#post-apocalyptic au

[rwac96]

Whiteknight, Fallout AU

Weiss to check on jaune if he was okay, if weiss is going to help Blake his involved on this too, as she was going to checks on him the malachite twins cornerd him and pinning him on the wall, he was putting on his orange BOS uniform when the twins tried to seduce him.

"Jaune," the white-haired Vault Dweller said, "I need to ask you something—HEY!!"

Weiss Schnee shrieked, causing the Malachite Twins, fixing fights through bribery and throwing in extra items, to have cornered Jaune. The Knight only had on his jumpsuit pants, his torso exposed. The sisters turn to Weiss in annoyance.

"Oh," the short-haired girl turns her head in annoyance. "it's the Vaultie."

"Her?" The long-haired girl blinks, turning her gaze to Weiss. "Oh, that girl. What is he to you? You're boyfriend?"

"YES!" Weiss shouts in rage, folding her hands into fists. "Get away from him! NOW!!"

"Jeez," the girls step away, though they each winked at Jaune. "no need to yell. We do have other fights to observe anyway~."

"You mean fix?" The middle Schnee child spoke up, getting a huff from the twins.

[darsynia]

The Smoke That Roams (post-apocalypse AU Bucky/Reader)

MCU MASTERLIST | lmk if you want to be tagged for Bucky fics!

Summary: You and Bucky find each other after the world almost ends

Length/Warnings: 3,080 | sex, allusions to violence

Notes: I tagged this on AO3 as 'romance and survival soaked in metaphor,' lol. It's post-apocalyptic angst. Stop typing, Darsy.

Excerpt:

You weren’t afraid of him, you realized. You were afraid for him. He was a supersoldier, but he wasn’t immortal. Bucky often went off by himself without saying anything to you--but what if someday he didn’t come back? 

A pillow landed on the queen sized bed beside yours, followed by a blanket, followed by Bucky, who threw himself onto his back beside you with as much care as he’d tossed everything else. He was so warm you could feel the heat radiating through the space that separated you, even though none of it carried through to his tone.

“You’re safe. Go to sleep.”

It was… exactly what you needed.

The Smoke That Roams

You used to compare him to a solid, cold hunk of metal. Non-reflective but uncorroded, with a metaphorical melting point so high it’s practically unreachable. A weapon when thrown but otherwise safe, foundational, inexpressive.

That was before he touched you.

Bucky Barnes is not safe. He is expressive, though. Just not with words.

now

The world isn’t destroyed. There are still plants, there are still animals, and there are still safe places to spend time. The planet may actually be better off now than in the last few hundred years, because the humans who were in the process of ruining things just barely failed.

There are no regulations, no government-enforced exclusion zones, only good- and bad-intentioned people living day to day. You figure humanity has around twenty years of 'every man for himself' to realize how difficult it is to grow crops and sustain life. Until then, everyone’s subsisting on canned food and shelf-stable meats while hating every second of it.

Boredom is an unexpectedly dystopian pandemic, post-apocalypse. Books still exist, so there’s that. Unfortunately, even if there were experienced people to keep the electrical grid going, it’s completely unsustainable without an accompanying society. When you’re really depressed, you picture various survivors all around the world hunkering down to read Jurassic Park or Gone Girl next to pine-scented candles or last year’s Pantone table tapers. Once, you imagined a group of miserable assholes warming their hands next to a bonfire of Live, Laugh, Love wall hangings outside of a Cracker Barrel. It helped. You doubt any Karens survived the apocalypse to object.

then

You survived out of luck, if you could call living in the aftermath of a failed nuclear response ‘luck.’ 

Given the honest-to-fuck alien invasion, those nuclear strikes should have taken out the whole area. Instead, a strange golden dome repelled the worst of the damage, but you knew better than to assume it would stick around. After gathering some important provisions (including a gun and all your ammo), you spent some time bundling up your lawnmower’s spare gas can. You'd read The Stand. There's no way you're strong enough to pilfer gasoline from an underground tank.

That was when you found a leather-clad warrior man standing beside your motorcycle. He didn't seem surprised to see you. “You know how to ride this?”

“You after parts or gas?” you asked, hand on the butt of your gun. You were high on survivor’s guilt and low on bravado. He noticed both.

“A bodyguard,” Bucky told you sardonically.

He eventually told you the real reason, but at the time you’d pulled courage out of the sulfuric smell of danger in the air and suggested you watch each other’s backs.

now

“Still awake?”

You roll over to see Bucky’s familiar shape standing at the window, outlined in moonlight.

“Yeah. It’s too quiet.” Yesterday the two of you had retreated further into the mountains, judging your previous temporary home too close to the river after seeing two small groups using it for through travel.

“Never thought I’d like the quiet this much,” he muses.

Getting up, you move to stand beside him, still dressed in multiple layers to ward off the colder elevation. “That’s because it matters why it’s quiet.”

He doesn’t look over, but his smile is gorgeous in the dim light. “That’s a war reference.”

“You’re damn right.”

The two of you stand in silence, watching the shadows of the nearby trees play in the wind until he speaks again, gruff and oddly defensive.

“I was right about the shelter.”

“There’s a radio? Was it the right kind?”

“Yeah. Months worth of food, too.”

You’re embarrassed at how excited you are at the thought of MREs. “That’s great,” you say, reaching out to touch his arm. It’s sopping wet. Turning to look at him more fully, you see that his hair is wet too. He’s been dripping the whole time he's stood there; there’s a halo of wet, dark spots on the floor around him that feel almost symbolic.

“Most of the food was untouched. Ghosts don’t eat much.”

“How many?” You have to dredge to find enough moisture to rub your vocal cords together.

“Just one. Buried him in the woods pretty far out, washed up in the river.”

Bucky leaves so much unsaid, but you’re good at decoding him by now. This new cabin is miles from the river. As a good ‘bodyguard,’ though, you have one more clarifying question. It’ll matter, if you want to stay here for longer than a week or two.

“Was there evidence of-- did someone else--”

“Self-inflicted.”

“Yeah, aren’t we all,” you sigh, pushing away the guilt of relief.

then

You learned him slowly.

Bucky didn’t need a bodyguard as much as a body, or more accurately a second person to help carry the items he was gathering. It made sense; even a loner like him wouldn’t separate from the other Avengers without a reason. Their version of ‘strength in numbers’ was too complicated to understand and he didn’t really explain, but it had something to do with scattered communication, whatever that meant.

The parts he needed were in military bases, abandoned (and guarded, which was fucking terrifying) high rises, and one notable item was in a corn field. Eventually he gave you his motorcycle and upgraded to one with a sidecar.

You didn’t ask why it was wet when he showed up with it, but you had an idea of why he might have needed to clean it off.

By then you were used to sharing a room with him, dressing and undressing when he was out of the room or faced away. He didn't seem to mind, but you couldn’t really tell, and he didn’t say. 

You were more like coworkers than anything else, to the point that he barely spoke once one of you started readying for bed, like an unwritten boundary. Not that night. He’d broken into a hotel with two beds, one for each of you. That night, instead of his usual steady rhythm of breaths that eventually lengthened into sleep, there was just pensive silence.

Silence was the worst part of your new life. Silence allowed doubts and fears to creep into the gaps between breaths, clawing out space for larger worries. Bucky was quiet, but he was rarely silent.

“It’s not cold,” he finally said, almost accusatory.

You didn’t know how to respond. You weren’t cold, you were in shock. Death was everywhere and nowhere; either you fought for your life or saw the evidence of those who’d lost that battle. Each choice came with terrible necessity. Had that sidecar been a necessity? 

The flashlight clicked on. “You’re shivering.”

“I’m not cold.”

You weren’t afraid of him, you realized. You were afraid for him. He was a supersoldier, but he wasn’t immortal. Bucky often went off by himself without saying anything to you--but what if someday he didn’t come back? 

A pillow landed on the queen sized bed beside yours, followed by a blanket, followed by Bucky, who threw himself onto his back beside you with as much care as he’d tossed everything else. He was so warm you could feel the heat radiating through the space that separated you, even though none of it carried through to his tone.

“You’re safe. Go to sleep.”

It was… exactly what you needed.

now

“I need to build it as high up as I can,” Bucky says.

“Not ‘we?’” you ask, nowhere near as breezy as you hoped.

“I need you to be here, safe.” He reaches out and grabs your hand with his smooth, river-damp metal one, squeezing just too much. It’s as calculated as it is unintentional, like your relationship. “This time, ‘safe’ is not with me.”

He can run for days, heal his own wounds, kill in so many ways it would take a week to list them all, and you still don’t want him to go alone.

You don’t say that, though.

Instead, you tuck yourself against Bucky’s chest, wrapping your arms around his drenched torso. There are no dryers, no radiators to hang your wet clothes on, no fireplace to dry them by. It’s a message.

He holds you close in the moonlight, his river water soaking into you, your unspoken love seeping into him.

then 

Bucky learned you fiercely.

After begrudgingly joining you the first time, he slept beside you from then on, handling it the same way he handled everything: with little explanation and an air of inflexibility. Suddenly you were two people who slept (slept, mind you) together, the metal plates of your lives shifting perfectly to fit that new reality. 

You didn’t fully understand what it all meant until the night Bucky went for a walk instead of getting into bed. He’d killed a man right in front of you that day--brief, brutal, and bleak--and you'd waited for him to come back, alone with your own brutal and bleak thoughts. Had survival destroyed your morality? Why had he been beautiful as he’d ended the attacker’s life? Couldn’t things go back to the way they were? You didn’t ask for this!

Then it hit you.

Neither did he.

You got to travel with him in 2019 because someone did things to him in the 40s that he’d never asked for.

Bucky came back, but that didn't help you purge those horrible thoughts, not until he sighed in obvious annoyance and threw an arm over your hip, dragging you back against his chest like it was an obligation.

Only then could you sleep.

And so could he.

now

The moon is too high to shine through your borrowed window anymore, so Bucky leads you back to the bed in the dark. He guides your clothes over your head and down your hips as unerringly as a marksman who knows the specs of his weapons. When he kisses you, it’s sloppy and imprecise, like he doesn't have time to come up with a plan other than 'must touch, now.'

He drops you onto your back on the bed and straightens up, stripping off his shirt. You figure that out by the sound the sodden fabric makes on the hardwood floor, a wet thunk followed by the metal pinging noise his belt buckle makes.

A strange realization hits you: for the first time since everything went to hell, you don’t want water stains on the floor. This could be your place, yours and his. The thought warms the places where you’d pressed up against Bucky’s wet clothes, but soon his kisses do that for you, furnace-hot yet gentle as the curl of smoke from your frequent campfires.

You burn for him, and you have since before he touched you with intent and looked at you with desire. 

then

Post-apocalyptic isolation was finally getting to you.

The warehouse was cold, impersonal, and dangerous enough that no one lived there, despite being a single building surrounded by miles of possibly-fertile fields. Back when it was operating, that had protected the county population, and now that it was not, its position could best be called strategic. No one could sneak up on you if you were diligent, but the monotony of guard duty was wearing on you. So was the wind coming off of the unrelenting central plains.

You'd never seen Bucky that frustrated before. He came to bed each night tense and sullen, even angry, and instinctively, you’d done your best to give him space. It was only in the last few nights that ‘space’ had included sleeping separately, despite the chill of early autumn that seeped into your bones from the concrete floor.

Day five of that singular brand of loneliness happened to be day thirteen at that location. You weren’t sure how much more you could take.

“Let me help you.” Your tone was wounded, but you didn’t raise your voice.

“You are helping.”

“There’s no point in me watching for nonexistent scavengers when whatever you’re doing isn’t working down here! Especially since--” Your words turned to ash in midair. You’d been about to say ‘especially since you won’t sleep with me anymore,’ which made your relationship sound vastly different than what it actually was.

Bucky smiled for the first time in days. “Go on.”

“No way. Mad Max himself couldn’t drag it from me.”

“I think I saw that one,” he said, swiping a precious candy bar from the special stash and sitting on a stack of pallets. “Sand and cars?”

You choke out a laugh. “If any of the filmmakers are still alive, can you even imagine--”

“They probably murder anyone that brings it up.” Bucky wrapped up the rest of the candy bar and held it up like he was about to toss it to you. “Tell me.”

Your chest felt like you’d swallowed lighter fluid. He looked happier than he had in days, and you had no idea if telling him the truth would toss a match or douse it.

Well, you lived with enough fear as it is.

“Fine,” you said with fake annoyance. “I was going to say that it’s hard to sleep without you breathing on my neck and hogging the blanket.” The plan was to be flippant, to avoid seeing his response, but an arsonist can never look away from their own blaze.

Bucky was still sitting the way he had been before, but you could see the tension ebbing from his shoulders. His metal hand relaxed its grip on the pallet with the same slow relief as the growing smug look on his face.

“Yeah?” he asked, impudent and inflammatory.

“Yeah. Give me the candy bar.”

“Oh, I will,” Bucky grinned. He stood up with the kind of confident menace that had sold many an action movie ticket.

“Oh my god, turn that off!” you yelped, poised to run. “What’s gotten into you?”

“Sand,” he said. You bit your lip as he continued, “I can use it to shore up-- Never mind.”

Bucky’s gaze was intent as he started walking in your direction. It was the same kind of focus he used to defend your lives, with only difference being the impudent light in his eyes. You backed away (never turn your back on a predator) as swiftly as you could, heart pounding in your delighted chest.

Seconds later you realize he’d herded you against a dividing wall and he was still advancing. It was absurd, sexy as hell, and the aforementioned lighter fluid had completely replaced your blood volume. One touch and you’d be aflame. 

Bucky didn’t touch you.

He stopped mere breaths away, leaning his metal forearm on the wall. Bucky brought the half-wrapped candy bar up where you could see it and then ripped away the wrapping with his teeth, his eyes glittering with challenge. Holding your gaze, he brought it to your mouth.

You were breathing so heavily your breasts grazed his chest, sparking brushfires each time. Still, this was a contest of sorts, and you had precious few chances to go toe to toe with this man. You waited until the heat of your mouth smeared the chocolate on your lower lip, and only then did you move--shoving his hand to the side and arching up to kiss him.

His groan ignited something in both of you. He pulled you close with a rough hand at your thigh, curving your leg around him and taking charge of the kiss. It was exhilarating, full of the heat of something long-desired. You grabbed at the fabric of his shirt, dug your fingernails into his hair, your other hand skating over the bare metal of his arm.

Suddenly he pushed back on the wall behind you with enough force to shake the cinderblocks, eyes wild, hands at the hem of his tank top. You nodded, scraping your elbows in your haste to strip off your clothes. It took just seconds before you were on each other again, Bucky half carrying you to the corner of the warehouse where you’d piled up your bedding. He was already pumping his fingers in and out, sucking a brutal kiss on your neck even as he knelt on the pile of ragged quilts.

“You are so fucking strong-- yes, like that,” you gasped out with your eyes screwed so tightly you saw a spray of sparks. The white-hot pleasure practically rang in your ears, and then he was there, splitting you apart and putting you back together, with the taste of him healing the gaps.

“You smell just like every morning I wanted to do this,” Bucky growled into your skin. The pinpoint pain of his fingertips digging into your hip was so real, so him that you were speechless. All you could do was drag your lips across every inch you could reach, arching your back to drive the two of you toward the wreckage of your former selves.

When release came it was a second nuclear event, him panting into the join of your neck and shoulder, your hands buried in his hair.

now

There is a luxury to darkness and patience, one you never would have guessed at in the Time Before.

Bucky doesn’t have to see the ecstasy on your face to know his expert caresses are sending you skyward. You don’t have to watch him throw his head back to know he’s about to come apart inside you.

He’s seen the silhouette of your body backlit by the sunset as you ride him.

You’ve watched the lethargy of pleasure-bought peace lift months of his guilt.

Things will never go back to the way they used to be, but just as you’ve learned to navigate the chaos of the current world, you’ve also learned the comfort of being truly known.

Tomorrow, Bucky will head up the mountain to build one piece of a larger device various Avengers have been constructing across the world. Stark had called it a cosmic smoke signal, a last-ditch effort to call for rescue. After all this time, you’re not sure your heart is in it anymore. It’s engaged elsewhere; you haven’t just learned to adapt, you’ve learned to thrive with Bucky at your side.

Still, the others are counting on the two of you, and it’s all about balance. Whether the next mission is a fiery trip to the stars or the steady puff of a hand-built cookstove, you’re ready for what comes next.

Where there’s smoke, there’s fire.

[fireflylitsky]

THE CUTEST BABES FROM @moonamayillu for my fic Yokai Sunset

I am clutching them to my chest and heaving with love they are so perfect and adorable 🥰

(despite how very cute this art is, mind the tags as the fic has many horror/gore/adult themes)

[plague-of-insomnia]

WIP Wednesday: Sebardagni Post-Apocalyptic Domestic Sickfic AU

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

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

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

~#~

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

~#~

Reblogs appreciated as always!

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

[pocksprincess]

Death Stranding AU

Porco Galliard x f!reader

CW: smut and dark themes; suicidal thoughts, monsters, horror, violence, blood, death, post-apocalyptic setting (each chapter will have its own individual trigger warnings).

This series is a reposting from the old blog.

Playlist

Terminology:

Bridges- a company that was formed to reconnect the fractured society of the USA after the cataclysmic event known as the Death Stranding.

BTs- souls trapped in the land of the living that form entities known as Beached Things, or BTs, they are hostile towards living beings.

Cryptobiotes- small life forms that float around unique natural formations, they can survive any environment, no matter how harsh. They replenish a small amount of blood and increase resistance to TimeFall when eaten by humans.

Death Stranding- an event that caused the world between the afterlife and ours (purgatory) to collide with the living world, entangling life and death.

DOOMS- a condition that grants people a greater connection to the "other side", the land of the dead. People afflicted with DOOMS are called "sufferers" of the condition. Depending on the individuals level of DOOMS, sometimes they can sense BTs or even see them.

MULEs- a faction of cargo thieves suffering from "Porter syndrome", an obsession with their previous profession. They will chase others and incapacitate them in order to steal their cargo. Many have been driven mad by the environment and circumstances, but they do not kill, and are deathly afraid of BTs.

Necrosis- a stage of death that happens after cardiac arrest (the heart has stopped beating), after which the corpse will become a Beached Thing.

Porter- freelance delivery personnel who transport cargo across the continent of UCA (United Cities of America, renamed after the events of the Death Stranding).

Repatriate- an individual with the ability to return to life after death. When people die they end up in a place called the Seam, and Repatriates can guide their soul through the Seam back to their bodies.

The Beach- a limbo, or purgatory, between the world of the living and the afterlife. Everyone has their own unique Beach that is personal to them once they die.

The Seam- the place that connects the living world to the Beach, this is where souls end up, and where Repatriates can guide their souls back to their bodies.

TimeFall- otherworldly rain that accelerates time of everything it first touches and then turns into normal water again. The appearance of TimeFall, accompanied by an inverted rainbow, signal the presence of BTs.

Voidout- an explosion that is caused when the anti-matter of a BT consumes living matter (when a human body is consumed by a BT).

Series Masterlist -

Part One: Easy Way Out

Part Two: We Carry On (Because We Have To)

Part Three: Anything You Need

Part Four: Final Waltz

Epilogue: Without You

This series is ongoing.

[laiqualaurelote]

chapter seven: a little more than kin, and less than kind

“There’s an old joke in theatre,” says Ted. “If your director, your lead actor and your stage manager are in a burning house right before your show is about to start, who do you save first?”

Trent hazards: “The lead actor?”

“Exactamundo, Aureliano Segundo! By the time the show’s about to go on, you don’t need the director any more, and your stage manager can take care of themself, or they wouldn’t be your stage manager.” He claps Nate on the back. “Ain’t that right, Nate the Great?”

Nate ducks his head modestly. “That’s right.”

In the wake of the apocalypse, American comedy actor Ted Lasso winds up leading a Shakespearean troupe across the ruins of England. A Station Eleven post-apocalyptic theatre AU (no knowledge of Station Eleven necessary to read).

[radarsteddybear]

Title: “The Last of the POWs” Fandom: Hogan’s Heroes Rating: General Audiences Summary: [Post-Apocalyptic AU] A world in which both sides came up with the atom bomb before the war's end.

“The only thing we have left for sure is each other, and we’re not going to let you lose that, too.”

For @au-roulette. Crossposted to ff.net.

[imaginedreamwrite]

Steve & Muse

He hummed, tapping the edge of his charcoal pencil against his sketchbook. He raised his head and watched you leaning with your arms folded against the back of the couch, your eyes peering at the skyline as it stretched for miles, lights half lit and half dimmed.

“It’s crazy to believe the city is so big yet so empty.” Steve drew his eyes down your back to the edge of his shirt you’d stole, the hem drawing further up your body to expose your bare ass.

“We’re working on rebuilding it.” He bit down on his bottom lip and began sketching, capturing your breathtaking likeness on paper as you watched the skyline and sunset in your home.

“A little at a time.” He could only see one of your heterochromic eyes as the other was closed when you tilted your head, but he sketched anyway in order to gather the expression on your face.

“Muse,” Steve whispered seductively and sensually, enraptured by your beauty, “keep your eyes open, sweetheart.”

“You can only see one,” she teased, shaking her bare ads in his direction to stir his hunger, “which one is it?”

“Your ass,” Steve whined with need, “why are you distracting me?”

“Because its fun,” you angled your head back, hair falling down your shoulders like a waterfall, “and I need to cause trouble.”

“Just like Bucky-“ Steve mumbled under his breath, using one of his thumbs to blur a line and add depth, his eyes scoping out the elements he had already added to your image.

“I love Bucky, Bucky is fun.” The corner of his lips quirked, a smile toying on his face when he heard the absolute glee in your voice as you spoke.

“Should I be jealous?” Steve’s smile was met with one of your toying smirks, and his heart began beating erratically when you raised a finger to your lips. “If I go missing, I know where to find you.”

“Can we leave? After you’re done? You said you wanted to show me part of the city-“

“Yeah, honey. We’ll go after I’m done.”

[tomionefinds]

hi! do you have any fics where its takes place during an apocalypse like twd kinda apocalypse?

Hey Anon, Not sure if you just sent in another similar ask about specifically Zombie Apocalypse AUs; in any case gonna kind of string these two together.

I'll answer this one with some post-apocalyptic/dystopian setting fics, and then list some specific zombie ones on the other ask. So keep eyes peeled if that wasn't you.

Shout out to Untenable by saintcorvus; that's actually a gift to me from an exchange! -JD

Untenable by saintcorvus T+ | One Shot | 3k Prompt: Sci-fi/Dystopian AU where Tom and Hermione lead two different tribes. Heavily inspired by a lot of Dystopian books that I've read. Some direct usage of themes from The 100.

the price of water by peppershark E/Ma | WIP | 14k After a mishap in the Room of Hidden Things, Hermione finds herself in a barren, post-apocalyptic future where witches are all but extinct. The rare females are prized by desert traders and cloistered under the paternalistic care of the few men evolved for ultimate power. One omega has heard about a special little alpha witch in possession of a power lost to wizarding-kind for centuries. Tom Riddle is going to find her, and claim her. If she won’t give up her secrets, he’ll just have to fuck them out of her.

my (edge) lord by tomioness T+ | WIP | 7k After a fatal virus killed every person older than 21, the world is thrown into absolute chaos. Children and teenagers can only survive by coming together. Gangs of older survivors terrorize them by taking all reserves under control. Hermione, Head of the Mudbloods, puts all her efforts into taking care of her tribe. But everything seems at risk when the self proclaimed Lord of the Death Eater gang takes an interest in her and uses her love for her community to bend her to his will.

A Clockwork Black by ChloeGevaux E/Ma | WIP | 19k No man can describe it to you until you've felt it for yourself. The cry in the dark; the mortal call for meaning - oh, God, please give us some meaning - in this short, sharp life. Does he answer? That absentee father figure... does he answer your prayers? When you hear the crunch of gravel outside as the car pulls up, when you frown in confusion because - wait, but it's too soon for my husband to be home from work - and when you look up, stunned, as the doorbell rings just as the front door itself is kicked in and kicked open- No. The only one who will answer your prayers is me. And then you'll wish you'd never said them. Tomione. 'A Clockwork Orange' inspired AU.

The Heir From District 2 by PenelopeGrace Series: Tomione Hunger Games AU [1] E/Ma | Complete | 16k They thought he would win. Hunger Games AU + District 2!Tom Riddle + District 12!Hermione Granger

Ad Infinitum by Speechwriter T | WIP | 74k As he forges inexorably toward the end of time, he may come to wonder if this is a world worth ruling. Science fantasy.

Behind Death by elude T | WIP | 2k post-apocalypse world In a last ditch attempt to right the wrong, Hermione goes back into the past. But, time refuses to be tamed. Tom/Hermione

Black Mambo by Nekositting M | One Shot | 6k She sprung from where her legs had been rooted on the floor, running to the door at the end of the room. She pounded on its surface, blood rushing up to her ears. The door refused to move. “Open the god damn door,” she shouted, hysteria making her words crack at the end, but still, the guard outside refused to open the door for her. Was he even still out there? “They won’t come for you, you know.”

Entropy by Mechanical_Orange M | WIP | 21k There are holes in the universe and holes in their hearts, but time can heal all wounds. In 1998 Hermione begins her seventh year at Hogwarts. In 1944, Tom Riddle does the same.

Madam Granger by cherry_cup E/Ma | WIP | 45k When Hermione Granger secures the position of librarian at Hogwarts, she becomes the object of fascination for a particular Dark Lord in the making. AU. 1940s (no time-traveling)

Oceanfront View (It’s me and You) by ChaoticBabe T+ | One Shot | 1k This wasn’t how things were meant to go, the world fell before they even found there feet.

Orphea by SallyJAvery M | WIP | 48k "You could not believe I was more than your echo." A spell to sing the dead to life, when the living are lost. Tomione, post-war, dystopian AU.

The Plague by QueenRuby E/Ma | WIP | 17k A plague has hit the wizarding world and the greatest minds alive must get together to find a cure before all is lost. AU/AR

Romanticism by mysterymin M | WIP | 8k In a dystopian world where Voldemort has won the battle of Hogwarts, the purebloods have decided to weed out the weakest of the mudbloods.

Types of Iron by knittedcoffee M | WIP | 1k A magic and sci-fi blend AU. A magical and medieval world is connected to a technologically advanced one run by robots, but they do not coexist under the reign of Lord Voldemort. Warnings: violence, death, language, involuntary self-harm. "As technology advances in complexity and scope, fear becomes more primitive" Don DeLillo. Part 1/?

we'll sing in the sunshine by flosculous M | WIP | 4k Dystopia AU. She was pushed into her cell with only one thought in her mind. Obedience, there's no such thing as love. Was he born normal he would have felt something similar to empathy now, or maybe his chest would convulse with sympathy (...) but Tom was anything but normal. Or Hermione is one of the Hollows and Tom is High General of Grindelwald's Followers.

A Fall Through Time by orphan_account E/Ma | Abandoned | 89k A/U Tomione In a present day dystopian society, muggles and muggleborns are enslaved to their pureblood masters who greedily drain the earth of it's resources resulting in famines and plagues. Hermione, known to her master Draco as Sandy, must do what she does best-survive and adapt. Until that is, she is given an opportunity to go back to when it all started and rewrite history. ~Incomplete~Abandoned~Orphaned~If you are inspired to write something for this story or pick up where I left off--feel free~

[rwac96]

While on they're way back to outpost weiss ask who was jaune's first time, he blushed remembering her long blonde hair, her lavender eyes, her perfect and large breast and how they did made his cock a little bit hard.

*Weiss & Jaune were on a Vertibird, heading back to the Outpost, there was an obvious silence between them*

Weiss: *blushing, gulping* "So, that happened."

Jaune: *in power armor, blushing too* "Y-Yeah."

Weiss: *clears her throat* "Well, last night...you knew what you were doing."

Jaune: "...Yeah."

Weiss: "...So, I know it sounds very personal...w-who was your first time with?"

Jaune: *exhales, his blush becoming redder* "It was when I was an initiate, and I helped Ironwood clear an area of Feral Ghouls. During the scuffle, we got separated, I could've died, then I was saved by this blonde, busty wastelander with one helluva robotic arm."

*Jaune leans back as he reminisces that day*

Jaune: "Her puns, though hit & miss, the hits made me laugh. We had a few drinks, then started flirting...then started getting touchy. Her D-Cup shaped breasts, her long, wonder hair. Those lavender eyes, and the way she--" *stops, biting his lower lip*

Weiss: *blinks* "Erection?"

Jaune: *slowly nods* "Yep."

[rantracer]

Jake, Finn, Marceline, and Bonnibel together in post-apocalyptic Earth.

Even if this is the least viewed fanfiction I ever write, I'm about to have a blast!

[psychiccatpanda]

Chapters: 1/? Fandom: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Captain America (Movies) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Brock Rumlow, James "Bucky" Barnes & Steve Rogers Characters: James "Bucky" Barnes, Brock Rumlow, Steve Rogers Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Post-Apocalypse, Natural Disasters, scavenging, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Identity Porn, Established Relationship, Awesome Jarvis (Iron Man movies) Summary:

After a series of bad storms, the eastern coast of the United States is in ruins. In New York, the tunnels under the city had filled with salt and storm water when the pumps failed. When the sinkholes started opening, the ground had become too unstable for large vehicles and generally uninhabitable without power, gas, or fresh drinking water.

Now, with the city evacuated, it's an empty matrix of abandoned city, sinkholes, and small wildlife starting to thrive. Bucky Barnes does his best to make a living scavenging in the five boroughs to support himself and help out his best friend Steve pay medical bills.

Sure, the money as a scavver for Stark Industries is good, but Bucky keeps coming back to see his sort-of boyfriend. ...'Sort of' in that it's just a thing they've got in the abandoned towers and brownstones of the city, not something that follows them back onto the mainland. It just couldn't work in real life... could it?

[prostoy-brodyaga]

[laiqualaurelote]

chapter ten - my reformation, glitt’ring o’er my fault

In moments like that, there would come the memory from that Henry IV rehearsal when Roy had broken form and slammed Jamie to the ground, arm on his throat, and snarled “I can no longer brook thy vanities”, and oh, Jamie knew he weren’t playing. Roy was a scab over an old wound and Jamie never could help himself from picking away till it bled fresh. No idea why it kept coming up in the orgies, though. He put it down to apocalypse doings. It was a confusing time to be alive.

In which Jamie Tartt, prodigal son, returns.

The Station Eleven post-apocalyptic theatre AU in which American comedy actor Ted Lasso, in the wake of a worldwide pandemic, winds up leading a Shakespearean theatre troupe through the ruins of England (no knowledge of Station Eleven necessary to read).

For this chapter, I am indebted to moviemuncherao3, whose advice on Mancunian phrases and geography has been invaluable, and who gamely answered bizarre queries such as "in event of an apocalypse (not zombies) and the collapse of civilisation, what would be a good place in Manchester for survivors to base themselves?" Thank you!

The border image for this is from one of James Chadderton's incredible artworks of post-apocalyptic Manchester.

[gen-toon]

[thlayli-ra]

Chapters: 15/? Fandom: World Wrestling Entertainment, Professional Wrestling, All Elite Wrestling Rating: Mature Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Relationships: AJ Lee/CM Punk, Colt Cabana & CM Punk, Colt Cabana & AJ Lee, Malakai Black | Aleister Black | Tommy End/Zelina Vega | Rosita, Finn Balor | Prince Devitt/Bayley | Davina Rose, Dean Ambrose | Jon Moxley/Renee Young Characters: CM Punk, AJ Lee (Professional Wrestling), Colt Cabana, Sasha Banks, Bayley | Davina Rose, Big E Langston, Dolph Ziggler, Original Characters, Brad Maddox, Serena Deeb, Becky Lynch | Rebecca Knox, Zelina Vega | Rosita, Malakai Black | Aleister Black | Tommy End, Kofi Kingston, Paul Heyman, Brock Lesnar, Vince McMahon Jr., Finn Balor | Prince Devitt, William Regal, Nakamura Shinsuke, Hideo Itami | KENTA, Dean Ambrose | Jon Moxley, Eddie Kingston, Stephanie McMahon, Seth Rollins | Tyler Black, Roman Reigns, Renee Young Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Post-Apocalypse, Punklee, past trauma, PTSD, Dorks in Love, Abduction, Slavery, Slave Trade, Whipping, Branding, Bad ass women, Auction, Cage Fights, Forced to fight, Character Death Series: Part 2 of Scorched Earth series Summary:

It has been nearly three years since The Event, a cataclysmic disaster that destroyed every major city in the United States and killed millions of people. Soon after, Hell’s Back Door was founded, a den of sin run entirely by criminals, taking their pick of passing refugees to use however they pleased.

Into this nightmare, CM Punk is dragged in chains, his captors doing everything in their power to break his indomitable spirit. But he knows there is a powerful force out there more ferocious than any fire; AJ Mendez Brooks, his beautiful wife.

All he has to do until she finds him… is survive!

^^^ I’m finally back writing Ashes! Let’s goooooo!