#apoc verse tba

[justlikeaninja-blog1]

           “  All  in  a  day’s  work,  no  need  to  thank  me.  ”  Swinging  his  bat  once  more,  just  to  make  sure  there  were  no  loose  zombie  bits  hanging  off  the  nails,  steve  put  his  bat  back  in  his  pack.  The  girl  probably  had  a  handle  on  things,  but  it  was  better  safe  than  sorry  if  you  asked  him.  “  Name’s  Steve.  Who’re  you?  ”

@killerblonde  didn’t  like  for  a  starter  but  you  get  one  anyway.

[silentconfliction]

@dienli: ( x )

She’s been reduced to something like animal instinct for days now–weeks–maybe a couple of months. She’s long since lost count. Every day starts in disbelief and ends in despair; she goes through motions she knows are correct, are safe; she purifies her water; she loots police gear and medical supplies from their abandoned storehouses and she moves on.

She doesn’t think about the future or the past. There is only Now, being alive Now.

The most important thing is to find a safe place to grow things–food, yes, but also a network. There must be other survivors; what are the chances that she’d be the only one? She must establish a base. She doesn’t know why she must do this; she doesn’t question it.

Her mind must spin its wheels, and so it caresses the familiar landscapes of physics, of mathematical purity and the harmony of the spheres. These things are unchanged, and she can dwell on them safely. There’s no need to think of her students’ deaths, or her father’s, or her cat’s, or her neighbors’. No need to think of how she squandered time she could have spent having a family, or what it would have felt like to lose a child to this destruction. When things become too overwhelming, she doubles numbers in her head until she can’t hold them anymore, and it is sufficient.

Things settle into a rhythm. Everywhere she goes, there is no one, no one, no one. Televisions and radios tune to nothing but static. She laughs when she uses her debit card to pay for gasoline–what meaning does any of this have? She takes a jeep so she can carry all the gear she needs with ease. She heads into warmer climes, rich agricultural land.

No one.

     It’s always no one. Everywhere he goes, it’s no one. It’s been no one for too long, but it’s his determination to change that which keeps him going, keeps him moving from one place to the next, keeps him scrounging for food and supplies, no matter how grim the outlook appears.

   But if he’s survived, other people had to have, too. It only makes sense.

Unlikely as it is, unlikely as some voice in the back of his mind insists that it is, he believes that the tiny fraction of family he has left is still alive. A boy, a little brother figure that scrappy can’t have succumbed to the apocalypse of all things, he refuses to believe it. Maybe because it’s all he really has to cling to, or maybe because he really does believe it -- even Shiro himself isn’t sure, but he doesn’t let himself question it. To question it is to invite too many other questions in, and... he’s afraid to do that. Afraid of where that road might take him.

Armed with little more than what fills the rucksack he’s carried on his back for weeks ( months? ), he digs through the shelves of the remains of a half-collapsed convenience store. Not knowing the date or even having a guess at this point makes ‘best before’ dates irrelevant, but the amount of missing product tells him that his hunch has to be right -- there have to be other survivors, and at least one of them has been here before him.

Grabbing what he can and stuffing it into the bag currently resting at his feet is a bit of a frustrating act when you only have one intact arm, but it’s better than not being able to stock up on food. Or being dead. ...Probably. Shiro’s focus is almost entirely on filling his backpack, on refilling his near-empty food-stores, but the sound of a vehicle is more than enough to drag his attention away. There’s a feeling that wells up in his chest when the sound doesn’t disappear after a second or two, instead grows louder, but it’s hard to discern. It’s hope that starts increasing pressure on his lungs, but anxiety that pounds rapidly against his ribcage as he all but abandons his luggage and rushes to the open doorway to peer outside.

A Jeep. That’s a Jeep, and that’s a person driving it. Someone else is alive, and he feels both elated and nauseated at the same time.

[assuredofthis]

( @namedstorms / starter call / not accepting )

        ❝ right here, i feel pretty safe. ❞ he’s learning that safety is relative ( a person can adapt to anything, given enough time and no other option; war has been proving that for millennia ) and to take it wherever he can, no matter how fleeting the feeling is. sure, it might disappear in a couple of minutes, replaced by a thudding heart and a knot of worry about the people around him. but that’s in a couple of minutes’ time; nate believes you have to be aware of the future, but live in the present. and if right here, right now, brings some measure of safety, then nate’s gonna hold onto it with both hands.  ❝ do you feel safe? ❞

[hismalice]

ok more zombie apocalypse au. pussy wagon & their son, ruby and sapphire except its soumaeda, and Gundam

[hismalice]

anyone else love to die

[hismalice]

references for komaeda in the apocalypse au!