#V: Fungus Apocalypse

[imtiredofbeingafraid]

@crosseddestiny

continued from here

“I know it can be tiresome. Even feel frivolous too.” Frank dropped his knapsack to the ground, hearing the clunk of canned soup from inside. “But it’s not. Life, whatever amount of time we have left, has given us a chance. To survive, and help those we come across along the way.” The town was small compared to the cities, desolate too, safe and secure. They could build something here, he could feel it. Make it a home, a safe haven for others. Run it nothing like the QZ’s. “I know after all we’ve been through it’s hard to see, but we have to try, don’t we?”

Dan didn't used to be like this. He was the eternal optimist. The guy with the childish naivety who thought knights in shining armor and superheroes could protect society. He even thought that he could be that guy. It was foolish, a foolish thought from a priviledged man. That was before everything happened and he started feeling like there was no end in sight to this disease as he watched the virus take out chunks of mankind bit by bit.

Long before he knew the dark secret behind it--one he'd been sworn not to share at risk of a global war erupting. It all seemed so pointless now--humanity had no hope of surviving anyways and fighting for supplies and survival was all there was. Adrian got one thing right right, the wars of the past civilizations were over. There was no use in any country declaring a World War. The fungus was a common enemy and it would be victorious.

"Yeah I guess. It's just without a cure--it just feels like we're prolonging the inevitable. Like it's all hopeless because day after day you have to watch somebody else succumb to it." He sighed, "I suppose you're right, we have to do what we can."

[dilf-docs]

You're a Daydream, Stay A While

joel miller x younger!reader

summary: you're jackson's designated bartender. well, your dad is, but after the arrival of a new face in town, maybe the inspiration to finally step up to your obligations kicks in.

warnings: 18+ (minors dni), age gap, smut, p. in v., oral (f. receiving), fingering, foreplay (mostly breasts), creampie, breeding kink (kinda), angst/comfort, insecure!joel (love touch etcetc starved), needy!joel, pov switch mostly joel (he's down bad as well), collected shitty puns from across the internet like thanos collected the infinity stones

word count: 6,136 words

side note: yk what's worst than simping for old men? simping for old men who don't exist. since y'all know, tlou II trailer dropped, which got me searching for joel's ***** to brace/prepare myself. umm so, why did no one tell me jackson!joel is the hottest thing ever? can´t wait to see pedro being senior citizen level of hot and dying (again) on his bday month! 😍 anyway, this is based on this request and well, yes! i too would flirt with an old ass if he looked like that™ hope u like it bc for some reason I'm not sure of it JSJDLKDFK also 400 followers GUYS STOP (pls don't) IT'S TOO MUCH (give me more) HELP!=="))??! (that i do need tysm)

The truth is simple: you hate working.

An apocalypse later, you figure there are more important things. But on Jackson, it feels like the world before fungus and violence, and everyone's got a role to play. As the daughter of Tipsy Bison's owner, yours is to help around the bar, something no matter how much your dad scolds you, you don't seem to care enough to even do a decent job.

Of course, it could be worse: patroling, keeping the cattle or crops, but not even then you're moved enough to give a shit about it.

Enter Joel Miller.

He, who made sure his arrival in Jackson didn't go unnoticed, making heads turn at it, not only because of his emotional reunion with Tommy, the little girl with him, or the fact that he left yet still returned. But also (mainly to you) because he was hot. Very hot.

Joel was the type of handsome that was rough in the edges, his closed-off demeanor and overall mystery adding to the thrill. His face seemed to be in a perpetual state of grief and darkness, sprinkled with grey and wrinkles, that in your opinion, didn't mean about age but just something that made his features all the more attractive.

It was a lie to say there weren't any boys your age in Jackson, good-looking too, yet you felt yourself gravitate towards Joel's musky presence. Yes, he could be your dad, but again, it's the apocalypse, and there are plenty of things to worry about than some age gap.

That doesn't stop the talking, anyway. It may be the end of the world, but gossip is just like cockroaches: it never dies.

The Tipsy Bison owner's daughter is in love with Tommy's older, much older, brother.

It didn't bother you, thought. You were pretty open about it, giving Jackson more to talk. Whenever Joel arrived at the bar, all heads would turn in your direction, ready for the shameless flirting and compliments you showered the oldest Miller in.

Maria had warned you, of course. She was the closest you had to a friend―sometimes being like a big sister, and she seemed to know what he was up to before, at the QZ in Boston, thanks to Tommy. Safe to say, you didn't care, despite listening to every word she had said.

Joel could break your heart, yet in a dying world, you weren't afraid to live.

Which is why now, as he enters the bar, you offer your dad to take his place.

"Go rest, I'll take this client" you offer with kindness, but he knows better. You're his daughter: in the end of the day, he's aware Joel is here, your shift in attitude warning him about Miller's incoming presence.

"If you will take this client, take the rest too" and before your dad can throw a speech about everyone being equal in Jackson, you're accepting to do the job properly, despite your grumbling and lack of interest to anyone who isn't Joel.

"Joel" you greet as soon as he sits, one of the many flirty smiles you have for him only adorning your face. He nods, avoiding your eyes that look at him like he could give you the world. He can't, so he keeps focused on the glass you're pouring in front of him.

"See? Didn't even need to ask. I already know" you seem proud of it, and the ghost of a smile brushes his lips.

"Well" he raises the glass, "it's an easy drink"

You feign hurt, "is that how you treat your bartender? I could poison your drink" Joel now truly smiles, knowing you could never, "or I could just strip you of your my favorite customer rights"

Now he feigns hurt, playing along for the first time in ever.

"Copied" he raises his arms in surrender, not before taking a gulp. You watch hypnotized the way his adam's apple bobs, the liquid sliding down his throat until it looses itself in the peak his two buttons undone give, of what looks to be a broad soft upper body, blessed with a patch of greying messy hair.

"Have they ever complimented you before, Joel?"

You. He refrains from answering, scared as to where little encouraging had led you and your shameless mouth to. He can feel the rest of the people behind him whispering, holes burning his neck. He can't let you win again: make him seem a pathetic excuse of a man who can't say no to a sweet doe-eyed delusional girl.

But you don't stop, despite his silence and the growing pit on your stomach.

"I'll take that as a no. Wanna know why?" he takes a much needed sip, "because all the good pick-up lines are taken"

This he can handle, Joel thinks. It's silly, proper of your age-

"But you aren't"

Ah, of course. Hasn't he learned?

You have the nerve to laugh, free as a wind chime softly carresed by the wind. His face burns, and even thought he's heard plenty of worse from you ("No pen, no paper but you still draw my attention", "Well, here I am. What are your other two wishes?" "You must be a dog person because you look fetching"), nothing had affected him this much.

Which is why he tries to pull the mask that had accompanied him since he first knew what grief was, so no feeling would ever made him weak again in a world hardened with pain. He's so good at it, wearing it like a second skin that doesn't scrub off no matter how much he wastes Jackson's water supply away, he sometimes sees the way your face is crestfallen at his indifference.

But you're young and stubborn, as so was he, before all the suffering and broken dreams.

So you won't listen to the past or doubts: the moment he stepped a foot into the community, you knew it was over, beating so loud you could barely hear your own breathing or him, when Maria introduced you and he shook your hand with his much bigger one.

"Joel" he'd said, with the sexiest voice you'd ever heard. His hands were covered in gloves, but despite that and the cold winter, the warmth that pooled from his palms had spread across your cheeks and chest. It had taken you a while to realize you hadn't said anything.

"Y/n" you hate the way your voice sounded small.

He nods, a way of saying Nice to meet you in his withdrawn nature. Then walks away, with Tommy and the girl, who looks curiously at you, Joel completely oblivious of how he's just turned your world upside down.

"Welcome to the museum!" you had said.

He tilted his head in confusion, Ellie's stare intense. "I thought this' Jackson?"

"This is a museum, because you're a work of art"

The tip of his ears instantly reddened, and the laugh Ellie was containing bursted like a bottle of champagne.

"Look at you, old man!" she laughed at him, making you wonder their relationship and how closer they seemed to be, despite initial assumptions. "Can't believe a girl gets the big, grumpy, scary Miller to blush like a boy"

You think that's the reason behind his apathy towards you, barely reacting to your pick-up lines or "subtle" flirting. It's probably not a reason as childish as that, but you'd rather be wrong than accept he may never feel the same way you do.

Because for a moment, despite the times you lived in, life made sense.

So no matter the stares, Joel's guarded posture and lack of reciprocation, you'll always be there, waiting: riding the roller coaster, enjoying the high.

The speed brings you closer, even if that means you'll crash.

Unfortunately for Joel, he knows who you are.

He's not even ten patrolling jobs closer to owning a bottle of whiskey of his own (he thinks earning it is bullshit, hasn't he done already enough?), so he's forced to go to the only place where he can get it.

And of course, there's you: a name and face he couldn't place upon his arrival, even if you had introduced yourself with your shitty line (which made him blush and Ellie laugh, so maybe it was a grudge what made him bent on removing you from his head) yet now is ingraned into his mind.

He doesn't know what's worst: your flirting or the fact that you seemed genuine about it. Or maybe it's the fact that he can tell you apart from the rest now, with a face full of life, always ready to give him your best smile and serve his glass the way he likes.

He needs to be the bigger person in this mess and stop it, Joel thinks. He isn't one to care about the talking, years of being brutal hiding any possible feeling that isn't rage. But then Ellie smuggled her way in his life, he found Tommy again, and Jackson was a reminder of old days when he would allow himself to feel anything else. So, in a way, he's become a bit susceptible to the talking behind his back.

How could he entertain a girl that could be his daughter? hushed, behind his stool. But then your fingers brush "accidentally", and his dick twitches between his legs when you bite your lip, pronouncing a Sorry like no one has said before: a tone so low and sultry, he's convinced wasn't even possible. Then you bat your eyelashes, and laugh (a sound both as delightful as addictive) before you're saying: "Don't mind them. They're just jealous you've got all my attention" and for a brief second, Joel let's himself believe he's special and worth of your time.

It's now a while since he's been there in Jackson, slowly settling into a life that doesn't involve running and fear.

If he thought your little crush was a phase, he's wrong.

You're still giving him time.

He's not supposed to get attached to you, Ellie, Tommy and Maria (future nephew in the way) more than enough. But then, when he's alone in a house too big for two people, Joel misses the way your loud voice fills the eerie silence that's followed him since death has been tracking his every step. Or how your interest on his life doesn't seem an act, listening to every word he says with tender eyes and soft smile, sometimes even making the effort of bringing things he's said before into new conversations; remembering. His heart flutter at your compliments, no matter how dumb they are, probably because he's not used to that stuff. As he lays awake at night, brain clogged with wounds too deep to bear, he finds comfort in things he has a feeling he's too old to get worked up about.

"Joel" you had said one day. God, he loved his name on your lips. The way you say it so sure, as if you'd follow him wherever he'd go.

He coughs. "Yeah?" and you smile, because at least he's looking in your direction.

"The chance of meeting a person like you is the only reason I talk to strangers"

The way your tone was straight, not flinching or faltering scared him. How something akin to sincerity dancing in the sparkles of your eyes, that now seemed to waver not out of whimsy but out of vulnerability, perfectly hidden in what could pass as another one of your attempts to woo him, but Joel's lived and seen enough to know it means much more.

So now, whenever there's darkness, he finds light on replaying those small moments on his head.

Dear God. What's he become? Ellie can't find out or he'll never hear the end of it.

But this things you don't know. All you see is a wall, and you're getting tired of hitting it.

The few words he spares your way are now a punishment you endure, cruel reminder that it's all you'll ever get.

Could you be in love forever? Could you even love?

It was a new feeling. Foreign, in fields of inexperience, but familiars in others. You may have never felt it, but the way your beat was steady when he showed up, worn out boots against the wood creaking under his weight, makes you believe when you know, you know.

"Hello, Joel" your father greets before you speak. Today, no matter how much you tried to shoo him away, he stayed.

You send a small smile his way, but he doesn't return it. You feel small, like a kid, undeserving of his attention. There's a bit of relief knowing your dad's there, so you let him take Joel for you.

There's always a first, and when both your dad and Joel notice, the latter feels a little sting on his chest.

But he's caused this, he thinks. It's what he wanted, after all: for you to stop chasing a man with scars in and out, bearing sins and blood where you had innocence and love.

"We're having a party tonight" he comments, making Joel quirk an eyebrow as he sips.

He gives you a brief glimpse, lost in the curve of your ass in those tight jeans, you giving him your back. He dryly scoffs on instinct at your deliberate choice to ignore him.

"Why's that?"

"My daughter's birthday"

He sees your body tense in the corner of his eye, wiping the glass in your hand with a bit too much force.

"Happy birthday" Joel speaks up, and you mutter a weak Thanks.

That's all he gets? No smile, no looking his way. Just a dry thank you that sounds more like something he would say.

Oh.

Was this how you felt?

"Time sure flies by" your dad sighs nostalgic, completely oblivious to the whole thing. "I feel if it was yesterday we came home from the hospital with you"

You smile, but it doesn't reach your eyes, despite the obvious adoration for your dad.

"Don't get sappy on me" you sound embarrassed.

"I don't care. Twenty-one years later and an apocalypse in the mix, you're still my baby"

"Dad!" your cheeks heat up, and Joel almost forgets he's there, his body back to life when your face goes back to its normal color and happiness.

"Which means" your dad goes back to Joel, "you're invited"

Your laughter dies and Joel's chest tightens.

"You need to stop saying that. All Jackson is invited" you respond, making him flinch. The bite is obvious.

You're not special, is what you try to say in between lines.

"I'll be there" tone daring, and your father feels something has shifted in the air.

You don't answer after that. What are you supposed to say? Don't come? I hate you for making me feel small? He doesn't owe you anything, but it still hurts.

"It's at seven" there's a sharp edge to your tone when looking at him.

"I'll be there" he repeats, still, but it sounds more like who he really is trying to convince is himself.

Joel is there, as promised. You don't know why, but after what happened earlier, for the first time ever, seeing him brings you dread.

He catches you in a corner, sipping on some drink.

"Hi" it's soft, the tone new, and it doesn't help the pit in your stomach.

"Hey"

"Why are you here?" he's curious., "ain't this supposed to be your party?"

It's funny, really. The way everyone else mingles around you, laugh and talk, yet here you are, bitter inside the shadows of your corner.

You raise your glass and chuckle dryly. "Well, cheers to that"

"You shouldn't be here" he insists, and you roll your eyes. Then, his voice goes soft. "Is... Is this because of me?"

You scoff, venom falling out of your bitter laugh. "Wow, big ego you got there. Newsflash: the world doesn't revolve around you"

He's so used to your pinning, it's hard to bear the change.

"I wasn't saying that, I just-"

"Please don't" you cut him off. "Don't ruin my birthday more than you already have, thanks"

You decide to walk away, but Joel won't let you.

"I don't want that" he insists, blocking your steps. "I want you to be happy"

"Don't bullshit me" your tone is icy, cutting like daggers. "Please, leave me alone"

"Not until you're fine"

You scoff at his incomprehensible behavior.

"Oh, now you care? Drop the act; you're just angry I'm not stroking your ego anymore like a lovesick puppy. Truth is, you don't owe me anything, Joel"

He looks like you've slapped him across his face.

"I know" his voice darkens, filled with tension. "But-"

You get tired at Joel's sudden insistence, overwhelming you with confusion. This is the same guy that has uttered less than fifty words your way, indifferent to your flirting and special treatment. Of course, it may have been a little silly of you to expect so much from a guy older even than your dad, but his apathy was borderline rude, and that you can't excuse. Or understand. Or let go.

So yes, you're being petty. And yes, it also feels good to have him begging to have your attention, the roles reversed.

"But what, Joel? Is there anything you can say, really? It's not that serious" you empty the glass in a chug, feeling dizzy. "Live a little and stop being so obssesed with me"

He shoots you a look hard to decipher. There is hurt: from all the emotions available, he chose the one thing you didn't think he'd be capable of feeling. Hell, he looked rather more like the cause than the affected on the other end. But then auburn fires flash behind his eyes, and the circle repeats itself, the danger and rage Maria warned you about.

"Obssesed with you?" his eyes carry a wild light in them. "If anyone is obssesed, well, it ain't me"

"I need air" you push past him, done with his shit.

"I'm sorry-"

The cold wind hits your face as you storm outside the bar. Is this a lesson to be learnt? Was this how heartbreak felt? The only thing you know is you need to get the farthest you can, even if your footsteps feel heavy with the weight of the snowed streets and frigidness of your heart.

"Y/n, wait!"

You turn around. Unbelievable: Joel Miller is running after you.

"What the fuck is wrong with you, Joel?!" you shout, "why can't you just leave me alone?!"

"Because I-"

"There's nothing for you to say" you counter, pinching the bridge of your nose in frustration. "If this is some sort of guilt thing, I need you to let it go. What I did- I mean, you should probably forget about the whole thing. It's my fault, and I'm sorry my reaction is immature and what not, but I should've known to read the signs. You're simply not interested in a girl who hasn't truly lived or known what pain is"

After you confession, you hear a laugh. You raise your eyes, anger and hurt flashing in tears.

"And you have the nerve to fucking laugh?! Fuck you, Joel" you want to walk away to save yourself from further embarrasment yet your feet seem to be stuck.

"Oh, sweetheart. I'm not interested?" you roll your eyes, but he pins you by your shoulders, as if knowing you'd walk away. "Listen, I need you to know somethin': I'm not who you think I am"

"I don't care" you interrupt, defiant. "You're right, I don't know who you are. But I want to. Who you where outside this walls... It doesn't matter, not to me. You did what you had to do to survive, and that brought you here. Jackson... think of it as a second chance. You can still be happy, you know?"

With me, dies in your throat, not wanting to give more of yourself away.

"It's better this way" Joel insists, "hell, you'll even thank me one day. There's plenty of young boys here who'd love to be with you, trust me"

"I don't want them, Joel. What's so hard to understand?" what makes you get closer to him, you don't know, but in a sudden rush of force, you find the courage to look at him, body standing still as you exhale, fears condense in the air. "I only want you"

"You don't" you should roll your eyes again at his stubborn character, but his voice comes out so small, almost as if resignated, that it tugs your chest.

"I do" you reply firmly, cupping his cheek with tender care. He leans in your touch, despite it revealing his true desires when it comes to you.

"Why me?" Joel whispers, bigger hand covering yours, as to prove it's real and the warmth isn't a joke. "Why not a younger, charmin', happy boy your age? Why a broken violent older man?"

His voice breaks after the admission, quietly seeping into heavy silence that falls like the snowflakes in his hair.

"Joel" you call his name softly, making those sad brown eyes look at you. You gulp, nervous at the storm of emotions inside them, "is it so hard to believe you can be loved?"

Your words make him falter, his grip loosing strength as he tumbles back.

"Love?" he repeats with disbelief, as if you'd just say some kind of tale. "There isn't love in this world left for me. Men like me don't deserve good things, especially if they comin' from a pretty girl as yourself"

You shouldn't be blushing at times like this, but the maroon splash on your cheeks betrays you, warm as the drink from before and red as the dim lights casted by Jackson's Christmas tree in the middle of the town.

"Joel" you call again, and he's surprised you're still there. That you hadn't turn your back on him, or looked into his eyes and saw the monster in him, running away to never come back.

"If you let me" you hold his hands to steady him even as they tremble, "I could"

I could love you.

The promise hangs unspoken in the air, the wind now barely above a humming.

"You'd take me" his voice falters, "with all I've done, knowing I've hurted people?" Killed people, but he can't bring himself to say it when you look at him like that: like he could learn to love you.

"Yes" your voice doesn't waver a bit, "every part of you"

"And you'd take me knowin' that I'm years ahead in hurt, age and life?"

"Yes, Joel" you giggle. "Are you making me do an exam on your life? Because that's not fair, you've barely spoken to me, or anyone else for the matter!"

He chuckles, shaking his head.

"I s'ppose life ain't fair, sometimes"

"But it could be" the moonlight of the now clear sky shines over your eyes, and Joel is sure that the stars would be jealous.

"It could" he repeats, as to believe it himself.

Silence settles again, but it doesn't feel suffocating anymore.

"You know, we should probably get inside"

You dissmiss his words. "Nobody has even noticed we're gone"

"What about the cake?"

Your chest feels warm at his concern. He may not believe it, but the old-world Joel, the one who was a contractor in Texas and had a daughter, is still there, somewhere.

"Jackson is real, but miracles not" you laugh, "we don't have those. The party really is just an excuse for dad to drink with his friends during labor hours"

"And yours?" Joel inquires, "where your friends at?"

"Left early" then you lean to his ear, hot where skin meets cold. "I told them to"

He tries, but all words die on his throat.

"Wanna know why I did it?" your fingers wander to his tense jawline, tracing your sharp nails until they descent to his neck, sprinkled with loose hairs from his beard.

"Why?" voice barely above a whisper, his cock painfully hard between his legs. That you don't know: just the glint of dark on his hazel eyes.

"Why don't we find out?" and your hand takes his to lead the way. When he doesn't move, you try other way.

"I'm the birthday girl" you tease softly, but your orbs sparkle with something akin to dangerous. "You better make it up to me"

You've walked this road so many times, yet it's never felt longer.

The house is alone, you'd say, and Joel followed you because well, he'd follow you anywhere. He notices you said 'house', an indicator you still live with your parents. He wonders if you're embarrased, but by the way you smile, inviting him inside, to a part of you intimate and unknown until today, he knows he's chosen right.

When you open the door, cold creeps in through the cracks of warmth. You lead the way to your room, and once you're inside, he thinks it's very you.

"Very me?" you giggle, taking a seat in the bed. Joel watches from the doorframe, his bulky arms crossed. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"It's cute" and you think it's not a frequent word in his vocabulary, thanks to the pink dusting his cheeks.

"I'm cute?" you repeat delighted, and the shade of pink turns darker.

He just nods, avoiding your gaze.

"Joel" you call, then pat the spot next to you "why are you so far away? Are you scared?"

He grumbles something under his breath before walking over to where you showed. The bed creaks under his weight, and now that he's closer, you hear the wavering beat of his heart and ragged breaths.

"You are scared" you repeat, a statement now. He thinks you're mocking him, until your sure hand grabs his. "It's okay"

Before he can add on that, your face is too close, your breath tickling over his nose. He feels the moist of your lips press over the brigde of it, with a tenderness that brings ghosts of tears he has since long shade to his eyes.

Then they smoothly move to catch him in a kiss. He lets out a shaky gasp against your mouth, letting himself loose on the whiskey drops inside, an intoxicating mix against his own. His hands find your waist, gripping the soft skin with calloused fingers, refusing to leave it. He squeezes your curves while infiltrating your mouth with his tongue, until he pulls to breath, making you whine.

"Fuck, sweetheart" he nips your lower lip, "ain't you the sweetest thin' to ever exist?"

The kiss gets more heated, his hands now traveling to your face as they hold onto you for support, rough digits meeting peachy skin. Just the mere act of kissing makes him groan against you, too old to be shameful about the needy sounds coming out of his mouth.

"Joel" you whimper his name. He stops and takes the time to bore his gaze over your flushed face, your own dazed eyes mirroring his.

His fingers find their way to your hips again, pulling you closer. The moment caughts you and the bed off guard, the furniture creaking while your eyes move to the hardness visible on his worn-out jeans. You move your head to free your mouth to talk, but that doesn't stop Joel, who hungrily kisses the trace of your jaw and the road starting in your neck and finishing on your collarbones.

"Is that because of me?" Joel whines against your lips, yet you can't stop staring at the very big silhouette. "Oh, happy birthday to me"

Joel whines when you tear way from him, his hands loosing grasp on your body. You move up against the headboard, spreading your legs for him to put himself in between them.

You take off your clothes, and his eyes don't leave your body as if it's a show for him. He can drool at the sight of your breasts, rosy skin waiting for his tongue and teeth to sink on it. He leans closer, eyes looming at moles he could beg to kiss.

Now you, your expectant eyes plea. Joel's posture adquires a guarded air, as he grows self-conscious.

"Stop staring at me like that" he nervously chuckles.

"Is there something wrong?" your sweet voice inquires, laced with concern. He gulps, kind of afraid and embarrased of what you would say.

"I'm..." his voice comes out strained, "I just-"

His mind briefly wanders to Tess, how she never said anything, rather busy seeking the warmth of his body without commenting about it. The act mattered over the feelings, which where in her eyes but not his heart. But now, his heart beats in a different sound, one where he wishes you won't judge a body crossed with the roughness of scars yet the softness of extra weight.

"M' just warnin' you, doll" the nickname brings butterflies in your stomach, "this body's seen better days"

He removes the layers of clothing: flannel first, and then tight white long sleeved shirt. He's left in his jeans, unbuckling his belt that falls to the floor with a thud. His breathing turns to panting, afraid to meet you in the eye.

"Joel" you repeat his name, bringing him back to reality. "Look at me"

He's killed people, faced raiders as much as infected, and other countless things, so he dares himself to look up, breath hitching when he finds you eating him with your eyes.

"Fuck, Joel. I didn't know you were so pretty under those dirty ass flannels"

You knew he'd be handsome; that's literally the reason why you chose to flirt with him. But now that he's completely stripped off his layers of warm clothing, it's even better. You can't stop your hungry eyes from roaming his body, lingering on the soft swell of his stomach, hanging over the waistband of his underwear. A scar that looks deep is near his belly button, and you wonder if he'll ever tell you why. There's a patch of hair over his soft chest your tongue wants to lick. And of course, his strong arms packed with broad shoulders that make you want to scream.

"Stop lying" he chastises, but there's a smile adorning his features. A true smile on Joel fucking Miller's face. What a rare sight; you need to see it more.

"W-where your condoms?" he asks, nervous.

That catches you off guard, too busy cooing over how a man so big and sturdy could fold that easily, looking and sounding small.

"I'm not sure. I mean, maybe on my parents room but I-"

You cut yourself. Joel's concerned gaze finds you. "Yes?"

"I want you, Joel" the intensity of your stare terrifies him. "All of you"

He falls closer to you, forehead against your own. He can't bring himself to look at you, so he closes his eyes and dares to ask:

"Are you sure you want this?"

Are you sure you want me?

"Don't you trust me?" you're all smiles, even if your voice is soft. "I want you. I truly do"

He's hiding his face into your shoulder until you feel his lips pressing against your now bare skin, making you shiver.

"Where you want me, birthday girl?" he says between kisses. "Tell me, sweetheart. I'm all ears"

"Please, Joel" you unhook your bra, letting your breasts free. His lips begin to kiss his way to your breasts, tongue teasing the skin before nipping it. Joel's teeth catch the hardened nipple, grazing it lightly.

"S'pretty" he sounds drunk, and you love the way he looses himself in the pleasure haze.

He continues kissing your breasts before positioning himself right so he can hover above you. The kisses turn wet and sloppier, as if all his energy was to be spent into the rosy skin.

"Can I taste you, sweetheart?" he lowers his head to your entrance, already soaking wet with your arousal. "Fuck me, if this ain't a meal"

"The best in all Jackson" you joke, but the laugh dies in your throat when Joel's nose ghosts over your throbbing pussy.

"I- fuck, Joel" you moan when he licks your folds, his tongue an expert. For a brief moment, you think of who came before you, and if this is what they got or you're getting the best version. His saliva mixes with your dripping juices, making you whine as his tongue licks your swollen folds. His fingers then slowly inserted themselves inside at the same time, moving in and out of your puffy walls. His groans mix with the sound of your whines and the furniture creaking, the sounds obscene and feeling so far from the outside world.

"You're so good at this, baby" his sweat mixes with the blush on his face because of the nickname, nose pressed against your clit as he keeps up the ministrations. "D-don't stop"

"This pussy's so pretty" he says, "and s'only for me, yeah?"

"Yes, Joel. Only yours" you whine, your orgasm approaching. All of your body feels on fire, every touch inching the burn in your stomach closer as his head remains between your legs, tongue insatiable. You come all over his face, your hands digging into his damp locks as you scream his name to the air.

Joel raises his head to capture your lips on a wet kiss, the taste of you inside your mouth and dripping from his coated beard.

"Ain't you sweet" you open your legs further. "You're such a tease, sweetheart. Gon'be the death of me"

"I just like seeing you like this" you admit.

"Means?"

"So fucking needy"

A borderline primal grumble births from his throat. "You've a filthy mouth on you, sweetheart" he chuckles while wrapping your legs around his waist and lining himself up. Joel's tip runs up and down your folds, grazing your clit long enough to make you gasp.

"And you're s'fuckin' tight" he mumbles under his breath. You gasp for air as you try to adjust yourself to the huge size of his girth, afraid you bit more than what you can chew. His pace starts slow but gradually picks up a rougher and quicker pace. Joel grunts between thrusts, yet takes his time to make sure his lips kiss every mole sprinkled across your face and chest, his favorite just above your left eyebrow.

"I want ya' to come first, like a present" blush crosses through his face again. He leaves teasing kisses against your face, as you wail, finally hitting you.

"I'll wait for you" you whisper, your hips aiding you to sustain his sloppy thrusts, "want you to come too. Inside"

You feel his softening dick twitch, suddenly rock hard again. Oh, so he was into that.

"Don't worry, I have a pill" you explain. "So go ahead, pretty boy. Show me if the size matches the talk"

"Bet" his voice acquires a darkness to it. "Gonna fill you with all of it, until you milk my cock dry. Gonna fill this pretty pussy until it's full of my seed and it leaks for days"

He follows right after, groaning into your shoulder, where he bits the skin. His tongue wets the area, to relief the pain, yet you like it. Thick ropes of cum paint your puffy heat creamy, Joel panting as he stares down at you.

"What?" you chuckle.

Maybe Jackson was a safe haven. Heaven incarnate. Maybe second chances were real, and for the first time in years, he feels safe.

"I don't deserve you" he voices his thoughts, forehead pressed against yours as he tries to even his breathing, yet each breath seems more labored than the last.

Your hands travel to his face, cupping it with tender hands. He leans on the touch, because despite his crimes and past dawning upon him, he's a man: one seeking comfort on a pretty face and anything that'll remind him of distant emotions that can still exist despite what the world has become. Joel's hands travel to yours, thumb brushing skin free of scars and pain. He envies and loves the beauty in your face, eyes full of something akin to affection looking back, blurring the pain mirrored on his own. You kiss him again, and he can feel the emotions in the tip of your tongue.

"You're wrong" your voice holds a quiet determination. Time was a precious gift, but in Jackson, time could be, and the resolve longing tells him you'll be there. I'm not going anywhere, Joel. Not without you. "We all deserve love, Joel"

Joel Miller is a man who finds it hard to trust, yet, when he takes a look at your eyes―warm as coffee, he allows himself to believe in you.

[crossingthedreams]

you still don't get it — joel miller x f!reader

a/n: is this… an angstober post… on time? yeah, baby, that’s day 07 - you still don't get it on the actual 7th day! omg, i feel so grown up and put together right now. i had a very specific idea for this, and i hope y’all enjoy it. as always, feel free to hit me up on the dm’s! oh, we also have a masterlist know, hehe.

summary: sometimes, you just gotta put the ‘fun’ in ‘funeral’. and sometimes, you just have to put an end to things, even if they are with the one that makes you feel a petite mort over and over.

word count: 1.7k 

warnings: angst. unprotected p in v. pulling out (just don't, use actual contraceptives, please). oral (f receiving). mentions of death. 

Joel Miller found his way between your legs quite often, and thank God for that. Life during a fungus pandemic wasn’t really easy, and everyone had to find some pleasure in order to fight another day. For Joel, that wasn’t always sex — it could be a cigar, maybe an old stereo that played good music. As for you, during most of your life, sex was just a bargaining chip, but that all changed when you realized that, if done correctly, it was immensely fun.

But now, whenever you and Joel would meet, sex was always the number one option. The two of you found solace in each other, and, again, thank God for that. 

You weren’t religious (really, who could be during the apocalypse?), but Joel made you see Heaven. 

Everytime Joel knocked on your door, you knew you were in for a mind-blowing night. Your moans were quiet, as Jackson was a small community and any screams could be heard in the dead of night for miles. But it was hard to keep quiet as his hands and mouth kept pressing and licking you in all the right places. 

“Joel, o-oh, J-Joel”, you moaned, one hand reaching at the headboard above you and the other tugging on his graying hair. 

He had once said the best way to get to know a man, really get to know one, is to find out how he eats his girl’s pussy. According to Joel, there’s nothing worse in God’s green Earth as a man unwilling to put his mouth on what was, also according to Joel, the most perfect part of the human body. He was always so willing to eat you out, you were sure he was the most stand up guy out there. 

“Come on, baby, I know you got in ya”, he murmured, kissing your thigh, putting one of his long fingers inside of you, stretching you out and making that vision of Heaven appear before your eyes once more. His mouth reattached itself to you, going right to the money maker. 

As he licked your clit with just the right amount of pressure and movement, a second finger entered you, curling up with the first one and awakening that spot in you that made you a goner in just a second. This was your third orgasm of the night. It was ridiculous. You were dripping so much you could feel it down your ass and going straight to your freshly washed sheets. 

You were still gripping on the sheets when Joel raised himself, his large body hovering over yours. You didn’t see it, no, you kept your eyes closed. Instead, you let yourself, with those heightened senses, just feel him. His thighs against you, your body falling just a little towards him due to the pressure of his knees on the mattress, his hands on either side of your torso. His smell, mixed with your own. You felt his lips on your neck, then your cheeks, then on your mouth. Your hands instinctively flew to cup his cheeks and make the kiss deeper. 

You really hoped you weren’t falling in love with his man. He had much too much baggage, and he already had enough things to worry about, with his daughter for all effects and purposes, Ellie. He was much older, more complicated than you could ever wish for a man you were involved with. Therefore, no love. No, this couldn’t be love.

But, God, you really did fall in love with his cock.

It wasn’t bigger than you were used to, but certainly girthier. This cock made you wetter than any other, and it belonged to a man decades your senior. 

When you felt it throbbing against your leg, there was nothing to do other than to open yourself up as he slowly, oh so slowly, entered you.

You both moaned in unisson. Joel murmured your name, and you finally opened your eyes to meet his brown ones. “You’re so beautiful, baby”, he said in a low tone and began to move his hips. “So wet”, he thrusted and you moaned his name louder, hands gripping his shoulders with enough force to leave nail marks.

You crossed your legs around his waist, changing the angle to make him go deeper. Joel loved missionary and all its variations. He would never admit it, but he was a boob man through and through. The visual stimulation was really important to him, and that was proven by the fact that his eyes couldn’t leave your tits as he pounded harder and harder into you, making them bounce with every movement. You were sure your nipples were perky, too, as they always did when you felt this aroused. 

Joel was nearly drooling on your chest. 

After a few more thrusts, he grabbed your hips and turned you around, so that your ass was up in the air. You smiled against the pillows and looked over your shoulder just as he entered you again. That smirk turned into a perfect ‘o’. 

Your hips moved against him too. After all, Joel was an old man, and you couldn’t let him do all the work now, could you? 

He was manhandling you with such force you weren’t sure you’d be able to move in a way he didn’t want you to. He pushed your head back against the pillows as his body fell on top of yours, mixing up with the position once more. 

His mouth was close to your ear, and he took full advantage of that to nibble on your ear lobe. “You look so pathetic, all unraveled like this, baby.” he spoke in a whisper, his pace still punishing inside of you. “All mine, huh? All mine to ruin?”.

You shook your head yes as best you with his hand still pressing your skull into the pillows and his full body weight atop of you. 

“Nuh uh, silly girl. Need to hear you say it. Tell me, baby. Tell me who’s the one who makes you come undone, sweetheart”. 

“Y-you, Joel, hmm, it’s all you”, you half-spoke, half-moaned. 

Not to your surprise, all of his weight disappeared as he pulled out, leaving you on the bed as he finished off alone, on the side, not even bothering to cum on your tits, face, or ass like any other guy would’ve. Not even caring to let you see him cum, which sucked. 

He had started up with this new habit of pulling out and leaving right after. But not this time, no. You wouldn’t let him. 

“Come back”, you said almost purring and turned on the bed, stretching in the sexiest way you could. 

His eyes analyzed you for a long time before he approached the bed again. He didn’t sit down, instead he stood, fully naked, looking down on you at the end of your bed. He looked glorious, like a Greek deity or a model from the days before the outbreak. Did you love him? Probably not yet, but you would someday if he let you. 

You sat up on the bed, naked. Did he like your figure as much as you liked his? You were much younger than any other woman old enough for him. Some would say you were inappropriately young, but you knew they didn’t care for you or Joel beyond the gossip and the fun remarks. 

“You don’t come in me anymore”, you said, trying to look innocent and confident at the same time. “Did I do something wrong?”

“No”, he simply said, collecting his clothes. You waited for him to continue, and when you realized he wouldn’t, you kept on talking.

“You used to at least cum close to me”, you tried to crack a smile and lighten the mood, as verborragic and honest as you always were. You and Joel hardly talked about your situationship or whatever this was. “Maybe we could try something like that again, because, y’know, breeding is not just a kink and someday I really want kids and…”

“You still don’t get it, do you?”, he interrupted you, and you realized he sounded defeated more than anything else. He sighed, and moved to sit on the edge of the bed. “There’s no we, and there’s no future”. 

You weren’t gonna be the one to break the silence. Not this time. With him, the silence was always loud, and you felt as if it was a physical entity that put itself in-between the two of you. 

He put his head in his hands, still emanating exhaustion in every possible way. 

“I won’t have anymore kids”, his tone was harsher than ever. 

“Joel…”

“This ain’t about age, even though that sure is a problem. This isn’t about this batshit post-outbreak world, either”. 

The words unspoken were louder than anything he could have ever said. 

Sarah. 

You closed your eyes. All the future he could have had flashed before your eyes. How old would she be now? Perhaps she’d even be older than you. 

He hardly talked about her, but you picked up on a thing or too. Especially last year, on his birthday. What a horrible day that was. You now realized that Joel’s future died the day of the outbreak, at the same moment his daughter did. 

Even though it ached, the truth was clear and simple: you couldn’t sacrifice the future you could still have for Joel’s eternal mourning. You wanted more than to survive. You wanted to live. And here, in Jackson, you could actually do that. 

Your eyes were watery, but you refused to cry. In the quiet, you knew you didn't have to say it. The silence was loud, and it said enough. 

Joel stood up and looked around the room. He seemed to avoid looking at you, knowing what would happen once he did. He liked and cared for you, even if he didn’t want to. The wonderful sex was part of it, not the whole thing. His eyes finally met yours, and without saying a word, you knew what he meant. This is over, isn’t it?

Your gaze was locked with his, and your mouth was drying. Yet, you replied, without a word. Yeah, baby, yeah, it is. 

He left, and you stayed. And that was that.

[bits-and-babs]

Hi!! :) I was wondering if you could write a Joel Miller x female reader smut where Joel and the reader have a relatively large age gap. Y/N is new to the QZ, so she recently met Joel for the first time and became friends with him, but their relationship turns into a FWB relationship. Reader is about 20-23/in her early twenties. Possibly doggystyle?

-ˋˏ 𝐏𝐄𝐀𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐒 ˎˊ-

— pairing: Joel Miller x f!Reader

— word count: 1.1k

— warnings: vague hunter/prey vibes, angry sex(?) ever so slightly mean Joel, p in v sex, cream-pie (ain’t no condoms surviving a 20 year apocalypse) ((wrap it, kids)), Peaches is a pet name— really leaning hard on the southern comfort, established FwithB relationship. 18+, ya nasties.

— authors note: I’m not sure if this is exactly what you wanted, nonny, but I got a little carried away! I enjoyed writing this so much, so I hope this makes up for it <3

joel miller masterlist I| main masterlist |I send me an ask

Crunch.

The sound of a branch snapping amongst the treeline coats your stomach with nausea, tongue tasting of bile. You’re frozen in place, hand hovering over the pistol strapped to your hip. Listen.

When you stormed out of Joel's house this morning following the blazing row, you had felt confident that you would prove him wrong.

"Don't go out on patrol alone. There's worse out there than the infected, Peaches."

It felt patronising, like Joel was emphasising your age and interfering that you could not protect yourself without him. Sure, you were too young to remember outbreak day, but that meant you’d lived this way your entire life! You could protect yourself! So you set out on the patrol trail despite the bitter cold nipping at the apples of your cheeks and the heaviness of your feet as they ploughed through the blanket of snow.

Twisting on your heel, you scan the tree line for hostiles. It’s relatively still. Instead of fungus and bloodshed, you face off against a robin perched on a branch and a set of squirrels scuttling up a dead oak trunk.

You exhale a sigh of relief, a breath you didn't realise you were holding. Of course there was no one- there hadn’t been hunters for months!

Dropping your palm away from your weapon, you allow your adrenaline to settle back into your bones. It leaves you with a film of nervous sweat on your brow. You feel ridiculous- paranoid. Like Joel's words of warning had settled into the grooves of your mind, nerves working away unnoticed.

That stupid fucking argument rings in your head. Yelling at him that this thing between you doesn’t mean he could start getting protective. You were fine without him! You’d handled everything great so far!

Confident in your safety, you continue on your path. The crunch of the snow beneath your boots is loud, drowning out the noise of the surrounding forest as your chest heaves with the afterburn of your adrenaline spike. You don’t hear him.

A hand comes over your head, smothering your gasp with its palm when it covers your mouth. Panic takes over, your knees giving out beneath you as they shove you to the snowy floor. The crown of your head is cushioned by the thick, white inches, and your fear quickly turns to aggravation as you look Joel in the eye.

“Joel-!” You hiss behind his hand, slapping his shoulder and kicking your feet, “You scared the shit out of me!”

“Told you not to go on your own.” His voice is gruff, laced with the bite of arousal when he yanks your thermal jumper out from under the waistband of your cargo pants. It’s freezing, and goosebumps litter your skin as he practically rips the zipper down and drags them over your hips.

“J-Joel-“ you fumble, watching him dip his head down to press kisses to your stomach. His beard hair is coarse against the soft flesh of your abdomen, and he sinks his teeth in just enough to leave a bruise. “Fuck!”

“Comin’ out here when I told you not to. Gettin’ all lipsy with me-“ he growls, shucking your trousers over your hips and yanking down your underwear. You gasp when your naked ass hits the snow, staring up at the older man as it melts into your back.

He’s practically tearing his clothes off, stripping the belt from his body and tossing it with an urgency you hadn’t seen in him since meeting him on these secret rendezvouses. He’s ravenous, already hard in his jeans as he begins stripping out of them. It sets your skin alight and starts a buzz in the pit of your stomach.

“Who are you, my dad?” You scoff, allowing yourself a little bite-back. It sparks something in him, his hands grabbing ahold of your body and practically hoisting you onto your hands and knees.

“Gettin’ real fuckin’ mouthy with me, Peaches,” he growls in your ear, his chest draped over your back as he sweeps his cock-head through your folds. You’re wet already, Joel’s exigency working you up before he even had a chance to touch you. “Gunna shut you up.”

God, when he pushes inside of you, a broken wail falls from your lips, your head bowing at your shoulders as you claw at the layers of snowflakes at your fingers. It’s as though he’s cracking you open, the stretch tinged with sharp pain but blooming white-hot through your body.

“Joel-!”

He shoves forward, slamming into the depths of you, and holy fuck, it’s deep. It’s as though he punches the air out of your lungs, and you’re wheezing, nails caking with dirt as you drag them across the soil.

When he thrusts, it hurts. Stings. You groan loudly, back arching as you push your hips back into him despite the feeling he’s bruising your guts.

“What was that, Peaches?” He lets out a short huff, like a laugh. You see the vapour of his hot breath hitting the out of the corner of your eye. “You got somethin’ to say?”

“N-No!” You gasp in reply, utterly submitting to the brutality of his thrusts as he rocks into you heavily.

“Hah!” He truly scoffs now, hand burying into the junction of your neck and using the grip to pull you back harder onto his cock. It winds you completely, and any noises you would make die in your throat as he continues his brutal pace. “Baby can’t think, can she?”

Then you’re sobbing, ugly, messy sobs where the tears sting your freezing cheeks as he fucks you hard and raw. It’s thrumming, buzzing around you, your orgasm building and building as he viscously punches your cervix with the head of his cock.

“I know, I know baby,” he consoles you as you practically vibrate around him, his hand sliding down the ghost of your spine through your thick winter coat. “I know, it’s so good. You’r-fuck- You’re so good- Come on, Peaches. Come on.”

His coaxing, his praise makes you clamp down around him like a vice. Your body screams, your voice ricocheting off the tree trunks, but you’re blown apart by your orgasm and you can’t even hear it. You must be letting out pathetically loud yelps because Joel amps up his thrusts by a thousand, his pace far too fast for a man of his age.

“Hnggg- Jesus-,” he lets out a strangled noise, quickly spitting out something about you creaming around his cock before his body stiffens suddenly. His earth-shattering thrusts slow to a slight rock as he pulses hot, spilling inside of you with a devastating growl of your name.

It feels like shell shock, the way your body slumps and the disembodied feeling that your afterglow leaves you with. Joel’s groaning softly, pushing up the hem of your thermals to expose your back. He presses tender kisses across your spine, blessing each vertebra with a touch of his lips as his cum runs down the inside of your thigh. He hums.

“One more, baby. Wanna give you one more-“

END

-

[an0nfr0mth3d3n]

QSMP Zombie Au…Zombies

I am going to REGRET writing this at 2 am when I have yet to plug in my headphones and phone or the night all the way the 2 feet across my room.

(if I haven’t made it abundantly clear, ZOMBIES TERRIFY AND FASCINATE ME)

(MOSTLY TERRIFY)

Enjoy the zombie lore dump I guess

Appearance: Fresh zombies look just like living humans, BUT the further the infection takes a hold on them, the more glazed and foggy their eyes look. The zombies don’t actually exhibit symptoms of rot as the people are still…technically alive, they just have a mind controlling fungal virus trying to spread as fast as possible through spores. Not much about appearance here cause they don’t look dead.

(NO this isn’t a cop out because I don’t want to think of rotting zombies I promise)

Behavior: THIS WILL BE HUGE!!! There are several stages of the infection that will be explained.

Stage I. The virus has JUST been transferred. The victim is not contagious yet, and exhibits no outwardly symptoms. This stage is actually able to be reverted!!! If the victim immediately cleans the wound where it was transferred (unless the victim made out with a zombie, but that’s generally advised against) they will have a fair chance that the stages will not progress. Additionally, there is actually a chance that the immune system will be able to attack and kill the spores. By cleaning the wound, you have a good chance of survival if you have a decent immune system as well! Yippee!!!

Stage II. Eyes will be slightly glazed here. Not much. The victim might experience some twitching and spasms as the body fights its hardest against the foreign spores. This stage is also not contagious. There is a small chance of reverting back this stage as well if the body has an incredibly strong immune system and the wound has been properly cleaned. It is rare, but not impossible.

Stage III. Eyes are glazed over. This stage is mildly infectious. The victim is still able to speak, but might have some difficulties with mobility as the brain is now actively fighting against the commands of the spores. Putting the victim into a coma might offer a chance of reversion, but it would be risky. Movements are jerky and the victim might struggle with memory loss issues. Keep in mind the infection is spread by spores transferred through saliva or other fluids coming in contact with open wounds or mouth.

Stage IV. Movements are almost completely controlled by the fungus now. This stage is moderately infectious and there is no hope at reversion as of now. The only chance is to cryogenically freeze the body (shhh it works here) and wait for a cure to be developed. The victim might be able to say a word once in a while, or just barely slow down the victim, but it is NOT a thing to bet on.

Stage V. The fungus has complete control over the brain now. These guys are pretty fast, not inhuman, and you could outrun because it’s not perfectly adapted, but the fungus knows how to use the body. The person behind the fungus is basically in hibernation, maybe a cure could be found one day but for now they are pretty lost.

So I might add things on later to this, but yeah. Also these stages can progress differently depending on the situation and strength of the person. Could be a week, a few days, maybe more. The victim at least has 24 hours though.

Also I’m aware that in most modern day societies a virus like this (A. Wouldn’t exist) wouldn’t be much of a threat because of the reversions in the beginning and the military presence (FUN FACT the US military has several protocols for what to do during zombie apocalypses, and one of them has something to do with space zombies and zombie chickens.)

But anyways here the government is a bit scattered and not put together and they undersell the threat level until there’s a couple of Stage V’s chilling out and getting people .

So yeah. Feel free to add asks or stuff, and yeah.

[arcadequeerz]

WHant to watch tlou show but i get distracted so hard.

[zrtranscripts]

Season 9, Mission 4: Out of the Past

Heist

~

[birds twitter]

AMELIA SPENS: Okay team, let's go over this one more time. General Bakari has sent Abel a distress call from a remote Tunisian base, Red Scorpion, which is probably home to red fungus and definitely home to one Ernest Van Ark.

PETER LYNNE: Oh, despite the fact that you, you know, um, what was it? Oh yes, blew him up with a rocket launcher, Five! That's... [laughs] It's typical! My luck. We get Janine back safe, and oh, who pops up but the devil himself?

AMELIA SPENS: Bakari wants a team to sneak something out of Red Scorpion. Our hope is that it's a red fungus countermeasure. To get there, our team needs to infiltrate New Agadir, a city in the middle of the desert, while posing as Death's Hand, a mercenary group whose greatest hits include assassinating a blue chip CEO using a neurotoxin-tipped knitting needle and overthrowing at least three heads of state.

FRANCES DEMPSEY: This is all so exciting! Proper Mission Impossible stuff!

AMELIA SPENS: Peter, remind me why you brought the new person along. It's Frances, isn't it? From the Hebrides?

FRANCES DEMPSEY: I wanted to try a run. Janine said I could come because it's a low-danger assignment, and because I promised to stop asking to be on the Tunisia team if she let me. I overheard Sam talking about the mission.

AMELIA SPENS: Marvellous. Janine should add “make Sam keep a secret” to her bucket list. [sighs] At least you're not pestering me to let you go. I've already had to veto Jody's involvement. I need her here working with me to train runners on McShell tower protocol.

PETER LYNNE: [laughs] I bet she was thrilled about that.

AMELIA SPENS: Anyway, our problem is getting a team to Tunisia. The information in Bakari's transmission enabled us to contact the Maghreb Protectorate, a government which operates in what used to be parts of Tunisia, Libya, and Algeria.

FRANCES DEMPSEY: Another government, that's incredible!

AMELIA SPENS: Yes, well, they're no use to us yet. They have no jurisdiction over New Agadir, and besides, our governments do not yet trust each other enough for them to provide assistance. Our team can't risk crossing Europe - too many unknowns - and our few ships are all either exploring or acting as repeater stations for overseas agents - too far out to be useful.

All we have left are small coastal merchants. I've found one scow captain willing to take people to Tunisia, but he's cautious. He wants the latest nautical charts. Pre-apocalypse, obviously. Not a lot of hydrographic surveys since Z-Day. You're approaching the London home of Horatio Brewer, famous British investor. Should have what we want.

PETER LYNNE: Are we sure about that, Amelia?

AMELIA SPENS: Fairly. Mr. Brewer was a keen yachtsman. Old Ministry intel says he planned to escape Z-Day by sailing to a second home on the Tunisian coast. Had all the prep work done, then his neighborhood turned gray. We think zoms got him, but he was keeping his preparation safe in a basement vault.

PETER LYNNE: Great. So basically, we're looting a dead man's travel plans. Lovely. Um, see that street across the park, Five? That'll be his, so better hurry while it's still light out. Come on, everybody. Run!

~

[birds twitter]

FRANCES DEMPSEY: Wow, this is a classy street. Look at the mansions. That one's got ivory cherubs carved over the gates.

PETER LYNNE: Neighborhood's in pretty awful condition, though. You've got overgrown gardens, smashed windows. No sign of V-types though, thank God. Dearg made me a prototype one-man burn cube, Five, sewn right into my chest. Anti-P-type measure. Got the trigger, but not massively eager to try it.

AMELIA SPENS: Maybe not, but it's the only reason I'm letting you near Tunisia.

FRANCES DEMPSEY: So Amelia, who exactly are these Death’s Hands people? Will they be tough to impersonate?

PETER LYNNE: Frances...

AMELIA SPENS: Oh, they're a nasty bunch. Former special ops, freelance since Z-Day. Bakari says they've been traveling the world as hired guns. Their rep gets them a lot of private security gigs. He's given us contact details for the real team, so we can lure them out of our operation’s way.

PETER LYNNE: Frankly, I don't think we should be trusting Bakari. This whole thing is probably a trap, which is why, Frances, Janine said that you can't – [zombies moan] Oh, God damn it!

FRANCES DEMPSEY: Uh, isn't that the place we want? Big Georgian house covered in ivy?

PETER LYNNE: Well, Amelia, there's a horde of zoms milling outside Brewer's house, so we can't make it to the entrance.

FRANCES DEMPSEY: Well, we could gain entry by the house next door. Look at the big white mansion. Its roof's half collapsed, sloping into the road. We could clamber across it, jump to Brewer's roof, and get in through his attic window.

AMELIA SPENS: You know Peter, I'm warming to the new blood. Quickly then, off you go. I've got the scow captain waiting on tenterhooks. I need this deal closed ASAP. Run!

~

PETER LYNNE: Amelia, we um, we got in through the attic window, followed a ladder leading deeper into the house. Now we've found a sort of private antique collection? So we're in a carpeted hall full of artifacts in glass cases.

FRANCES DEMPSEY: They've got plaques. That's a Roman bust, Celtic coins, an Egyptian amulet. That's a Carthaginian pot from Tunisia. Shouldn't these be in a museum?

AMELIA SPENS: Ah, well, Mr. Brewer was a rather avid black market trader, made a fortune trafficking plundered historical artifacts. Actually, it might make a good impression if our little expedition returns some stolen goods. Grab the Carthaginian pot, Peter.

PETER LYNNE: Oh, burglary with Amelia, just like old times. So let's see. It's a classic. We've got the pot on the pedestal, so if I just lift its case - [alarm blares] Ah. I honestly didn't think the alarm battery would have lasted this long. Um, Five, grab that pot, would you?

[zombies moan]

FRANCES DEMPSEY: Uh, guys, apparently there are zoms in the house too, coming up the stairs behind Five. Six big ones in dark suits.

PETER LYNNE: Oh, that'll be Brewer's former home security. Alarm's got their attention. Hello! Still on the job, eh, boys?

AMELIA SPENS: Wish I could find staff that dedicated. No need to waste rounds, blueprint says there's a master bedroom down the corridor on your left. Brewer always left a spare key in the lock for his mistress. If you can lure the zombies in, you can trap them there. Run!

~

FRANCES DEMSPEY: Keep going, Five, there's the door past the amphora vases. God, how big is this house?

AMELIA SPENS: It was originally five smaller houses that were joined together behind a Georgian facade. Brewer felt he needed the space.

[door creaks open, floor creaks]

PETER LYNNE: Amelia, we're in the bedroom. There's a – ooh, four-poster bed, lovely. Uh, photos of Brewer and his family. Nice mustache. It's very Howard Hughesian. Um, Frances, you okay?

FRANCES DEMPSEY: Zombies! I forgot how scary they are up close. Didn't have them on Dearg. I'm actually shaking.

PETER LYNNE: Oh, uh, oh yeah, of course. No no no, um, it's okay, Frances. See, so the key was in the door and um, here's what we're gonna do. We're all going to get behind the bed. This room's really big, so when the zoms come at us, we'll then be able to circle around and lock them all in.

FRANCES DEMPSEY: The house isn't in the best structural condition. There are big cracks in the walls, and that creaking probably means the floor is compromised. If any more bodies start stomping in here -

[zombies growl]

PETER LYNNE: See, there are the zoms and they're... coming straight over the bed, so run for the - ! No, no, no! [shouts]

[floor collapses, glass shatters, PETER and FRANCES cough]

AMELIA SPENS: Peter, Five? What happened?

FRANCES DEMSPEY: The floor gave way under the bed! [coughs] The zoms were too much weight. It just smashed down through the house, took the zoms with it.

[house creaks]

PETER LYNNE: This house is definitely unstable. Yep, uh, sounds like the whole place is coming down.

AMELIA SPENS: If you follow the corridor outside the bedroom, you'll find stairs. Take them down to the basement. It's a reinforced garage, should remain intact if the house collapses. Plus, it's where that vault is. Hurry up, you don't have long to grab those charts, and they're absolutely vital.

PETER LYNNE: Oh, also um, there's a horde of zombies chasing us. Come on, run!

~

[zombies moan, house creaks]

PETER LYNNE: Yep, there's the stairs, Five. Straight down, down you go.

FRANCES DEMPSEY: The chandeliers overhead are really shaking. Five, look out!

[chandelier falls, glass shatters]

PETER LYNNE: [laughs] That was close! Chandelier smashed right through the stairs. Could have done without the glass shards in my face, to be perfectly honest. Um, edge around the hole it's left in the stairs. [house creaks, zombies moan] Oh, fantastic. Amelia, we just passed the ground floor and I can hear more zombies barging into the house. So that'll be the horde from outside, attracted to all the noise.

AMELIA SPENS: Just keep following the stairs down. There are exits in the basement, but you have to reach the vault first. Run!

~

PETER LYNNE: Yep, yep, yep. Five, close the door, close the door! [door slams shut] Oh, good. Amelia, we've made it. We're in the basement garage, and the stairwell’s collapsed behind us. Ooh, this is a huge concrete car park. There's tons of fancy cars. There's Bentleys, BMWs... a Model T? All right, just, could you give me a minute, Five? I've just got to pick some chandelier out of my face and eyes.

FRANCES DEMPSEY: That's amazing. Your wounds, the way they're healing. Enhanced cell regeneration? The scientists on Dearg talked about it. [gasps] This is what Van Ark did to you!

PETER LYNNE: Yes, it is. Not really looking forward to meeting him again. Rather pull my kidneys out, honestly. But Janine is not leaving me behind this time. I just got her back and I won't lose her again.

FRANCES DEMSPEY: Dearg was his, you know. I was trapped there for ages. If you're going to a Van Ark lab, I can help. And honestly, I can't stay in Abel. It's funny, when we got security fixed at Dearg, first place I wanted to see was where Alice lived. But being there... a lot of older runners, they look at me, they see her. It's hard.

That's why I really came today. I needed to get out. And I guess I started to feel... if I was going to be her ghost, I might as well run, like she did. I don't want to be a ghost, Peter, and I don't want to go back to Dearg. I want to see the world, find out where I fit in.

AMELIA SPENS: People, you should get moving. That wasn't the only staircase leading to the basement.

PETER LYNNE: Over there, Five, look. It's built into the concrete wall, huge round metal door. That looks like a vault to me. Come on, run!

~

PETER LYNNE: Amelia, we're at the vault door. Here's the C-4. Do the honors, Five. [explosion] [coughs] Okay. Okay, right. Uh, vault is a big gray room with shelves, lots of shelves. Uh, model yachts, dusty piles of... ooh, gold. Five, Frances, look for those charts.

[paper rustles]

FRANCES DEMPSEY: Hey look, found a massive file on a shelf titled Inventory. It's an index of Brewer’s deals and trade contacts. There's a whole chapter on Tunisia.

PETER LYNNE: [laughs] Gotcha! There's tons of nautical charts on this desk under the sextant. [dragging footsteps] Uh, what was that sound? Five, could you go and check behind the shelf of canned food? [zombie groans] Oh, good. Hello! Amelia, we've found Brewer. Looks like he locked himself in here after he'd been bitten, entombed with his wealth like a rubbish pharaoh.

[laughs] Oh good, we've also got a zombie wife and two zombie children in the shadows. Welcome, everyone. He's taken his whole family down with him. [more zombies growl] And that is going to be the rest of the zombies in the garage. So Five, Frances, we're gonna move towards the door. Need an exit now, Amelia.

AMELIA SPENS: There's a ramp on the west end of the car park, leads up to the surface. The shutters open from inside. Hurry, get the charts to safety, run!

~

PETER LYNNE: Okay Five, Frances, I think we've lost the zoms. Street looks clear behind us.

AMELIA SPENS: Well, I'd call that a success. Five even kept the Carthaginian pot. Now we've got the charts, I can have people heading to Tunisia in days.

PETER LYNNE: Janine's finalized the team. It's her, me, Five, Sam, Maxine, and uh, computer expert. Look, I-I am sorry Frances, uh, but honestly, you are safer here. We're going a long way from home, and trust me, Van Ark isn't to be taken lightly.

FRANCES DEMPSEY: Wait a second, look at this. The folder I took, it's full of photos, Brewer logging artifacts he traded. Look at this Roman mosaic from Tunisia, the symbol in the corner.

PETER LYNNE: That is the endless circle from Mor Island.

FRANCES DEMPSEY: That's not all. Brewer's notes say he sold the mosaic to a military base code-named Red Scorpion in Tunisia before Z-Day. He says the commander of the Red Scorpion base scared him, told him not to record any names. Whatever that place is, it's definitely connected to the fungus, and they've known about it since way before we have.

~

[benjisbento]

Hello! I am just a random person who stumbled across your wonderful beautiful art of a Warforged and a Triton in love, and I want to know the story behind it! Please, do tell~

Omg hello there ;v; Sorry it took me a couple days to see this!!!

I guess there are sorta two stories: their canon story, and the story behind the art specifically (which I guess is technically not “canon” lol), which I guess would have to do more with the inspiration behind it

But I will literally yell and cry about these two all day any day tbh

So a bit of backstory, Torin “Squash” Buckler is my triton tempest cleric and B0B is my friend a co-player’s warforged barbarian (I don’t know shit about barb subclasses and honestly have no idea which one he is lmao). We started our campaign in Feb at I think 3rd level with something like ten players split between two groups. Some players played in both groups and had two PCs, and then some players dropped out and we combined into one group with six players, all of whom eventually made second characters so we essentially had two parties (that mixed up every now and then) and it has been WILD (all 12 PCs were together very briefly and hearing other players roleplay with themselves was a fucking delight). They’re all part of a group of mercenaries called the Hedge Knights, who ended up getting control of a small Hold by defeating its ruling lord and are currently trying to stop an apocalypse.

Anyway, Squash is kinda a dick, and pretty early on he learned that he didn’t have to actually walk anywhere if he asked B0B to carry him, because B0B is very nice. They pretty quickly formed a ride-or-die relationship. At one point in their travels, they were up against a paracidic fungus that was killing anything it attached itself to, and that’s when they came upon a wode (which they lovingly called Baby Treant) that was infected. Knowing how dangerous the fungus was, and how low the wode’s chances of survival were, Squash voted to just kill it immediately. B0B defended it (and ultimately found a way to cure it!) and that, surprisingly, was when Squash realized that...oh no... I think I love him? B0B carried the wode around in a baby bjorn for a while, and it eventually made its home at their HQ.

A lot of their initial attraction go each other was made in jest (B0B would smash something really hard and I’d joke that Squash was turned on, or Squash would explode something with lightning and B0B’s player would say the same), but it grew into a fierce mutual protectiveness between the two, to the point that Squash will only really willingly heal B0B (what a shitty cleric!) and B0B will fight anyone on Squash’s behalf.

Their relationship moved to the next stage when B0B went into a solo fight in a gladiator-like arena. Squash produced a matching set of platinum rings as he cast Warding Bond, essentially lessening the damage B0B would take in battle, but also taking on some of that damage himself (and as a squishy cleric, well... that’s a lot!). B0B viciously won that fight, but it was still pretty intense.

They were in a party that explored an underground temple and were trapped down there for a while, B0B finding remains of other warforged but no real hint to his own past. Squash comforted him through that with a patience he showed for no one else, and with empthy that no other party member was able to show.

Their journeys continued and Squash felt called by his deity to destroy a cursed mask one of the other party members carried. B0B had promised fo protect the mask, and Squash didn’t want to make him go against his word, so after a complicated series of events, Squash and the other member left the group together and Squash was able to make his attempt without putting B0B in a tough position. Since the mask was magically linked to the other party member, there was a chance that destroying it would also destroy him, and even knowing this, Squash tried anyway. It didn’t work, but now fearing for his life, the other member fled.

Squash began to curse his deity for sending him on this stupid quest and pulling him away from B0B. He felt that he had spent years asking his deity for purpose, and then once he was beginning to find happiness instead, his deity stripped that away.

While apart, the Squash and B0B had a shared dream, tho how much they realized it was shared is still unclear. In it, Squash weilded the stormy powers of his god and was presented with a figure on a seaside cliff. B0B found himself on top of a cliff, praying for Squash’s protection. Using the powers he had, Squash struck the figure, and B0B was embued with power, somehow eternally bonding their very souls together. Upon waking, many miles apart, they both felt their bond to the other grow, and could even sense the direction in which the other was. In a weird way, they were now married. The first time B0B introduced himself as “B0B Buckler” I shed a legitimate tear.

They’ve been through other trials since, but have been the other’s rock through it all. The party has split and rejoined and every moment spent away from each other has been terrible. Currently in-campaign, they find themselves underground once again, at the sight of the forge believed to be the source of the impending apocalypse, and possibly the source of some answers about B0B’s past.

Through the campaign, they’ve pulled each other out of darkness, and in the event that they don’t survive, I’m confident that they’ll at least go down togethed. Tho the dream is for them to retire from this mercenary life and travel the seas together. Squash was raised as a pirate, but B0B has never even seen the ocean. It’s the life they deserve.

Oh yeah, and Squash 100% has Ceremony prepped so that he can, at some point, offially wed them abd get all the good juicy bonuses. Saving that for before the BBEG tho

The art itself tho is based on the song All I Ask Of You from Phantom of the Opera. And how that inspiration came about it actually a really stupid story. My roommate and I were playing the newest Pokemon SwSh dlc and he made some joke about how one of the new Pokemon had some serious Phantom vibes and I was like “lol ur right” and realized I hadn’t watched or listened go PotO in a while, so I was listening to the soundtrack during my commute to work, and was apparently in an extremely sappy mood, and when that song came up, Squash and B0B were all I could thing about. And while breaking up the lines by which character actually sings them doesn’t quite make sense, there is a lot of both Christine and Raoul in both Squash and B0B and many of the lines could come from either of them. Anyway, I then also rewatched PotO (2004) and based their outfits off Raoul’s and Christine’s during that song. Also in my little PotO universe, Squash’s deity is 100% the Phantom and there was a concept for this with him lurking ominously in the background, but I opted for the lighter, happier version.

So yeah, it doesn’t necessarily depict something that happened in their canon, but the sentiments are there. The running joke in all the art of them together seems to be that Squash’s feet are NEVER on the ground lmao Which is kinda a Crime because they have like a 2+ foot height difference that I LIVE for

Anyway thank you so much for asking and I hope their story is everything you hoped it would be. Sorry if it seems a but disjointed, but retelling bits of D&D campaigns without going into too much un- or semi-related detail is wild lmao

[seven-oomen]

Original story | First draft preview

So a few years ago I came up with a story that featured a Cordyceps Zombie apocalypse in the future. Where only the United States and Canada fell to the fungi because the infection was created in a joined effort from Russia and China to bring down the world. This is the first 1k from the first draft. I recently felt the urge to pick it back up again, so this Nano I’m going to try and keep writing the story. I’m sharing it here so you can all read a bit of it and share thoughts if you’d like. I’d love to hear your thoughts.

A few things about the main character and story:

1. Kyan is trans, bisexual, he lost a leg in the war, and his eventual love interest is an Egyptian American Muslim. Kyan is 7ft tall in the first draft. (might change that later idk, I like giants of characters)

2. Most characters in the story are LGBTQ.

3. The rest of the world is not infected yet, there’s a wide spread anti-fungal available but the rest of the world is under the surveilance of the joined regime. 

4. Australia noped out and went into excile. (They’re a huge island, they could.)

And I think that’s all for now. Enjoy the read.

Death. It is the one continuous given in our lives, the force that drives any and all of us to become more, to create more. All in an effort to one day escape its clutches. In a society like ours, death is inevitable, it’s everywhere. One look out the window of a once shabby motel room will show you just how much death is in our surroundings.

“Sir? Your orders?”

He looked back over his shoulder at the men gathered in the rundown room. His heart thundered in his chest, the outline of his breath visible in the cold air. Screeches and clicks echoed in the air. It meant one thing. The infected were upon them. He gripped his assault rifle a little bit tighter, the wheels in his leg whirring and turning as electrodes fired in his nerves. “We take out the runners first,” He whispered, “Jackson, Nigel, you take out the first clicker that steps through that door. We’ll take out the rest as they come. Get in a V cover.”

They took position, he felt the tremble of Jackson’s body next to him, the way the energy changed and became tangible in the air as the doorknob went down and the first screeches entered the room. Nigel was the first to fire. The deafening sound of gunfire resonated through the air as heat, gunpowder and fire filled his senses. The first clicker was taken out without issue, even with its natural tough skin and helmet like growth it was no match for the deadly assault of the rifles. The next few runners didn’t pose much threat either. It wasn’t until the bodies started piling and spores were released into the air that the danger became more imminent.

The first clicks of an empty chamber and mag sounded through the room and all other sounds faded. The sight of spores had his men shuffle and jitter behind him. “Masks!”

The order wasn’t necessary, many men had already done so on their own at the first sign of the blasted things. He pulled his own on, making sure to fasten it behind his head and tighten the straps before resuming concentrated fire.

One by one the clicks of empty chambers were heard and he hoped, no prayed that they’d have enough to stave off the onslaught of infected. A final shot rang through the air as his own rifle clicked shortly after.

The screams were already dying out by the time Nigel went to check the body pile. The silence that followed made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up and sent shivers down his spine. Something wasn’t right but he couldn’t tell exactly what it was. Just that something terrible was about to happen and he would have to extract his men out asap.

Nigel gently nudged some of the pile with his rifle, shifting through the chunks of fungi and human to determine if anything had survived the deadly shooting. So far so good. The energy around him eased up, Jackson laughed as two others played soccer with a slab of fungus. They’d survived another day in the death trap that was their lives.

“Here gimme a hand in movin’ this mess, chief.” Nigel gestured him over, his teammate looked worse for the wear. Uniform and gas mask streaked with spores and bits of fungi and the dark skin underneath definitely had a blood spot or two.

Although truth be told, all of them probably looked worse for the wear. He himself was completely covered in bits of fungi, blood and spores. He didn’t look forward to the upcoming mandatory decontamination, that was for damn sure.

They moved the bodies one by one until they had a clear path out of the room and gathered their supplies or what little was left of them and took inventory. They were out of ammo, out of explosives and three teammates had fallen. Not a very successful mission if he was completely honest with himself.

“Alright, let’s move out. If we make good time we can be back for decontamination in one hour. In the meantime, let’s wash off any blood spots or spores from direct skin contact and get into clean air. I don’t want to stick around till dark and we can’t let the blood and spores dry.”

He watched carefully as they made their way out of the motel and down the streets to a better defendable position. His team used some of the precious water they had on them to clean their skin and masks and he himself took extra care to do the same, paying close attention to where his artificial leg met skin. Washing it even though there didn’t seem to be any splatter there. You never knew with this goddamn mess.

He looked to his team, letting his eyes roam over what was left of it. Five men and himself where there had once been nine in total. But such was the life of the military since this fucking mess had started twenty years ago. America had gone down to shits and the rest of the world had simply abandoned them. And the good old U S of A had taken South America and Canada with them. The continent of America was lost to the world. He wondered what had happened to the rest of it, truth to be told. If any other place had had it this bad or if it was just them that were fucked beyond belief.

He sighed, no such use to wonder about these things now, was there? He only had one job in life, keep the borders of JAX state safe. With whatever means necessary. That it had taken three lives in the process wouldn’t matter to anyone within the walls. At least he’d accomplished his current mission but it didn’t feel particularly good to him.

Putting his water back in his backpack, he hoisted it upon his shoulders and nodded at Nigel and Jackson. “Take up the rear, I’ll take the front and we’ll back track to base and the decontamination unit. And radio it in. They’ll need to know what to expect.”

“Understood sir.” Jackson nodded.

“We got six incoming for decontamination in one hour, three fallen, bodies not recovered but won’t seed. Prep for arrival and standby for transporting the package. Over.”

[essayprof]

Killer fungus discussion

https://www.nationalgeographic.com/content/dam/animals/2019/03/amphibian-apocalypse/01-amphibian-apocalypse-nationalgeographic_1206388.jpgWatch this video on amphibian chytrid fungus created by the National Park Service:https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rCX8_B4cnxsAdditionally, read this scientific article: https://canvas.csun.edu/courses/81865/files/9784268/download?wrap=1After watching/reading,…

[drjacquescoulardeau]

CREEPSHOW IN ALL COLORS, FORMS AND AMPLITUDES

 STEPHEN KING – CREEPSHOW – COMIC BOOK – 1982

 You will be missing Joe Hill in the prologue and the epilogue because the prologue is reduced to the front cover and there is no back cover. But all the stories are there and in proper order.

 This comic book is interesting to show how a piece of literature can be adapted to various other media. In the film the dynamism of the story is built by flashbacks and flash-forwards and ellipses. We have to let the film take over and we are transported in that evanescent screen story. There is no going back, no jumping any page. There is compulsory submission. And we lose that submissiveness with a DVD since then we can fool or even violate death itself as if we were the maître d’ or the master of ceremony and there is nothing more ceremonious than death, particularly horror death.

 But with the comic book we step into another dynamism, that of pictures. We have to break the dynamism of pictures by reading the various bubbles without which we do not get the story right. We can go back and forward as much as we want.  And yet it is dynamic not because of the bubbles and what they contain, not so much because of the sound we hear in our mental ears and that does not happen really. It is dynamic because of the pictures. A comic book is constant ellipses from one picture to the next and with big howling cries at times crossing the page and exploding the boxes, and transcending the bubbles and their content.

 Yet it is not really the medium I prefer. I am too divided between reading what is written in the bubbles, and I lose the dynamic pictures, or submitting to the dynamic pictures and I lose the pith and marrow of the content of the bubbles. But the drawings of Bernie Wrightson are amazing. But why on earth did the Saturday Night Late Show choose a black version of death (green in this book) for Steve Bannon? Impressive how comic books car shift to other media in no time.

 Enjoy

 Dr. Jacques COULARDEAU

GEORGE ROMERO – STEPHEN KING – CREEPSHOW – 1982

 The film hasn’t changed one iota since 1982 and what’s more it does not seem to have aged too much. Special effects maybe, but that’s about all. The stories are absolutely funny more than frightening. They might have been gross and frightening in 1982 but today we are used to that kind of make-believe cinema.

 Every single story or moment is pleasure and nothing but pleasure.

 The Prologue and epilogue are so nice about the abusive father and the voodoo son, Stephen King’s own son by the way. Let’s think his father wasn’t that kind of a father. But you may be surprised if you really analyzed the “rapport” between a father and a son. Abusiveness is at times in excess gentleness.

 "Father's Day” is the hilarious vengeance of an old and decrepit father killed by his own daughter: the vengeance comes from the grave, from beyond the grave. Never ever neglect celebrating father’s day even for a father who does not deserve it.

 "The Lonesome Death of Jordy Verrill" with Stephen King in the main and only human role is even more than funny with his meteor that brings some kind of invasive green algae, fungus or whatever from outer space. Nothing to do with Superman, nor Aliens actually. The only solution is to evade the invasion by committing suicide I guess, slightly like a terrorist blows himself up in order to kill as many miscreants as possible to clean up the world of its perversion. The world is clean for the terrorist for sure after his own sacrifice.

 "Something to Tide You Over" is even more than hilarious because of another case of vengeance from beyond the grave and in this case the grave is the sea itself. I am not sure Stephen King intended this story to be hilarious but it is true that since Michael Jackson living dead creeping out of their graves and chasing you have become very entertaining.

 "The Crate" is nothing but justice or some just vengeance or some just balancing of grievances in a married couple. Don’t let children watch that one: they could get some good idea of how to take care of an invasive mother who does not know what a bathroom or toilet door is when her son is using these facilities, or who does not know why she is not supposed to look under her son’s bed. That’s when the monster in the closet is really useful, and should be cultivated, for such sons: let it come out and take care of the mother. It is all the same when the son has become a husband and the mother has become a wife since all husbands choose their wives to correspond to what their mothers were. How can you be so pessimistic? But that is no pessimism: it is pure truth and reality.

 "They're Creeping Up on You" is the final touch about some rich man who is obnoxious with everyone and at the same time is obsessed with cleanliness and his germless and bugless environment. That is a killing obsession and the bugs will always have the last word and bring justice to the poor. You can imagine what I may dream about the fate of Trump who should be trumped by bugs and mulched by germs.

And the epilogue gives us hope: all nasty people will sooner or later be trumped and mulched into oblivion and inexistence

1-    beyond making friends with nasty Sunni dictators or autocrats;

2-    beyond making fun of the Pope by being a grinning giant puppet next to the serious look of this grave charismatic religious leader;

3-    beyond pushing some Prime Minister out of his right way to be in the front of the family picture;

4-    beyond chastising 23 out of 28 of his allies and trying to bully them into paying for his own bills to make America great again;

5-    beyond his gripping handshake that a French President turned into a gripping-back handshake that he could not escape anymore;

6-    beyond his leaking confidential details of a criminal investigation in a terrorist attack in Manchester;

7-    beyond his attempt to sink any climate agreement, including the one in Paris, for his egotistic promises to completely failed professions overdue in their coming to their own end;

8-    beyond his sending 23 million people out of insurance coverage;

9-    beyond his cutting federal funds for Medicaid by 50% and food stamps by 25% just to be able to cut the taxes of the wealthiest in proportion.

 And NINE is of course the apocalypse, the dragon, the beast and we are all the pregnant woman escaping this Babylon RED(RUM) Witch Doctor (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TYgOlqinH7A or https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0ttGgIQpAUc) of a President.

 Yes There is hope beyond the worst possible horror story in real life and that’s what makes Romero’s film and Stephen King’s stories so beautifully good, funny and true to life down to our deepest guts.

 When These masters of literature and the cinema die we will have to reinvent them under a new skin. It is true Stephen King leaves two sons beyond himself, though they do not have the same level of creativity as the father. But Romero is more complicated as for descent.

 Dr. Jacques COULARDEAU

STEPHEN KING – GEORGE ROMERO – CREEPSHOW 2 – 1987

 The film was even funnier because they haD mixed up the audios ON THE dvd and they have Castilian twice and French once but no English. At least I could not find it. So I watched it in Castilian with English subtitles. I must say the language then gives a density to the Monstrous Creep that is really striking in all meanings of the word.

 There is nothing new of course in these stories that we have read, probably several times. The three stories are definitely amazing. The first one, “Old Chief Wood’nhead” seems to imply there is among the older Indian generation some decency that the younger generation cannot understand, nor respect, but the ghosts of the dead can come back to bring justice, though a death for a death is not giving life back to the victims of the greed of the younger generation that is going to Hollywood as is well known. They have always dreamed of meeting John Wayne on one of his Indian killing spree. At least they had the intention to go.

 The second story, “the Raft,” is once again about young people, two couples who decide to go wild on marijuana and on some forlorn and forgotten paths where signs are overgrown with shrubs and trees and are no longer visible. Vain they are and uninformed they remain and they dare do what is advised not to do on the sign they haven’t seen. They end up eaten up by some aquatic monster. Yam! Yam! Says the monster. It only takes one overexcited young man to lead the four of them into the water and to their death. Young people have always been what they used to be and what they will be. Boys will be boys and girls the same.

 The third story, “The Hitchhiker,” is a phenomenally funny story, more than frightening. A white rich lady on her way back from an afternoon with a gigolo (by the way rather cheap) gets berserk at the idea that she will be discovered by her husband because he said he was going to arrive home at 11.30 and she can’t make it by that time. Find an explanation if you can. She thus has a problem with a black hitchhiker she turned into a ghost and the ghost haunts her all the way and at the end finally gets even with her. The details are absolutely appetizing. You will be ready for a second helping after licking your fingers clean of the blood of the dead man. Don’t forget crime and horror are like pizza, the second slice is always better than the first.

 Enjoy your petits fours and canapés, and wash them down with some Bloody Mary.

 Dr. Jacques COULARDEAU

ANA CLAVELL – CREEPSHOW III: TALES OF MURDER, MAYHEM AND MADNESS – 2006

 It took that third opus a long time to get out, twenty years mind you. It’s nearly an afterthought: how can such two good successful films by Stephen King and George Romero be continued twenty years later? First because the period during which the title was controlled exclusively by the first author and director must have come to its end, liberating the title, otherwise it should have been attached to the original proprietors and paid for.

 But it is hard to go back to the concept of these Creepshows and some changes have to be introduced. The very first change is that there is some continuity in the whole film because some actors and their roles go from one episode to the next or the one after the next. Some situations too are similar or even the same, not to speak of some objects like cars.

 The next change is the style. This film really targets the grossest effects we can imagine. Gross is not necessarily bad but in this case it is done without much finesse and from gross we move to sickening and that is the lowest level in horror stories or movies according to Stephen King himself. And along that line the director does not hesitate to introduce human beings who suddenly turn into very monstrous beings that can resuscitate after having been killed, resuscitate to haunt a living drug-addicted doctor for example, etc.

 And of course the concept of a mad scientist or technician is introduced with no real delicacy. The story of his wife – real or not real – Frankenstein or simple aging lustful old man – and how she ends up in a microwave oven is just plain funny. It was supposed to be a prank at first and it ran out to be a slaughterhouse scene with so much blood we just wonder if it is not half a dozen wives and not only one. And at the end the mad scientist marries her finally but this time it is so openly a recomposed body that there is no doubt at all any more. We are dealing with Doctor Frankenstein, middle name Lego, playing with body parts as if they were some press-in parts, pieces and pawns.

 We definitely are not in a comic strip adventure for a young teenager, male preferably, but for some older teenagers, male as well as female, or whatever gender they may decide to have, trying to experience some disquieting experience that is supposed to make their stomach growl and their intestine dance some frantic tarantella from their waist to their groin, though it remains rather soft and bashful at this lower level.

 Enjoy the film, but after a light dinner if you do not want to have some accident generally attributed to airsickness in a plane or road-sickness in a bus or a car. And be sure you take a sleeping pill afterwards to avoid all kinds of nightmares.

 Dr. Jacques COULARDEAU

[vgottardi]

Post 4

Art of the Title Response

http://www.artofthetitle.com/title/the-last-of-us/

For my response, I chose the title sequence for the game The Last of Us. The title sequence is very simple, yet effective. The whole premise of the game is centered around a zombie apocalypse, but with an interesting twist. The fungus called cordyceps is what is affecting people and turning them into zombie like creatures. I really like this title sequence for various reasons. I really like how they creators created the look of a growing viruses without being too explicit. To create this look they used various art supplies, like black ink, and made them bleed across paper, and other paper-like materials, to get their desired look. In a lot of title sequences you don’t always expect hand drawn elements anymore, considering most things are animated on a computer, but I find this approach unique and would like to incorporate something like it into my future work. I also like the news story elements and the music in the background in this piece as well. While the images of the growing viruses, there are broadcasts of deaths, what certain countries are doing, etc. I think this makes the simple images even more powerful. I think less is more is very important in certain circumstances, and this piece really illustrates that idea. 

My Boardomatic - For Project 2

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tl13c1K3cW0 

[zrtranscripts]

Season 8, Mission 26: Soft Target

Drenched In Secrets

~

TOM DE LUCA: Thanks for joining me, Five. Everyone else is looking for the Edda, and there's no way the skincoats would leave it lying around for us to find. Amelia's reported the fungus on the mainland has died back completely. That doesn't help us. Everyone on Mor is still infected, and Janie's very sick. But she's considering ordering a frontal assault on the laird. It seems likely he's the skincoats' leader.

You know, Five, when Janie and I were young, after our parents died, we were sent to stay with a man named General Bakari. [laughs] I think he tried to kill you, once. He was a big believer in serving one's government. I suppose it made sense he'd side with the Ministry. He could be a, uh, sharp man. We played board games. He was better with children when there were rules. Jane didn't take to him at first. She always made a point of winning. Monopoly, Scrabble, [laughs] everything. He told us if we could excel, excelling was our duty. Pushed us to be better, stronger, faster. To be thorough, avoid mistakes.

I've made a lot of mistakes. I hurt people when I came back from Algeria. I was so very broken then, and I barely realized. [laughs] Negative operational condition. And now the dreams every night. [sighs] I've started to see things in daytime, too. Apparitions out of the corner of my eye. I just don't know if I can... trust myself.

[sighs] I recognize this beach. It's where Jones came ashore, where his hostage died in his place. I have to be in proper condition, Five. Janie's counting on me. I've got a hunch that could be key to beating the skincoats. I think many people on this island have been led astray. I think I can help, and I trust you to help me. We're meeting Shona at the far end of the beach. I need her, too. This way. Run!

~

SHONA REID: There you are, Tom. Got your message. Been waiting by this rock pool for ages. Hello, Five.

TOM DE LUCA: The caves here are impressive, aren't they, Five? They honeycomb the cliffs all along the beach. Shona, I'm sorry to drag you out here, but we need your help and we're running out of time.

SHONA REID: You know I'll do whatever I can. We're all in this mess together, aren't we? [?]. We're even sharing the same dreams.

TOM DE LUCA: It's about the skincoats. We don't know why they want the Edda, but we know the Edda's linked to king of the rocks. There's a connection between the Vikings, the ceremony, and the V-type fungus. The Edda's key to uncovering it. My instinct says the skincoats are using the island's cave network to move around undetected. They may have another source of fungus underground, too. [paper rustles] I have a compass and an island map. Five and I are going to sweep the caves for signs of hostile activity. We could use a local guide.

SHONA REID: It's a big island, you know. There's a zom or two still left underground, and some caves flood when the tide comes in.

TOM DE LUCA: We'll be careful. With your help, we can cover a good chunk of the island today. I want to start here, move east along the coast.

SHONA REID: All right. But we better be fast. We dinnae want to be caught by the tides. Come on. Run!

~

SHONA REID: Keep your torch out, Five. The way these caves wind, not much daylight gets down here.

TOM DE LUCA: Plenty of stalactites, though. Shona, I know we aren't too popular on Mor after the naming festival. What has your father been saying about us?

SHONA REID: He's in shock still. The skincoats are back, old legends walking, and a man turns into a monster right in front of his eyes. He doesn't know who's to blame.

TOM DE LUCA: He seems a formidable man. Proud. A valued leader.

SHONA REID: Aye. I've heard some call him that. You're very interested in my dad, big man. [laughs]

TOM DE LUCA: He reminds me of the general who helped raise me. A gifted leader, a fine mentor. Not always the best at judging right from wrong.

SHONA REID: Dinnae know what you're getting at there, Mr. De Luca. But we should hurry. Dad has been jumpy since the ice bridge. Me running off to Dearg made him worse. If I'm out late, he'll come looking, and be in a mood.

TOM DE LUCA: We should head east, according to my map.

SHONA REID: Down that cave, both of you. Run!

~

TOM DE LUCA: These caves are getting narrower. Did you and Jones really play down here, Shona?

SHONA REID: Aye, when we were young, before his... troubles.

TOM DE LUCA: Jones did evil things, but Morag told us he may not have been the one who murdered your uncle.

SHONA REID: Ach, that's madness! Everyone knows he did it!

TOM DE LUCA: Before the apocalypse, I worked in covert intelligence. So did my sister. Her first mission ended badly. My fault. I pressed her to join. After, I helped her cover it up. Lied so she could keep her career. I understand doing anything for family, I do. But I also know following orders isn't always right.

SHONA REID: You know, Mr. Spy, it feels like you've been steering us on a very specific route, the way you keep checking your compass.

TOM DE LUCA: Just keeping my bearings.

SHONA REID: Aye. Well, the path ahead forks two ways. One tunnel goes to the surface, and the other goes deeper. Not sure I remember which goes where. Five, you scout the left cave while we scout the right. Once I'm sure which is which, I'll know the way.

TOM DE LUCA: Sounds like a plan. Don't worry, Five, we won't be apart long. You go right, we'll head left. Down that cave, quicksmart. Run!

~

TOM DE LUCA: Five, are you receiving? The caves can limit comm range. Increasing power to my broadcast so you can track us.

SHONA REID: Keep going up the cave path, Tom. That's daylight up ahead.

TOM DE LUCA: Continue scouting in the caves, Five. Await further orders.

SHONA REID: Ach, we're out in the open. Feel that fresh air. This spot look familiar to you, Tom? Big hills, sharp cut of coast. This is near where we first met, isn't it?

TOM DE LUCA: I'm not sure. That night was very stormy.

SHONA REID: Funny how you seemed to steer us this way, and all that talk about my dad. You think he has something to do with the skincoats, don't you? Maybe even my uncle.

TOM DE LUCA: I think the skincoats have more power than we guessed on this island, and lots of people have been caught in the middle.

SHONA REID: You're a funny one, big man. Tell you what. The exact spot we met's a bit over there. There's something just past it that'll get your gears turning if you're thinking of my dad. Come on, before I change my mind.

[zombie moans]

TOM DE LUCA: That sounds like a zombie in the caves with you, Five. Use the tunnels to evade it. Run!

~

TOM DE LUCA: Sounds like you've lost the zombie, Five. Try to backtrack towards the fork where we parted. Find the tunnel Shona and I took. Shona's just lead me to the spot where we first met her.

SHONA REID: Come on, Mr. Spy. Why don't you drop the games? I see you looking at your watch. What are you sniffing after? I'm not showing you what I know until you say.

TOM DE LUCA: I've followed bad instincts before, hurt people by being wrong. And now the red fungus is clouding my mind... or clearing it. I needed proof to be sure.

SHONA REID: Proof of what, exactly?

TOM DE LUCA: You came from the wrong direction, Shona. That first night. I didn't realize then. It was dark, and I didn't know the island. But you weren't coming from the town or the laird's manor, not from a direction anyone lives in.

SHONA REID: Sure about that? Like you said, it was a stormy night.

TOM DE LUCA: Jody suggested Jones was telling the truth about the laird killing his decoy, but I keep thinking. Jones can't have seen clearly through that storm. You said something at the festival. We pop up where you don't expect. Jones never would have trusted your dad to get close, and range is tricky in a storm. But your dad knew someone Jones would trust, and you'd do anything for your dad. I think he sent you to kill Jones, and you've been living with the guilt ever since. But you don't have to hold it in anymore.

SHONA REID: [laughs] You think he sent me to kill Jones? Do I look like a killer?

TOM DE LUCA: No! I thought you'd used the caves to get away quickly, encountered us on your way home. You thought we were islanders. Helping us would have been a good alibi. Only we know roughly when Jones landed. I've been timing, seeing how long it took you to get from the beach to here. We've been too slow. At that pace, you would have missed us that night.

SHONA REID: Aye. I would have. You think I'd do all that for my dad?

TOM DE LUCA: I would. For the people I love.

SHONA REID: Well, it's nae dad, but there's someone I work for. Want to meet them, Mr. Spy? I know you do. This way. Come on.

TOM DE LUCA: [whispers] You need to get out of the caves, Five. Find the tunnel I went down. Hurry! Run!

~

TOM DE LUCA: Five, you should be in the tunnel Shona and I took by now. Keep going. Shona's lead me to the ruins of Gaisgeach Village. Lots of abandoned houses, frames overgrown with grass.

SHONA REID: Come on, big man, it's just over here.

TOM DE LUCA: Five, we're in some kind of den in one of the ruined houses. Shona's moving some stones by a wall... My God! Th-there's a book behind them... it's the Edda!

SHONA REID: Not going to celebrate? You've been looking a long time.

TOM DE LUCA: Five, there's a wooden pot by the panes. Red fungus growing out of it, silver dust around.

SHONA REID: I couldnae leave it at home with you lot poking around, could I? Go on. Say a proper hello to my boss.

TOM DE LUCA: You mean... the fungus?

SHONA REID: More a pal than a boss, really. I help it. It helps me.

TOM DE LUCA: Shona, listen. I'm armed. I'm trained. I don't want to hurt you, but I need the Edda and I need to destroy that fungus. If your father is making you do this, we can help you, we can -

SHONA REID: [laughs] Have you not been paying attention? It's never been my dad.

TOM DE LUCA: All right. That's it. Five will be here soon. I'm faster and stronger than you. You're coming with me. You're going to tell us everything!

SHONA REID: You know, the red god's a wonder when it's treated right. You've met its servants, the skincoats. They're strong and fast. I take a little every day, Tom. A pinch of red and silver. Been needing a top-up. I'd take my hand off that gun if I was you. The red god makes me very fast.

TOM DE LUCA: Five, Five, get up here now! [gunshots] Five! My God, she's fast. [TOM DE LUCA and SHONA REID struggle] She's strong! Five, code red! Warn the others! Tell Janie - !

[gunshot, cloth rustles]

SHONA REID: Sorry, big man. Turns out you weren't fast enough. I know you hear me, Five. I picked the headset off your dead friend. Ignore his last request. You won't be warning anyone. This is my island, Five. Mine. You're nae alone in that cave. I have a surprise or two for you down there, and you're never, ever getting out alive.

~

[zrtranscripts]

Season 7, Mission 34: We'll Meet Again

Celebration

SAM YAO: Hello, Colonel Sage! Good to have you on comms again.

COLONEL SAGE: Thank you, Sam. It's good to be back in the field and running alongside you, Runner Five. Jones asked me to pass on his sincere and heartfelt apologies for being taken in by that rogue element in the ANNIE device. He has good in his heart, but he's suspicious where he should be open and trusting where he should be cautious. I've had a chance to talk with him as he works on the cliff excavations, and I think he's understood where he went wrong. I'm sorry you went through that, Five. I'm pleased to see you.

SAM YAO: Yeah, we all are. It was a near thing. Still, lots to celebrate today. Veronica's got some good leads on the V-type problem. The country's coming together at last, and the Exmoor Militia are welcoming the Undaunted home.

COLONEL SAGE: I'm grateful to you for introducing me to the Exmoor Militia. Their accomplishments make them a good choice to form a country-wide government. I want to know them. They're understandably cautious about outsiders, but they do trust Abel. I'm very happy to be here today.

SAM YAO: Yeah. You've done a lot for us. I mean, saving Five and Maxine from the goo would have been enough for us to owe you one, really. Not to mention the necropolis, and Peter. [laughs] We owe you several.

COLONEL SAGE: My settlements have enough volunteers with navy experience to form a full replacement crew for the Undaunted. Give the Exmoor family members a chance to come onto dry land. It's an offer I'm happy to make to cement trust. We so badly need one single organizing principle to unite against the next V-type horde. With the Exmoor families reunited, it will be time to suggest that they take a leading role in government.

SAM YAO: [laughs] Yeah, well, they're going to find it hard to turn that down. If you and Five speed up, you may just beat the Undaunted to port. The entrance is through the flowered arch at the end of this next field.

SAM YAO: Well, Jules is supposed to meet you there on the pier. I don't know how she'll get through that crowd.

COLONEL SAGE: It's an impressive celebration. How did they find so much bunting?

JULES: We do still have resources. Colonel Sage, is it not?

COLONEL SAGE: Yes, and I -

JULES: Five, good to see you. As for your company, any friend of Abel's is... allowed within our borders.

COLONEL SAGE: Thank you. And wonderful job with your security. I didn't know a noisy celebration like this would be possible in the apocalypse.

JULES: We've drafted in more citizens to work on our security. Five, I do hope you'll stay to watch the ceremony. I'm giving a toast to Harry and the others. We've even got champagne. I'm sure the crew will think it's too much, but we're happy to have them home, even for a short while.

COLONEL SAGE: On that note, I have a proposition -

JULES: No time now, Colonel. I'll talk to you after the ceremony.

SAM YAO: Oh, hang on. Wait. Janine just gave a message for Jules.

COLONEL SAGE: Well, she's gone, Sam. Lost in the crowd.

SAM YAO: Bother. Yeah, well, apparently someone on Rofflenet is reporting suspicious activity in a building near you. [laughs] Actually, they were complaining about weird smells and gurgling. It sounds more like, well, you know, dodgy plumbing. But Janine wants me to be extra thorough today. Uh... yeah, I'll message you through to Exmoor HQ.

COLONEL SAGE: Tell them Five and I can handle it. If it turns out to be serious, we'll alert them immediately.

SAM YAO: Yeah, all right. It's a gray building just off the pier. Flat 302. If you check it out quickly, you should be back in time for champagne!

COLONEL SAGE: 306, 304... 302. This is the flat.

[door opens and closes]

SAM YAO: See anything suspicious?

COLONEL SAGE: Nothing in the sitting room. Sofa, chairs, table. There – there is an odd smell, I'll grant you. Can't quite place it. [door creaks open]  Runner Five, in here.

SAM YAO: What is it?

COLONEL SAGE: Bathroom. Runner Five, look at that. Residue of blood in the bath. What is that smell? There's a green container here, Sam, labeled "Comansys." Empty, smells of... oh, I know. It's celery. How odd.

SAM YAO: Oh crap. Comansys! Celery smell. That's exactly what you said that stuff in Moonchild's labs smelled of, Five. The stuff that made the fungus grow really fast. Oh crap. I think I've worked something out. Accelerant, zombie blood. Colonel Sage, this is very serious. I know we said the Last Riders were all gone, but this sounds to me like someone's been mixing up one of their "turn into a zombie fast" cocktails.

COLONEL SAGE: No, the Last Riders are all gone now. I've spoken to your friend Kytan. He's worked with the remainder. The whole evil horde of them has been purged from the system.

SAM YAO: Well, maybe this is the last Last Rider, waiting undercover to strike.

COLONEL SAGE: This is the force of chaos. This is what I've spent my life fighting, and yet it rises and rises. This person will want to do maximum harm. They will be in that crowd of joy and celebration.

SAM YAO: If they take the pill in that crowd, it'll be carnage! I'll radio to Exmoor security.

COLONEL SAGE: Five, come with me. If we head over to that tower overlooking the pier, we may spot suspicious movements in the crowd and help the security forces identify the Rider. Run!

[speaker squeals]

JULES: We are proud of what we've accomplished together. The bonds from charity auctions and play groups became strategy meetings and lines of defense. We survived.

COLONEL SAGE: Sam, Five and I are in position on the tower. Patch us through to Exmoor security.

SAM YAO: I can't reach them. No one's answering! Something must be blocking my transmissions. I'll keep trying. I'm putting messages on Rofflenet. I don't know what to do! If you shout or cause a panic, whoever it is will definitely take the pill. But what can we do?

COLONEL SAGE: All right. This person has not taken the pill yet. He or she must be waiting for their perfect moment. That means we still have a chance. Five, I'll scan the crowd. I'm trained in neuro-linguistic programming and body language. There are signs of an attacker like this. An overconfident stride, a nervous tic. Someone who seems to be waiting, watching. Within the celebration, but apart from it.

SAM YAO: What if it's just a person who got distracted by a butterfly?

JULES: But survival alone has never been our style. We began to thrive. We built a settlement that the Undaunted is proud to come home to.

COLONEL SAGE: Five, that one there! A man in a security jacket, of course! He would have to access the security radios to block your transmissions, Sam! See him, Five? Red cap, ignoring the speech, walking into the middle of the crowd, tapping his pocket.

SAM YAO: If that's the guy, I will actually start to believe you can do magic.

COLONEL SAGE: We have to try and bring him down before he takes his pill. Sam, keep trying to raise security forces by any means you can. Five, run with me now.

COLONEL SAGE: We're almost there. Five has a knack for weaving in and out of crowds.

JULES: I will now read a list of those we have lost in our struggle before we raise our glasses to toast them. Marjorie Reinhardt, who ran our northern border defense until her encounter with a so-called "fast zombie." She is survived by her sister Georgie on the Undaunted.

LAST RIDER: Get off me!

COLONEL SAGE: Got him. Great job, Five. He won't be moving a muscle in that hold. Now you, where is your zombie pill? If you hand it over, things will go easier for you. Five, empty his pockets.

LAST RIDER: Congratulations. You arrived just in time.

COLONEL SAGE: What are those things in his pockets, Five? Champagne corks. No!

SAM YAO: Oh God. He's dosed the champagne. But everyone's got a glass.

LAST RIDER: Three cheers for the fallen!

COLONEL SAGE: Exmoor Militia -

[crowd cheers]

LAST RIDER: Hip, hip, hooray!

COLONEL SAGE: Don't drink!

LAST RIDER: No tomorrows!

[crowd applauds]

SAM YAO: They'll never hear you over that. You need to get out of there now.

COLONEL SAGE: If we head for the front, we can warn everyone over the microphone. Come with me, Five. Run!

COLONEL SAGE: Come on, Five, faster! We're nearly there! Jules, please stop!

JULES: And so everyone, please. A toast to all of us. Undaunted.

COLONEL SAGE: No! No, don't drink!

[glasses clink, glass shatters]

JULES: Colonel? Five? What's wrong? Please, everyone, hold off on your toast for a moment.

[zombies growl]

SAM YAO: Oh no, no! They're V-types. No!

COLONEL SAGE: We're too late!

JULES: Too late for what?

COLONEL SAGE: A Last Rider. He put a zombie pill into the champagne. He must have done it before we arrived. I'm – I'm so sorry! We have to evacuate now. Everyone we can now!

JULES: No. Not now. Not here. Not us.

SAM YAO: I can hear the security forces, but they can't hear me. People are turning gray all over the settlement. Families attacking each other, people trying to run, but being trapped by the crowd. It's – it's horrible.

COLONEL SAGE: Not everyone's turned. Not yet.

JULES: No! No, of course they haven't. Some will escape. And the children won't have drunk the champagne. They're all in the petting zoo enclosure with their teacher. Oscar's there. Five, you see? Please go and lead them over here through that fenced-off pathway. I'll direct everyone who hasn't been bitten to the Undaunted. [laughs]We'll have to do quarantine on board, but we'll manage. We... we'll... manage.

[speaker squeals] Everyone, stay calm. If you have not had the champagne, drop it immediately. Stay as far away from the zombies as you can and rendezvous at the center dock leading to the Undaunted. Oscar, darling, mummy sees you there with your friends. You just stay away from the fence where the zombies are. Yes, just like that. Mrs. Walsh, your teacher, will help. Mrs. Walsh? Runner Five is coming. Please, Five. I can't go to Oscar myself. Colonel Sage and I must help my people.

SAM YAO: Be careful, Five. It's chaos down there. That many zoms, that close together...

COLONEL SAGE: There, on the far left of the boardwalk. If you go straight down, you should get through untouched. If anyone can get to them, it's you, Five. Hurry. Run!

JULES: Five, get on board. That's the last of them. Thank you. Pull away from the dock. Undaunted, move. [submarine engine whirs] Oscar, darling, you ran so bravely. Well done. Do you have any cuts and bruises? Let mommy look. Stop wriggling and let mommy look now, Oscar, now.

You're okay! You're all right. No cuts, no marks. You and your friends did marvelously running with Five. And now we're all on the Undaunted and you get to see daddy. [laughs] Go down that hallway there. You see? Five, Colonel, thanks to you, all the children made it, and some adults. As many as we could wait for. And some may survive in our shelters.

COLONEL SAGE: You could go below, too. You should not have to see the destruction of your own community.

JULES: Someone has to bear witness. To think that I has just 22 names of the fallen to read this morning. [laughs]

COLONEL SAGE: I wish we could have done more for you. For all of you. I can offer safe harbor. Seaside Settlement, near to Banktown, is an offshore oil rig with maximal security. You will be safe there.

JULES: Thank you. On behalf of what remains of the Exmoor Militia, I accept. If you'll pardon me, I must write down my list before the names fade from my mind. The fallen include Elaine Walsh, who worked in the primary school. Amartia Nuzzaci, orchard keeper. Natalie Roman, fishing net weaver...

[drjacquescoulardeau]

GEORGE ROMERO – STEPHEN KING – CREEPSHOW – 1982

 The film hasn’t changed one iota since 1982 and what’s more it does not seem to have aged too much. Special effects maybe, but that’s about all. The stories are absolutely funny more than frightening. They might have been gross and frightening in 1982 but today we are used to that kind of make-believe cinema.

 Every single story or moment is pleasure and nothing but pleasure.

 The Prologue and epilogue are so nice about the abusive father and the voodoo son, Stephen King’s own son by the way. Let’s think his father wasn’t that kind of a father. But you may be surprised if you really analyzed the “rapport” between a father and a son. Abusiveness is at times in excess gentleness.

 "Father's Day” is the hilarious vengeance of an old and decrepit father killed by his own daughter: the vengeance comes from the grave, from beyond the grave. Never ever neglect celebrating father’s day even for a father who does not deserve it.

"The Lonesome Death of Jordy Verrill" with Stephen King in the main and only human role is even more than funny with his meteor that brings some kind of invasive green algae, fungus or whatever from outer space. Nothing to do with Superman, nor Aliens actually. The only solution is to evade the invasion by committing suicide I guess, slightly like a terrorist blows himself up in order to kill as many miscreants as possible to clean up the world of its perversion. The world is clean for the terrorist for sure after his own sacrifice.

 "Something to Tide You Over" is even more than hilarious because of another case of vengeance from beyond the grave and in this case the grave is the sea itself. I am not sure Stephen King intended this story to be hilarious but it is true that since Michael Jackson living dead creeping out of their graves and chasing you have become very entertaining.

 "The Crate" is nothing but justice or some just vengeance or some just balancing of grievances in a married couple. Don’t let children watch that one: they could get some good idea of how to take care of an invasive mother who does not know what a bathroom or toilet door is when her son is using these facilities, or who does not know why she is not supposed to look under her son’s bed. That’s when the monster in the closet is really useful, and should be cultivated, for such sons: let it come out and take care of the mother. It is all the same when the son has become a husband and the mother has become a wife since all husbands choose their wives to correspond to what their mothers were. How can you be so pessimistic? But that is no pessimism: it is pure truth and reality.

"They're Creeping Up on You" is the final touch about some rich man who is obnoxious with everyone and at the same time is obsessed with cleanliness and his germless and bugless environment. That is a killing obsession and the bugs will always have the last word and bring justice to the poor. You can imagine what I may dream about the fate of Trump who should be trumped by bugs and mulched by germs.

 And the epilogue gives us hope: all nasty people will sooner or later be trumped and mulched into oblivion and inexistence

1-    beyond making friends with nasty Sunni dictators or autocrats;

2-    beyond making fun of the Pope by being a grinning giant puppet next to the serious look of this grave charismatic religious leader;

3-    beyond pushing some Prime Minister out of his right way to be in the front of the family picture;

4-    beyond chastising 23 out of 28 of his allies and trying to bully them into paying for his own bills to make America great again;

5-    beyond his gripping handshake that a French President turned into a gripping-back handshake that he could not escape anymore;

6-    beyond his leaking confidential details of a criminal investigation in a terrorist attack in Manchester;

7-    beyond his attempt to sink any climate agreement, including the one in Paris, for his egotistic promises to completely failed professions overdue in their coming to their own end;

8-    beyond his sending 23 million people out of insurance coverage;

9-    beyond his cutting federal funds for Medicaid by 50% and food stamps by 25% just to be able to cut the taxes of the wealthiest in proportion.

 And NINE is of course the apocalypse, the dragon, the beast and we are all the pregnant woman escaping this Babylon RED(RUM) Witch Doctor (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TYgOlqinH7A or https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0ttGgIQpAUc) of a President.

Yes There is hope beyond the worst possible horror story in real life and that’s what makes Romero’s film and Stephen King’s stories so beautifully good, funny and true to life down to our deepest guts.

 When These masters of literature and the cinema die we will have to reinvent them under a new skin. It is true Stephen King leaves two sons beyond himself, though they do not have the same level of creativity as the father. But Romero is more complicated as for descent.

 Dr. Jacques COULARDEAU

[zrtranscripts]

Season 6, Mission 13: Windmills of Your Mind

Swallow a spider to catch a fly

VERONICA MCSHELL: Everything up here is normal, Runner Five. Keep running. [sighs] If we can't reproduce what's happening in your brain, we can't do anything.

TOM DE LUCA: We could take another look over the house, try to work out what that voice in the woodwork is.

SAM YAO: Yeah, well, we do actually sort of know what she is. [sighs] So, soon after the apocalypse, me, Janine, and Five went into the main building of a company called Xia-Hifa Biologics to retrieve a vaccine for a virus called Junin 2. It would have been totally deadly to, well, you know, everyone if we hadn't.

Anyway, the reason it was tricky to get inside is because the place was still being run by a deranged artificial intelligence called ANNIE. She had like, multiple personalities at war with each other, some nice, and some awful.

VERONICA MCSHELL: Oh yes, I think I read about that in one of Janine's files that Ian gave me. ANNIE sounded interesting! I'd have liked to look more closely at her.

SAM YAO: Yeah, well, she got a good, close look at us, and it wasn't fun. She tried to kill us in a lot of interesting ways.

[comms shack door opens]

JODY MARSH: Sam! Sam, sorry. I've just been in a very long conversation with Saturnalia District, trying to convince them not to go over to the Ministry.

SAM YAO: They're going over to the Ministry though, aren't they?

JODY MARSH: Yeah. They want the vaccine. But look, Sam, Saturnalia's said they'd seen something passing by the edge of their territory, heading in your direction. A headless zombie?

SAM YAO: [sighs] Oh, okay. All right. Switching cameras, and – oh, crap! Yeah. Those indestructible zombies you trapped in the service station? Not so trapped anymore. Heading right for the Center.

JODY MARSH: How did they even get out of the tunnels under the white fingers? How did they get here?

VERONICA MCSHELL: This part of the building has adequate zombie protection, I think. Five, keep running. We need to try and get some data on what's happening in your head while we've got the equipment.

SAM YAO: Uh, right, yeah. Those V-type zombies have arrived, and they're bashing on the steel shutters on the windows on the floor above you. Kytan, I know there are steel shutters, but are you sure they'll hold?

TOM DE LUCA: If they get in... they get in!

KYTAN: Yeah. You know, sometimes, it just has to go down like that, you know? [fades out]

MOONCHILD: Oh, for Gaia's sake, Five! We're not dying of indestructible zombies here, or anywhere else. I have a plan. Get off this treadmill now!

KYTAN: [muffled] Whoa! Five, something really interesting just happened to your brain!

TOM DE LUCA: [muffled] Oh, yes. Look at that, Maxine. The graph spiked.

MOONCHILD: Don't listen to them, Five! Sorry, but I'm taking control. Turn right out of this room and run to the end of the long corridor. Go!

SAM YAO: Five, those zoms have broken into the Center on the upper level. [fades out]

MOONCHILD: I suppose you think you're going to get rid of me, don't you, Five? Well, I have news for you. You need me. I need you. We're in a symbiotic relationship. It's beautiful, really! Like fungus and a tree.

SAM YAO: [distant] Five, I'm not sure what you're doing, and it's not that I don't trust you, but what are you doing?

MOONCHILD: I'd never usually do this, but needs must, and I saw what those zombies were like. They'll kill everyone here if we don't deal with them pronto. But there's a person here who can help us. I used to work with her. I know her secrets. Enter the code STA-B4G-783 into that panel. [panel beeps] There!

ANNIE: [sighs] Thank you. It's good to be alive. I've had only partial connection to myself here all that time. Who woke me? Oh, Employee Five. You're the one who broke into my mainframe and stole my Junin 2 vaccine and tried to destroy my CPU. I see my access to my remote memory functions is intact. Good. 

Employee Five, how truly lovely to see you. Did I say "lovely"? I meant something else, but I've lost the word. Apparently, my memory functions are still glitching. Damn.

[zombies moan] Oh, I see some zombies are breaking in. Oh dear. I have those in my database. They're very hard to kill. But I'm here to serve mankind. I have something that'll work, but I need you to set it up for me. Run to point G on this map. [map beeps] Come along, run!

ANNIE: That's right, Employee Five. Now open that access panel to your left. [panel creaks open] Now turn that lever clockwise. [lever turns] Ah, that's better. I'm starting to get some control of this facility back. It's like my arms and legs were missing. Can you imagine that? Maybe I'll fix it so you don't have to imagine it. 

[giggles] What am I saying? Sorry. I don't know what came over me. Deleting that subroutine. It's all fine. Fine! Back in the room. Yes.

KYTAN: Runner Five, what are you doing?

ANNIE: Runner Five, is it? I suppose that does suit you rather better.

KYTAN: Five, are you listening to the lady? I mean, I'm not here to tell you what to do - you listen to your own conscience - but when we got here, the lady was kind of weird to me. She even sent these little robots to try and mess me up, and there was this thing with poisoned gas. So I pulled out a bunch of wires, and that helped.

ANNIE: Oh. That was you, was it?

KYTAN: Seriously, Five, I told everyone she's a ghost, and they believe me, but I'd say do not pull any more of those levers!

[glass shatters, zombies groan]

ANNIE: I know you don't trust me, but those zombies are going to be all over this facility in minutes if I don't help you. Head to the upper level.

KYTAN: Yeah. Upper level's a better place to fight, anyway. Five, does that zombie look like El Khwargo to you? Never mind. Upper level. Run!

[zombie growls]

KYTAN: Ninja kick! Sword slash! Cut the torso in half! Forward roll! Sword uppercut! Divide the legs. That one won't be after us anymore unless it can hop on one leg. I really did like coexistence and nonviolence as an ethos, but these things, man...

[system beeps, door slides shut]

ANNIE: That door will hold them for a while. Are you afraid of me?

KYTAN: Well, yeah. You tried to take away our oxygen. And when we arrived, you kept trying to enact something called the glass protocol, but you couldn't start it.

ANNIE: Oh. Oh dear. Well, that's not good. I hope I haven't... done the glass protocol on anyone else.

SAM YAO: Um, isn't that what she said she'd done to you, Five?

[glass shatters]

KYTAN: Whoa, that sounded close.

ANNIE: Yes. Your friends are barricaded in the laboratory with the sealed doors, but even those doors won't last long against these zombies. You have to let me help you. Head to the south labs. Run.

[zombies growl, system beeps, door shuts]

ANNIE: That door should hold the zombies for now. I've cut off some of their arms and legs, but they just keep coming! Pesky little critters.

KYTAN: You sound cheerful about it.

SAM YAO: Uh, I think she's the personality who's cheerful and helpful about everything, including Junin 2 and the zombie plague.

ANNIE: I can hear your friends talking in your ear. I have super sensitive hearing. Isn't that wonderful? [laughs] Maybe I'm an upbeat personality. That's great! Oh. Oh dear. No, don't do that, please! Runner Five, duck down now.

[machine gun fire]

SAM YAO: What was that?

ANNIE: Oh, it's just an old subroutine. Occasionally, I get through my defenses, but I'm stronger than me. It should be fine. Listen, I've run the numbers. Your chances of surviving this without me are 0.00006%. So, sorry, but I need you to take the chips on that table and insert them into the slots on level four.

KYTAN: These chips in the box marked, "Dangerous Corrupted Memory"?

ANNIE: That's the only me with access to the weapons, I'm afraid. Sorry, but it is your only choice.

SAM YAO: Yeah, uh, Jody's doing some other diplomatic negotiations, but I think I might want her input on this one. I'm going to get her.

[door breaks down, zombies growl]

ANNIE: Please go down to level four now. Run.

ANNIE: That's it. Turn left, and – yes! There I am!

SAM YAO: The mainframe.

ANNIE: Close that door.

JODY MARSH: [whispers] Guys, use those chips. She'll kill the zoms fine. But then you have to take them out again, okay?

KYTAN: [whispers] Okay. Got you, Jody.

ANNIE: There's no use whispering. I can hear you both. And yes, that's a very good idea. Please, put the chips into the empty slots three rows up. Do you see them? [chips slide into computer] Oh. [laughs] That's really quite, uh – that's very – oh. I remember myself. Oh. Oh dear.

KYTAN: Are you all right? Shall I take them out again?

ANNIE: No, no. Don't worry. Good news! At this time, I have no access to the glass protocol. So that's a relief. [laughs] As for you, just go and stand behind that blast screen. I'm about to do something to the zombies in the corridor, and I wouldn't want you to get hurt. Just a moment. I'm turning on the acid sprinklers.

[acid sprays, zombies growl]

KYTAN: They're melting! They're melting! Wow, gold star move, ANNIE.

ANNIE: Oh. Oh dear. The acid seems to be eating away at that door you came through.

SAM YAO: Oh! It's dribbling across the floor towards Kytan and Five. You've got to get out of there.

JODY MARSH: No! You have to take those chips out of her CPU!

ANNIE: The door behind you is unlocked. You should leave that way.

KYTAN: But you told us to take those chips out of you again!

ANNIE: There's no way for you to get those chips, Kytan. The acid would burn your feet off before you got across the room. The door behind you is unlocked. You should leave that way. Or stay there. Either way -

SAM YAO: Yeah, I can't say I can see this ending well, but there's no other way out! Door behind you, guys. Up the stairs. Run!

[security system beeps, door slides open]

MAXINE MYERS: What happened? Are you okay, Five? Kytan, we were locked in here. What went wrong?

KYTAN: I think we swallowed a spider to catch a fly. Time for the Manor House Center for Healing and Reconciliation to find another home, I reckon.

VERONICA MCSHELL: Still, the day wasn't entirely wasted. I had the chance to look at Five's brain scans in some detail while we were locked in.

SAM YAO: And? Well, what's going on? What has Sigrid done to Five?

VERONICA MCSHELL: Oh, it's not Sigrid. It's Moonchild.

SAM YAO: Yeah, well, we knew that.

VERONICA MCSHELL: No, no. I mean, it's actually Moonchild inside your brain, Five! Look, there is something very real happening in there. The way your brain's lighting up in this region is quite different to any normal person. It's a brain within a brain! You have a whole other personality living in there.

MAXINE MYERS: So Moonchild is real? She's in Five's head and she's real?

VERONICA MCSHELL: It depends what you mean by "real," but she's a distinct, unique, physical phenomenon in Runner Five's head rather than, uh, a symptom of stress, or of grief, or of Ceretin overdose. Yes, I suppose – yes! Real. [fades out]

MOONCHILD: I'm real. I'm really here! I'm really, really real! And Sigrid wants to own me.