#or you can tell a story about how the infection progresses

[rival-the-rose]

Last week I went to the doctor for a pre-scheduled appointment (trying to see if putting my luxated and sub luxated ribs and shoulders back every couple weeks will train them to stay in place) and as I was going thru recent symptoms my doctor pointed out that a bunch of things I thought were random and unrelated could've in fact been a viral infection.

And it's just been rattling around my brain since then. Tiny little capsules with almost nothing but simple genetic information in them got into my body and as a side effect of making more tiny capsules, they made me barf for exactly three hours, then gave me sialoadenitis, then made my left elbow swell up and hurt. Sure. Ok. How does that help you, little capsules. Why just the left elbow, or just the sublingual salivary gland. What are you guys doing in there. I'm not mad I just wanna know

[millervrse]

A SECOND CHANCE ! joel miller x reader

summary: Joel was sent by Marlene to come find you and bring you to Saint Mary’s. You are the only human aside from Ellie Williams who has been bitten and not turned: You are the only way that a cure can be created where no blood is shed. But to do that, you’ll have to warm up to the hardass that is Joel goddamn Miller.

pairing: joel miller x afab!reader

warnings, notes: EVENTUAL 18+ smut, so minors dni, occurs after the plot of the first tlou, but before joel gets ellie out of saint mary’s, some canon facts are changed for the sake of this story, ENEMIES TO LOVERS! reader has a heavily established backstory that is to be explored throughout the series, game references (tess, the fireflies, sarah, the general plot of the game, etc). implied age gap. reader’s just as tough as joel, if not worse! warnings will change and be updated as the series progresses.

word count: 2.8k+

LYN SPEAKING! alright, hey! i’m lyn, and i’ve had this idea in the back of my mind for close to a year now (yes, a year) and baby FINALLY finished the first installment of this series i plan to work on based on it. i sincerely hope this is well received! if you want to know when i update this series, please let me know, and i will kindly tag you. also, if you have any ideas as to where this story can go, my inbox is wide open! alright now, buckle up and enjoy!

PART I: IMMUNE

“If there’s no way for you to do this where Ellie lives,” Joel said, a dark gruffness to his voice as the words leave his lips. “Then it ain’t happenin’. I swear it.”

Joel Miller and Ellie Williams had been through hell and back to deliver her to the Fireflies. People had died along the way, close to the pair or not, and sacrifices had been made for the greater good. But now, as they stood at the end of the line, Joel realized that there was no greater good, and that they hadn’t been to hell.

Because this was it.

Joel stood defensively before Marlene, the woman who was the reason this was happening in the first place. The Fireflies wanted to make a cure for the virus that had taken their world by surprise twenty years ago. One that would cure the infected of their curse, to bring them back to the human beings that they once were. But to do that, Joel would have to make the biggest sacrifice of them all.

Losing Ellie.

He couldn’t bear to lose a second daughter, not when he had already given his all to have her. To keep her. Not when he had already lost Sarah in his arms all those years ago. No, no, no. Sarah had been unfairly shot, unfairly killed, and Joel was powerless to help her.

That wouldn’t be the case with Ellie.

He stood in front of an unconscious Ellie now, laid out over a bed in the hospital he had delivered her to. He had managed his way in here by narrowly avoiding Firefly personnel. But just as he was about to flee, Marlene and several soldiers behind her had him cornered every which way.

“Joel—“ Marlene did her best. But Joel didn’t want to hear it.

“No,” he barked, gun trained on the brunette. It didn’t matter if this ended in flames. It didn’t matter if he died. If he was doing it for Ellie, then he’d do it again and again, in this life and the next. “If there is no scenario where this little girl survives, it is not, happening.”

There’s a pause, a look of delay in Marlene’s eyes as she looks at Joel. She debated. Should she tell him? Should she reveal a secret she had been holding back since he had taken this assignment nearly a year ago?

This was no time to hang back.

“There’s one.”

That, was the moment in time when Joel Miller learned about you.

A girl, who had also been bitten, and not turned. A girl, whose history Marlene refused to delve too deeply into. A girl, who could be the cure to the cure, where nobody died. 

Where Ellie lived.

“Where do I find her?”

———————————————————————

That’s how he had gotten here.

A noise sounds from behind you as you're readying to go and hunt for food in your house in Vermont, alongside a brief patrol to make sure that no infected were lurking by. You’re quick to tense when the sound fills your ears, grabbing the crossbow that was on the counter near you, the one that you’d thankfully just loaded, and whipping around.

A man who looked much older than you stood in the doorframe. He was tall with tousled hair, a green, wrinkled shirt mirroring his gruff demeanor. Your gaze darkened at the sight. You hadn’t seen a human being in a millennia. Let alone one that you hated to admit, was handsome.

You didn’t let that deter you, however, raising your crossbow higher and aiming it at him.

"You've got five seconds to tell me what you're doing here,” your voice firmly rang out as you drew the bow. Thank God you’d always been a natural at aiming. “Or I'll put one between your eyes.”

The man put his hands up, though his face remained neutral as he stood in place, as if to show he wasn’t afraid of you. “Easy does it,” he rasped, his voice as gruff as he looked. “I’m not here to hurt’cha.”

“Then, leave,” you returned. “This doesn’t have to end in blood. And if you get any fucking closer, I promise you, it will.”

“Well, aren’t you a ray of sunshine,” the man said in jest, causing you to draw your arrow back more, a warning for him to watch his tone. A sigh escaped his lips as his shoulders tensed at the gesture, closing his eyes and opening them to meet yours. “Look. I was sent here to find you. Alright? I just need to talk.”

This wasn’t going to be easy for Joel, was it?

Your aim never wavered as you responded. Your first thought was what the fuck was he talking about, but the curse doesn’t make the cut as you answer. “Sent by who?”

A pause.

“Marlene.”

You tense.

“She said you’d know her.”

Oh, you fucking know her, alright. Who the fuck was this man and how the fuck did he know about you and Marlene? It’s impossible, you think. That was years ago. This man was lying.

Right?

“Marlene?” you scoffed, your voice shaking. “That’s bullshit. I haven’t spoken to Marlene in years, and she sure as hell wouldn’t be sending anyone to find me,” you return, the furrow already present in your eyebrows deepening, eyes drowning in suspicion. “Who are you, really?”

The man doesn’t move, instead keeping his arms raised like he’s some sort of peace offering. “The name’s Joel, Joel Miller, and I swear on my life that what I’m tellin’ you is true,” he said. When he took note of the apprehension in your expression, he lowered his voice, letting it relax into one that was meant to make you feel calm. “I’m not here to hurt you. Alright? Just let me explain.”

It didn’t help.

You wanted to shoot this man already, with every fiber of your being. Your trust issues were rattling like fireworks in your brain, telling you that he was a liar, that he was trying to get you vulnerable, catch you off guard. But against your better judgment, you nodded, hanging fire for him to go on.

"There's a, uh, little girl. Her name's Ellie. About a year ago, Marlene asked me and a friend o’mine to smuggle her out of Boston, where we were, in exchange for some guns. We agreed. But Marlene didn’t tell us why,” Joel began, sighing before going on. “Come to find out, little girl was infected, but the bite was three weeks old.”

A pause.

“She was immune.”

You tense again, like you had been over and over again since Joel had walked into your house. That word, that fucking word. That word that made your blood run cold. Made your head spin. Made horrid memories rush to the front of your brain. 

Immune.

You raised your eyebrows at Joel in disbelief of the three words that had just fled his lips. “That’s impossible,” you said. “You’re lying.”

“I’m not,” he returned a little too quickly. “I was thinkin’ the same way you are. Ready to kill her right there and then when I found out. Thought Marlene set us up, knew it was only a matter of time before she’d turn and catch us by surprise. But the little girl, Ellie, wasn’t lyin.”

You grimace. A fucking little girl. You didn’t even want to ask how old she was. 

Because if this was going where you thought it was, then your heart was going to ache a whole lot more.

“Our journey had its ups and downs. We had to reroute over and over again. Fireflies can be pretty damn hard to find these days. But we ended up finding out that most of the ones who were remaining, were in Utah, holed up in some medical center. Ready to make a cure.”

Joel was about to go on, keep explaining. But he didn’t have to.

You cut him off.

“I’ve heard this one before,” you laughed, but it wasn’t one of amusement, let alone humorous at all. It was one of disbelief, because how in the fuck had the universe spared you that day, just to bring it back to your feet? A scoff escapes your lips, and you sigh, pushing your tongue into your cheek before answering. “Saint Mary’s, isn’t it?”

Joel furrowed his eyebrows. “How’d-” he said in confusion, wondering if he had accidentally let it slip a few minutes ago in his hasty battle to keep an arrow out of his brain. “How’d you know?”

It’s your turn to be confused. If Marlene had really sent this man all this way to come find you, you figured she wouldn’t have spared him the details on the true nature of your connection, or lack thereof, to Marlene. “Are you kidding me? I’ve lived this,” you say, a bit of  malice behind your words as you raise your bow. “And if you think I’m going to go through that again, you better think fucking twice,” you warned.

Joel scoffed, undeterred by your threatened show of violence. He had seen scarier in his over twenty years in the apocalypse, and he was sure that if you wanted to shoot him, which you were more than capable of doing, you would have done it by now. "Little lady, I am not asking you too, alright? There's more to it."

Your expression doesn’t get any more welcoming, much to Joel’s annoyance. “Then you better get to talking, because I’m dying for an excuse to shoot you. Pun intended.”

Killing a bloater is easier than suppressing an eye roll at your words.

"Look, that girl and her bite, Marlene thinks that the head surgeon over at the Fireflies could fix up a cure. A cure for mankind. But she can’t undergo the surgery alone, not unless, unless—”

You finish for him.

“Not unless she dies.”

Joel nods, his feelings too grim to ask how you know that. He was sure that there’d be lots to uncover about you, that is, if you agreed to come back to Utah alongside him. “Right. And Marlene said, that if I found you, there’s a chance you could undergo the surgery with Ellie. And she’d survive.”

You take his words in, mulling them over in your head. The survivor in you was screaming to not let your feelings take hold. That no matter how desperate this man was for you to come with him, you would have to decline. But your conscious, the moral part of you that somehow persevered no matter how cruel this world had been to you, was bellowing. It wasn’t fair, what was happening to that little girl. It wasn’t fair that she would have to die to fix a world that was arguable beyond fixing.

But then again, what had happened to you was unfair too. And so was this unexpected arrival.

“You’re asking me to leave the comfort of my own home, travel across the damn country, go off with a man I don’t fucking know, all for a goddamn chance?” you asked. There was no violence behind your words this time. Just disbelief, incredulousness. “Who the fuck do you think I am?”

Joel never lowered his hands as he spoke. “Look, I know you’re uncertain, and I would be too. But this girl, Ellie, she—” he paused, doing his best to maintain his composure. “I just can’t lose her, okay? I can’t.”

Now your face relaxes, if only a little bit. You can see the raw and vulnerable look in Joel’s eyes, the gloss to his brown eyes that shines in the dim light of your house. 

“You’ve grown attached to this girl, haven’t you?”

Joel Miller was a tough man. Feelings weren’t in the cards for him. Not since Tess, not since Sarah. And for the love of God, if he could turn them off and never feel again, it’s likely that he would. So for now, he doesn’t tell you how much Ellie really means to him, returning to the cold approach he took on the world before he met her. "Yeah. Yeah, I guess I have, not that that matters,” he dismisses. “Point is, lady, if I have to drag you out of here kickin' and screamin', I will. But I ain't leavin' without’cha."

You scoffed. "You don't even know my name."

Well, for some reason, you figured he didn’t. But just then, he said it, proving you wrong in seconds.

 “Ain’t it?”

Don’tfeeldon’tfeeldon’tfeel.

You and this man were more alike than you knew.

Rolling your eyes, you speak up once again, pushing your feelings down into the gutter where they belong. “Let me tell you this, Miller. I gave up the hope a long time ago that there was anyone else out there like me, and so did Marlene. Why in the hell should I believe you?" you ask.

Joel parts his lips to speak, but words don’t come out. You were right. He had given you no reason to believe him, to trust him, and especially not, like you’d said, to leave the comfort of your own home and join him on his quest to save mankind, to save Ellie, if she was actually fucking real.

There’s a brief pause before he answers. "I don't know how else I can convince you. I can't, to be honest. But Ellie, she needs you. I can't let her die."

You paused for a second, allowing his words to sink in. God, you were apprehensive, but he, he was adamant. And the look in his eyes was tearing your survivalist ideologies to the ground.

"Saint Mary’s ain't close,” you say.

Joel’s eyes light up. It’s not a yes, but it’s hope. "I know,” he says. “I've got a car."

"A car?" you asked in shock. What more did this man have up his sleeve? You hadn't seen a working car in years. They weren’t easy to come by, and even if they were, gas was a major aspect of why nobody had cars anymore. Marlene and the Fireflies used to always have them, but because it’d been so long since you’d last seen her or a Firefly in general, you couldn't actually remember the last time you'd driven one.

"Yeah, it's a means of gettin’ around, kind of like-" Joel began. Annoyedly, you cut him off.

Did you really look that young?

"I know what a car is,” you said in annoyance. “Haven't seen one in years. You really have one?"

Joel decided to ignore your offended response, though it was hard to suppress a smirk at just how offended you’d gotten. "Yeah, I do. I told you, I'm not lyin'. Not about the car, not about Marlene, and not about Ellie. I promise.”

Promise.

You had it engraved in your brain that the word promise was a synonym for lie. It was just a kinder, less harsh way of putting it. But regardless, they were bullshit. Promises weren’t real. This wasn’t real. Joel wasn’t real.

You want to pinch your arm to make sure. Then you realize you’ve never had dreams this vivid.

You hated your face for the way it relaxed. You hated the fact that you could hear the genuineness in his tone, the converse of lies in his gruff demeanor. You hated the way your crossbow unconsciously lowered.

And you were going to hate Joel Miller for sure.

“You try anything, Miller—” you bark.

Joel’s eyes light up once again, and he can’t help the small smile that takes the corners of his lips. "You’ll put one between my eyes, I know. And I won’t, I promise.” 

“So are you comin’ or what?”

"Not so fast," you said quickly, shaking your head. "Give me some time to pack, mull it over a little more. You owe me that."

Joel wanted to protest, just a little bit. But he refrained, nodded, and crossed his arms over his chest. “Yes, ma’am.”

Your eyes remained watchful, fixed on Joel as you walked backwards to the top floor.

There, in your bedroom, you think over what just happened. Were you really going to do this? Were you really going to risk the life you had created, all for a chance? Who the fuck were you right now, and what had you done with the tough woman you had always been?

You were about to let your morals cloud your judgment, traveling far and wide to save a little girl you didn’t know, alongside a man you were sure you were going to hate. You were about to throw away all you’d become, all you’d ever wanted to be since what went down with the Fireflies all those years ago. With Marlene.

God fucking damnit.

What the fuck had you gotten yourself into?

if you made it to the end of this, i really hope you liked it! please consider leaving a reblog, as they help my work immensely <3 kisses!

[cripplecharacters]

hello!! I am making a rewrite of a. Very very bad comic. Now, my MC is a disabled trans woman (knee chronic pain sustained from a pretty mundane highschool track injury, im not one to do tragic disability storylines, seeing as I’m physically disabled and that trope sucks). This ask isn’t about her, though. I’m planning to add a sort of cameo of a main character from the original comic, Shanzay (the comic spelled it Shanzey but no ethnic group actually spells it that way, so… white ass comic writer). Her original disability is caused from. Ableist trope after ableist trope. It’s not gonna come up how she was disabled, since it’s a cameo of my MC helping her and her girlfriend with furniture around their house, basically a plot device for her to tell her about the club the MC and her friends are gonna visit, which causes the main inciting incident of the story. I would, however, like to change how her disability happened, even if it comes up, because it’s REALLY handing itself over to the ablebodied gaze (essentially, perfectly vertical eye scar and cataract caused by abusive father doing unspecified thing to her eye that only her mom is traumatized by, not her apparently). If y’all can come up with either really stupid mundane accidents to cause it or a way to draw the scar so that it’s not stupid and unrealistic lmk 😅 to clarify my physical disability is POTS, and very likely but undiagnosed reproductive disabilities, so I don’t have the experience that people with half blindness or other eye related disabilities might here

Hello!

So the perfectly vertical scar is unrealistic for a couple of reasons. Main one is that very few scars are perfectly pointed in any direction, especially not traumatic ones (surgical ones might be but I'm not familiar with any procedure that leaves a vertical scar through someone's eye). Second, for the eye specifically, it just doesn't make sense anatomically (?) since eyes tend to be set deeper in the skull so that this exact thing doesn't happen - they're sitting in two big holes surrounded by bone. The third is that if someone did actually get slashed in a face with enough force to make the second point irrelevant they'd likely either die or have something much more significant happen to them (behind eye is where the brain is stored, so...). Or at least lose the eye, since the globe just got cut in half.

With this in mind, you have a few options.

A: Leave both the monocular blindness, scar, and backstory in and just make it make more sense. For example, maybe she was hit (can fit the original cause) and had an orbital fracture (can leave a scar or just general asymmetry in the area), it got infected and she started having eye problems (endogenous endophthalmitis). I'm honestly not sure how probable cataracts would be here since it's really mostly a progressive condition, but if she was to receive some sort of trauma to the lens then a cataract could form there. Just keep in mind that other things would probably happen as well, it'd be impressive to hit only one specific eye structure (whilst doing it hard enough to cause a permanent problem).

B: Leave the cataract and scar. Hell, they can be unrelated. Maybe she developed the cataract as she grew older and also had a scar from, IDK, (there really isn't anything that results in that kind of scar so cut me some slack) a laceration from some machinery that she had when she was younger and had to get it stitched up, which left a more-or-less vertical scar. Keep in mind that if she has an eyelid scar, that will affect its functioning - for example, if it sticks out, she might not be able to fully open the eyelid.

C: Leave the cataract and give her a more common kind of scar instead. This is easy since literally any scar will be more common. Some ideas; hit the forehead on the roof of a car while getting in, had a tumor that had to be removed, born with a facial cleft, got a really bad skin infection, had meningitis, boiling water fell from a stove top, needed brain surgery, born with (anterior) encephalocele, minor injury that she kept picking on and it healed poorly, family dog bit her, broken nose from getting accidentally elbowed in the face by someone, car crash where she hit the dashboard with her head, part of skin had to be removed due to skin cancer... The choice is yours. Literally anything would be more realistic and interesting (since the vertical eye scar is just treated as a visual quirk the same way a mole is rather than a Thing caused by Something most of the time and a Thing caused exclusively by swordfighting the rest of the time).

As to drawing it, you probably could make the scar either less extensive with the same severity (e.g., only shows on the brow bone and cheek) or make it more severe with the same extensiveness (it does show up on the eyelids and general eye area, but there is visible asymmetry, skin/bone indentation, ptosis, etc.).

The thing below is something I drew really quickly right now for reference, IDK how helpful it is but just be aware that the way eyes are placed in the face is designed to specifically avoid things getting into them. So if you're bypassing that, the actual structure of the face has probably been changed.

Hope this helps!

mod Sasza

[luxcuriousao3]

Dove: A Zombie Ghost Story (Chapter Three)

Summary: He didn’t truly know if he was the only one of his kind, but he’d never met any other infected that seemed even remotely conscious. They were all just mindless husks enslaved to the brutal whims of the virus. And he had been slowly but surely turning into one of them, before he’d found her. His little dove. Word Count: 3176 Warnings: still no smut, flashback to semi-graphic noncon which can be skipped, the section is in italics with the middle and end marked by a singe asterisk (the triple asterisk denotes a POV change as usual) Notes: hope the few of you who read this enjoy it as much as I do XD AO3, Masterlist

Ghost’s little dove seemed determined to get herself killed.

He hadn’t felt so afraid since he’d been bitten, when he saw her run into the cabin without so much as peeking inside first. And then her scream—God, her scream. For once, he was glad he couldn’t sleep, because he knew it would haunt his nightmares if he did.

The infected that was trying to eat her was dispatched easily, though not before it got unacceptably close to taking a bite out of her pretty face. He immediately crouched down to check on her, thinking of nothing but making sure there were no bites hidden beneath her clothes. He didn’t consider how she would feel about him touching her—and he didn’t consider how he would feel, either.

She was so warm.

He could feel her body heat even through her long sleeves and his gloves, and it was addicting. He wanted to pull her close and press her against him, to let her warmth chase away the cold that lingered in his very bones ever since his undeath. And he almost did just that—but then she shrieked like a banshee and kicked him, clearly trying to get away. It hadn’t hurt, he couldn’t feel pain anymore, after all, but he’d let go instantly anyway, backing away and trying to apologize. All that came out was a wet gurgling noise though, so he stopped, just silently looking down at her where she still sat on the floor, staring up at him with so much fear and confusion that he would have given anything to be able to comfort her.

Johnny would know what to do, he thought, and once again, he couldn't help but wonder just who this Johnny was. It was the only name he seemed to recall, from before. And it was only after he’d found his little dove that he'd remembered it, remembered the name that went with the disjointed sense memories of bright blue eyes, a deep Scottish burr, and the scent of clean soap.

“You’re real. You’re real, and you’re not eating me, and you’re— you’re protecting me. How? Why?”

His dove’s words brought him back to the present, giving him a spark of hope. She finally understood that he wasn’t going to hurt her, that he was keeping her safe. He groaned quietly in agreement, to let her know she was right and not just imagining things, but he was unable to answer her questions. He didn’t know how he had managed to hold onto pieces of himself, after his death. All he knew was that he was one bloody stubborn bastard, always had been, and always would be. He liked to think that that had something to do with him managing to fight off the virus, at least a little bit.

As for why he was protecting her… well, he was lonely. And he was fading, succumbing more to his instincts with every passing day in isolation. He wanted human companionship so fucking badly, and he could already tell that it was helping him remain himself. He felt more present, more alive in this moment than he had since the day he’d been bitten.

“You... Do you understand me?” His dove whispered after a moment. She sounded like she knew the answer, but he groaned softly in response anyway, awkwardly jerking his head up and down in a nod. His jaw wobbled grotesquely as he did, and he reached up to steady it, not wanting to disgust her any more than he already had, not when they were finally making progress.

She sucked in a sharp breath, big brown eyes growing impossibly wider. She looked shell shocked, and Ghost didn’t know what to do to change that. He’d never gotten this far with a human, before…

“Are there more like you?” She asked haltingly, after a moment of tense, heavy silence. “That— that are— whatever you are?”

Ghost carefully shrugged his shoulders, but at the same time, he held his jaw in place, and then jerked his head to the left, to the right, and then back to the left. He didn’t truly know if he was the only one of his kind, but he’d never met any other infected that seemed even remotely conscious. They were all just mindless husks enslaved to the brutal whims of the virus. And he had been slowly but surely turning into one of them, before he’d found her. His little dove.

“Oh,” she whispered, swallowing thickly. It drew his attention to the pale, bruised column of her throat, and his clouded eyes zeroed in on her pulse point. He could hear the thrum of her heartbeat, just underneath her soft looking skin. Her blood would taste thick and sweet on his tongue, he knew, and it would be so warm, as warm as she was. He sniffed deeply, groaning softly at her scent, and he felt drool pool in his mouth and leak out, down his chin. That, along with his dove’s small flinch, snapped him out of it. He quickly wiped the drool away, feeling embarrassed.

Slowly, she got to her feet, wincing as she stood up straight. She tried to dust off the dirt on her clothes, only to look distinctly horrified when she realized that black, congealed blood from the zombie that had attacked her now stained the stiff, pale pink fabric. She gagged when she accidentally touched it, and for a second, he worried she would throw up. She couldn’t afford to lose the little food left in her stomach, not when he knew for a fact she hadn’t eaten since before he found her.

He grumbled quietly, bringing her attention back to him, and then slowly moved towards the door, so as not to startle her. He picked up the corpse as he did, bringing it outside and moving it out of sight. He returned quickly, only to find her peeking out the door, watching for him. If he could have, he would have smiled. It was clear that at least part of her didn’t want him to go.

That part didn’t stop her from retreating rapidly as he approached, still maintaining a two metre distance from him at all times. He closed the door behind him as he re-entered the small cabin, then moved past her, deeper inside. He checked the single, tiny bedroom, but it was clear, just like he’d expected. He did find a thick quilt folded neatly over the end of the bed, and he picked it up, bringing it back to his dove.

She was in the miniature kitchen area, now, all the low hanging cabinets flung open to reveal bare, dusty shelves. She was currently trying to climb onto the tiny sliver of counter space to reach the higher ones, and Ghost growled disapprovingly. She startled, whipping around to look at him in fright. He held out the blanket as a peace offering, simultaneously moving closer. After a moment of hesitation, she snatched it from his stiff fingers and then backed away from him once more as she wrapped it around her shivering form.

Ghost opened the cabinet that his dove had been reaching for, and let out another growl—pleased, this time—when he found a solitary can of what he assumed to be beans, based on the faded picture on the label. He couldn’t read the words on it, and the reminder of how thoroughly the virus had destroyed so much of him made the hollow space in his chest ache faintly.

Once again, he offered the supplies to his little dove, and this time, she accepted it a little more graciously, a little less like she expected it to be a trap. Her fingers brushed against the fabric of his gloves, and he suddenly wished that he wasn’t wearing them so he could feel her warm skin against his own.

“Thank you.”

The words were so quiet, that without the virus’s enhanced hearing, he doubted he would have caught them. But he did, and his foggy eyes crinkled slightly at the corners. She didn’t notice how happy she’d made him, though, too busy pulling back the tab of the can and scooping beans directly into her mouth. She moaned in pleasure at the taste—clearly, she was even more hungry than he’d thought, if a can of cold beans caused that reaction—and a low sound grumbled deep in Ghost’s chest as a very human emotion stirred inside him in response. He stood there in shock for a moment as he watched her suck her fingers clean, before it faded into self disgust and he jerked his gaze away, walking back to the door to stand watch, like a good dead guard dog. Because that was all he could ever offer her, his sweet little dove. That was all he should ever want. To protect her. Not to fuck her. He was a revolting, decaying monster—his outside finally matched his insides. She would never have desired a beast like him even before, and she certainly wouldn’t now. He was depraved for even thinking about it. Perhaps the virus had twisted him in more ways than he thought…

***

Lelia devoured the can of cold beans like it was the most delicious meal she’d ever tasted—and she grew up eating at michelin star restaurants regularly. But she hadn’t eaten in days, and she was starving. Andrew had always taken half her rations, claiming she didn’t need them anyway if she was going to stay thin and pretty for him. Lelia had stopped getting her period soon after, and at first, she’d been terrified that he’d finally managed to get her pregnant. But the test she’d managed to get her hands on had come back negative, and no other telltale symptoms had cropped up. She’d finally worked up the courage to ask one of the other women on the base about it, and she’d given her such a pitying look before telling her it was probably due to starvation. 

That was when Lelia had realized that how Andrew treated her was no secret, to the other people on the base. He must have realized it soon after, too, because that was when he’d started trading her body to the soldiers for bigger rations and longer shower times.

That was all she had been worth. A little extra food and a few more minutes of hot water…

*

It had been only a month since the dead started walking, but already, Lelia wondered if those who died in the initial chaos were the real lucky ones.

She’d thought her life was difficult before, as Andrew’s wife, when she’d been living on a large estate, constantly draped in the finest jewels and dresses, sleeping in the most comfortable beds, and being waited on hand and foot by a host of servants. Yes, Andrew had been cruel, the bruises on her body and the constant ache between her thighs were testament to that. And no, she hadn’t had a lick of freedom, not even allowed her own cell phone, or to leave the estate without his permission. But that was nothing compared to the utter hell her life had become.

She and Andrew now slept on a bed hard as a rock, and the food they were given to eat was limited and flavorless, if not outright disgusting. They had no household staff to do all their menial chores for them, and their lives had been stripped of all the conveniences and luxuries they’d both always enjoyed. Lelia had struggled greatly to adapt, but Andrew had taken things much harder.

He was angry all the time now, and he had nothing to do other than take his frustrations out on her by either fucking her or beating her. Nothing she did could calm him down anymore, all the tricks she’d learned to do so were now worse than useless. Even still, he held up appearances whenever they were around other survivors. Which was why she hadn’t been expecting him to do this.

They stood outside the Sergeants’ barracks. There were three of them, she believed, but she’d never interacted with any of them, as Andrew didn’t like her talking to other people, especially men. He had been trying to become friends with them, as he often complained to her about the privileges the soldiers got, and how he wanted in. He hadn’t been successful, though, with his father’s money now unable to compensate for his lack of charm.

So Lelia was quite confused as to why they were here, and why Andrew had such a grim but determined look on his face.

Nonetheless, she played the part of dutiful wife, her hand in Andrew's as she waited patiently while he knocked on the door. When it opened, showing all three sergeants inside, Andrew turned to her, cupping her face in his hands, and looked at her with… not remorse, but maybe regret. Like he didn’t feel bad about what was about to happen, but wished it hadn’t gotten to this point.

“Tonight, the good Sergeants here are your husbands,” he told her, words heavy with meaning. “Do you understand?”

Lelia did. Lelia understood very well. But she shook her head anyway, tears pooling in her eyes.

“I’ve been good,” she whispered, heartbroken. “Please, Andy, I’ve been good!”

“So be good again tonight,” her husband said, voice hard, before kissing her forehead and letting her go. He turned to the soldiers, looking unhappy but resigned. “Use condoms, and be careful around her stomach. I’ve been trying to get her pregnant.”

Lelia wanted to scream as the soldier closest to her took her arm in his big, meaty hand and dragged her inside the room. But she said nothing. She couldn’t make her mouth work, because she wasn’t inside her body. She watched as the soldiers took her all night long, one after the other—even all at the same time at one point—but she didn’t feel a thing. Not until the next morning, when she returned to herself. Her whole body was in terrible pain. She was on the cold floor, naked and covered in dried semen, as the sergeants snored next to her in their bunks. Lelia got up slowly, gathering her clothes and carefully putting them back on. Then, she left, wandering the halls with a pronounced limp and a dazed expression on her face until she ran into one of the other soldiers, an Officer. He grimaced at the sight of her, gently taking her elbow and leading her to one of the toilets. He wet a rag and gave it to her, letting her clean the semen off her face—she’d not even realized there was any on it—before bringing her back to Andrew, who was passed out in their bed, an empty flask next to him.

It would not be the last time her husband let the soldiers use her.

*

Lelia sucked in a shuddery breath as she set the empty can down on the tiny, two person table in the kitchenette, shoving the memory away viciously. She immediately grimaced and wrinkled her nose, casting a glance at her new undead… companion. He smelled awful, like rot and decay and death. The beans she’d just eaten almost came right back up, and she covered her mouth and nose, trying to hide her impolite reaction. She’d smelled him before, of course, but now that she actually had something in her stomach, it was all too apparent just how difficult being around him was going to be.

Would she stay around him? And when had he become a him and not an it, anyway?

Probably around the time you realized there was something still left in there of the person he used to be, a voice inside her head responded to her unspoken question. The thought made her sad, and she felt a wave of sympathy for her zombie. She couldn’t imagine what his existence was like, stuck in a body that was falling apart, feared by the only people who could understand him, and unable to talk to them, to tell them he meant no harm…

“What’s your name?” She asked him quietly, almost taking a step forward before she thought better of it. He still smelled, and she still needed her meal to stay down. Getting closer would only tempt fate more than she already was by remaining in the same room as him.

Her zombie looked at her slowly, and though there was no expression on his masked face—she was unsure he could even make one, with his broken jaw and missing lips—she still got the distinct impression that she’d surprised him. She immediately felt bad. He’d saved her life twice now, three times if she counted the food and blanket, and she was just now asking his name. She should’ve done so the moment she realized he was helping her.

Her zombie lifted one arm up to his neck, grasping something and then pulling it up over his head before holding it out to her. A silver chain with a set of dog tags dangled from his gloved fist, and Lelia inhaled deeply through her mouth before walking forward, holding her breath as she accepted them from him. She retreated quickly, trying to suck in air as subtly as she could while she wiped the grime from the dog tags with a corner of the tatty, checkered cloth that was laid across the kitchen table.

“Riley, Simon A.,” she read aloud. Beneath that was his rank information—Lieutenant. She looked up at her zombie, and gave him a small smile. “It’s nice to meet you, Lieutenant Riley.”

Her zombie grunted, jerking his head back and forth hard. His jaw quivered from the force of it. Confused, and a little bit afraid, Lelia backtracked.

“I–I’m sorry, do you not want to be called that?” She asked nervously. All the soldiers back on the base, or at least the ones she talked to (meaning the ones her husband lent her to) insisted they be called by their proper rank. Though whenever they used her, they demanded she call them Sir… Lelia swallowed, feeling the beans threaten to come back up for an entirely different reason. She wouldn’t call him Sir. She wouldn't.

Her zombie approached her, seemingly agitated, and Lelia flinched, taking a step back. He stopped, watching her for a moment, but didn't come any closer. He just pointed at his dog tags again, and Lelia looked back down at them, rubbing the pad of her thumb over his name and date of birth. Her eyes widened a bit when she saw the year he was born—1981, he was the same age as her mother—but she didn’t let herself get distracted. She bit her lip, hesitating for a moment, before trying again.

“You want me to call you Simon?” She half guessed, half begged. When he nodded, she let out a relieved sigh, her small smile returning. “Okay… let's try this again, then. It’s nice to meet you, Simon.”

[nightlyrequiem]

DIGEST

"Just the scattered remnants of a society frozen in its last moments."

Chapter 1. The Night Eats the World

AO3 Masterlist Next

w/c- 2,663

Humanity has fallen, rotting monsters roam about freely, and you were bit. However, when the fever passes, you're alive and whole. For now. Soon the wound begins to fester, and you need to venture outside to get antibiotics or risk succumbing to an infection anyway. Though it turns out the dead aren't the only things you have to worry about.

A/N- Chapter title is from a 2018 French zombie movie. I wrote a zombie one-shot awhile ago, this isn't connected to it. No use of the word zombie because I think it sounds dumb

Tags/Warnings: Tags Will Be Updated as Story Progresses, WLW, Dysfunctional Relationship, Gore, Apocalypse/Infection AU, No Use of The Word Zombie, Violence, Gore, Angst, Valeria is a Bad Person, Seizures, Mild-Body Horror, Horror, Thriller

The city is alive with terror. The last time it ever will be, like a star at its brightest before it dies out. From the third floor in your apartment, you listen to the gunfire and screaming. You hide in your closet and cover your ears but the sounds of your neighbors tearing each other apart travels through the thin walls. It's the sound of the end. Screams of animals that know they'll never made a sound again. It becomes impossible to distinguish the screams of the living from the dead.

Your neighbor is calling for help. Her voice is loud and eerily high pitched. The only sound in the in the world. Unnatural, like a voice in the vacuum of space. Between wet sobs she calls out. Repeating herself. Don't open the door, your nerves tell you. There's something wrong, but you open the door anyway. You want to help her. You didn't realize the dead could talk.

You jerk awake. Peeling your sweaty face away from the cold bathroom tiles. Head spinning in protest. You tremble and wheeze for breath, body aching all over like you were beaten with a sledgehammer. You breathe out shakily and recoil at the smell of vomit. Your left bicep throbs painfully as you force your way to your feet, gripping the bathroom counter and hoisting yourself up. The action makes your vision swim and you have to take a second to compose yourself. You reach out in the dark - your candle having burned out some time ago - and fumble for the hand towel. You wipe your face clean and sit back down.

It's been three weeks, you think. The passing of time doesn't mean much anymore.  You should have succumbed to the illness by now, but you didn't. Though you didn't escape unscathed. Patches of skin on your back and most notably around the bite have darkened, starting to necrotize. You've been wracked with chills and seizures, getting weaker and weaker as the days go by. You struggle to think about much, but one thought consistently floats through the nearly empty void of your brain: antibiotics.

You know that if you stay here, allow yourself to rot in your dark bathroom, you will die. And so, you force yourself out of the bathroom. Unnerved by the silence. There's a pharmacy about an hour walk away. It would be faster if you drove but when you peek outside and see how packed the streets are with abandoned cars, you know it's not possible. Your vision blurs and you stumble into the wall. You probably aren't fit to operate heavy machinery anyway.

You dig around in your cupboards for food. A lot of it has gone bad, but you find something canned, too out of it to read what it is. Only lucid enough to claw at the lid like an animal, peeling back the tin and feeling revulsion at the smell. You're so weak and hungry that you ignore it and dig your fingers in, feeling mushy moist chunks of... whatever this is. You scoop out the beige contents and shovel it into your mouth, unable to taste it.

You spend the night huddled over the toilet, shaking and puking. Maybe it's what you ate, or maybe it's the infection. Either way you're paying for it. You feel a little stronger the next day though. Able to walk around with a little more ease, albeit still very stiff in the hips. Your gait is similar to that of an infected. Halting and jerky. You empty a bag, dumping its contents onto the floor. You move around your apartment, gathering everything you think you'll need. The backpack, a kitchen knife, a water bottle - you only have two left, you need to search for more while you're out. Since there's no power, electricity, or running water, you can't get anything from the taps.

The next day you stand before the front door. Locked and barricaded. There's an ominous trail of red leading to it. Dried into the very fibres of the carpet.  You struggle to move the table you pushed against the door, partly because the loud scraping noises make you cringe and partly because you're so weak, that a simple table is proving to be too much for you. When it's out of the way you don't open the door right away. The thought of doing so giving you overwhelming anxiety.

You open the door, realizing your mistake when your neighbor 's head swivels to look at you unnaturally. Her eyes are unfocused and bloodshot, scabs spread out across her face. She's in the end stages of infection. Open sores visible on her neck and chest, patches of skin blackened with rot. You quickly slam the door shot but your neighbor throws herself forward, arm shooting out and catching in it. Her wrist makes an awful snapping sound and you let go of the door in surprise.

Your skin crawls when you touch the doorknob. You stare off, losing track of time momentarily. You snap out of it and twist, pulling open the door. Your eyes immediately gravitate to the still shape at your feet. Barely visible in the light pouring through the window behind you. What's left of her head has blonde, patchy hair. You step over her. There's nothing you can do for her now. You creep through the darkened hall, flashlight in hand. The circle of light shakes with your hand, betraying your nerves. There are a few bodies on the floor. Torn open and half eaten. The smell is pungent. Overpowering. Death lives in these halls. You are an intruder.

The door flings open and a hard body barrels into yours, knocking you to the ground. Teeth snapping at your face and upper body. Pain blossoms in your left arm. You grab her by the hair, tearing out clumps with ease.  You throw her off of you, arm burning up. You grab the nearest heavy object, a decorative brass rat statue, and slam her upside of the head with it, cracking open her skull like an egg and spilling out the pink yoke of her brain. You hit her again and again. Until there's nothing left to hit. You shove her into the hall and slam the door shut.

There's more carnage and tragedy on the stairs. It makes you sick, almost scares you back into your apartment. You stop dead in your tracks. In the landing between the stairs to the second floor and ground floor, are three people. Huddled together. Some of them twitch and tremble when you shine the light on them so you quickly shift it away. They don't move towards you, just keeping themselves pressed to the wall. They're in various stages of decay. You press close to the railing, sure that at any moment they're going to wake from whatever sleep they're in and swarm you.

You make it downstairs. The lobby isn't any better. In the darkest corners you can see the standing shapes of more infected. In that strange, hibernating trance. You hurry outside. When you exit the building, you're overcome with extreme nausea. The sun feels like it's burning you and you instinctively back up into the shade. It takes a few moments to adjust to the light, that moment of instability passing. The streets are devoid of life. Just the scattered remnants of a society frozen in its last moments.

You step out into the light and cringe at how unusually hot the sun feels. You venture out into the streets. Car doors have been flung open and left that way in people's haste to escape the chaos. There are more bodies strewn about. But the most troubling thing are the abandoned tanks left behind in the streets. You walk past storefronts with smashed in windows and shelves turned over. Having to frequently rest in the shade when the heat gets to be too much for you. You pass by one store and stop. The entire place is filled with infected, almost spilling with them. Huddled together and pressed against one another so tightly that the ones further back become hard to distinguish from each other.

You don't stick around for long. Your hour-long walk turns into two and half hours because of all the breaks. But you finally make it to the pharmacy. Exhausted, sweating, and feeling sick to your stomach. Not being able to rush into the dark building to rest feels like torture but you can't risk disturbing any potential infected inside. The glass has been shattered but like a few other buildings, the windows have been boarded up. The place is a mess. Light fixtures shattered and dangling from wires. It won't be too long before gravity wins, and they fall completely. Bottles and magazines have been tossed about. The place is in disarray and you'll have some problems finding antibiotics in the mess.

You close the door behind you and wander in. Flashing your light around the room nervously. It smells of rot - everything smells of rot - but the scent is faint. Not like how it was in the hallway or lobby of your apartment complex. There's nothing dangerous inside, which is a good thing because you're not sure you have the energy to make the journey back home by tonight. You rummage around through bottles like a squirrel looking for nuts. It's a harder task then it needs to be. The muscles in your left arm are weak and stiff. The infected bite mark throbbing painfully in time with your heartbeat.

You keep searching for as long as you can, but you're struggling to catch your breath, and it feels like the blood is pooling in your head. The door is closed but you're so weak that you don't think you could go over and close it if it were open. You slump against the wall and close your eyes. They start stinging and you begin to cry. The weight of the end pressing down on you heavy. You never thought it would feel so... lonely.

*                       *                     *

There are maggots in your arm. Growing fat on the flesh and muscle. You keep plucking them out, digging deep to get rid of them but they just keep coming. You pull and pull. Tugging out veins and tendons to get to the worms. Cold metal taps against your forehead and your eyes fly open. You're blinded by a light and jerk your head away, eyes squeezing shut.

"I thought you were dead." The light speaks. It's voice is low and feminine. Accented. "But then I thought, you looked too... whole to have been caught by boogeys." She says, sounding amused. You're still too out of it to comprehend that it's not really a big ball of light speaking to you.

The woman taps your face again.

"You don't look too good, Mija." She doesn't sound particularly sympathetic as she says it. "La Santa Muerte is watching over you. Looks like you only have a few hours before you walk with her."

You mumble incoherently.

She chuckles quietly. The sound is mean and mirthless. "Give me your bag, you won't be needing it anyway."

The light hurts.

You reach out, trying to grab it. Or push it away. Your fingers move through empty air. And like magic, the light shifts to the side, out of your face.

"Oh." She says. "Oh."

You try to swallow but your throat is too dry.

"No wonder you look so sickly. Crawled away to die in the dark. Must be an instinctual thing, boogeys like the dark you know." She hums. The woman is nothing but shadows and vague lines. Trying to make anything out just hurts your eyes. 

Outside, you can hear the rapid shuffling footsteps of the infected. That's the only sound some of them make, but others cry out. Words they may have said right before they died. They meant something once, but they don't mean much now.

"Dios that looks nasty." The woman mutters. Staring down at your festering bite mark.

"It's had some time to get nasty." You find your voice.

"Oh it speaks!" She exclaims quietly. She bends down to eye level, her facial features becoming a little more visible from the flashlight. She has the look of someone that revels in another's pain.

"How long ago did it happen, hm?" She asks.

Yesterday. you almost say. You catch yourself, feeling confused. No that's not right. You struggle for the correct time. "Weeks ago." You mumble. Your words slur and bleed together but she understands all the same.

"It doesn't take weeks, try again." She says.

"Weeks ago." You repeat. Sure of it. "I died for a couple of days but then I woke up again." You ramble. 

The shadows under her eyes darken with her furrowed brows. A warm hand grabs your chin and lifts it. That offensive light is back. burning your retinas. You try to shift away but she holds you still, fingers forcing your eyes open.

"There's nothing wrong with your eyes." She remarks, confused. One of the first symptoms of Ruberoculus is red irritated eyes from stressed blood vessels popping. It's how the infection got its name. Your eyes bled for four days before the itching and swelling went away. You stayed sick though.

You sigh and slap her hands away.

"They went away." You say.

"The red doesn't just 'go away.'" The woman says irately.

"Do my eyes look red to you?" You ask, glaring at her. She flashes you, again.

"... You were really bit weeks ago?" She asks curiously.

A yelp from outside startles you. "Yes." You grit out. "And now it's infected and I need antibiotics or I'll die anyway."

She flicks the light into your eyes yet again. Just to amuse herself this time.

"That so?" She murmurs.

"Stop that." You snap.

"How lucky for you that I have some antibiotics left." She tells you slyly. You don't like her tone. There's nothing kind about this woman.

"..."

"Being able to be bitten and not turn is very useful." She says casually. "You can take more risks."

Except you can't. Immunity to turning isn't immunity to sickness. You're still halfway dead. As far as you know you'll turn anyway. And you certainly wouldn't survive being swarmed and eaten alive.

The stranger sets down her flashlight and shrugs off her bag. Rooting around inside and pulling out a bottle. She shakes it in front of you.

"I took a few to clear up some strep I had awhile back but there should be enough to fix you." She says, popping off the lid and grabbing your wrist. She pours a couple pills into your hand. You down the pills. The action feels like slitting open your palm to make a blood pact with a demon. She smiles.

"I saved your life, you owe me now, I think."

You glare at her. "I don't owe you anything. You were going to rob me." You say.

The woman gently plucks the bottle from your hands. She doesn't stop smiling. "You don't have much choice but to stick with me." She says calmly. "You're going to need to keep taking these if you want to get better, and you won't find any here. I already looked."

You consider her words. Knowing that she's right. About needing to continuously take the antibiotics to survive. Maybe she's lying about there not being any left here but you look at the gun gripped in her hand. She'll probably force you to go with her regardless. Dejected and without any other choice, you don't respond.

"What's your name?" She asks you.

"Do names matter anymore?" You reply quietly.

"If I'm asking then it does."

Another wave of nausea hits you and you shut your eyes. You're too unwell to reply with snark or wit so you just tell her. She repeats it and then shares hers.

"Valeria." She says.

[cadaverousdecay]

asks right uhh zombies do you like zombies? wdyt is their relation to vampires??

i’ve never been super into zombies. i liked george a romero’s first two zombie films (though i prefer his film martin, surprise surprise) and i can appreciate what fears zombies are getting across. the loss of identity and the spread of untreatable disease are both terrifying concepts to me.

but zombies usually focus on the group rather than the individual and that doesn’t appeal to me as much. zombie movies are rarely about one specific case of zombiism. rather, they focus on a broader view, of swarms of people becoming zombies. (though, some movies do focus on one instance of zombiism, such as life after beth, where a guy grapples with the undeath of his girlfriend. i really liked that movie, and it used the medium of zombies to tell a super compelling story about love and grief and holding on to things lost)

i don’t like how dead zombies are on the scale of the undead. they don’t often retain any part of themself. they’re mindless, just walking corpses wearing the decaying visage of their previous life. and in most zombie media, once infected, victims beg for death before they lose themselves completely. a character turning into a zombie most often will end up with a bullet in their head. there’s no salvation, there’s no chance at “life beyond death” as, say in the form of a vampire or a ghost, where limited humanity is retained. to become a zombie is to lose all agency, all thought, all sense of self.

zombie media most often takes place in a post apocalyptic world, which also has never appealed to me. it’s always too bleak. prophetic notions and threats of an apocalypse, and even the early stages of an apocalypse interest me. but when it progresses to a state of hopelessness, when the inevitable end is the termination of life itself, when every second is a near futile struggle to stave off the end for just a little longer, i just can’t handle it. not that the media doesn’t have so much to say, i just can’t stomach it.

zombie media also very often employs mass impersonal violence, and that has never interested me. i’ve always preferred violence as an intimate act, deliberate, meaningful. zombie apocalypse survivors are expected to kill any zombie in their path, no remorse, no hesitation. watch onscreen as hundreds of animated corpses are ruthlessly destroyed en mass with bullets to their brains and don’t think about the fact that each one was once human. delight in seeing them get knocked down, in fact. these are enemies you can kill and love to kill, and not have to sweat the morality of it for one second

i appreciate the fact that most zombie movies do have moments of reckoning with the fact that these zombies were once human, and the destruction of their corpses is a bittersweetness at best. in dawn of the dead when a man is tasked with the killing of his friend who was bitten, there is the horror of the entire situation really shining through. yes it’s a mindless corpse, but it was once someone you knew. someone you loved. maybe a little part of them is still left in there. and you still must put a bullet in their head.

(this heart wrenching moment of having to kill a zombified friend/lover is portrayed so beautifully in early sunsets over monroeville by mcr, taking inspiration from the aforementioned scene in dawn of the dead)

that aspect of the zombie story is one that i enjoy. but i just don’t see it all that often. or if it’s there, it often takes a backseat. kinda how in supernatural they introduce the demon-possessed body as such a horrific and sympathetic situation, emphasizing the human soul still trapped in their conquered body, only to ignore or repress that information in order to more easily destroy demons. at a certain point in the show, little, if any weight is put on the fact that the slaying of the monster costs an innocent life.

zombie movies tend to follow that script. there’s always the knowledge in the back of the mind that what we are seeing are the remainders of actual human beings. but it only is brought up when it’s a character of importance who has become a zombie. a lot can be said about that view, reflecting the way many people only see the people they know as fully formed human beings. everyone else is an abstraction.

zombie media attempts to broach the horror of zombiism by portraying a sympathetic character who becomes a rotting shell of what they once were, but so rarely extend the sympathy to the hoard at large.

there absolutely are zombie stories that i enjoy, and probably more out there that i haven’t seen yet but would like. i haven’t yet watched warm bodies, but i do plan on it. i think that’s a zombie movie i would appreciate. romeo and juliet story where the power of love is the cure to the zombie virus. maybe a bit sappy but i do prefer it to the grim helplessness of the lack of a cure seen in a lot of zombie media

all in all i don’t dislike zombies as a medium of horror and expression. there’s a lot that zombies say (not actually lol) and they bring up a lot of issues. issues that i sometimes don’t like to face. out of all the monsters i can think of, the fate of the zombie is the most depressing.

a lot of the zombie media that im familiar with, especially the popular representations, either don’t address the depth of what the zombie implies— delegating the zombie to the role of depersonalized enemy horde that is to be killed with mass violence and not given an ounce of thought or pity— or do address the full horror of it, but in doing so, become just too bleak and hopeless for my taste.

because i’m not as interested in zombies as i am other horror creatures, i don’t know their full history and folklore. i know they were originally of haitian origin and had a vast shift in pop culture with movies such as white zombie and i walked with a zombie (haven’t seen either yet) but i don’t know much beyond that.

i do think it would be nice to learn more about them, because they have a permanent spot in the history of horror, specifically horror cinema, and i’m super interested in that, and because i do find some versions of zombies compelling and entertaining. especially the lesser known stories and the stories that subvert a lot of the popular zombie tropes that i dont care for

[isa-ghost]

Fuck it, Possessed qPhil headcanons

Hi! Welcome to the headcanons that started my fic Awake Me From My Nightmare. You might've heard of it. It's so surreal revisiting these several months later and seeing how they've developed in the story.

It starts out slow. Little quirks that pop up or intensify and sail over his head. They're harmless, or seem justified after all. Like his impulses to steal shiny or neat things activating more often. His aggression towards threats like the Purgatory workers or Feds growing to proportions usually unlike him. It flies under his radar, and under the radar of everyone closest to him. Ender King is methodical and careful with the start of it all, and it works. His influence begins to fester inside Phil more and more over time.

The process of the possession is the worst part. It stings like dragon's breath. Every nerve in his body is on fire, his wings in ten times the agony as they're already so sore. His eyes flash between their usual ocean blue and a fierce, foreign, violent purple. Blink and you'll miss it, but his pupils occasionally thin into draconic slits. The hallucinations get worse, so much worse, and so much more vivid. He loses track of time so easily, hours worth of it. The progression is convincingly sentient, it strikes when he's alone like it KNOWS he's vulnerable and there's no one around to witness the way it tortures him, temporarily immobilizing him as every inch of his body burns and aches like it's soaking in acid. His own tears start to vaguely sting and splashing his face with cold water in an attempt to ground himself is a MISTAKE. Oh god, he's in so, so much pain... And that's what makes him succumb in the end. He can't take the burning of his wings anymore.

He feels.. so.. hollow. So empty inside. Like this deep, inconceivable void has opened up inside him and is devouring every inch of his being until nothing is left. And... it feels so right. It feels so deserved...

No, this is definitely deserved. All that guilt he felt before is gone. That must mean this is him finally being punished for all his failures, right? For being so weak?

He doesn't want help, he's perfectly fine. Why are you looking at him like that? Please, as if you could do anything about this anyway. Don't make him roll his eyes. You couldn't fix this even if he let you. You think you stand a chance against him, The Angel of Death? You'd never win.

His temper is so unstable. He snaps at people he'd never snap at. He yells, he never yells unless it's in jest or at the Feds. He lashes out. He'd NEVER seriously lay a hand on any of the others. He'd never so much as genuinely threaten them. What's come over him? And why won't he answer the others when they ask?

He isolates. He deserves to be alone. Also he can't be bothered with those two needy children, can't a man breathe for a bit? This infection inside him festers more and more, the longer he's away from the things that could tug at his heartstrings or prod at his memory.

So many things have become a blur. Did he say that? Did he do that? When did that happen? What's this "abueli" sign mean? Who's this "Missa" you speak of? What do you mean we're friends? I've never met you in my life. I think I'd remember being friends with a man with a mechanical arm.

The sunlight hurts. It hurts SO much. Keep it off him, keep it away from him, don't bring him outside.

His insides feel like they're withering. He can't eat, it comes right back up. Even bending down or moving certain ways hurts. It's like he's shriveling up and decaying from the inside out. No he doesn't need help.

The longer you watch him, the more obvious it becomes that he's fighting a parasite inside. And it's agonizing to watch. There's nothing you can do, you don't even know what's wrong with him, and he won't tell you. But he can't hide the way he's losing control of himself. It feels like you're watching him die right in front of you. The immortal you've always thought of as both an unstoppable force and unmovable object. Dying.

The moments of clarity are the worst. The way awareness hits him like a brick. He's abandoned Chayanne and Lullah for who knows how long. Has someone taken them under their care in his absence? His friends have seen him in such a pathetic, terrifying, unsavable state. He's mortified. Has he hurt anyone? What destruction has he wrought? Where has he been? How long has it been since he was last in control of himself?

He can't bear looking people in they eyes anymore. Even looking them in the face is a challenge. It borderline disgusts him. It makes him viscerally uncomfortable.

He's terrified to see his reflection. He knows the changes aren't all in his head. They aren't just behavioral.

Something startles him. Suddenly he's on the roof of the nearest building, or in a tree. But... he didn't shoot his grappling squawk. He didn't even have the tool in his hand. Did he just.. teleport?

He doesn't startle again. He is no longer flight, he was never freeze. He is always fight. Even when it's unnecessary, even when it's an ally that surprised him, he swings. He almost immediately comes to his senses every time & quickly moves so he misses. But there's no mistaking that those swings are intended to be precise and lethal.

His vision starts to change, like the way the world looks when you possess an enderman in spectator mode. It's a gamble if his vision is normal or not every time he wakes up.

Eventually he stops sleeping though. And stops talking to Rose. Stops showing up at the Sanctuary. Chayanne & Lullah keep going though. They've been talking to her, desperate to find a way to bring their Papa back into control for good.

He stops eating too. Ender King He doesn't need to. He's slowly becoming a skeleton of himself. How.. ironic, given the Ender King's state last Phil saw it in person.

It's convenient that depriving Phil of sustenance and sleep makes him weak enough to keep controlling with ease. :) It keeps him too weak to resist. :)

Phil always has a shred of awareness of his situation and surroundings even when Ender King has full control. He knows the harm being carried out by his hands. He knows the vile things being said with his tongue. The guilt is so unbearable. He wants it to stop. But he's so weak. And this is his punishment for being weak. He doesn't deserve to break free of this possession until he can do it himself. But the longer he stays under, the weaker he gets...

The longer he's subdued, the more convinced he becomes that this is deserved, escape is futile, all is lost and it's hopeless. But is that him thinking that, or one of the many ways EK is keeping him complacent? Preying upon his insecurities and flaws. Stupid greedy insecure old crow.

The above doesn't mean he isn't going out of his way to make being possessed as difficult as possible though. He's inconveniencing Ender King EVERY step of the way. He didn't want this, and no amount of overthinking his way into believing he deserves this will make him forget that.

When it's finally over, he has nightmares for MONTHS. It wouldn't surprise him if they were chronic. He doesn't tell anyone but Fit, and he doesn't tell him all of them.

It takes a long while after he's been saved for him to remember water no longer hurts him. He avoids it like the plague. Every time he even hears water moving, all he can think about is the way it stings worse than falling in lava.

The social part of recovery after it's all over is the worst. The guilt and shame make him want to hide and never talk to another person again, yet he can't stand being alone. He gets too paranoid.

Other Phil headcanon sets:

Set 1

Set 2

Set 3

Set 4

Set 5

Set 6

Set 7 (Eggza Edition)

[victoria-writes]

Love Diagnosis

Pairing: Adrian Monk x Reader

Summary: Monk has a crush on his new assistant (reader) and talks to his therapist about it

Word Count: 1,544

Notes: She/Her pronouns are used for the reader. Trudy Monk, Leland Stottlemeyer, and Natalie Teeger are mentioned but don't make an appearance. Entire fic is just dialogue between Adrian and Dr. Kroger. Mentioned age gap between Monk and the reader.

Read it on AO3 here

Story:

“You don’t understand, doctor. This isn’t some cute crush. I can’t get her out of my head!”, Monk said frantically from the chair he sat in across from his therapist.

“Adrian”, Dr. Kroger began while taking off his glasses and sitting forward in his chair, “it’s perfectly normal to look forward to seeing someone you like. It seems that you and Y/N have developed a special relationship and it’s only natural for you to think of her. If anything, this is great progress. It means you’re moving on after losing Trudy”.

“No, no, no, no”, said Adrian as he waved his hands about, “I am not moving on from Trudy. She is my wife. Y/N is a parasite who has infected my brain. She’s probably an alien. That’s the only explanation. A very pretty alien, but an alien”.

Dr. Kroger smiled, “Y/N is not an alien. It’s okay to be scared. You and Trudy were together for a long time and you were both very devoted to each other”.

“I can’t be scared because I’m not moving on. How can I be scared to do something I’m not doing?”

“Adrian-“

“It’s like she’s taken me hostage in my own mind. Everywhere I look, she’s all I think about. I walked into a CVS with Natalie today to get more wipes and I saw the shampoo section. Why was my first thought ‘What kind of shampoo does Y/N use? She always smells so nice.’?” 

Dr. Kroger sets his glasses on the table next to him, “I’m going to suggest something that may sound a little crazy to you. Have you considered telling her how you feel?”

“…Dr. Kroger”, Monk scoffed, “Are you sure we’re sitting in the right seats? Because where I’m sitting it seems that you may be the one that needs help if you think that is a reasonable solution.”

“So I’m going to take that as a no.”

“Of course, I haven’t talked to her about it!”

“And why is that?”

“….well…”

“Well?”

“…” 

“You’re frightened she may not feel the same way as you do.”

“…yes”

“And if she does feel the same way, you don’t want to know because then you’d have to accept the fact that you’re in love with a woman after Trudy’s passing.”

“yes”, Monk grumbled while looking at the floor with sudden interest.

“So you think it’s better to bury your feelings deep inside and only let them out during our sessions”

“Now you’re getting it. I’m so glad we could come to an understanding”, Monk smiled and sat back in his chair, relieved. 

“Adrian, these feelings aren’t just going to disappear overnight because you don’t want to face them. You see her almost every day now.”

“This is all Natalie’s fault.”, Adrian furrowed his brows as he spoke, “I wouldn’t have had to hire another assistant if she didn’t need so many days off.”

“Natalie needed the time off to take care of her daughter as a single mother. It’s a miracle she was able to balance work and her child for as long as she did.”

“Yeah, well, she should’ve balanced for longer so I wouldn’t have to deal with this.”

“Tell me, what is it that you like about Y/N?”

“She smells nice.”

“You mentioned that already”

“She’s a good assistant. She’s very clean and doesn’t touch me without asking. I like her hairstyle too, not just the shampoo. Her nails are neat and manicured, so I don’t feel disgusted by the thought of her touching me.”

“Anything else?”

“When she does touch me…her hands are soft.”

Dr. Kroger looked at Adrian with raised eyebrows and interest written across his face.

“Y/N, she has a certain way of talking. She emphasizes certain words in her sentences and talks with her hands.” 

At this point, Adrian is staring up at the ceiling and smiling fondly as he pictures Y/N in his mind, “She gets so animated when she’s passionate. And she has so many strong opinions on things. Things I never even give a second thought to. Just the other day, she went on a very passionate rant about what kind of handle she prefers on umbrellas.”

“I would’ve thought you’d have an opinion on that sort of thing.” 

“Oh, I do now that I’ve thought about it. I much prefer the curved handles to the straights ones, even if they have grooves for the fingers to sit”, he scoffs and shakes his head, “the fingers are never as comfortable on those as they are on the curved handles and-“

“I think we’re getting off track here. Is there anything you dislike about her?”

“Oh, yes”, Adrian quickly nodded, “She’s a horrible driver and always parks crooked. She’s lucky she has me or she’d anger a lot of other drivers with her parking.”

“Uh-huh.”

“She chews on her mints and I can’t stand the sound. What psychopath chews on those? You’re supposed to let them sit in your mouth.”

“I see.”

“She stands too close to me wherever we go. Like I said she doesn’t touch me without asking but she’s always so close.”

“And that bothers you?”

“Yes, my heart starts to beat very fast and I can’t breathe sometimes. Once I thought I was having a heart attack but she told me I was just having a panic attack and made me do breathing exercises with her.”

“Did they help?”

“Yes, but only for a little bit because she kept standing close to me after that. She was worried I would faint so she stood even closer.”

“And?”

“I’ve never had clammier hands in my life.”

“Did you have these symptoms when you first started to see Trudy?”

“I…I don’t remember. It was all so long ago. Let’s not talk about that.”

“I apologize if I made you uncomfortable. Let’s move on from that.”

“Okay.”

“…”

“I had eggs for breakfast this morning but the yolk was a little too runny. That made my skin itch.”

“Let’s not talk about eggs.”

“Okay.”

“If you and Y/N were to enter a romantic relationship-“

“That would never happen.”

“Humor me for a second. If you and Y/N entered a romantic relationship, what do you think it would be like? Truly imagine it for me. What would dating Y/N look like?”

“I…I don’t know. I’m not dating her so how would I know?”

“Just try and imagine it.”

“Okay.”, Adrian sighed quietly as he closed his eyes, “Okay. I’m imagining.”

“Go on.”

“We’d have to spend a lot of time together. That’s what couples do.”

“What would that time spent together look like?”

“I suppose we would hang out at my house. Go to different places around town. Maybe to that coffee shop she likes.”

“Which shop is that?”

“The one on third avenue with the blue walls.”

Adrian’s eyes were still closed but he could hear the smile in Dr. Kroger’s voice, “You remember the kind of things she’s passionate about, little details about her, and even what coffee shop she likes.”

“I’m a detective. It’s my job to remember things about people.”

“Do you know how she takes her coffee?”

“Of course.”

“Do you know how Natalie takes her coffee?”

“No”

“Do you know how Captain Stottlemeyer takes his coffee?”

“No”

“Interesting. Have you ever thought about kissing Y/N?”

Adrian opened his eyes, “I don’t see how that’s relevant.”

“I find it very relevant. Have you thought about kissing her?”

Adrian took a long pause before answering, “Yes. Once she stood very close to me, she stands much too close to me, and I…”

“You…?”

“I was looking at her lips and I started to lean in but I pulled away.”

“Did she know you wanted to kiss her?”

“I don’t think so. When she asked why I was staring I lied and told her she had dry lips and needed to put on chapstick. It couldn’t have been further from the truth. Her lips looked very”, he pauses looking for the right word in his mind “soft.”

“Has she ever indicated any interest in you in a romantic sense?”

“I don’t think so.”

“No, you wouldn’t.”, Dr. Kroger sighs, “Adrian, there is only one solution to this dilemma and that is to speak to her about it.”

“That would be highly inappropriate. I’m her employer and several years older than her.”

“While that is true, she has the right to know about this. She spends nearly every day with you.”

“What if she quits? Then, I’d have to find another assistant and I don’t want her to go.”

“That is a risk you’ll just have to take. It is much more likely that she will either tell you she doesn’t feel the same way or that she does. She’s your assistant but she’s your friend too. I’m sure she’d understand.”

“But what if she doesn’t?”

“But what is she does?”

Monk sat in silence with no rebuttal prepared. What could he possibly say to that?

“We’re nearing the end of our time together, Adrian. Next time you see Y/N, politely tell her how you’ve been feeling about her.” 

“...”

“Adrian, tell her.”

“Yes, Dr. Kroger.”

“I’ll see you on Tuesday.”

[astroenchanter]

Alright so, my little game design major ass keeps getting dark premonitions of what might happen in the bachelor route. And instead of desperately trying to explain to my friend who does not play, I figure I might as well elaborate here. First off this one is just a neat horror mechanic I hope they bring back and flesh out. One of my favorite things in the OG bachelor route that I haven't seen done in other games before, but to me was supper effective was the way they had you trapped in horrifying dialogue implying things where happening to you and Daniil's responses also implying what was going on around him, to an unsettling degree. Like on day 2 when you're talking to that infected woman and she goes "I'd scream, but I don't want the children to hear..." and "I keep hearing children's voices... The girls are crying, and the boy is laughing... We mustn't scare them... Don't tell them and don't let them in here..." And when talking about her sisters: "Just... Don't kill us-don't kill them if they ask you for help... Their mind is clouded with pain... They can't even find each other... They're only praying... Don't come close to them... And step away from me too." And Daniil Has to Either tell her she's delusional or when referring to her sisters goes " Make them stop following me then! Why are they constantly at my heels? They are supposed to be lying down!" Or in the conversation with Peter on day 10 where you're having a conversation unsettlingly close to a fire and you're trying to talk Peter down from incinerating himself and get the Polyhedron blueprints, and Daniil can just keep going " Peter, this heat is intolerable. How can you stand it?" and getting ignored so that Peter can go off talking about the Polyhedron. I think that with more time if they decided to keep that element in the new bachelor route they could do that in an even more effective way, time stops during dialogue and wont start until you end it. They could use sound design or fuck with the dark backgrounds in dialogues to make you even more worried about what they're saying. Like imagine the mechanic build up of time stopping in dialogues, you're used to the format from the haruspex route, and then after a while the sound effects and visuals are making you think something is different and you read the dialogue and shit is progressively getting more and more fucked up and you can only respond with more horrifying descriptions. It could trap you in that same kind of suspense as watching a horror movie or reading a short story where you aren't able to directly impact things, but you still have input in the dialogue and have to participate, IMAGINE THE TENSION.

All I'm saying is if IPL don't use that idea, I'm stealing it if I ever get around to making a horror game after my current project.

[ravewing]

Could you talk about your infection au? I'm invested in it and I've been thinking about it all day

YES HULLO !! i dont want to spoil anything too much and im also working on a field guide sort of thing for the different stages of infection so im gonna try not to talk about those rite neow BUT im so glad that people r enjoying it! so id been seeing these scary mlp infection things ALLL over my tik tok feed for weeks and i was like .. yanno .. itd be really silly if i made this wof .. so i spent like 3 days mulling over what i could make the infection actually BE and i almost made it like the icewing plague but like it went scary but i didnt really know how to keep going with that so then i came up with a super smart idea which turned into this😋i dont wanna say where it started yet cuz ermm lore stuff but i will say that liek in the story the infection doesnt officially have a name yet so everyones just calling it like. the sickness at jade mountain. most of the infected originated IN jade mountain with the first symptoms being noticed in moon and turtle respectively, and then with the icewing students. i cant tell you guys how they got sick bc again . lore ..... but i think that its like kinda possible to find out. but i dunno. vulture and fierceteeth are also sick. there is ONE singular factor that unites these 4 + icewings, which miight b the reason WHY they got sick.kinkajou technically SHOULD be sick but she isnt for another reason that i cant say but if you really look into wof lore then i think u can figure it out idk. the infections transmitted via saliva/blood transmission, so mainly bites. tail barbs of infected sandwings are capable of spreading the sickness. there are 4 stages (5 if you count death) and it takes around 3 to 3.5 weeks for all stages to finish,, by ep3 the sickness has been around for ~2.5 weeks. the only KNOWN cure is amputation of wherever the infected area is,, so MUCH easier in early stages, unfortunate if its on an inconvenient spot, and impossible after hives start spreading. obvi flame had to be important bc i heart flame and i was like .. wait .. hes a healer in canon ...... so that worked out perfectly !! ik that in canon liana is like one of glorys MANY bodyguards but idc shes a healer here bc ermm i said so . also liana and mango r dating but i dont think that its relevant to the plot theyre just girlfriends in my head . as of right now kinkajou and peril are the only known immune dragons, with kinkajou for reasons currently unknown and peril bc . yknow . shes on fire . glory is in close contact with ruby and both kingdoms have taken measures to notify their kingdoms; the rainforest is under a sort of lockdown with rainwings on constant patrol/lookout for outsiders entering, they accept anyone who isnt infected to stay there for refuge while the skywing kingdom is in basically total lockdown other than ruby's messengers. ruby and glory also exchange their respective kingdoms medical knowledge, with the skywings having very good technology and rainwings having an expansive knowledge on medical herbs. nobody has heard from coral- the last thing she did was call for anemone's return back to the kingdom, and once she arrived, they all went underwater and have since then cut all outside contact. the mudwings are aware of the sickness but have so far done nothing about it; moorhen has warned her subjects but thats really it. i havent really decided what the sandwings or the icewings are up to but let me tell you guys its looking really rough for the icewings . so far it looks as though royal icewings are more resilient- tundras currently sick, but the sickness seems to be progressing much slower. this was initially believed to be because of the cold, but then other icewings started getting sick, and so its believed to just be a royal thing- likely something in their genetics. icicle is also sick but shes in stage 4 .. pray for my girl guys. lynx is helping snowfall out the best she can, but with the population getting increasingly sick seemingly spontaneously, its extremely difficult and stressful. the talons have quarantined sanctuary too. ok im outta characters but ya ty 4 the support!!

[leviackermanstoes]

What role in a fantasy novel think the ATZ boys would fit into❕️

Ateez (ot8) x no one In particular.

(This is based loosely off the boys real personalities or actions. But It is fictionalin other aspects)🎤

-

Yeosang as...the chosen one.

-

He would be the one that the characters want to stick by because they know he can protect them. It's likely that yeosang as a character would live away from the public for privacy. In a forest on the outskirts where he can reside away from fans and the kingdom it's self. His story is that he hates being adored despite the fact that his friends constantly tell him how much of a skilled warrior he is. Although He doesn't want any of the fame, he does not hesitate to fight at any moment. His character likely starts off as the good guy and slowly progresses into a villain after a climactic event and would ultimately have a dramatic, disturbing death.

--

Seonghwa as...the crown prince.

-

Seonghwa is very princely in real life, so I feel this fits. He is the beloved and slightly cocky crown prince harbouring a dark secret that he sets out to fulfil. Seonghwa obviously lives in the palace in the centre of the kingdom. However, he would have a secret house high above the kingdom on the cliffs. His story is that he is actually immortal and refuses to marry much to the dismay of the village men and women. His character's story ends when he finally ages after his blood becomes infected with an ancient disease. He would die from incredibly old age.

---

Hongjoong as...the captain of the royal guard.

-

Hongjoong is a leader through and through. He is a well-respected and highly valued soldier. He would be the one that you always find at Seonghwa's side. He takes pride in protecting his prince at no cost. His story likely falls into the category of forbidden love but also tragic death. He ultimately is the one who becomes intertwined with an enemy and is betrayed, ending his story with a climactic death.

---

Mingi as...the rebel leader

-

He is the most powerful enemy of the nation to which seonghwa will rule. He would be the one everybody thinks will crumble easily, but he proves to be stronger than he looks and turns his story around by murdering the captain of the royal guard. His story is that he once worked as a soldier for the royal guard, but his ego got the best of him, and he was exiled, replacing him with hongjoong. He would try to reconcile with the crown prince but would ultimately be rejected. He ends with becoming the king of rebels, being more powerful than ever after ravaging the kingdom and taking back his title.

-

Wooyoung as...the court assassin.

-

He's sneaky. And fast. Wooyoung likely works closely with the prince, who sends him off to do missions in neighbouring kingdoms and often smaller towns. He would be the one that ends up being the only one left alive in the palace after losing his guard and his crown prince. His character would have the ability to control shadows for easier and stealthy kills when targets are out of range. His story would ultimately be the one to end the novel for good.

---

Yunho as...the comedy relief.

-

While his character would have a pretty powerful role. His main thing is that he brings joy and light to the story. He would be the one that people turn to in times of need for a laugh or the one that hosts parties to help his friends relax. Yunho's kindness would become his undoing after he is kidnapped and tortured for information about the prince, which he ultimately does not give and dies at the hands of a few rebels, angering the rebel captain, causing him to set them on fire at the stake.

---

San as...the fortune teller

-

He is something like a tarot reader. His story would be to exist purely to bring bad news, which turns out to be a curse placed upon him. His character is in a tight-knit friendship with the prince, which allows him to be at use to bring reports of what he is seeing of the future. His story is that he can never tell a lie, which gets him killed at the hands of the king himself after San admits he has fallen in love with the prince. He is hung for his actions, which starts seonghwas revenge arc.

--

Jongho as...the local tailor.

--

His character owns a smaller tailor in the town square. He sells his suits and sometimes dresses to the crown prince and made the coronation outfit of Her Majesty. He is often caught in background scenes where he sows and eavesdrops on conversations, making him the towns biggest gossip. Jongho used to be childhood friends with mingi, but after the death of his mother, mingi grew distant, and after years, all contact was lost. His story comes to an end with him coming back after the war, finding only wooyoung alive.

---

My god this took so long😭😭

[fungh0u1]

hi im so interested in your ocs btw, if you ever needed encouragement to post about them then here's some from me !! but no pressure obv

I WOULD LOVE TO TALK ABOUT THEM! I am so flattered that you're interested ^.^. I made you an illustrated compendium.

Mutagenesis Drive is a zombie apocalypse story centered around the relationship between Joan and Marnie, two college age girls who have been friends for a long time.

THE CHARACTERS:

JOAN (our perspective character) has always considered herself "emotionless". She struggles to understand her own feelings, preferences and sensations and has been going through her life before the apocalypse without caring about or wanting anything... as far as she can tell. She's very analytical and intuitive when it comes to survival, and finds herself the brain of her and Marnie's little caravan, despite not having much of a preference if they live or die (right?).

MARNIE is Joan's best (and only, really) friend. She's stoic, like Joan, but unlike Joan it's out of just a socially inept demeanor instead of some internal issue. She is freakishly obsessed with Joan and would do anything to keep Joan from leaving her behind. She doesn't express that at all outwardly, though, because she is prone to defeatism and feels that Joan could never return her feelings and that it would be best to not complicate their relationship by acting needy or affected. Their friendship is actually pretty surface level as neither of them really know how to relate to other people. Marnie is happy to leave her dysfunctional family home when the apocalypse starts so she can spend all of her time with Joan.

THE PARASITE:

The zombies (zombies-ish, demons) in MGD are highly mutated creatures with different specialized forms resembling different types of animals. The world is very sparsely populated with surviving humans as these demons are very effective hunters. (a/n Skip on to "Joan and Marnie's Developing Relationship/Story Summary" if you don't give a fuck about this, I really don;t mind.)

Stage 1: The host is infected via blood to blood or saliva to blood contamination. Thousands of larva attack the host's immune system. There is an average 85% chance that the immune system will be overloaded and allow the parasite to progress. Symptoms begin ≈ 6 hours after initial infection. Fatigue. Fever.

Stage 2: The parasite implants in the host's frontal lobe and begins to spread its tendrils throughout the brain. The parasite can be removed surgically, but surgery is less viable the further it's progressed. Stage 2 is entered within 1-6 days. Confusion. Fatigue. Vertigo. Loss of motor control. Loss of higher thinking.

Stage 3: The host becomes aggressive, losing the ability to communicate. The host will instinctively begin to eat anything with nutritional value. The cells of the digestive system begin to be affected, causing the host's metabolism to increase and become more efficient. Within 8-12 days after the start of stage 2.

Stage 4: The structure of the host's body begins to mutate. Depending on the strain of parasite, it will begin to resemble different forms, some being adapted to swimming, flying, running, etc. After spending time hoarding and ingesting huge amounts of food and briefly hibernating, it retains its incredibly fast metabolism and begins to hunt, needing a lot of food to survive. Since it can reproduce by infecting others, it tries to infect any suitable hosts and return them to its nest until the parasitization reaches stage 4.

(^ Joan and Marnie fight a Harpy.)

JOAN AND MARNIE'S DEVELOPING RELATIONSHIP/STORY SUMMARY:

Joan and Marnie travel together in Marnie's van (Joan does not know how to drive). Joan is the "brains" of the operation, directing Marnie and herself as a tight unit to scavenge supplies. There's little room for error if they want to survive. Marnie is terrified of being left behind by Joan, knowing that she wouldn't be able to survive on her own but more than that just wanting to be around Joan (and to be her little dog).

Marnie often falls into maladaptive fantasies about Joan, though she's unable to convey her feelings in real life Marnie imagines Joan being a better person and having normal emotions. She has conflicting perceptions of Joan both as herself and as who Marnie wants her to be. However, these perceptions shift as time goes on.

Marnie grows increasingly resentful of Joan for making her do things she thinks are wrong. Marnie is wracked with guilt over these actions while Joan seems completely unaffected. It culminates with Joan telling Marnie to do something that will almost definitely cause the deaths of another group of survivors. Marnie does it but resolves to break things off with Joan. They come across a bustling research hospital that is willing to take them in. Their relationship is tense. They are quarantined together, then separately. Joan hasn't seen Marnie in days.

Joan is let out but finds that Marnie had tested positive for the parasite and is being treated. Through some series of events Joan realizes that Marnie, and many patients in the hospital, had been injected with the parasite to study its progression and treatment (Joan was overlooked because of her bad health).

Joan realizes that she wants to survive with Marnie and breaks them both out of the hospital, shooting and stabbing a good number of people to death. Upon leaving the building, the two of them see that the world outside of the hospital has been overrun by sprawling, terrifying, fleshy structures. It seems like their chances of survival are even worse than when they first entered the hospital. Still, they have each other. They find a vehicle and drive off into the sunset with hopeful dreams of the future.

CLOSING THOUGHTS:

MGD is not, like, totally fleshed out in my mind but this is my best estimation of how I want it to be. I originally conceptualized it as a comic, I would love it as a point-and-click adventure... or maybe a visual novel or an rpg... but I'm not fully sure what medium I'd want it to be in... I don't know! I would like to do something with it eventually and flesh it out more. What I wrote here may be a little contradictory or disorganized.

Well, I tried to give the best overview I could concisely but I maybe wrote a little too much!! I hope it's what you wanted, June, seriously THANKSS for asking me about them. Clearly I love to talk. Please feel free to make any comments about it or ask any followup questions anyone out there I do love to hear it.

[ophanimkei]

Goodbye My Love

warning for mental illness

​Hey! Ommatophilia is out and released! Imagine telling past me I'd be horrible sick releasing Ommatophilia, then right after I'd get the flu then a killer sinus infection. Pretty awesome. And cool. Right? Right. Yeah. Haha.

I guess I'm pretty happy with how Ommatophilia turned out. Part of me wants to do more to it and the other part of me never wants to look at it again. Spending such a long amount of time on a game is pretty exhausting haha, then getting sick and being unable to advertise the way you want to sucks as well. It is unfortunate but what can you do really? It feels weird now that it's done. I don't know if this will sound normal, but.. Ommatophilia for the past 4 years has honestly been my… everything? When I had my shitty roommates, I was still working on Omma. When I had my shitty job at PF Chang's, I doodled the characters' in my notebook and wrote down notes for the story while I worked. I'd stay up late after my shift getting game dev done because I knew I needed to make some progress or the story would never be done.

I took breaks from it, sure, but it never really left my mind. I was always rotating it around- talking about it with friends, writing about it in my notebook, thinking about things I didn't like in it, problems I'd fix, if I'd ever finish, if I'd abandon it.. The fact that I couldn't allow myself to commit suicide until Ommatophilia was finished. Honestly that's the really big one.

I've finished Ommatophilia, and like, I had all of these projects I told myself I'd tackle afterwards, but I just feel weird. It's like I can't start any of them. Usually I view smaller projects as a break from Ommatophilia or some random thing I may not finish- then I go back to Ommatophilia to fill my time, but now I'm just floating in space.

I know I can still make projects. It's fine. Meat Girl released and it's the most successful thing I've released in probably ever? I'm kinda sitting here wondering if it'll be the most successful thing I ever release? I mean, it doesn't matter, I'm so happy people resonated with Meat Girl! I literally just made that because I was miserable and needed to take a break from Ommatophilia and just had some concepts kicking around in my head.

I actually had a feeling it'd garner popularity because of the aesthetics and game jams it was in though it still exceeded my expectations. I thought I was hyping myself up a bit. It's hard having one thing be popular because you're just kinda tempted to keep doing the same stuff over and over, but logically I know that wouldn't work and also I'd rather die than let the other stories in my head die in hopes of holding on to the smallest bit of popularity Meat Girl had.. It would be shameful, and if I did that, I hope I'd wake up in some kind of hell where my characters torture me forever.

That is to say I never really expected Ommatophilia to have a fraction of the popularity of Meat Girl and the fact that I got any feedback at all is shocking. I'm very happy I could make a few people cry. That's really all I wanted. For some reason though, I think about my time with Ommatophilia and I find myself crying too.

I'm crying now actually. I hadn't realized it. When I was 17 or 18 I think.. I don't know, sometime during Covid, Adventure Time ended, and I cried so much. I didn't even like the finale that much, but I just sobbed and sobbed and sobbed. Like I'm sobbing now. I don't know.

I'm listening to the Ommatophilia playlist and there's a song my abuser put on it for me. And this song is really important to me despite the worst person in my life showing it to me. It's the Reeling by Passion Pit. I don't know. I never really told anyone who showed it to me. I just always told people I really liked the song. Listening to it while writing Ommatophilia's post mortem hurts. It really feels like I'm leaving so much in my life behind you know.

And I mean like, I know these characters can appear in my stories forever and they will. It's just.. Ommatophilia itself.. With its character sheets I always felt frustrated with, my constant anxieties about the writing, waking up at night feeling so anxious and thinking “I guess I'll develop Ommatophilia since I can't sleep..”

What do I do now? I mean I know what I do? But. This was it. All my childhood dogs have died. My childhood best friends aren't in my life anymore. Music doesn't sound the same. Food doesn't taste the same. Adventure Time is over. I always had Omma. I could always go back to it. But now it's over. I didn't realize what Ommatophilia being over would be like. I always knew relief would come but.. I've just been lying in bed. I crave to open my laptop and write the characters interacting. I want to see Black and Mercy banter. I want to watch Blue struggle to speak. I want to think about Angel's inner thoughts. I want to think about the snow and the decaying small town.

It's like my old home that I can't go back to.

I have new stories. I'll be making new things forever. It just feels weird. I miss everyone. I miss the past. I miss when everything was easier. It'll be fine. The future will be fun. It's just hard right now. I didn't really realize how I felt.

But we're good. We keep going. It's fine. We've got milfs, murderers, dykes, and various other women to write now. I mean I made a story about a meat fungus in October and Ommatophilia was basically finished by then, so clearly my brain still has stuff going on. The pity part has to end. We roll.

I love everyone who plays Ommatophilia, even if you dislike it. I love Ommatophilia, and I'm happy I spent my last four years working on it, even with all of its jank. It's dear to me. I'll miss everyone. I'm so happy I could tell the story I wanted to tell, no matter how badly it hurts. I've never finished a story and had it hurt this bad. It must've really been worth it in the end.

I love you! I love you! You were my everything! Goodbye!

[rallamajoop]

Eveline, the Connections, and the buried D-series lore

A surprising number of unused text files can be found by datamining the RE7 game file (I found next to nothing in RE8, for comparison). Many look to come from an earlier version of Mia's sequence on the tanker, which I may get to posting about those later ‒ but by far the most fascinating are a series of three files about the the E-series project, adding names and a whole tragic backstory to a couple of humble key items that are still in the game: the D-series arm and head.

These three documents were presumably earlier drafts of those you can still find in the final lab, though they contain a number of details missing from the final game. I'll share all three below, but we'll start with the second, because it's by far the most interesting.

Biological Weapons Development 2 We've decided that the biological weapon should look like a young girl. That way it will be easy to slip it into groups of, for example, refugees. In early ■■■■, 1999, Dr. Olivia ■■■'s team infected a human embryo with ■■ from ■■■■, creating four prototypes. These were named, Dana, Dahlia, Darlene, and Dorothy. The D-Series was able to control the thoughts of others by making them ingest a mold-like secretion. The initial symptoms caused by this secretion are visual and auditory hallucinations, and ■■■■. The secretion also erodes the target's cerebral ■■■. As the infection progresses, the target develops strong feelings of friendship towards the girls, and actively seeks to serve them. It is also possible for the secretion to fuse with the target's somatic cells, causing mutations in the body's physical structure. D-001 Dana Deceased (■■■■) D-002 Dahlia Deceased (Decrepit at 319 days) D-003 Darlene Deceased (Infection) D-004 Dorothy Disposed of due to poor performance D-005 Dolores Suicide D-006 Diana Killed by D-005 D-007 Daniella Killed by D-005 D-008 Doris Deceased (■■■■■■) E-001 Eveline Stable [Progress under observation]

(Excuse the slightly-wonky table at the bottom ‒ it's the best I could easily do for tumblr.)

There's a real SCP vibe to all those clinical details and tantalising redactions ‒ far more is redacted in these early versions than in any file that made it into the game. What really killed Dana and Doris? We don't know, but the idea of causes worse than what's reported for other subjects is nasty stuff.

The most striking implication in this list is the story of poor Dolores, who killed two of her sisters (Dolores and Diana, D-006 and 7) before killing herself. We don't know why or how it happened, but Dolores was D-005, which is a number you might have seen before:

Well, shit. That poor damn thing.

The D-series arm belonged D-002 ‒ Dahlia, who was apparently 'decrepit after 319 days', so very likely affected by the same rapid aging as Eveline.

You find the arm attached to a horrifying corpse-doll-thing, the arm itself allegedly gifted to Marguerite by Eveline soon after her arrival. And speaking of this particular asset, the fact this arm seems to have tried to grow a whole new head even after being severed is a wonderfully creepy bit of detail.

I didn't find it strange that both components would have been on the ship with Eveline ‒ they're required components for making anti-infection serum, which might well be needed in transit or at their destination, and perhaps those components have a longer shelf-life than the serum itself. But the third document in the series tells us there was rather more to the fact that Eveline herself had that arm in her possession.

Biological Weapons Development 3 Eveline (E-001) has displayed remarkable results in performance tests against mice, ■■■■, monkeys, and humans. Finally, we have a biological weapon we can use. Unfortunately, her metabolic functions are lacking, meaning she still requires doses of ■■■■■. If ■■■■■ is not administered, the somatic cells age rapidly, and in a worst-case scenario ■■■■ may also occur. An attendant will be required to administer regular doses of ■■■■■ to Eveline. Having observed Eveline (E-001), we have noticed several interesting points: ・ Eveline has a tendency to regard the targets she gains control of as "family." It seems that gaining control of humans has a special meaning for her. ・ She treats part of ■■■■■■'s (D-0■■) corpse as a treasured possession. Perhaps she regards it as a memento mori from one of her sisters? ・ ■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■. Perhaps ■■■■■■■■■■. Those infected with D-Series secretions can be treated with a special serum. The serum can be synthesized by ■■■■■■■■ing D-Series somatic cell tissue. In case of accidental infection, administer the serum as quickly as possible. Be aware, however, that the serum is only effective against mild infections. Administering the serum to those with severe infections can result in the infected cells coagulating and ■■■■, and may even result in death. Be sure to administer the serum at the appropriate time.

So apparently Eveline was in the habit of carting poor Dahlia's severed arm around with her, as some kind of twisted memento. Dahlia most likely died long before Eveline's creation, which does not make that detail less creepy.

Though it's much less interesting than the latter two, here's the first file in the series too:

Biological Weapons Development 1 This program started in 1997 with financial backing from ■ ■ ■ ■. The aim was to create a biological weapon that could take control of enemy groups without having to engage them in combat. This gives the program an advantage that differentiates it from previous biological weapon developments: it lets us turn our enemies into allies. Soon, those who once opposed us will voluntarily become our friends, serving us as required. With this program we can increase our allies while avoiding the costs associated with military engagements and having to deal with prisoners of war… The governments of ■ ■ ■ ■ and ■ ■ ■ may also be interested in this new program too.

Still no detail in any of these to explain why the two arms so very clearly attached to the D-series ""head"" were apparently not fit for purpose, but eventually you've got to just shrug and go with this stuff.

All these files are not so much "cut" content as older drafts that were accidentally left in the game, and they contradict the versions that did make it in in a few places ‒ for example, the draft version puts the project's beginnings in 1997, whereas the final version moves that date forward to 2000. But it's a real shame all that detail on the D-series was cut, because it adds so much context to elements that did make it into the finished game. The game still works without them, but I'd venture the whole picture is that little bit richer for knowing about them.

[literary-illuminati]

2024 Book Review #64 – How High We Go In The Dark by Sequoia Nagamatsu

I truly do not know how this ended up on my TBR or who first recommended it – it’s certainly outside of my usual wheelhouse, and has been sitting on the list for long enough for me to forget how it was added entirely. In any case, I went into this entirely blind, which led to a truly severe case of narrative whiplash between the first and second chapters before I realized what the book was actually about. Overall a well-done bit of more literary sci-fi, if slightly overstaying its welcome and drowning in its own sentimentality.

The book begins with a grieving father travelling to a Siberian archaeological dig to collect his daughter’s belongings and try to connect with her through her work after her tragic death in an accident – only to find himself quarantined at ground zero of a prehistoric plague being unearthed by thawing permafrost and loosed upon the earth with near-apocalyptic results. The second story is about a guy finding a job at an amusement park that’s built over an abandoned prison, there for infected children to have a day of carefree fun before they’re euthanized. The second is the more characteristic story, as the book skims across continents, generations, and even planets, jumping from the absurd to the supernatural and surreal and back again.

The world is constant, thought quickly transforming (and deforming) from the progress of the plague and the effort to fight it, but for the most part any major character in one story will be nothing more than a cameo in one or two others. The story is much more united by theme – each story is probably best understood as a twilight zone episode or similar, the speculative elements there to dramatize and exaggerate an exploration of one angle or another on dealing with death and grief.

Your experience of the book will, I think, depend basically entirely on your tolerance for sentimentality and writing that is shamelessly, obviously there just to tug at your heartstrings. I personally thought there were more hits than misses, but it really did run close to the line of tipping over into maudlin (if not too absurd to take seriously) the entire way. But – and being fair this is entirely own to it hitting my own baggage very keenly, I’m sure – the stories that worked were really some of the emotionally impactful fiction I’ve read all year.

Though even saying that, you could – and probably should – have cut one or two stories without losing much. Hitting the same emotional beats from so many different angles only works for so long before it just starts feeling repetitive. The last story in particular – the highest concept by far, and the one that attempted to neatly explain and tie all the others together into a neat whole – just didn’t work for me in the slightest. The book would have been much stronger not even bothering trying, but if it had to, ther eare so, so many better ways t do it.

This was a post-COVID book, and oh but you can tell. The dual threads of slow-motion climate catastrophe and species-decimating pandemic, and the way the two of them are woven together into one anxious, apocalyptic thread very of-the-moment to the early 2020s. I suppose we can only hope it will feel horribly dated in a decade or two.

[diabolic-wave]

You said you have Parallel Canon ramblings that couldn't fit in the tags. Ramble away, fellow human.

Also, let me know if you find that post you mentioned being reminded of.

YESSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS yeah it was a more generalized thing (i saw it cropped and had to go find the image + search the exact phrasing but it's since been reblogged) the sentiment of being the 'evil' clone is up for debate i suppose. perhaps in a literal sense - yknow, antivirus that's been infected with malware; a copy and paste of code that was supposed to be 4 tweaked and repurposed into hostility. but it feels a little wrong to call them evil anyway. (there's also definitely a horror in that it's still your "friend" even while it's "evil" they jump to you they tell you they will they cry out when you kill them and you can hear it and isn't that just awful? they're all still someone that was supposed to be on your side. it's not just the voice clip it's not just a super jump indicator it's an 'ouch' ping it's a 'hey i am super jumping to you, my teammate, specifically' audio cue. this was supposed to be your friend.) and what if it still was! what if you ran with the same sort of angst as if it was genuinely 4 at first? what if eight saw that, remembered sanitized agent 3, and knocked/tore the mask off to save them and it worked? what's it like for everyone then? we know pearl is filling the role she's intended to be, so in that same sense people use that to bring 4 in you could use it to make a dawning horror sort of story. the slow realization that it's not. you could well have it still more directly attached to 4 through the palette too - i think this works well for most things and not just this specifically, like i do think it can play a pretty significant part in pcanon feeling so strongly that it is agent 4 even if it's not quite identical or doesn't remember everything or whatever - but ultimately it never really was. and so what then? for parallel and for everyone else? would it be cruel to acknowledge it? i would think it'd be a little uncomfortable for everyone involved no matter what. in contrast to never being treated like 4 in the first place, instead it is but only for a little bit. and then suddenly everyone starts getting a little... distant. uneasy. even if they never actually say anything about it there's still that nasty anxious feeling when it seems like everyone else knows something you don't and especially if you can tell it's something about you.

i also often find myself especially fascinated with what they are just in general tbh. that one i could touch on in the tags at least though. yknow, series of progressively more distorted photocopies. the first is almost pristine, just a little off from the book itself thanks to things like the weird seam copies get from the way the pages crease at the spine. and then when easy access to the book is lost and the copies start being copies of other copies it gets further and further away. burns. fading. other weird random marks. if the intro is anything to go by, they've all got their quirks. a hall of mirrors reflecting the reflection of the same person. ants that've gotten themselves confused, following each other's trail ever onward and onward into the death spiral because they don't know how to do anything but follow orders and march together. they're not quite like ants in that they're individuals, sure. with their own egos. but they're all still made from the same copy and pasted code, recopied, repasted, corrupted further by the virus hijacking them. and they all still act in harmony to do what they were supposed to do from the beginning. follow the directive, follow the pheromones, even if you've been trapped in a path you weren't supposed to take. (truthfully, i got in on the spiral of ants association just because of 'intensifying harmony' -> 'the overwhelming harmony (consuming the colony)' but since then i've ended up latching onto it more and making other connections lmao. You Are One Ant is something that's also stuck for a long time alongside the harmony connection which i've thought about drawing something for occasionally but honestly the whole pre-chorus at this point i think about a lot. the first one especially [you can't remember where you came from. you can't remember where you're going. you can't remember knowing.] but the now you remember/you have to keep it flowing also hits in its own way i think)

also like no matter how you interpret it, how much you think the main parallel can actually remember of "being 4", there's always going to be that light so bright it's blinding as soon as it gets a window into that, right? as soon as it gets to look in that mirror and see that life it doesn't have. the light none of them will ever reach.

in contrast to no matter how happy-go-lucky your 4 is this sort of thing would be crushing, it's also no matter how angsty your 4 is they still have more going for them than the parallels. they're living some sort of life and not just the hollow facsimile of one in a little anthill of a tower in a barren virtual reality. they do have friends even if they've felt neglected, right? but all the parallels really have is each other (and maybe order/smollusk) unless 8 or the others decide to reach out despite how weird that has to be for them.

it's just you and yourself and yourself and yourself and yourself and yourself and yourself and yourself and yourself and yourself (etc if you figure there's more than the ten we see on the floor 20 bossfight) living in the cold white dark. mere imitations of someone who did something meaningful. who was impressive enough for you to be created in the first place.

but then also, how many of them even care? at what point is that copy so distorted from those burns and fadings that it's still identical in text but completely unrecognizable from the book it came from? and what's it like to know there's a you that doesn't care that it's not you? what's it like to be one that doesn't care when however many do? i'd think it'd be a little offputting even if it's a perfect divide and they don't fight about it or anything. but it'd definitely be isolating if it was only a few of them on either side, too.

none of them are their own person but also they are. none of them are 4 but also they all are. it doesn't matter which way any of them look at it because they can never really be either.

NOT TO MENTION what happens when there isn't anything left to defend from? what happens between the time eight is there and marina making use of the memverse the way she intended to originally? let alone when it just isn't needed anymore in general! what happens to the memverse in general then, to both the parallels and to smollusk? what do they do when they're alone in there. unattended. when they're not following their directive and acting as security. i would think they'd just be interacting amongst themselves which is definitely fine between periods of eight going in with the different palettes but how well does it hold up in those sorts of long term situations?

btw looping back to the link to 4's palette imagine that and then when the palette is completed/cleared just... having that ripped away. you know. being so sure that they're someone else only to suddenly be forced to realize they're not. not just because of the way people are treating them but because all of a sudden there's just... something that's torn out of them and put inside of someone else. having a soul only to realize it's not yours when the real owner takes it back.

anyway yeah that's mostly what i've got off the top of my head but yknow. ultimately as much as i do like the [it actually is 4 au] stuff too i think the actual situation is soooo cool and also super underutilized tbh it's kind of a shame