “thats bad. you’re not bad right? don’t side with murderers do you?”

“they’re not—”

“i’m talking, alright princess?”

#🐙 anon #rafe cameron prompt #apocalypse!rafe #apocalypse!au

[espresso-lessdepresso]

First Contact || Apocalypse!au Jschlatt

a/n: 1. The Last of Us Universe 2. Sorry to the girls and gays this has no kissing whatsoever, quite lacking in any intimacy really 3. The ravioli is only in here because TLOU had it as well.

t/w: Mention of death. Mention of dying. Stealing. Weapons. Guns. Fire. Zombies. Infected. Blood. Blood wound. Wounded reader. Needles. Stitches. Reader gets stitches. Distrust. Suspicion. 

w/c: 3.6k

Cans of food, empty containers, rope, forgotten ammo and maybe a lone deer if you were lucky.

It was meant to only be a small run for some supplies. You would have gotten what you needed and left the rest for some rainy day. The town you frequented was small and it was supposed to be empty, its residents had long since been evacuated. And probably shot down by FEDRA soldiers, from what you had heard, to prevent any more from getting infected and roaming the earth. You were in someone's old house, packing up cans of food, medical supplies and other items when you heard the sound of glass crunching. Before you knew it, an infected emerged from behind a broken-down wall and lunged at you. As you dodged and shot at its head till it dropped dead, more came.

A whole horde. As fucked up as it sounded, they looked fresh. Infected for a few days or weeks. Runners and Stalkers both. Again, the town had been empty since the first few weeks of the outbreak, so you could've only guessed that they somehow migrated to this area. Maybe followed a group of survivors, maybe bit one and infected them before quickly spreading to the others. Runners were bad because if you saw one, there were probably going to be a handful of others nearby. But stalkers? Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck. They were smart. They moved fast, they knew how to hide from you and would ambush you and straight up hunt you down like you're their little prey. It didn't help that you needed to use a few extra bullets to take them out.

And it was just your luck that the Molotov cocktail you had fashioned got knocked out of your hand when one of the infected jumped at you, pinning you to the ground. Within seconds, the bottle shattered and the floor was set on fire. The whole building was going to be swallowed by the flames.

After kicking the infected off of you and beating your hatchet into its fungi-covered skull, you crawled on the ground in a coughing fit trying to escape the burning house. Wooden beams fell from the ceiling, crushing a few infected underneath them. The wall beside you collapsed, trapping your lower body beneath its rubble. 

The rest- they flinched and screeched and groaned, but they still made their way towards you.

Black smoke surrounded you. Strokes of fire licked your skin. Breathing had started to hurt and your eyes burned red. All you could see was the blur of lights and the shadows that grew closer.

Fire. 

Smoke.

Infected.

Horde.

....Sounds of gunshots came from somewhere.

You woke up to the dull sound of metal clanking against each other. Blinking your eyes open, you were met with the dark blue sky, littered with specks of small stars. You were in the woods, on a worn-out sleeping bag and laying under a jacket that was far too big to be your own. The sweat had dried on your skin making you feel a bit sticky and tacky. Hours must have passed seeing as how the sun was high when you were in the town. Breathing hurt, every slow inhale you took felt like something was scratching the insides of your lungs and your throat was dry.

Tic tic tic tic... Foosh.

When you turned your head to the side towards the sound, you were met with the sight of a gruff-looking man hunched over a portable gas stove. The fire burned low, on top of which he placed what looked to be a pot of water.

The first thing your eyes darted towards was the head of a rifle poking out from behind his shoulders, hung by a makeshift strap across his torso. Your gaze briefly wandered to the shadow behind him, a pickup truck a few metres away from you. Your eyes went back to him, his face illuminated by the orange light. While he was staring at the water, waiting for it to boil, you could make out the tense expression behind his unkempt brown hair; furrowed brows and chewing on one side of his bottom lip. His clothes were battered and a bit dirty, but who the hell had clean clothes in this world? With the sweater, gloves and boots, he looked well-prepared for the coming winter, keeping his fingers from freezing off. Oh, and the fleece jacket that on top of you was also probably his.

With a flick of your wrist, you sat up and from your back pocket, pulled out your pistol, barrel pointed at the stranger's head. 

Sure, he gave you his sleeping bag and he might have saved you from the infected horde, but that did not mean he was some nice guy you could risk trusting. No one is just nice, especially not these days, not unless they want something from you. For all you knew, he could be a part of some raiders or hunters or bandits or any other fucking club. As if the infected weren't enough, you had to watch out and hide from these types of people. Somehow, they were worse than the infected. If an infected gets you, you're dead. But if you get caught by the raiders or hunters... You'd seen enough people get dragged off to their camps- heard enough screams to know all the horrors they could do to you.

So, you don't know the stranger in front of you. And he sure as hell doesn't know you.

He looked up, seeing the gun pointed at him and he shook his head, letting out a dry chuckle. "Guess I should've left you in that burning shit hole." His fingers came up to scratch his beard nonchalantly, watching you with the most uninterested and unimpressed look on his face. He wasn't the least bit worried about the possibility of having a bullet between his brows.

You didn’t reply. You took a shallow breath and were hit with cramping pain that pinched at your chest and sides. All that smoke you inhaled was probably still in your lungs. Maybe he knew that, as much as you did, you were in no condition to fight him. Even with the gun in your hands, anxiety itching your finger on the trigger, you could tell this guy wasn't someone to mess around with. 

"Your things are over there," He nodded his head a little way to your left, "by the tree." Your backpack and duffle bag were sitting at the base of an old mossy tree, along with your hatchet and empty shotgun. "If you're going to keep pointing that little thing at me, then better you grab your shit and leave without making too much noise." He held his glare at you, tired brown eyes almost turning black, a solid warning that if you tried anything-

You contemplated, giving yourself a chance to think things through. Really, if he wanted to kill and rob you of even the clothes on your back, he would have done all that before nightfall. You were most likely knocked out for five or six hours, four minimum. He had more than enough time to leave you for dead.

A sudden rustling of leaves caught both of your attention, your necks snapped towards the bushes. Before you could think of pulling the trigger and before the stranger could pull the rifle in front of him, an orange cat hopped out of the dark. Its big green eyes glistened in the twilight, as well as the silver army name tag that was fashioned to its collar. The cat trotted towards the man and dropped a rat from its mouth, paying no mind to you, much like its owner. The man's posture went back to its slumped state, his shoulders relaxed and he pushed the rifle back. He murmured something as he scratched the cat behind its ears, to which it meowed back at him. The cat then shifted its focus to the rodent, starting to nip and tear through it.

"Name?" You asked, lowering your pistol, though your finger remained on the grip. 

He looked up, somewhat glad that the person he had saved was no longer going to blow his brains out. Or at least not yet. "Jambo." He said, slightly drawing out 'o' of the name. The cat then looked up at him, curling its orange tail around the man's leg. 

A sigh left your lips. "I wasn't asking about the cat.” You were dumbfounded, almost amused seeing someone bring around with them a pet. This was really the last thing you expected in a world of chaos and fear.

"Oh. Right, of course." He nodded before properly answering. "Schlatt. I uh- I go by Schlatt."

You tried to rack your brain because you swore you had heard that name before. But you couldn't recall why or from where you heard it. With a parched mouth, you gave him your name in return, to which he nodded again with a rather tired and solemn expression.

Deciding that that was more than enough chit-chatting, you went to push yourself off of the sleeping bag. You were about to stand up from a kneeling position when searing hot pain shot up your thigh. For a split second, you were back in that old burning building, the fire and smoke suffocating you and the infected closing in on you. Something popped against your skin. Wincing and staggering, you dropped one hand on the ground to balance yourself as the other hand instantly went to place itself on your leg where you felt the warm tearing sensation. Only then did you notice the bandages wrapped around your thigh and the makeshift ankle brace on the same leg. There was already enough crimson on the white bandages but because you had moved so harshly, a darker red dot started to rise to the surface. You pressed your lips into a thin line, seeing the blotch of fresh blood travel further down the leg of your pants.

"Wait, don’t just-!" Schlatt hissed through his clenched teeth, "You're going to tear your damn stitches." As tall and as big as he was, his footsteps were light and almost undetectable, something he had perfected throughout the years of the outbreak. You didn't realise he was behind you until you heard his voice right next to your ear. He hooked an arm under yours and motioned you to sit back down. With his other hand on your back, you were laying down again on the sleeping bag. "Tch." The bandages were almost soaking at this point like a wet sponge. 

Pulling out a switchblade, Schlatt hastily cut open the wrappings and peeled it off of the wound with the tip of the blade. There is a massive torn hole on the leg of your jeans. Your breath hitched at the sight of several messy stitches crossing over a long and deep gash on your thigh. That popping you felt seconds ago was undoubtedly the snapping and breaking of two or three of these stitches. You could see how deep the cut was with the lighter layer of skin peeking through. The area around the gash was blushing red, inflamed and irritated from all the tension and reopening of the stitches. 

“What the hell, you did this?” Your breath was laboured but you tried to inhale and exhale calmly, your eyes unable to look away from your leg. 

"I was trying to help you!" Schlatt snapped back at you. “But all for nothing I guess, great fucking job bleeding again.” He wasn't the best when it came to any sort of medical aid. Everything he knew he had learned on his own when the time called for it. And fuck, You were bleeding profusely when he found you. He had no other option than to hold your skin together and run a needle through you like it was a piece of cloth. Though now the stitches were popped and he was all out of medical supplies. Schlatt took a quick glance at you, seeing the thin sheet of sweat beginning to form on your forehead from the spike of adrenaline. "Used all my gauze on you, shit..." He pulled out a handkerchief and pressed it against your leg. 

Grunting, you pointed towards your bag and no other words needed to be said after that. Schlatt shuffled both your bags closer and began to quickly look through it for anything useful. His hand landed on a tin box which somewhat resembled a first aid kit and opened it to find a small tube of antiseptic cream and a roll of gauze. He first poured water on the wound, doing his best to clean and dry the area before gingerly applying the cream. Not knowing what to do about the torn stitches, he just left them as they were. With a firm hand, he finally wrapped the bandage tightly around your leg. The bleeding would stop soon enough. 

Minutes later, you were lying on your back again, the pain dully pulsing in your leg. It was sure to slowly make its way to your hips and you knew it would give you one hell of a back pain.

"Now you owe me twice," Schlatt quipped. 

Even though you felt like your already small reserve of energy had dried out, you without missing a beat rolled your eyes at Schlatt, earning you another dry breathy laugh.

Schlatt had moved to sit a bit closer to you, still on the opposite side of the fire but two or three feet apart this time. He pulled the sleeve of his sweatshirt over his fingers and picked up the pot of boiling water to set it on the ground. Before turning off the stove, Schlatt used a few dry leaves and sticks to make a small campfire to light up the area. He poured some of the water into a metal cup and pulled out a piece of folded paper. Unwrapping the paper revealed a few sticks of what looked to be dried jerky. "Here." He placed the cup in front of you and after picking a few sticks for himself, he held out the rest.

Wearily accepting the food, you muttered thanks. 

The two of you ate quietly, tugging at the stick of meat and then taking a sip of water so that you could actually chew and swallow it. The jerky was old and lacked any flavour, tasting more like leather than food. Glancing at your bag, you thought for a second.

At the sound of a zipper opening, followed by rustling, Schlatt cocked an eyebrow as he looked at you. Out of your other bag, you pulled out a red coloured can. Within days of the outbreak, people stormed every mall and shop and cleared out all the shelves. If you weren’t growing it yourself or had some inside source from the FERDA, then food was hard to find. And your luck was thin of finding something that was both edible and rotting. You eyed the can once more before tossing it over to Schlatt.

In a swift motion, Schlatt caught the red can with one hand and brought it close to his face to read the label on it. "Chef Boyardee Beef Ravioli" was printed on the front of the can with the picture of, what Schlatt assumed, the said chef and the ravioli. He rotated the can, running his thumb over the metal and checking it for dents or rust.

“It’s in pretty good condition.” You said when he raised his brows at you questioningly “Canned food has a pretty long shelf life... and if that's true, I’m pretty sure we won’t die of food poisoning if we eat it.” "Eh," he shrugged, "it's worth a shot." Schlatt rewrapped the unfinished jerky and slid it into his bag. With the help of his pocket knife, he cut open the can and poured some water into it before setting it on the fire to cook. A few minutes later, you both were eating halves of the steaming ravioli. Granted it was a bit off and you had to water down the sauce a little but it was miles better than the leather you were just eating. You did not miss the way Schlatt took his first bite and had to duck his head into his hand, eyes closed in satisfaction as he chewed. "This is fuckin' good." Finally, food that actually tasted like food.

Even the cat- Jambo came around to you, sniffing at the small piece you let him have before scarfing it. 

You stuffed the spoonful of pasta into your mouth, taking a moment to enjoy the hot meal while staring up at the night sky.

A subtle sense of calm and security cloaked around, warming you like the low ambers of fire as you stole glances at the man. The stranger. You knew better than to place your trust in someone you just met. But he- Schlatt- you leaned back in an attempt to physically recoil from your thoughts- he felt different. He acted different. His eyes didn't glaze over with violence or greed, they didn’t linger on you too long for you to suspect anything nor did they threaten you (unprovoked that is). They just looked tired. Eyes that had seen too much, all the chaos and massacres that plagued the world. Eyes that bore witness to his hands trembling in disbelief as he had done the very things he swore to never do. All the scars on his face and the calloused skin proved that. Tiered tiered eyes.  

You felt inexpressible relief- 

Don’t.

-and a bit of regret. 

You let out a long and heavy sigh, not letting your mind wander to hope for anything more than this. This was good. You would live another day. 

This was good enough.

"Nice truck." You commented. It was a pretty decent rig by the looks of it; a four-seater and cargo bed which was covered with a tarp. With the way it was rusting and had its paint scratched off exposing silver streaks of the body, the poor thing had definitely seen better days. "Headed anywhere in particular?" 

"Not really. The last place we-" him and the cat "were staying was ambushed by raiders. Was near the deserted FEDRA hospital down south- y'know the place where they were looking for a cure?" Then it clicked. Since FEDRA abandoned the building and withdrew the general area, quite the ruckus started going down there. Hunters started marking the area as their land. No longer heavily guarded by FEDRA soldiers, raiders slithered their way in. And that was when you first heard his name. Schlatt. He was the only one, who supposedly, gunned down more than half of the raiders before finally escaping. "We made it out just in the nick of time."

"Were... there other? With you?"

"Yeah, but uh, we got separated." Schlatt pulled out a walkie-talkie, flicking it on to only hear the sound of steady static. "It's been months so-" He cleared his throat, "They're as good as dead at this point."

But you're going to put that radio back in your backpack or on the dashboard of your truck. Flicking it on every few days or so, telling yourself that they're dead but unable to take out the batteries that could be used for something better in the future, holding on to that sliver of hope. You won't tell him to lose that hope, since hope is the only thing that keeps most of you going. “I’m sorry.”

"Nah, don't worry about it." Schlatt flicked it back off.

“Hmm...You’re headed east from here?” You asked.

His brows raised as he looked a bit off to the side, “Sure.” He wasn’t. It was as clear as the night sky that he didn’t know where the hell he was going or where he wanted to go.

“Drop me off a few miles from here.” You placed a hand on your thigh. “I’ve got...” A beat passed. Hesitation crawled up behind your neck before somehow letting go. “I’ve got a place. A small farm.”

“A farm? Like with cows and shit?”

“More like Chickens. And a garden. And running water.”

"Chickens?" The corner of his mouth twitched upwards in surprise, for the first time giving you something besides a sneer or dead-eyed glare. The only place he knew that had some sort of functioning farm was at some place called Jackson. “Aha, think you can spare some for this little guy?” He asked, eyes pointing towards Jambo.

“Why not? Drive me there and if you’d like, umm, you can rest there for a while before heading off to wherever you need to go.”

Schlatt squinted at you, "I hope you're not planning to kill me. Like, I drive you to your so-called base and a dozen men show up out of nowhere." It wouldn't be the first time he fell for something like that, but that was years ago and he now knew better than to just walk into a trap like that. A teasing grin played on his face. You shook your head, mirroring the grin and relaxed a bit as you felt a bit of the ice break between you two. “What? You pull a gun on me and think I’d trust you just like that? Geez.” Craning his neck back, his eyes turned towards the sky, looking at the moonless night while tapping his thumb on his hand and the cogs in his brain turning. 

Schlatt turned back to you. "Promise not to kill me?" 

How often did people keep up with those?

"As long as you promise not to kill me... or steal my shit."

Not often these days. 

Schlatt let out a chuckle, showing off the row of his upper teeth. "You've got yourself a deal." 

++++++

Engage and let me know if/how you like the writing. Reblogging/Sharing is much appreciated.

master list

#jschlatt #schlatt #jschlatt fanfic #jschlatt fanfiction #schlattfanfic #schlatt fanfiction #jschlatt imagine #schlatt imagine #jschlatt x reader #schlatt x reader #apocalypse!au #apocalypse!au Jschlatt #apocalypse!au Schlatt #The Last of Us!au #tlou!au

[assassins-and-hidden-blades]

Apocalypse!AU -- Reunion

Synopsis: Separated from his family after a coup destroyed their old settlement, Jacob spends three long months trying to find them again and bring them home, if they're still alive.

06/03/2024: I feel so bad for writing this years ago and then not posting. However, I'm glad I did, because I could read through it and see how sparse it actually was. I like this piece a lot and want to share it with you guys (proof I'm writing again! Spread the word!! Reblog!). This can be read as a standalone but there is other Apocalypse!AU content HERE, HERE, and HERE if you liked this one. It could be better, but I need sleep and a croissant (hello, priorities), and I just wanted to get something out there. Tell me what you think/if you want more/less/or you like the surprises. I surprise even myself, currently. Feedback is cool, too! Very big fan of feedback. Anyway, here you go!

Warnings: Violence, blood mention

[This is an F!Reader fic]

Word count: 3.2k (not bad, not bad)

The Complete Masterlist

----

Rubbing his eyes, Jacob crossed off another town on his map, leaning over the wooden table in his room. They were kind enough to give him a three bedroom house to reside in, despite having two and a half beds neatly made but untouched. On two of them sat a few different stuffed animals; some new, some familiar. Lily would always share her stuffed animals with Emmett, despite the older brother acting as if he didn’t need the comfort.

He stood up straight and took a sip of his now cold coffee. The mug was sat down amongst a handful of others, showing the true extent of his exhaustion. His return from an overnight supply run with Edward and Arno barely reaped any useful resources, save for some vehicle parts. No sign of anyone camping around. No sign of his family.

A knock at his front door pulled him out of his thoughts. “It’s open!” he called, sniffing to compose himself.

“Jacob?” Evie’s voice rang throughout the hallway, a thread of worry lacing her tone.

“Upstairs!” He chose to quickly knock back the rest of his coffee.

“Jacob, when was the last time you cleaned? Your living room looks like a minefield.”

“I haven’t had the time.”

Evie leaned against the doorway, concern on her features. “You’re exhausted. You need to rest.”

“I’ll rest after we… after…” He sighed. “Later. I’ll rest later.”

The older Frye twin glanced at the table -- at the map decorated with countless crosses, the coffee mugs with their corresponding ring stains. She began to gather them.

“You don’t have to--” Jacob began.

“I was talking to Altair and Kassandra. You’re going on another supply run?” She was quite to cut him off, leaving him momentarily stunned.

“Yeah, this afternoon. And you’re going on an overnight patrol.” Evie raised a brow at that. “I checked the rota.”

“You’re not going on the run.”

Jacob scoffed. “Says who?”

“Says everyone. You’re wearing yourself out -- killing yourself. And for what?”

“For them, Evie!” He was surprised at how quickly his temper flared. “Sorry.” His voice calmed immediately, returning to its original, tired state. “It was my fault in the first place.” Carding his fingers through his hair, he sighed. “I should have protected them.”

Evie’s heart stung at her brother’s demeanour. She glanced at the wedding band on Jacob’s finger, a sole reminder of their shared family. “Altair and Kassandra won’t go with you. They can handle being a man down while said man rests.” She put a hand on his shoulder, rubbing it reassuringly. “There’s no point lamenting the past; It wasn’t your fault, Jacob. We’ll get them back. Go to bed.”

“But--”

Evie gave him a look, shutting him up instantly. “Bed. Now.” She followed his gaze towards the front door. “I’ll lock it when I leave.”

Jacob watched her leave his room, leaving his door slightly ajar. Standing up, he almost tripped over his chair. He moved to his bed, where a T shirt and pyjama bottoms sat. He has been working nonstop for days, and only now realised that he barely had time to look after himself. He never changed out of his overnight patrol gear, mud-encrusted and uncomfortable. A shower would be a smart option, and one he forced himself to take.

Evie was still downstairs as Jacob emerged from the bathroom, drying his hair with a towel. His movements were less than lackluster, seeming to constantly be on the verge of giving up.

Perhaps a few hours of rest would do him some good.

He climbed into his bed for the first time in half a week, and listened to the ambient kitchen noises Evie made. Closing his eyes, Jacob tried to imagine someone else making that noise, but the movements were never quite the same. He pulled his pillow tight against him, closing his eyes. A tear still managed to escape, but Jacob had passed out before it had time to hit the pillow.

Altair and Kassandra dove for cover behind a car. “How are there so many hunters?!” She yelled.

“I don’t know! Just keep shooting!”

“Kill all three of them!” The leader of the group — standing at least ten hunters strong — commanded from across the street.

Altair and Kassandra exchanged glances, confused at the instructions. “Who else is here…?” Altair questioned, and was swiftly answered when gunshots rang out in front of them. Altair flinched against the car, trying to stay protected as he worked out what was going on. He spotted the third person the hunter was talking about fleeing towards an abandoned house, a hand pressed against her stomach. She dove inside and slammed the door shut.

“I suppose we found our answer,” Kassandra said.

“We should kill them all. We cannot let them get to that house.”

“Do you know her?” Kassandra asked, concern beginning to grow for this person.

Altair stood up and fired five shots before ducking again. “No, but she looks extremely familiar.”

That seemed to be enough for Kassandra, and she began to quickly eliminate the remaining five targets with a striking accuracy, likely fuelled by adrenaline and protectiveness. A few moments later, and they were all down.

“We should check if she’s alright. She looked injured,” Altair said, holstering his gun before jogging up to the door and knocking firmly. “Hello?! Are you alright? We want to help you! Are you hurt?”

No response.

He knocked again. “My name is Altair! This is Kassandra! We live in a settlement not too far from here. We have first aid and supplies! We can help you!”

Again, nothing.

“I’m kicking down the door! Please don’t shoot me…” and with that, Altair broke the lock on the door by booting it open. It was clear to see immediately that she had hidden upstairs, shown by the worrying trail of blood she left in her wake.

“Hello?” Altair became nervous; no response after an injury usually didn’t bode well for the injured. They followed the trail, Altair climbing each step purposely but with caution, eyes observing everything from the cracked yellow paint along the wall to the bloodstained bannister.

At the top of the stairs, the trail led into a closed door. He tested the handle; locked. He knocked politely. “Miss? We just want to help you. I’m coming in, alright?”

There were murmurings on the other side of the door, and Altair did the most efficient thing he could think of.

He kicked down the door.

Splinters flew, startled screams sounded out, and his hands automatically came up in surrender as he stood at gunpoint. The woman in question was lying prone on the floor, one hand around her crimson-stained stomach, and the other holding a shaking gun. “Don’t move.”

“We can get you help.” He persuaded calmly. “I can help you; I’m a medic.”

“What faction are you with?”

Kassandra mirrored Altair’s movements. “We didn’t know there were any factions.”

“You don’t dress like cultists… who are you?”

“We’re just survivors. Same as you.” Altair looked around, surprised to see two small figures crouching beside each other in the corner. “You’re protecting your children, we understand, but let us take you to our settlement. We have better medical equipment than here, and it’s safe there.”

“Survivors…” you let your arm with the firearm drop, hitting the wood with a thud. “Why are you here?”

“We’re searching for supplies.” Altair furrowed his brows in thought. That wasn’t the only reason they were out here. He glanced at the two children; one boy and one girl. “Where’s the father?”

“We got separated about three months back. I don’t know if…” she paused. “If he’s still alive.”

“What’s his name?”

“Jacob.”

“Jacob Frye?”

Your eyes lit up through the prevalent exhaustion. “Yes! That’s him. He’s alive? What about Evie?”

Altair rushed to your side, snapped out of his frozen state. “He’s been looking for you since you were separated. It must’ve been fated that the one time we told him to rest was the time where we found you.” He cradled the back of your head. “Lie back. Evie’s fine as well; she’s on an overnight patrol.”

You relaxed slightly, distracted by Kassandra introducing herself to your children. “You both look so much like your parents; I’m your pater’s friend. What are your names?”

“I’m Emmett!” Despite the situation, word about his father’s whereabouts must have excited him. “This is my little sister, Lily.” He grabbed her shoulders and stood behind her, wrapping her in a comforting hug. Lily held onto Emmett’s hands, looking away from Kassandra. “Is it true?! You know our father?”

Altair took some gauze and medical tape out of his backpack, beginning to pack and dress the wound. You bit your cheek to hide the pain from Emmett and Lily. “I can’t do much here without a needle and thread, but we have what we need at the settlement.” He wiped his hands on his shirt. “We need to go, now.” He wrapped your arm over his shoulders and heaved you to your feet. “Kassandra, get to the horses.” She nodded, and took the children by the hands, leaving the room first. You and Altair followed soon after.

Your knees kept buckling every few steps on the way to the front door, causing Altair to adjust accordingly. “Jacob will not be happy with us when we return with you in this state.”

You chuckled, a weariness to your tone. “I can imagine. That man has a tendency to overreact.”

“We’ll just have to beg for forgiveness this time around.”

As you and Altair limped out of the front door, Kassandra had rushed to bring the horses closer, the children both mounted on one of them already. “Okay, ready?” Altair asked, before hoisting you as best he could onto his horse, mounting behind you. Kassandra held both children in front of her, holding them tightly.

“Will Mama be okay?”

“She’ll be fine, little ones,” Kassandra comforted, though an uneasy smile rested on her face as she assessed the blood staining her friend’s hands.

“Stay as still as you can,” you told them, slumping heavily against Altair’s chest.

He urged his horse to turn back the way they came, kicking her into a gallop — sprinting as fast as she could go. Kassandra wasn’t far behind.

——

Upon arriving at the settlement, your pulse had slowed down tremendously. Your bandage (and Altair’s shirt) was almost drenched in blood, and you were slipping in and out of consciousness. Altair skidded his horse to a stop and slid off, taking you with him. He adjusted you up in his arms and carried you hurriedly into the infirmary. “Help! I need help!” A few doctors came out, and upon seeing the amount of blood, dove into action, taking you out of his arms. He looked down at himself, at the crimson soaking the cotton of his shirt, at the dried blood on his skin. A wave of nausea threatened to overcome him.

Gathering himself, he turned to move into the porch of the infirmary building, where Kassandra and the children were waiting, confused and distressed. “I’m getting Jacob,” he told her, sprinting towards the bar. It was the only place the group usually frequented; no doubt the familiarity would be a subconscious coping mechanism. The sun had dipped low under the horizon, chilling the air. Altair didn’t feel cold.

He slammed the door open with his shoulder, slamming it against the wall. The entire room fell into silence, eyes shooting to the scene. Jacob sat on a barstool, a glass of whiskey in front of him. He also snapped his gaze to Altair while pocketing his wallet.

The look on his friend’s face told him everything.

They’re here. We found them.

The blood all over him told him something else, and his blood turned to ice. “Oh, Christ.” Jacob flew off of his stool, running faster than he thought possible behind Altair.

Who was hurt? How bad is it? Are they…?

They sprinted across the street in what can only be described as the longest ten seconds of his life. Reaching the front door of the infirmary, Altair let Jacob overtake him as he threw open the porch door.

He fell to his knees when he saw his children again. “Oh…”

They ran into his arms, and he embraced them tightly. “Are you both alright? Are you hurt?” He pulled away, voice cracking with worry, even as he tried to hide it.

“No.” Emmett said, tears in his eyes. He flung his arms around his father’s neck.

Lily’s had already started falling. “I was so scared,” she whispered, clinging to his shoulder.

“It’s okay, you’re safe now. You’re alright. My gorgeous girl.” He wiped her tears and kissed her forehead, bringing her back into him. “My beautiful boy.” Emmett held him tighter. He never thought he would savour this moment again, holding his children in his arms. Waiting for a moment, he steeled himself. If neither of his children were hurt, that left one possible heartbreak.

He pulled away after a few moments. “I need to check on Mum. You two need to stay here, alright? Stay with my friends, while I go inside. I’ll be back in a minute.” He could tell that they didn’t want him to disappear so quickly, but they nodded anyway. Kassandra took them to a small play area in the corner.

Jacob moved to knock harshly on the door. “Hey! Open up! I need to see my wife!”

The door unlocked rather quickly, the doctor perhaps intimidated by the possibilities of Jacob’s tone. He barged in, freezing at the sight before him; you lying in a hospital bed, your skin tone sickened, your eyes closed. a couple of doctors busied around your wound and were checking your vitals. Two trolleys sat beside them; one of clean bandages and medical equipment, and the other held bloodstained fabric.

Jacob’s stomach dropped, filling with lead. “No…”

Rushing to the bedside, he caressed your head with one hand, and grasped your own with the other. “Y/n, God…” He didn’t need to compose himself anymore, tears spilling down his cheeks in both worry and relief. “I’m so sorry. I’m so, sosorry.”

Semi-lucid, you feebly squeezed his hand. “I found you.”

He laughed, tears brimming in his eyes. “You did.” The light mood was quickly dissipated by the way you were blinking. Slow, fatigued eyes staring slightly out of focus. “Who did this to you?” Anger bled through his gritted teeth.

“They’re dead, Jacob. Don’t chase headless chickens.”

He sighed and couldn’t help but smile at your familiar phrases. A whirlpool of emotions overwhelmed him, constantly switching between anger, devastation, and relief.

He looked up to one of the doctors. “Is she going to be okay?” His thumb caressed your cheekbone.

The doctor kept looking between you and Jacob. “We’ll take care of her.” He walked away quickly, as if fetching something.

“What? What’s that supposed to mean?!” He began to sit up, worried, but you pulled on his hand.

“Don’t, Jacob. Let him go.” Frowning, he instead pulled up a chair to sit beside your bed.

“I’m so sorry I couldn’t find you sooner.” His elbows rested on the mattress, his hands enveloping yours, pressed against his forehead. “I never should have stopped.”

You brushed the tousled hair out of his eyes, smiling at his loving gaze. Concerned and guilty, but loving.

“From what I heard, you were working yourself to death. I’m glad you weren’t there; you would have panicked.”

“But… I could have prevented this.” His lips pressed against your knuckles; a constant kiss.

“You don’t know that. I’ll be fine here, but our children need somewhere to sleep and bathe.” You studied his features, keeping to yourself concerns about his own health. His eyes looked sunken, and if it wasn’t for Evie’s presence you would have been certain that he wouldn’t be eating either.

“I can’t just leave you here.” He breathed a tone of fatigued defiance.

You scoffed playfully. “I’m in the safest place in the world. Literally.”

“But what if—“

“Shhh.” You rubbed your thumb over his knuckles soothingly. “Nothing will happen. It won’t happen.”

He geared himself to leave, but paused at the last moment. Turning to you again, he opened his mouth to say something, but a tearful scoff came out instead. “I thought… I thought I’d never see my family again.” He grasped your hand tighter. “Now that you’re here, I don’t want to let you go again.”

You wiped a tear from his cheek. “We’re not going anywhere. I promise.” A wall of fatigue overcame you, and you found your eyes fluttering closed.

“Y/n?” You hummed, feeling your husband’s hand on your cheek.

“I’m resting, Jacob. I’m okay.”

He sighed, leaning forward and pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. “Sleep well, my love.”

——

“Hey, have any of you seen Jacob?”

Evie found her way into the bar in the morning, having just returned from her overnight patrol. The entire squad had bagged the biggest booth that morning, conversing in relieved and content murmurs. She eyed them suspiciously. “What’s going on?”

Altair regarded her with the most emotion she’d ever seen him wear. “Go find out. He’s in the infirmary.”

“What?!” She turned on her heel and ran. What trap did he fall into this time?

She opened the infirmary door, expecting Jacob to be bandaged up and drugged on morphine (which happened more often than she would like). “Oh my God.”

Jacob was sat in a chair at your bedside, chuckling quietly at one of Emmett’s stories, his actions and facial expressions entrancing Jacob fully as he sat cross legged on the bed. Lily was playing with his hair in his lap. He held her tightly in one hand and held your hand with the other. The children snapped up at the sound of her voice.

“Aunt Evie!”

She dropped to her knees as they bolted towards her. Laughing, she kissed their heads multiple times as they collided into her arms. “Oh my God; you’re here! I missed you both so much!” She couldn’t help tears of joy breaking through. “Don’t cry, Aunt Evie,” Emmett said sadly, wiping her tears.

“They’re tears of joy, darling. I’m so happy you’re safe.”

“They’re tears of pain, really; you naughty rascals are going to drive her up the wall.”

They groaned at their father’s jokes. “No, we drive her down the wall; you’re the one who drives her up it.” Jacob was impressively stunned at Lily’s comeback, while you and Evie laughed. Suddenly, you winced, shifting uncomfortably on the bed.

Jacob’s attention was on you in an instant. “What happened?”

“Nothing, I’m okay. I laughed too hard.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’m sure.”

Jacob raised a suspicious brow.

“I promise I’m okay.”

Seemingly satisfied, Jacob smiled softly before leaning down to kiss you ever so gently, as if you were made of porcelain. You couldn’t help but smile back; he radiated so much joy and love in this moment, it was impossible to ignore.

Emmett groaned at your and Jacob’s act. “Aunt Evie, get us out of here!”

#assassin's creed #apocalypse!au #jacob frye #jacob frye x reader #jacob frye x f!reader #assassin's creed x reader #assassin's creed x f!reader #emmett frye #lily frye #help me tag guys

[blossom-hwa]

the things we lost along the way | k.th

remember when I was crying over rewriting lavender mist for my writing workshop? this is the rewrite that nearly killed me. hope y’all enjoy this as much (read: cried as much) as I did writing it

Pairing: Taehyun x Beomgyu (can be read as romantic or platonic, it’s up to your interpretation really)

Genre: angst, apocalypse!au

Warnings: cursing, character death, mentions of blood and guns, zombies

Word Count: 5.9k

As the world around him falls, Taehyun keeps moving on.

Lavender Mist | TXT Masterlist

The end of the world isn’t as barren as Taehyun thought it would be.

Every apocalyptic movie he remembers—and to be fair, his memory has gone a bit fuzzy after years of trudging along cracked sidewalks and empty streets, not a single movie to be seen—painted the world as something gray, dusty, bleak, as though with the collapse of humanity, the earth would collapse too. Taehyun would watch, heart in his throat as survivors did everything they could to continue living even though the warm embrace of Mother Earth had long turned cold as marble. With the loss of her favorite children, the human race, it seemed she had lost the will to live as well.

Taehyun thinks about this some nights, staring up at the glittering expanse of stars in the dark sky. In the absence of artificial light spilling through the abandoned cities, they sparkle playfully, cheerfully, a milky expanse of jewels against the blanket of night, oblivious to the destruction that haunted humanity just several years prior.

And that’s how Taehyun knows the Earth doesn’t care.

Which makes sense. The Earth survived perfectly well on its own for millions of years before humanity decided to encroach on its territory. One glance around at the overgrown grass and flowers and trees, greenery shooting up from sidewalk cracks and tangling around abandoned cars and homes, tells all. As soon as humanity was ruined, Mother Earth took her territory back with a vengeance.

She never needed humans. Probably never wanted them either.

The few stragglers left in the disasters’ wake bow to her will and turn their attention to survival—slogging through the vines that choke the streets, hiding from the predators who have grown bold at the sight of their mother’s beckoning hand, fending off the creatures of their own creation, cannibalistic flesh-eating monsters with no way to satiate their hunger. They forge on, trying to survive and perhaps trying to live, but the two are not equivalent and the Earth has certainly tried to make the latter more difficult than the first, so more often than not the first comes without the second and the remnants of humanity become zombies of another kind—jaded, weary, husks of what they once were.

And yet day by day, night by night, when Taehyun wakes from his slumber under a blanket of diamond stars, he only rubs the aches out of his neck, slings his bag over his shoulder, and continues trying to live.

. . . . .

There was a time when he wasn’t alone. When he was not one but one of a group of what felt like many, those who’d survived the initial outbreak and banded together in the beginning. It was a long time ago but Taehyun remembers it anyway, a time when he could still pretend things might be okay.

But as the weeks passed, their numbers grew fewer and fewer. People set out to search for food and disappeared. Sometimes they returned as the undead. Others left of their own accord while even more became sick, and without the aid of hospitals and medicine they wasted away. Slowly, the group dwindled, until Taehyun remembers being one of three—him, and two boys he’d known in the time before. Beomgyu, a boy he saw at school. Kai, his best friend since they were four.

It’s Kai who leaves first.

Taehyun remembers him clearly—for his bright, wide smile that never failed to cheer Taehyun up, for his dolphin laugh that had helped him through many a bad day in class. For the way Kai’s fingers could waltz across piano keys in the most enchanting dances, serenity painted in every feature of his face.

For their close friendship even before the apocalypse took everything from them, and for the bullet hole Taehyun shot into his forehead when he finally died.

It happens like this. Kai grows close with two boys in the days when they number more than three, Yeonjun and Soobin. Taehyun likes them. So does Beomgyu. Together, when they’re five, it sometimes feels like things won’t always be this bad.

But Soobin falls ill one day, racked with fever and chills they can do nothing to get rid of. Yeonjun sets out to find something, anything to help—some water in a ruined supermarket, a can of soup from someone’s pantry, a yet unexpired bottle of ibuprofen—and promises he’ll be back in a day.

He never returns.

Soobin goes soon after, his forehead burning in the last moments before he turns cold under the unforgiving night sky. And for a while, it feels like—betrayal, almost. Soobin’s terrible fever, easily treatable in a hospital but deadly in the then-wasteland of an earth. Yeonjun’s broken promise, spoken with so much certainty but disavowed anyway. It’s bullshit, obviously. There was no betrayal there. Soobin and Yeonjun would have stayed if they could. They just…couldn’t.

But then Kai leaves, and that’s real anger. Real betrayal.

I’m sorry. But everyone’s leaving, and I can’t take it anymore, so I have to leave first. Don’t look for me.

That’s it. That’s all he leaves behind, familiarly messy handwriting scribbled in pencil on a scrap of dirty paper. Taehyun doesn’t have the note anymore, having crumpled it up and thrown it as far as he could once he could process the words, but he couldn’t forget those three sentences if he tried.

Taehyun wonders, sometimes, if things would have happened the same way if he’d been more observant. Less consumed in his own grief. Able to see Kai, really see him in the days after Yeonjun and Soobin left, if the emptiness of Kai’s silences had been able to permeate the dull gray of his thoughts. Would Kai have come to him? Would he have been convinced to stay?

Would Taehyun still have had to kill his best friend, been the one to hold the smoking gun as a bullet bore a hole in Kai’s brain?

It had been a month or so since Kai left. They looked for him in spite of his plea not to, combed the neighborhood for days as the undead roamed and the sun burned fiercely overhead. But then Beomgyu had a close call—too close—with a zombie, and Taehyun forced himself to clear his sight. Kai chose his path. He wouldn’t be coming back. So they moved on—as five minus two minus one.

And then, on a day as hot as an inferno, a shadow moves in the corner of Taehyun’s eye.

For a moment, he almost marks it off as a hallucination, as a mirage in the heat shimmers rising from the ground. Not real, not worth his attention. But then Beomgyu gasps.

“Kai.”

Taehyun whips his head around, and there’s his old friend in the shadows, staring back at them with shattered eyes.

Everything in Taehyun screams for him to sprint forward, to grab Kai and shake him and hug him and maybe punch him a few times. Say a garbled mix of something like fuck you for leaving and how did you find us and I’m so glad you’re back and what happened to you—

But from the black veins creeping up his neck, Taehyun knows exactly what happened to his friend.

“Taehyun.” Kai’s voice cracks on the syllables of Taehyun’s name, but his shattered eyes are clear, so clear. He doesn’t step forward, but Taehyun has to fight the urge to step back. “Please.”

Please. His head spins. Please. Please what—

Kai’s eyes drop to the gun at his side, and Taehyun understands.

“No.” He shakes his head wildly, finally taking the step back. “No, no—Kai—I can’t—”

“Please.”

The word pierces Taehyun’s skull.

“For me.”

Beomgyu puts a hand on Taehyun’s shoulder. He barely feels it, but he does hear when Beomgyu’s whisper flutters past his ear. “You don’t have to.”

In a way, Beomgyu’s right. Taehyun doesn’t have to—in the strictest definition of the word. He doesn’t have to raise the gun, put Kai out of his misery the way Kai wants him to. The world will move on if he doesn’t. He could turn around and walk away and nothing would be any different. Besides, Kai was the one who left first.

But—he does, though, in a sick, twisted sort of way. Because Kai’s been bitten and if he doesn’t die, he’ll live forever in the worst way possible. Because if Taehyun does turn away, he’ll be condemning Kai to a fate they’ve both agreed is worse than death. Because Kai is still his best friend, no matter what, and who is Taehyun to resist a dying boy’s last wish anyway?

Taehyun’s hands are cold. He doesn’t shrug off Beomgyu’s grip, the only true warmth on this blisteringly hot day, but he does manage to shake his head. “No,” he replies, numb fingers wrapping around the barrel of the gun. “No, I do.”

Kai stares up at Taehyun as he readies the weapon, shattered eyes almost whole as a little smile glimmers on his face. “Thanks,” he whispers, and for a moment, Taehyun can’t do it. Won’t do it. This Kai looks too much like the old one, the one with a bright smile and a dolphin screech laugh and dark eyes that glittered with mischief—

Dark eyes marred, now, by blackened veins crawling across his pale, burned skin.

Almost on reflex, Taehyun pulls the trigger. Bang.

What remains of Kai slumps over, blood and brains pooling in a deep red puddle on the dusty ground.

Taehyun stands there for a while. A second, a minute, an hour—he’s not sure, even now. All he remembers is feeling cold, so cold despite the sun burning his skin, unable to tear his gaze away from the remnants of his best friend.

“Taehyun.”

When he finally reacts to his name, Beomgyu has definitely said it more than once. His grip has tightened on Taehyun’s shoulder but when Taehyun twitches, the warm hand slides down to his wrist. “Come on,” Beomgyu says quietly, tugging slightly. “We need to go.”

Blood and brains, still open eyes. Taehyun doesn’t move.

“Taehyun.” The grip tightens. “Let’s go.”

Go.

Let’s go.

“Taehyun.”

Taehyun forces his eyes away from the bloody hole blown into Kai’s head. Vaguely, he feels the gun being peeled out of his hand, hears the safety clicking back on. Beomgyu tugs at his arm again and with a final whisper of his name Taehyun follows, numbly, Kai’s bloody face all he can see.

. . . . .

How do you remember the dead?

Even now, Taehyun isn’t sure of the answer. The internet is gone along with electricity—pictures on devices are inaccessible, phones useless without their chargers and cameras useless without a battery. Photos are easily crumpled and ruined, soaked by rain or marred with dust and grime, and the time it takes to properly sketch and color a scene to remember is a luxury no one can afford anymore. It’s not as if Taehyun ever had the skill for it anyway.

Memory, then. But the brain is a fickle thing, impermanent and messy compared to the printed photos he once held in his pocket, the pictures he had saved on his phone. It remembers what he wishes it wouldn’t, and it lets go of what he holds most dear. The voices of his family, his friends. Their smiles, their laughs. Ghosts, all of them—so faint, so pale compared to the horrors that haunt him now. These are the things that leave.

Kai’s bloody face is one of the things that stays.

It haunts him in the days after, the vision of blood and gore. The gun barrel between his hands. The broken look in Kai’s eyes. The trigger beneath his finger, the shot exploding through the air, Kai’s body falling in an almost graceful arc before it thudded to the ground. Beomgyu’s shaking fingers wrapped around his wrist as he pulled Taehyun away. It’s so vivid in the way Kai’s last smiles aren’t. It isn’t right. It isn’t fair.

Which is why—why, when Taehyun’s ears finally stop ringing, when he finally starts breathing, when he stops seeing Kai’s bloody face in every one of his dreams—why he can’t take it when Beomgyu finally tells him how.

Beomgyu. It’s hard to believe he’d barely known the boy before everything fell to pieces—just another kid he’d seen hanging around at school, loud and playful and endlessly kind in an almost careless way as though he didn’t realize he was as thoughtful as he was. He’d scared Taehyun a little, so brash and cheerful all at once, sweet chaos personified in his lightning sharp smile and laugh. Never did Taehyun think they could become close—he was quiet, reserved, a little cynical, nothing like Beomgyu’s joyous raucousness and optimism. At least not until Kai died, and there was no one left.

It had been five days. Five days after the gunshot, five days during which Beomgyu kept their one gun wide out of Taehyun’s reach despite the fact that he was probably a better shot than Beomgyu would ever be. It didn’t matter. He barely remembers those five days, but he does know he wasn’t thinking much. Just seeing. Feeling. Reliving. A faint smile, a whispered thanks, the trigger beneath his finger…

He’s lucid. He had to have been or he wouldn’t have heard Beomgyu’s words, the words he’d probably been saying for several days to unhearing ears. But he hears this time. Hears it when Beomgyu says—

“They’re still with us.”

Anger. Or something. Taehyun remembers that much. Anger isn’t the right word, but whatever it was it took hold of him and wrenched the grief from his chest and he remembers thinking how dare you, how fucking dare you try to say that now when there’s nothing left to substantiate your stupid hope—

“How do you know?” He had Beomgyu’s dirty shirt collar in his grip, the older boy looking up at him with eyes wide in confusion, surprise, burgeoning anger of his own. “How do you fucking know? How could you say that to me, how could you try and say that after I killed him with my own damn hands?”

And then he was crying, and his grip on Beomgyu’s shirt was gone, and every single tear he hadn’t been able to shed over the death of his best friend apparently decided it was the perfect fucking time to release itself, and he was crying, and crying, and crying—

Beomgyu’s face swam in his vision. It’s one of Taehyun’s clearest memories now, that blurry view of Beomgyu’s face drawn tight with a pinched expression Taehyun recognized from his own few encounters with a mirror since it all started. Because that was when he remembered that Beomgyu was grieving, too. That he wasn’t the only one in pain.

Yet despite that grief, Beomgyu’s eyes had turned soft. No longer angry. And Taehyun didn’t understand. Because he’d killed someone, killed someone they both knew and loved, so why was Beomgyu still here and trying to comfort him of all things when he was still in pain?

“He’s dead,” he’d sobbed. “He’s dead, and I killed him.”

“He asked you to,” Beomgyu had said quietly.

It’s true. Kai’s eyes had been so clear, so lucid when he asked, despite the blackened veins. Nothing like the glazed grief when Yeonjun and Soobin went. Nothing like the empty silence he’d held the night before he left. But even then…

“It wasn’t fair of him to,” Beomgyu continued, just as quiet. “But he did.”

Not fair. Not fair—not fair not fair not fair not fair—

“None of this,” Taehyun had gritted out, “is fucking fair.”

“It isn’t,” Beomgyu agreed. “And they know that.”

Clear as day, unsaid words had hung in the air.

None of this is your fault.

Then Beomgyu’s words, quiet, carrying like a gunshot through the silence.

“That’s why I think they’re still with us. And that’s why I dare to say it.”

. . . . .

So maybe it isn’t remembering, then. Just…a sort of knowing. Knowing that they were there. Knowing that they lived. Knowing that he loved them, and knew them, and that they loved and knew him too. Because he was touched by them when they lived, and so long as he lives too, a part of them will still be alive.

That’s what Beomgyu says, anyway, when Taehyun asks. It’s a dark night and they’re lying in another abandoned house, desperately trying to ignore the picture frames of a happy family haunting the walls. Some of them have fallen to the floor, probably knocked over by some ransacking survivor too worried about food to care about a few smashed picture frames and panes of glass.

Or maybe the photos just unsettled them as much as they unsettle Taehyun, and they actually gave in to the urge to throw them on the ground.

“How can you think that?” Taehyun asks, and there’s no venom this time. He wants to know. Because he still sees Kai’s face whenever he closes his eyes, blood and a smile and stifling smoke rising from a gun in his hand, and he needs it to stop. He’d like to think that way. He just needs to believe in it.

“I don’t know,” is Beomgyu’s first response, voice almost snappish and uncharacteristically sharp. He softens, though, as he looks back at Taehyun. “I just…” He swallows. “I don’t think I’d be able to live if I didn’t believe in it.”

They sit in silence for a bit as Taehyun mulls over Beomgyu’s words. I don’t think I’d be able to live if I didn’t believe in it. He relates. It feels like if he doesn’t believe in something, the grief will drown him alive.

But for some reason, he still isn’t convinced.

“I feel like I’m dying,” Taehyun says quietly. “Every moment, even when I’m not.” Drowning in what was, what is, what could have been.

“So do I,” Beomgyu replies. “But believing it makes things easier.”

“How?” Taehyun asks again, because for all he tries he can’t seem to understand. “I just—”

Beomgyu nudges his shoulder, cutting him off. “Look at the stars.”

Taehyun looks out the window. The black night glitters with little diamond stars, so bright and so beautiful that his breath catches for a moment. How had he never noticed them before?

“Sometimes, when it’s my turn to watch, I look at them. And I pretend.” Taehyun follows the line of Beomgyu’s finger as he points to the sky. His eyes glitter in the starlight, soft and shining, all-knowing, so full of a lovely foreign hope. “Like, maybe that’s my mom. And my dad, and my brother in that little cluster over there. And maybe Yeonjun and Soobin and Kai right…there.” His finger shifts slightly before it lowers. “That’s how, Taehyun.”

Taehyun keeps staring out the window, at the glittering expanse of starlight streaking across the night. He stares, and stares, and tries to summon the hope that sparkles so beautifully in Beomgyu’s eyes.

Instead, all he can think is that the stars shouldn’t shine so bright when everyone he loves is dead.

. . . . .

It’s not the only fancy of Beomgyu’s that Taehyun doesn’t understand. Beomgyu sees so many stars in the sky, finds hope in weird little things—a tiny flower by the side of the road, a single whole lollipop in a dusty convenience store, wind breezing past his face at night as it sweeps through his long, unkempt hair. It’s fascinating to Taehyun, really—that Beomgyu can go through so much, can see Kai’s bloody face in his memories every day, and still find something in nothing and believe it matters. Patient, relentless optimism, even as the world grows harsher and more unforgiving with every day that passes.

(“We still have good in this world,” he says one night under the moon and stars. “We’ve survived this long, Taehyun. I have to believe that someday, things will come back.”)

There are so many strange things Taehyun remembers about Beomgyu, so many of those twinkling stars in the night sky. Humming melodies of old songs to empty air. Breathing in the scent of flowers so deeply he choked. Making bracelets of five colors of string braided together one night as Taehyun slept, then looping one around his wrist when he woke.

“I found the stuff in a random room and remembered making these when I was a kid,” he says by way of explanation when Taehyun asks, shrugging almost carelessly as he ties off the braid. “Got bored when you were sleeping.”

It feels strange, the soft, thin braid tickling Taehyun’s wrist, shifting against his skin as he turns it this way and that. Five threads messily twisted and turned together. Five colors, five boys, five friends…

He looks at Beomgyu, raising an eyebrow to hide the lump welling in his throat. “You sure this is a braid?” he asks, and neither of them says anything about the way his voice catches on the last word.

Beomgyu sticks out his tongue and Taehyun has to hide a smile at how ridiculous the older boy looks, eyes narrowed and glinting with mock hurt and mischief. “You don’t need to wear it if you don’t want to, jerk.”

Even as Beomgyu says the words, though, Taehyun knows that nothing could induce him ever to take it off on his own. Because for all he doesn’t understand Beomgyu’s stars in a dark, dark night, there’s still something about the stars in Beomgyu’s own eyes that makes Taehyun want to listen to everything the loud-mouthed boy has to say. A candle lit in the dark, a rope thrown to the drowning.

A single star in Taehyun’s black night, the only one he could ever say was truly beautiful.

Which is why, perhaps, when the bracelet falls apart several months later, Taehyun feels like something in his chest has been ripped open and torn out. It was bound to happen, he knows—the strings were already thin and faded before Beomgyu found them, and the dirt and dust and grime of every day under the hot sun couldn’t have helped in any sort of way. But still, when the broken braid falls from his arm to the dust on the ground, he tries to pick it up, to tie it back where it belonged against his skin, dirty and faded as it is.

It's Beomgyu who stops him, a hand on his wrist. “Leave it,” he says quietly, his fingers wrapping gently around Taehyun’s arm. “It’s done what it can.”

Taehyun cries that night, tears running hot and silent down his cheeks as Beomgyu breathes softly in his sleep next to him. And when Beomgyu wakes up to his quiet sobs, he doesn’t stop the older boy from wrapping his arms around him, bringing Taehyun’s head down to his shoulder, and letting the tears soak into his shirt.

Because for all it seemed Taehyun never understood Beomgyu, it had always felt like Beomgyu understood him.

. . . . .

Material things don’t last. It’s one of the first things Taehyun learned in the days since his world fell to pieces—when the photos he carried of his family fell apart, victims of dust and rain and his sweaty pockets, when the mementos of home he tried to take became more burdens than memories and he had to leave them behind. When Beomgyu’s bracelet broke, leaving his wrist too naked, too bare, as if he’d lost a layer of protection against the weapons of the earth.

Beomgyu knew this. Taehyun was there when Beomgyu’s own photos became too crumpled and torn to salvage, when the braid he made for himself disappeared beneath the dust and dirt of the earth just days after Taehyun lost his. For all his sentimental nature, Beomgyu knows the world around him, knows that despite the hot sun, it is cold and unforgiving to those who have wronged it. There’s no space in their bags for luxuries, not anymore.

So when Taehyun finds the empty can of lavender Febreze in Beomgyu’s bag, he feels like he should be surprised. The last of the scent has long since been dispersed into the air, memories of the smell relegated to the back of his mind, so when it comes out in his hand he blinks a little and for a moment there is some surprise—he’d thought Beomgyu tossed it when it emptied. But then he blinks again, and Taehyun has to wonder how he ever could’ve thought Beomgyu would even think of throwing it away.

It had been a rare cool day when Beomgyu plucked the can off a barren supermarket shelf and shoved it in his bag, despite Taehyun’s raised eyebrows and obvious concern for the state of his remaining sanity. Taehyun hadn’t asked questions then, but when they found shelter for the evening, he’d raised a pointed eyebrow as Beomgyu produced the can from his bag.

“Don’t interrogate me!” Beomgyu had yelped, hands raised in mock indignation as Taehyun fought to hide a smile at his antics. “I’m innocent!”

“I wasn’t going to interrogate you,” he’d replied, giving up on hiding the smile. There was no point anyway, not when Beomgyu looked so carefree, so happy, so unchanged despite the cruelty of the world around him. “I just want to know.”

The hands came down, but Beomgyu’s smile stayed. “I don’t know,” he’d said, shrugging. “It was just there, so I took it.” Taehyun had snorted at that (the most Beomgyu reply ever), but he wasn’t done. “I guess I just…didn’t want to leave with nothing at all.”

Despite the previous levity, Taehyun remembers a tightness in his chest, a pricking behind his eyes as he stared at the almost garishly purple can in Beomgyu’s dirty hand. That was something he could understand.

“Do you even know how it smells?” he’d asked, ignoring the stupid lump in his throat. He’d never quite given up on that habit, not even long after Beomgyu proved he could read Taehyun no matter how he tried to keep his tears quiet.

But Beomgyu didn’t say anything, just looked at the can with a guiltily mischievous expression on his face. His finger rested on the valve as he looked back up at Taehyun, ready to shrug again as he grinned. “Look, it has to be better than everything we smell outside.”

It was better, but mostly because it’s hard not to be better than the stench of rotting corpses mixed with the tang of dried blood and coupled with the scent of blooming flowers in the hot wind that somehow makes it all worse. Strong, too—clearly a year of sitting unused on a shelf hadn’t done much to dampen the can’s scent. When Beomgyu sprayed it, more on accident than anything else, they had to stifle coughs and sneezes for too many minutes as the mist tickled their noses.

And yet they kept it.

Which is weird, because most useless things that Taehyun and Beomgyu, despite his inner child, would put in the same category as questionable year-old Febreze get left behind. It’s a luxury, and there’s no space for luxuries in their bags—not phones, not photos, not dingy string bracelets braided with threads of five different colors. Things like Febreze weren’t supposed to have held a place in their lives.

But as the days pass, Beomgyu carves a place for its too-strong flowery sweet scent. A tiny puff in the air nearby when they’re finally safe from a zombie attack, a small spray to freshen up their latest shelter after sweeping one too many piles of dirt out the door. And as they keep struggling through their barren world, emptying the can on their way, Taehyun begins to wonder—when humanity has completely fallen and another race takes up the earth, what will they be remembered by? Will it be the broken braided bracelets threaded in five different colors fallen by the side of the road? Will it be photos of the dead left in abandoned frames in abandoned homes, or stuffed in dirty bags and soiled by dust and rain?

Will it be an empty can of lavender mist at the bottom of a survivor’s bag, the strong, sweet scent of home still a wisp in the air?

Because for all the tickle of lavender mist grates on Taehyun’s nose at the start, slowly, subtly, it does begin to smell of home. Of rest. Of respite. Of Beomgyu’s comfort on the days when Taehyun can’t hold the gun for fear of seeing Kai’s bloody face in front of him, when Taehyun can only see death and disaster in every street they pass, when he can’t stand without the world crashing down on his shoulders. On these days, there’s always the weight of Beomgyu’s hand in his, the press of his body against Taehyun’s during sleepless nights, the brief dusting of lavender mist into the air…

And one day, the scent isn’t too strong. It isn’t too sweet. It’s a break, a respite, a piece of the old world that miraculously wasn’t lost even in the wake of disaster.

When Taehyun looks at Beomgyu then—really looks at Beomgyu—as he spritzes small bursts of mist into the air of their new makeshift shelter, it only takes him a minute to realize that Beomgyu feels this way, too. That he’s probably felt it for a long time.

So when Taehyun finds the empty can in Beomgyu’s bag, after the momentary surprise, he blinks once, and twice, and remembers the scent. Remembers the sentiment. Remembers this reminder, however, small, of home.

How could Beomgyu have thrown this away?

He tries the valve, even though he knows it’s empty. Nothing comes out.

It’s been three days since Beomgyu went. Three days since he showed Taehyun the bite festering black and red, three days since he drew the gun at his belt and weighed it in his hand, three days since he smiled at Taehyun, lips trembling, and raised the muzzle to his temple.

(“I won’t ask you to do it. I can give you that much.”)

Only then, with the empty metal can in his hand, does Taehyun finally cry.

For his parents, who were at work when the outbreak got to them and never managed to get out alive.

For his friends who passed first, three of the five strings that frayed over the years until the knotted bracelet fell off his wrist, one ill, one disappeared, one shot.

For Beomgyu, the fourth string and his only family left, his last thread of hope in this heartless world.

For him, Taehyun, the fifth string and the last one alive, so far from home and never to return.

Taehyun cries for the hope Beomgyu carried that was destroyed three days ago with a bullet Beomgyu shot with his very own hands. A bullet that took the last of everything he had, leaving him with—

Nothing.

(What will the world remember him by when he goes?)

When Taehyun wakes the next day, eyes red and cheeks sticky with tears, something in him begs to stay still. What use is there in forging on, in living when everything else has been lost, when there’s nothing and no one left to survive for?

(A crumpled family photo dissolved in the rain?)

Is there even a point?

(A broken braid of five frayed strings, buried under the dust by the road?)

Taehyun stares at the gun by his side. Loaded. Always within arm’s reach. So easy to lift, so easy to position, so easy to use. It would be so simple to mimic Beomgyu’s actions from three days ago. Lift. Point. Pull. Bang.

(Or the trail of bodies left in his wake, one ill, one disappeared, two shot with the very gun by his side?)

But he only rolls over. Stands. Places the empty can back in Beomgyu’s bag, picks it up along with his. Slings them over his back.

And starts walking.

(Perhaps a can of lavender mist at the bottom of a beaten-up bag, the remnants of a scent that came from home.)

In a world lost to monsters and the extremes of the earth, following the base human instinct to survive is all that is possible, sometimes. The dead litter the earth—bodies in the streets, memories in the air. To think of it all is madness. To try and comprehend it might be suicide.

But to forget, completely and entirely…

Many do. Many try. It is easier to shut off the part of the mind that loves and cherishes and remembers, to wither into a dry husk of what once was. But Taehyun remembers, bits and pieces. His mother’s gentle voice. His father’s booming laugh. Yeonjun’s reassuring grip, Soobin’s soft smile, Kai’s musicality woven into everything he ever did.

Beomgyu’s hand in his own under a night sky full of stars, fingers loosely intertwined with a promise of hope he will never understand.

So as others forget, Taehyun remembers, fiercely. Because while there is nothing left for him, there is still something left for those who have gone. A hope. A dream. A wish. A prayer whispered on lavender scented air, too sweet and too strong and smelling so much of home—a prayer that things will be okay.

And if they are, even if it only becomes true in the last moments of Taehyun’s life, he has to see it. For them.

It isn’t easy. It isn’t fair. Some days, his chest constricts so he cannot breathe. Some days, he can’t lift himself from the ground, so he tries to give up. But every day, when the sun sets and the moon rises and the stars come out to play, Taehyun remembers a hand held in his, starlight dancing in a pair of dark eyes. He remembers a cackling laugh beautiful even when it was hushed, the easy weight of a body pressed against his, the warmth of a smile that meant safety. He remembers an empty can of lavender mist at the bottom of his bag, its faint scent still perfuming the air.

He remembers a boy whose smiles never made sense, who found things beautiful Taehyun could never dream of comprehending, but whose hope was perhaps the most beautiful thing of all.

So when morning comes, Taehyun stands. Breathes.

And continues on.

The sun beats harsh on his brow. Branches catch on his clothes. The snarl of animals and the undead alike whisper faint in his ears. But day by day, Taehyun fights his way through the strangling embrace of Mother Nature, slogging through overgrown grass with sweat in his hair, cuts on his skin, tears in his eyes…

And the scent of lavender mist in his nose, no matter where he goes.

If you enjoyed, please don’t forget to reblog and leave a comment to tell me what you thought! Thank you for reading and have a lovely day <3

(1 reblog = 1 huge hug for Taehyun, and also a hug for me because writing this actually made me fucking cry several times)

#tomorrow x together #tomorrow by together #txt taehyun #txt beomgyu #taehyun #kang taehyun #beomgyu #choi beomgyu #txt scenarios #tomorrow x together scenarios #txt oneshots #txt imagines #txt taehyun scenarios #txt beomgyu scenarios #tomorrow x together angst #tomorrow x together oneshots #tomorrow by together scenarios #tomorrow x together imagines #angst #apocalypse!au #cw cursing #cw blood #cw guns #cw death #the things we lost along the way #blossom-hwa

[stxrslut]

have seen the revival of apocalypse!au on a few blogs in the past few days and I feel that we need to talk about it.

#chatting 🎀 #princessbrunette will never fail with these au’s #apocalypse!au

[pocket-sand-fic]

pleas,,,..,,, apocalypse sequel,,..,,..

When you can't decide how to end the chapter, you write two endings. Take a wild stab which one my twisted self leans towards.

Happy/Hopeful Ending:

Angsty/Open Ending:

#robin buckley #nancy wheeler #ronance #fanfiction #apocalypse!au

[viking-raider]

Would you like a wee treat of my apocalypse little!reader story?

☠️ - if you want to be in a tag list!

#henry cavill #henrycavill #viking-raider fics #post apocalyptic #apocalypse!au

[fuckyeahskzfics]

Stars, Hide Your Fires

Title: Stars, Hide Your Fires Author: chittaflakes Pairing: Felix/Changbin Length: Oneshot Rating: M Genre: Zombie Apocalypse!AU, Getting together, Friends to Lovers, Angst Warnings: Graphic depictions of violence, Major character death

Summary: “I don’t know, I guess Changbin’s kind of cute?” Felix hated the way his voice raised at the end, almost as if he were asking a question.

“That’s what I thought.” Chan leaned back, propping himself up on both arms as he glanced up at the sky. Felix followed his gaze. Clouds drifted through the faint blue like miniature icebergs, and Felix’s ears were once again numb. Chan shifted beside him. “It isn’t a good idea to get attached in a rotter’s world, Lix. Not now.”

Felix had been hoping he wouldn’t say that.

#skz #skz fic recs #changlix #changbin: felix #oneshot #rating: m #zombie apocalypse!AU #apocalypse!AU #getting together #friends to lovers #angst

[sweeneydino]

Last one for @somerandomdudelmao apocalypse.

#final meme lol #tmnt #rottmnt #teenage mutant ninja turtles #rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles #art #rottmnt art #tmnt meme #tmnt memes #rottmnt leonardo #rottmnt leo #rottmnt mikey #rottmnt michelangelo #rottmnt krang #rottmnt kraang prime #memes #string of memes #cass apocalypse fanart #cass apocalypse au #fanart #meme redraw

[kingzombear]

HORSE ALERT ⁉️⁉️⁉️🤯🤯🤯

#I WANMA DRAW MY PONY OCS IN THE AU TOO teehee #mlp #my little pony #mlp infection au #mlp infected au #my little worms #mlp virus #mlp zombie apocalypse au #bear king draws #applejack #twilight sparkle #pinkie pie #rainbow dash

[princessbrunette]

OUTERBANKS: THE ZOMBIE APOCALYPSE AU — THE LORE ♡

₊˚⊹ ᰔ

CW: depressing tones, violence, death, blood, gore.

AN: okay, so i don’t really know what this is — but i wanted to open this up as an au i could write drabbles for with reader x character and i decided to write some extensive lore behind the universe i’m creating. i’ve always loved zombie media so i wanted to combine my fav things n create this little au for you guys. this isn’t really a fic but more so an opener to inspire drabble requests n ideas in my inbox, kind of like an experimentation. okay, hope you enjoy !! ౨ৎ

“We got gate one locked down, I repeat Pope— we got gate one locked down. Proceed with opening gate two. Over.”

“Got it, thanks JJ. Over.”

The squealing of mechanics shakes the dusty ground as the old gates begin to slowly slide, squealing as they open up revealing the long forest road up ahead. John B readies himself for a simple supply stake out, headed out alone to check out an old warehouse one of the runners had scoped out a week prior. As he exits the gates, he looks right and then looks left — stepping on the squishy skull of a previously dealt with Infected, its body lulling out from the old rickety grafitti’d sign reading Kitty Hawk.

The world went to shit back in 2020. Some sort of pandemic that had people biting others, their brains overpowered by aggression and hunger for flesh. One day everyone was cleaning up the beaches after Storm Agatha, the next day people were tearing into flesh right infront of your very eyes. At first, the people of the Outerbanks had moved out onto their boats, living out on the water with the occasional supply run. It worked for a while, the infected couldn’t swim so as long as your boat was afloat — you were safe from their bloody unforgiving jaws. However, supplies started to run out pretty fast, and people began to turn on eachother. Hopping boats and pirating until no one was left standing and the water was tainted with blood— the infected gathered on the shore to feast on the bodies slowly being washed up by the tide.

The pogues had found you by week six, your body curled on the pier by the Chateau crying into your hands having lost everyone you’d ever known. You were sure to soon perish— no supplies, no weapons, no food. Life had become bleak, hopeless — until for the first time in your life you’d felt the cold barrel of a pistol pressed to the back of your head.

“Who are you and why are you out here?” Kiara barks, a khaki green bandana tied to cover her nose and mouth.

“I’m— i’m just looking for shelter. I don’t have any weapons on me I swear I’m safe, please just —”

“Are you bit?”

“No!”

“Turn around.”

When you slowly turn, you’re met with two female faces, one more familiar than the other. Besides Kiara stands Sarah Cameron— a girl you went to school with. She looks more unsure than Carerra, hand resting on the pocket knife wedging out of the waistband to her denim shorts.

“I don’t think she’s bit Kie… hey, I think I know this girl.”

It was Sarah who had convinced Kiara to bring you back to the Chateau and let you stay. It was also Sarah who got you accustomed, explaining the role everyone played. She was a negotiator, her social ranking in the old world aiding her in communicating with people outside of the barricades they’d made. Kie was in charge of supplies, stock take and recruiting. She decided who was in and who was out. Pope was the brains, did all the mathematical equations to help the group understand their circumstances and chances of survival better. JJ, a fighter — most skilled in dealing with firearms and building bombs, which came in pretty handy when clearing out what was left of Kitty Hawk. John B was their leader, he often came up with the main strategies and stuck his neck out on the line.

Everyone was their own cog in the well oiled machine they’d built to aid them in surviving an apocalypse. It was uncertain what you could bring to the group until you’d mentioned that you’d been studying to be a nurse.

“S’good thing you come in useful ‘cus I was totally gonna suggest we use you as bait. Y’know, cos of the whole doe eyed damsel in distress thing you got goin’ on.” JJ jests with a smirk, and you don’t miss the way his eyes linger on you to make sure you knew he was only kidding around.

You became a lot more useful for patching people up once you’d cleared out Kitty Hawk. The pogues and yourself had began to collect a larger group of survivors, creating a small town to live in what once was the behavioural-correctional camp. You’d collected gardeners, seamstresses, doctors — people of all ages looking for shelter and safety to live in the many dormitories the land had to offer. You had the evening shifts, patching up any runners that had return from their time outside of the gates with injuries.

You remember the day Sarah got bit so clearly.

The Twinkie had come barrelling through the gates so fast, the townspeople that protected the entrances barely getting them open in time before the vehicle was speeding in— Kiara and John B ushering the blonde out the doors yelling out for you urgently with devastation in their voices, begging you to amputate the arm she’d been bitten on.

The pogues had gone for what was promised to be a civil meeting with Ward and Rafe Cameron. The two had taken over what was left of Kildare, creating a strong colony in a gated community that Ward had just come into possession of right before the outbreak. They were feared, respected — and they wanted Sarah to return to them.

Of course, the meeting was a set up— and when Sarah had refused to go with them — they opened fire, attracting rogue infected to swarm in on the group. In the chaos, Sarah was bitten — and JJ in a fit of rage had shot Ward Cameron straight through the skull infront of his only son. This started an all out war.

You recall arriving to Sarah, and your heart sinking. It was definitely too late, her eyes blood shot and skin uncharacteristically pale. She was whispering “Its okay.” Over and over. You wasn’t sure if she was convincing you or herself.

Kiara took her out to the forest to put her out of her misery before she got the chance to turn into one of the brainless monsters that had existed outside the gates. She was stronger than you could ever be, holding back her tears as she aims the barrel to the blondes head. You weren’t there, but you heard the gunshot as you were patching up JJ who was skimmed by a bullet. You slept by his side that night without uttering a word about it.

Everyone got a little more serious from that point on. You often stared at the heart with her initials she’d carved into her old bunkbed that now sits empty in her dorm, her things laid out like she was still coming back to collect them one day. John B got a little more stern as a leader, over protective of you as he made it clear he didn’t believe you’d be able to protect yourself out there — banning you from leaving the gates. JJ became a more ferocious fighter, busying himself with target practice out in the forest shooting bullseyes each day to ensure he could quickly take down whoever he needed to. Pope got more reserved, more moody — hanging out by himself infront of maps or in the radio room with Kie trying to find new survivors. Occasionally, just occasionally — the bunch of you would get together and drink round a camp fire. Things would feel normal again, just for one night — the group laughing and telling stories the same way they might have done before the outbreak.

You wondered how long this could last, if there was ever an end to any of this. You also wondered if there was a reason to it all happening, if you were being punished for the way you’d behaved as human beings. Mostly though, on a day to day basis— you wondered when Rafe Cameron would return for his revenge. It was only a matter of time.

#jj maybank prompt #john b prompt #rafe cameron prompt #pope heyward prompt #apocalypse!au

[espresso-lessdepresso]

so.... i saw that you were interested in apocalypse au schlatt....

(may have written some things previously, but i have no idea where to take the plot so i sorta gave up after two chapters. feel free to extend it or use it or whatever, or ignore it. I don't care lmfao)

_____

You’d always assumed that the end of the world would be quick.

That everything would all be gone in an instant, a big flash of light as the sun blew up, no pain, no nothing. Just gone .

Not this. 

Your baseball bat smashes against the skull of the creature in front of you, splattering bits of rotted brain and blood across the cracked pavement. The heavy scent of iron and the sickly smell of death linger in your nose, making it wrinkle in disgust. Ew . 

You bring the baseball bat back down to your side, rubbing the access gore off of the wood against the dying grass. 

The pavement stretches out ahead of you, splattered with the remains of what once were other people, other humans. Multilevel buildings line the sides of the road, windows broken and falling apart from the first wave of panic that had hit the city, when word had just gotten out. 

Zombies. 

Something out of a dystopian novel, or the plot of several TV shows and movies. It had seemed like a joke at first, the news telling us that “ everything was fine” and that “It was all under control”. 

It wasn't. 

After people started to realise that something was very, very, wrong was the moment the panic had started- grocery store shelves emptied, rioting, looting, and more. 

And now you’re here .

Releasing all you pent up anger on the undead, walking corpses. They aren’t very smart, either. Slow, clumsy, easy to distract and fight. It was a wonder how anyone had died to them, honestly. 

Scratch that. You did.

The memories of animalistic shrieks haunted your nightmares as you slept, always the same. Never changing. 

Back to the present- 

You peer through the grimy broken glass of a store front, spotting the familiar fallen shelving and trash that covers the floor. There didn’t appear to be any remaining food, but it was always better to be safe rather then sorry, so you carefully headed into the dilapidated building. 

Obviously it was completely looted, but food was getting more and more scarce, to the point of this - going through each store methodically to find any last remaining food. 

A pack of gum, a chocolate bar, and a snack sized bag of chips. They all go into the backpack slung against your back. You leave the building, heading towards the next, satisfied with what you had collected. 

The next building was an apartment building- usually a hit or miss, dead bodies cluttering the halls alongside the undead, but the reward could be plentiful.

You creep through the parking lot, abandoned cars smashed and destroyed  creating a graveyard of attempted escapees- their bodies re animated  only to slowly rot away. 

The zombies are dealt with rather easily as you enter the building, stepping past what once had been the reception desk and the decrepit elevator, moving to climb a set of cement stairs. 

The first door opens up into a hallway with rows of doors on either side, not a single sound besides your footsteps as you wander down the hall. You pause in front of a random door, the glint of metal shining in the beam of the flashlight. You move closer in fascination, spotting a solid three extra padlocks attached to the side of a door covered in different coloured sheets of metal. So much for being inconspicuous…

You swing your backpack off of your back and unzip it, pulling out a pair of bolt cutters. Moving in closer to the door, you slide the bolt cutters around the first lock, and with some straining and a grunt the lock is broken. 

Once all three locks have been taken care of, you toss the now ruined locks out of the way. The door is now slightly ajar, leaving you feeling apprehensive at the thought of opening the door now. Maybe it wasn’t such a good idea..

Oh well.

You've already cut through the locks; what was the worst that could happen? And with that thought you push the door open, baseball bat at the ready.

There was no one. 

And not much that you could use, either. Just the remaining odds and ends of a family long dead, trash piled in the corners. The next room was even more strange- a few food items laid out amidst the wreckage that you quickly scoop up, shoving them next to the other things you had found, and moving on to a bedroom. 

And that's when you find it; The motherload.  

“ Holy shit.”

You whisper, in awe of the amount of things stacked in the room- non peroshible foods, bottles of water, weapons- 

You first attack the food, filling the remaining space in your bag with canned chilli, vegetables, and whatever else you could get your hands on. The place you called home had more then enough water, so you didn’t need the bottles, and next up was the weapons. 

Of course, you had the baseball bat that you had used ever since the apocalypse started, but you didn’t really have anything else besides random kitchen knives and such that you had found. Whoever had created this stash had everything. The first thing you spotted was a black switchblade- perfect. You turned it over in your hand, feeling a grove in the metal. Curiosity got the best of you, and hesitantly you pressed it, dropping it in shock when the blade shot out of one side. 

You bend down to pick it up again, and that's when everything goes to shit . 

From behind you comes the click of a gun, and a voice speaks out. 

"Step back." 

____

(that was like half the first chapter, sorry for the long message. i also have the apocalypse schlatt brainworms)

i can send the rest, if you'd like. i have it posted on ao3 but i was sorta nervous to send it off anon lmfao

anon you have no idea what you've just done to me/pos

this is feeding into the apocalypse au SO HARD I NEED TO CRANK OUT MY FIC. I had to reread this twice it's really good man. I would definitely love to read the rest of it, ill take any and all crumbs really. If you'd like, you can simply share the ao3 link in the ask and ill post it on here or add reblog thread, this deserves some kudos

#❄mail❄ #apocalypse #apocalypse!au #apocalypse!au jschlatt #apocalypse!au schlatt #jschlatt #schlatt #jschlatt x reader #schlatt x reader

[assassins-and-hidden-blades]

Okay friends re: apocalypse!au:

Would you like to read whatever I write in that universe even if two works contradict each other?

OR

Would you prefer a somewhat comprehensible storyline, even if published out of order?

#I’m struggling here because I have a 30 page doc but about 15 of those are contradictory #ellie’s thoughts #apocalypse!au #text

[sunydays]

Well it’s been one hell of a ride @somerandomdudelmao I just want to give you this is tribute to your comic and a personal thank you

You have been one of the biggest inspirations to me and I know you probably hear that a lot, but to me it means the world, so thank you!

#rottmnt #rottmnt au #teenage mutant ninja turtles #rottmnt fanart #rottmnt art #donnie hamato #leo hamato #mikey hamato #rottmnt raph #future raph #raph hamato #leo au #leonardo #rottmnt leonardo #leonardo rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles #cass apocalypse fanart #cass fanart tag #cass apocalypse au #cass apocalypse series #somerandomdudelmao #donnie tmnt #future casey #rottmnt casey jr #rise casey #future april #future mikey #future leo #JABSJSJ I AM EXHAUSTED

[mossy-box]

Some more art for @somerandomdudelmao ‘s au. I love his new fit.

#rottmnt #rottmnt leo #future leo #f!leo #peepaw leo #rise of the tmnt #my art #my stuff #my doodles #tmnt #cass fanart tag #cass apocalyptic series #cass apocalypse au #I loveeee his stupid lil fit /pos #lil leo is so skrungle #so doinkle #love him #and f!leo’s arm is SIIICKKKKK #THE BLACK AND BLUE IS SUCH A COOL COLOR CHOICE LIKE URHHHH #THIS SERIES MAKES ME HAPPY HAPPY #hoping lil leo gets some trauma! 😍 #anywho

[kat-theglitch]

Papa Dino

Based off @somerandomdudelmao 's apocalypse series

#rottmnt #rise of the tmnt #rise raph #rise mikey #future raph #future mikey #casey jones jr #cass apocalypse fanart #cass apocalypse au #cass apocalyptic series #rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles #cass apocalypse series