#or any zombie media

[delibean43]

Love Bites (Short Story)

I couldn’t help but to walk down the dark hallway, something about it felt familiar…as if I had been there before. Everything was familiar, the dark green carpet, the cool blue walls that have dusty pictures hanging everywhere.  I could hear loud, sloppy, and wet crunches coming from a room. I wanted to stop, yet I couldn’t,  with each step I got closer. With each step, the faint outlines of painted ducks could be seen on the dark navy blue door. “Mallory.” I looked around, stopping right in front of the door. 

“Hello?” I wasn’t scared, yet my voice trembled as I spoke. The wet crunching stopped, and a thud could be heard in the room. 

“Mallory.” The voice echoed across the room, yet outside of the room at the same time. It was inside my head, but it was also as if someone spoke to me. 

“Where are you?” I could feel the hair on my arms stand, and my heart rate had begun to quicken. 

“Mallory!” I jumped up and looked around, it was dark the only light was the fire that at that point was just hot coals, the small light that they emitted caused a warm glow on the edge of the trees that surrounded us…yes that's right, us. I looked to my side, and there sat her, Mia.

“Mallory, we have to get going, the dead are on their way.”  as she spoke I looked at her, taking her in. Her dark curly hair. With her deep brown eyes, are reflected colors from the fire that I don’t think I’d ever seen before. 

“Mallory, now!” the urgency in her voice was growing more, I guess it is time for us to head out. 

“Yes, sorry. I’ll start packing.” I get up and roll up the bed rolls. I peek over at Mia, who is packing our hammocks, I couldn’t help the small smile spread across my lips, not feeling too worried since we tried not sticking to one place at a time so I knew how to be able to appreciate Mia and pack at the same time. I decided to gather the rain bowls, rain being the best source of water since we entered the forest. Grabbing the rim of the large pottery bowels, I see my reflection of myself. My hair, dark from dirt and dried blood is starting to become matted, and my skin is a dark tan from being outside non-stop for nearly five years now.

 “Mallory, hurry up.” I look up at her, she stands above me, arms crossed. 

“Mia,  just go ahead without me, I’ll catch up. We both know I'm quick.” Mia frowns as if disappointed in what I chose to say. “Go on, I just have to put the water into bottles.” With a sigh, Mia stares at me, before walking off in the same direction we had been walking for days.

I quickly get on with what I was doing, unzipping my blue hiking backpack  I dig out the banana yellow funnel and the rinsed-out milk jugs. Carefully I pour the water into the jugs, to not waste a drop of such a currently scarce resource.  I watched the clear liquid quickly fill the jug, A twig snap caught my attention, and as I turned around I was pushed onto my back with full force. 

As I open my eyes I was greeted with the sight of a rotting face, his teeth making snapping noises at every attempt to bite me. I try kicking him off of me, but whoever the fuck this guy was before he died, he must have been a pro athlete or something. I struggled to push him off, it felt like a rabid wolf was attacking me for going after its prey I try scooting back, only to take a bit of a tumble down an indented part of the ground. The dead man follows me down, as we tumble I try kicking him off, which was harder than it sounds. As we reach the bottom, he's back on top of me, everything sore with the tumble all I could do was try to kick him off.  Shifting,  I felt something poke into my side, sharp enough to cause discomfort, so I grabbed it and stabbed it into his head. The sharp object, being some sharp rock, smashed into his skull as if the bone was made of butter. 

It took a second to snap out of this adrenaline-infused survival mode. The only thing that brought me out of it was the feeling of the blood dripping down my arm. Lifting the dark blue flannel, the indentations of teeth with swelling pools of dark crimson blood revealed itself to the world.  I stare at the taunting wound, it's like a badge for failure, the failure to survive, to grow old with Mia…Mia, she’s waiting for me. I climb up the small hill and grab the other pottery bowl and an extra cloth we have, dampening it I clean off any excess dirt and blood. The wet cloth smears the dark crimson blood around before being wiped completely off for the most part. Rummaging through my bag, I find used ripped pieces of cloth that were long enough to wrap around my arm.  It doesn't have to be pretty, it just has to be good enough so that Mia doesn’t know. She can’t know, it's only been a year since…I can’t leave quite yet…we are by my old home, before this all began. We can head there and stay the night. Pulling down my sleeve, I start following the tracks Mia had left behind.

I can't help but get lost in my thoughts as I walk with the footprints, plans, and ideas rolling into my ideas, but they are all the same, how to guide Mia to a safe spot without her finding out. I look up and see a headful of brown curly hair. I stand still, all possible futures of us together, the ones I had thought about, seemed to crumble before my eyes. I rub my eyes, to make sure I didn't have any tears on my cheeks and put on my poker face. 

“Mia!” I run towards her, and she quickly turns around, tightening her grip around the machete, one that was a wedding gift from before.

“Mallory, what took you so long?” Her eyes filled with worry, and I wanted to kiss the worry away. 

I look at her, taking a second to find a reasonable excuse, it is getting warmer so they are speeding up. “Nothing really, I was scouting the dead. We need to get moving, they’re faster than we thought.” I pause, trying to choose my next words so I don’t raise suspicion. “We should hide out in a house, let the dead pass by. I rather not risk us getting caught.” Mia looked at me, before nodding to the suggestion. 

 “Okay, but we have to figure out which house is likely to be unlocked, I don't want to break any windows, or get stuck outside when they’re coming through.” She continues walking ahead. 

I forced a smile at her, trying to ignore the pain of a fresh wound. “ I know a place, it shouldn’t be locked.” 

Mia looks at me with her eyebrows furrowed, confusion seemed to shine in her eyes. “You know a place? Are you okay? You can never decide on a specific location when we are near town.” I could only chuckle, and started walking ahead of her, she’ll need me to lead the way anyway. A voice deep down tells me that I will have to let her lead herself soon anyway.

Walking into the suburban neighborhood, it feels like my legs will cause me to head in another direction against my will. I can feel the sweat drip down my forehead, but I can't tell if it's correlated to my legs, or if the virus is trying to make itself known. My heart tries beating its way through my chest, and with each step, I take I notice more and more things about the neighborhood.  The bodies of the dead, dead for good this time, litter the sidewalks. Pools of a mixture of old dark blood and fresh light blood stain almost any surface that could be reached. 

Cars, abandoned and destroyed, are scatted into yards, or in the middle of the road, suitcases lay open after years of abandonment, and some houses are falling apart as if the wind would blow them over at any second. 

“It's hard to believe it's been six years” I look over at Mia, a frown gracing her lips. “Mallory, is something wrong?” 

I shake my head, and force a smile to ease her worries “I’m fine Mia, just…trying to remember the address.”  Mia crosses her arms but doesn’t say a word as we continue down the cracked road, of course keeping an eye on everything around us. 

As we approach the house, the feeling that was consuming my body was starting to become painful. The two-story house, with its light blue wooden exterior, stood tall in front of us. The once welcoming short dark brown porch with the metal swinging bench, but I doubt it was doing much swinging with the left chain being broken. 

“We shouldn’t stay out here too long,” Mia spoke out. “It's getting dark, and we still need to secure all the entrances before we can wait this out.”  I simply nod and walk onto the rotting porch, making sure to avoid the more visibility rotten spots.  As my hand touched the rusted gold doorknob, the sound of crumbling wood and a thud, I turn around…and there sits Mia, now under the porch, a giant hole replacing the wood on where she once stood. I couldn’t help but let a bubble of laughter escape my lips.  Mia’s face turned a bright red, she quickly stood up and climbed back onto the porch. “Let's just get inside.” I felt the wind from her rushing by, and the click of the knob as Mia opened the door.  

The door gave way to a black pit, void of any light. It suddenly felt like 80-pound weights were put on my chest, making me unable to breathe. No matter how deep I tried to breathe it seemed as if no oxygen was reaching my lungs.  Everything became muffled, drowned out by the ringing in my ears. I felt pressure on my arm, and looking up I see Mia, those soft brown eyes staring back at me, her beautiful face full of worry. That's the last thing I see before the world goes just as black. 

I quickly sit up, looking around. I'm in my bed, with the soft navy blue comforter and the matching pillows behind me.  I get up, and walk over to the window, looking outside.  Instead of being greeted by blood and the dead outside, I see... The clean streets, with children outside, laughing and playing. 

“Good morning, babe.” I quickly turn around and look at…him. My husband. 

“Liam, where is ᏠᏗፈᏦ?” I ask quickly, Liam smiles and walks over, holding a mug full of coffee, he kisses me gently on the lips, before pulling away. 

“ᏠᏗፈᏦ is just taking a nap, Mal.” I look at him for a few seconds, his tan skin seeming so much lighter than I remember. I pause for a second before taking a deep breath. It was just a sick twisted dream after all. 

“Im going to go wake him up, we have things to do today.” I slip on the grey bunny slippers, the pair Liam bought for our anniversary, and head out of the bedroom. The dark green carpet softened my steps, as I approach his room. I can't help but run my hand down the cool blue walls.  Eventually, I stood in front of the door, the dark navy blue door with the painted rubber ducks on it. A sudden cry and a gunshot make me jump, and suddenly, in a blink of an eye, the hallway is dark and dusty, the paint trying to chip off of every surface. I try to open the door, frantically trying to kick it down, but it's like it's cemented into the wall.

A burning sensation on my arm causes me to look down, and I am greeted with the sight  of a chunk of my flesh bitten out of it, with the blood pouring down it. The blood pools at my feet, covering too much ground to be humanly possible.  A sudden sense of nausea hits, and in the corner of my eye, I see someone standing, watching me. 

I look up and see Liam, he stands there, his hands covered in blood, a gun in his hand. “Liam,” I am careful, one wrong word and I might end up puking. “I'm only going to ask once more time, where is ᏠᏗፈᏦ?” I am careful, watching him, watching his moves. He is taking slow, shudder-filled, breaths. In front of me isn’t my husband, but a shattered and broken man. 

“Liam-” He cuts me off, and the anger in his voice shakes me to my core. 

“You were supposed to make sure the backyard was secure Mal! It's your fault- it’s your fault!” 

“I didn't know-!” I tried to defend myself before I was interrupted.

“Shut up Mal!” he takes a deep breath before sobs wrack his body. He points his gun at me, aiming at my head. “ᏠᏗፈᏦ died because you were reckless, I don’t deserve this hell, but you? You deserve worse than hell.”  before I could say another word, with a swift motion I watch him raise the gun to his head and paint the walls, and Our wedding photo red. The same feeling, the one I had earlier, the inability to breathe to see, hear, or think, comes crashing into me. I run out, and can't help but spill out all the contents onto the porch. By the time I am done, by the time I can look up, I see the blood and guts painting the roads and lawns. I look out into the road, and there she stands, Mia. 

I want to shout out her name, I want to ask her what's happening, why is it happening all over again, yet no words come out. I try to go inside, to grab a knife, a gun, or any sort of weapon; yet all that happens is my legs slowly moving towards Mia. She doesn’t notice me, and I seem to have no control over what I am doing, no control over anything but the mind that I am currently losing. As soon as I get close enough, I grab at her, she tries fighting me off, but that doesn't stop me from ripping into her flesh, and her screams echo across the neighborhood. 

  I jump up awake, and the only thing I can hear in the room is my heavy breathing. I look around and I am sitting on a mattress in the middle of my- no, the living room. I get up, noticing the burning sensation where the bite mark should be, yet I could care less, I need to find Mia before I can let myself care. I walk out into the hall and hear a noise in the kitchen. I quietly draw out my pocket knife and slowly inch into the kitchen. Mia is in the kitchen, searching the cupboards and I sigh in relief, “Mia.” she turns around quickly, looking at her tear-stained cheeks that make the haunting screams from my dream ring in my head.  

“Mallory!” she quickly rushes over and hugs me tightly, and I can't help but hug back just as tight. “I was so worried, you weren’t responding, and then- you just suddenly fainted.” She looks at me, and then suddenly punches me in the shoulder. “Don’t ever do that again! Do you understand!?” I wince, at both the punch and being yelled at, and nod. 

“Sorry for worrying you…I guess the constant walking did a number on me.” I look around and think…I have maybe a full 12 hours to live. If I'm lucky maybe longer. We have candles in the bags and canned food. “How about we have a date night? To celebrate being stationary for a bit. We have the tortilla chips and the can of refried beans that we have been saving.” I look at her, and it's clear that she is thinking about it, with how her eyebrows furrow and her lips go in a pouty-like shape,

“Okay,” she begins, “But we are not using the scented candles! Use the long white ones, I’ll get the chips and beans.” I watch her walk out of the room… before realizing that I needed to follow her to get the candles anyway. 

        With everything set up, we quietly eat the chips and beans, glancing at each other every once in a while. “Remember when we first met?” she seems startled out of her train of thought. 

“Of course I do” she looks at me, a soft smile gracing her lips, “You fell asleep in my old bunkers trash can. I thought you were a raccoon until I almost stabbed you.” 

I smile at the last part. “Wow Mia, animal cruelty? In today’s society?”

She simply shakes her head and smiles wider, “Mallory, you really are something else.”

“I know,” I reply, watching her, before leaning in for a kiss. Mia obliges, and for what feels like a much too short amount of time, I feel her lips against mine. “I love you.” I wish I could say a thousand more love you’s, I wish I had the time to. 

“I love you too.” I want to tell her that this may be the last time I could ever hear her say that, I want to tell her about the bite, about all of it. It’s better this way, that’s what I keep telling myself, it's better that she doesn’t dwell on it, if I were to tell her now, she would want to leave with me, and I can’t let that happen. 

` “Can I join you? I'm not tired but... I would enjoy a cuddle before I stand watch.” I  look a Mia, her deep brown eyes staring at me before that beautiful smile of hers graced her lips.

“Come on Mallie, let's get your big girl cuddles in” I blush heavily at her teasing, and throw a pillow at her face, her laugh echoing throughout the rooms. She smiles at me and heads to the living room, I help her pull out the sleeping bags and blankets we have. We zip the sleeping bags together, making it big enough for three people despite there only being us. We get in the sleeping bag and wrap my arms wrapped around Mia. Her body feels so cool against mine. It makes me glad I always felt warm, even before the bite, before the fever.  I felt her deep breaths slowly turn into the usual slow breaths after not too long. I nuzzled my face into the back of her neck, enjoying the peacefulness despite the imminent danger outside the walls. I took a deep breath of her scent before the haunting screams from my dream came back. I forced myself away, lightheadedness almost making me fall over as I sit up. Mia is asleep, and if I die by this damned bite, I could kill her. I can’t be the reason why another person dies, not again. I get up, leaning against the wall for support so I don’t fall over.  Slowly shuffling to the kitchen, I search through the unattended backpack we had left.

I pull out a little voice recorder we have, once used to help lure the dead away when needed. I go to grab the gun but hesitate, looking out the window I can see the dead walking around, the low noises from their destroyed throats could be heard even through the walls I take the knife instead, knowing I wouldn’t be able to climb a chair for the rope to work, this was the quietest option.  I slowly shuffle down that damned hallway, with the dark green carpet and blue walls. I glance at the wedding photo that has hung forgotten for years, the blood now a dark brown. I stare for a second, looking in between the blood spots, looking at myself in the white dress that took me hours to find. I take a deep breath and move forward to the end of the hall,  and stare at the dark navy blue door, with the little ducks. I stand there, hearing the sick wet crunches coming through the door just like they did six years ago.  I open the door, barely pushing it open, the hinges squeak loudly from the lack of use.  I look at the nursery, the baby blue walls peeling just like the hall walls, everything covered in thick layers of dust. I look at the giant block decore above the white crib, each of the five blocks spelling out his name. I avoid looking directly into the crib, knowing that if I do I’ll see the bones of someone who wasn’t even old enough to comprehend death, who deserved a chance to survive as I did. I go to move forward, before falling onto the ground, the carpet manages to muffle it enough that there is no clear sign of Mia or the dead hearing it. I push myself up, slowly shuffle to the rocking chair, and fall into it. I sit there, looking at everything, rocking to my slow heartbeat. This was once a place that filled people with laughter and excitement, but now I fear it is the home of tears and pain. 

I grab the voice recorder and hit play. It will hold a final goodbye to Mia, to life, all on such a small device.  “Mia, I know it doesn’t make sense why I decided to do this. The truth is... the truth is I was bitten, almost two days ago now.” I take a deep breath, I already feel like I'm suffocating. “At the time I am recording this, I can already feel the virus taking over my body, I can feel myself slipping away. You have every right to be angry with me, I understand if you despised me after this. You could say I chose the coward's way, and you could be right, but all I know is that I love you. I love you so much it hurts, you don’t know how in many ways you saved me.” I take a deep shaky breath which leads to a coughing fit, and a metallic taste fills my mouth. I look down at my hand and what greets me is bright crimson-red blood, pooling into the lines of my hand. The realization that I'm dying, that I won't live long enough to see the next sunrise, finally hits me like a truck. I can’t help the thick tears that roll down my cheeks. I look back at the recorder and continue. 

“You lost your sister earlier this year, and I know it still hurts and this will hurt too, but I need you to do something for me, Mia. I need you to live, I need you to find others and live in a community. I don’t want you to just survive as we did, I want you to be able to let your guard down, and laugh as if the world didn’t end six years ago…. There is a secret basement under the stairs, the code is..my son’s, Jack, birthday, 0826015. There should be maps, maybe leftover supplies, I’m not sure anymore.” I look at the door, expecting Mia to barge through at any minute, or expecting to wake up, for this to all be a dream. “When you find me, I ask you don’t move me. I want this room to be my final resting place.” I couldn’t help the sob escape my throat “Im sorry, and I will always love you.” 

I hit stop on the recorder and take out the knife. Aiming the sharp end of it at my temple. A sudden calmness washed over me, and it was like I didn’t fear death. I look at that dark navy blue door with those silly little baby ducks, and I can only hope that I can see Jack once more. 

[the-hopeless-fanboy]

I've been watching a lot of zombie movies lately and I have my own thoughts

reblog for larger poll size plz

[quirkle2]

who wants zombie au writing. don't answer that ur getting it anyway (1.6k words)

His shoes knock against the old flooring of the house, wood creaking under rubber soles that slide over the woodgrain. He drags them a bit, lifts his limbs up no more than he strictly has to, and they lead him to the nearest sittable surface.

The couch is old and dusty and has likely gone untouched for months, much like everything else nowadays, so he watches the thin cloud of dust billow off the cushions largely with disinterest. He collapses into the fabric heavily, feels the whole thing scoot back an inch and hit the wall behind him. The sound echoes, carried by lifeless rooms, while he unceremoniously drops his backpack to the floor by his feet.

The breath he lets out is slow and methodical and born of pent up muscles, aimed at the ceiling where he rests his neck against the back of the couch and relaxes every limb one by one. It’s a process he forces himself through, if only to rid the constant ache beneath his skin.

Slow, sweeping footsteps meander around the room in front of him, and Ritsu angles his gaze down from his craned back position to look at his brother. He wanders, like he so often does—seemingly aimless, but there’s something procedural about it that he’s convinced he just hasn’t figured out yet.

Shigeo’s empty eyes crawl along the hearth of the fireplace, explosions of ash sprayed out across the red brick. His head tilts up to trace his attention around the angular lines of the television, hung on the wall and screen grey with dust. He flits back and forth between the roundness of the bricked mantle and the sharp edges of the screen, like he’s taking notes.

Shigeo paws the television. Four lines of muck are cleared. The zombie blinks, paws at it again with dusty, curious fingers. Ritsu watches him make a mess of the television screen in silence, blinking tiredly.

He almost closes his eyes, but he fights against the urge and moves his fingers down his lap to reach for his bag. His middle hooks around the loop at the top and he lugs it up and into his lap, where he unzips it and peers into the shadowy contents.

Ritsu fishes out the water bottles. He finds the one with the messy R scribbled along the cap in sharpie and takes a big swig of it. It’s warm going down, constantly insulated in a bag of old, sweaty clothes. He feels like he can taste the odor in it, but it clears the grain in his throat from stomping all over dirt roads today, so he’s still grateful.

He holds out the one labeled S to Shigeo. “Thirsty?”

Shigeo looks at him from where he’s crouched down to the floor now, inspecting the soot along the hearth. Unfortunately, he sees handprints in the black already, and when his brother reaches a hand out to take it, his palm is covered in soot.

He lets him have his fun and settles his own bottle back in the mess of tangled clothes and rolls of bandages. Ritsu rakes his fingers through their stock with no real purpose—he knows exactly what’s in here, and none of it is useful.

They’d been searching all day; Ritsu doesn’t really know how far they’d walked, but it had to be a lot of miles. In and out of stores, up and down empty houses, weaving between warehouses—they didn’t really stop for a break. Not when Ritsu can hear Shigeo’s stomach from here and he himself has shaking hands. They can’t afford a break.

Nothing, though. Not a single goddamn thing worth taking. A settlement must have come through here long ago and swept the highway. They’re in the countryside, where houses are spaced out acres from each other and there’s entire cow pastures between properties. And yet every house they’d seen and entered provided nothing.

Ritsu stares into the negative space in his bag where there should be supplies. His stomach cramps and if he smells another whiff of that godawful sweaty, bloody sweatshirt he still carries, he’s going to throw up bile.

He leans away from the open pouch, eyes wandering to his brother who draws… something into the soot of the hearth. His water bottle sits on the floor, abandoned and still unscrewed. Ritsu leans forward with great effort and a grunt, leaning over his bag to grab at the top of it.

It takes him two tries to get Shigeo’s attention, and one more for an answer on where the cap is. It’s then placed in his palm, covered in soot and also saliva. Ritsu swallows down the nausea that rolls up his throat and wipes it off with his frankly already disgusting sleeve, and screws it back on.

He leans back again, succumbing to the urge to let his eyes rest, and he listens to the very subtle swipe of his brother’s hands across brick. There’s birds outside, chirping, and even though it’s still very much a common occurrence, Ritsu cannot help but feel nostalgic about it.

If he ignores the awful hum of silence, and the distinct lack of an electric thrum throughout the walls, and the fact that this is a stranger’s couch and not his, he can almost imagine normalcy. He can almost say this feels like those quiet moments after school, when he settles on the couch and scrolls through his phone in a house that only holds him and his brother because their parents simply aren’t home yet.

He can almost hear the creak of wood from Shigeo walking around his room upstairs. He can almost tap his fingers on the couch cushions to the pattern of his brother making his way down the steps. He can almost hear the fridge opening, and the sound of milk being poured into glass.

Almost. But Ritsu listens to sharp silence instead, and he tries not to think too hard.

He drifts for a while, feels himself truly sink into the couch and let the cushions claim him, and he thinks about nothings because if he doesn’t, then he’ll lose it. He carefully sifts through the nothingness of his mind, through the passing thoughts that have no bearing, and he focuses on that, on the lack of substance. His head is too full of things that have too much substance.

He misses boredom. He tells himself he misses boredom—the complete insubstantiality of it—because if he lets himself think of what he really misses, it’ll drive him insane.

The cushions move, and Ritsu peels his eyes open and lets himself get pulled from liminal mindspace. The cotton in his head recedes, and he blinks, and then he’s swiveling his head to look at his brother who sits in the cushion right next to him.

His hands and the cuffs of his hoodie are smothered in black. Shigeo sits hunched, gaze still wandering even when there’s not much decoration in this house to look at. He studies the off-white walls, the chips in the paint, the holes drilled in where there maybe used to be photos hung.

Ritsu gazes at him quietly, chest instinctively rising and falling to match his brother’s rhythm. He watches the expansion there, under his hoodie, in the subtlety of the folds and the way they warp over the movement. It’s slightly quicker than what he’s used to, but Ritsu knows his brother’s heart rate is much slower. He’s felt it before. He’s listened to it before, with his ear against a chest.

Ritsu’s attention moves to his eyes, and the heavy bags underneath them, and the paleness of his pupils and the ghostlight of him underneath that. He stares into them, looks for stray, familiar thoughts that might enter his head. Looks for old memories that might shine through in the form of recognition when he sees furniture layouts, and candy wrappers, and ads for soda.

Ritsu looks for it all the time, that glint of familiarity. And he finds it, sometimes. And really, he thinks that’s keeping him going more than food ever will.

Shigeo turns his head, and looks at him. Sometimes, when his brother looks at him, there’s not much there. No substance, no anything. And Ritsu finds it a bit evil that he craves silence in his own head, and yet noise in Shigeo’s, and often times it is the other way around.

His brother looks at him now, though, with that comforting recognition. That growth of the pupils, that softening of the hard edges of his face where unknown stressors have gotten to him. Ritsu wonders what zombies get stressed out. He figures it’s the same deal with humans, considering they’re largely alike.

Ritsu wonders if Shigeo knows he’s sick. He wishes he could ask him. He wishes for a lot of things. Silence in his own head is one of them.

Ritsu swivels his head away and stares at the ceiling, if only to force the thoughts to pause. He studies the popcorn ridges above them, traces the peaks with his gaze. It calms him, gives him something to focus on. He looks for patterns in the shadows they make.

Shigeo shifts next to him. And then he shimmies down, settles into the cushions, and plops his head right down on Ritsu’s shoulder.

Static roars in his mind and his heart stammers. Ritsu swallows the lump in his throat but that just makes it bigger, so he clamps his mouth shut and breathes carefully through his nose.

The tears cut through the grime on his face. He plops his own head down against his brother’s, and lives in the noise.

[sincerely-sofie]

If the TPiaG characters ended up in a zombie apocalypse, who’s surviving and who got turned into a zombie first?

Twig gets turned first. 100%. The gal has made a career of taking hits for others, and she’d be no different in the apocalypse. First “death”, hands down, and she’d hide the bite while also trying to isolate herself so no one is around when she turns.

Kip would survive for a good while, and would end up leading a faction of survivors that the Guild are jointly included in.

Grovyle would stoop to levels he’s not proud of to survive. He’s done it before— he can do it again. He’d survive the third longest, after Lyra and Kip, before dying because he committed a bit too hard to the loner schtick and got himself in a bad situation— back against the wall, hordes closing in, that sort of thing.

The sableye would be picked off one by one, and Dusknoir would follow them shortly. They still talk to each other in half-realized sentences after being turned, dazedly trying to comfort each other in echoes of the words they heard before turning. It’s not fun for any onlookers.

Celebi cannot die, and is definitely traveling to happier times to cope. She acts like nothing ever happened, and everyone in the timeline she traveled to KNOWS something happened, but can’t figure out what.

Ark cannot die, and has retreated to Kip’s faction to wallow in his grief. He does what he can to help the bitten pass peacefully and without jeopardizing the rest of the faction.

Lyra, after she’s grown a fair bit older, would become a wandering hero who does good and helps those she can while thinning the herds of zombies as she goes, so to speak. She becomes frighteningly skilled and many wonder what motivated her to become a nomadic do-gooder. Say, didn’t she have parents before this all went down? Where’d those two go?

[angeltannis]

Also going to the zoo reminded me of how well and truly FUCKED the situation in Athia is

[megroha]

.

[basssiliskk]

I have personal beef with most of the tiktok mlp infection aus because of how they mischaracterize or immediately kill off Twilight as if she doesn't literally give off the most potent Final Girl vibes 💀 like she's smart, strong, and knows how to function both alone & w/ a group. Her ass would NOT be dying immediately. Then if they don't make her the first to die they usually make her the evil-scientist villain or something.

Really missing the whole point of why survival horrors are scary, the main conflict should revolve around the struggle of surviving in a wasteland and the strained relationships that come along with that. What good does having a "main antagonist" do? They defeat them and then what? There's still zombies outside

[grimark]

i just wanted to state for the record that i reblogged that last post during a brief tumblr break while wandering around a medical history museum oohing and ahhing over The Implements. while dressed like a fucking mall goth.

[volfoss]

i gotta know. what is everyone's guilty pleasure horror movie. doesnt have to be the worst movie ever or anything

[the-hopeless-fanboy]

reblog for larger poll size plz

[steakout-05]

does anyone have any information about this "Age Of Zombies Beer Stein" that was mentioned in a contest Halfbrick did for the game's iOS release? it's mentioned in this page as one of the first place prizes, but i've never seen a single image of it anywhere, and searching for it yields no results.

it's not on their Cafepress so it must have been something exclusive. i'm just curious to know what it looked like because you'd expect something like this to pop up as a photo somewhere. the section screenshotted seems to imply that there was a photo of it up on the page at one point, so i thought i'd look on the Wayback Machine to see if it was archived, but the one snapshot from 2020 has nothing. is this like, a piece of physical lost media or something? why is this so interesting?

(important note: i tried to have a look at the page announcing the winners to see if there was any info about the mysterious stein, but for some unknown reason, the link keeps redirecting to "Dog playing Fruit Ninja" which i find to be both kinda annoying and extremely funny. i keep getting my path blocked by some dog on an iPad and i don't know how to get around it....)

[infizero]

also his drawings. make me insane. im pretty sure ive made a post about this before a while ago but i just love looking at his silly little drawings it adds so much to his character. even after everything he's been through he's still got some humor and lightheartedness in him. and he's really good at drawing too!! so it's likely something he's been doing since he was a kid

[feathrvane]

zombie apocalypse GO!!!

might've had a bit too much fun with these. here's my guys

find the original here!

[autistic-dumbass]

Since breaking bad is canon to resident evil does that also mean the walking dead is also canon since there was a twd reference in breaking bad?

[plantsucc]

boys when they take their central nervous system stimulant (ADHD pills) and can finally live out their dreams 🤤

[samuraisharkie]

remembered how rancid tlou2 is and was checking through some criticism and found out, unfortunately, that the show is still written by the same zionist sadistic, homophobic, transphobic, asshole who operates as if everyone has the same cruel hate that he has. apparently they are retconning the show to match his vision as well, which pisses me off to no end. Making Ellie bloodthirsty, making Joel out to be a cruel violent evil man who’s going to get what’s coming to him, all of that trying to justify the thinly veiled zionist propaganda that is the The Last of Us 2. But it’s getting away with it all because they stuck gay men in it, and Ellie is a lesbian (despite the gratuitous vilification and torture of her) so criticizing the show or the game means you just hate gay men or lesbian protagonists, as if that’s even the fucking issue. It’s been a good ass while since I thought about it but that first game was decent, the second is torture porn and hate thinly veiled as a hamfisted centrist view on ‘the cycle of violence’ and the fantasy of escaping it. I’m just sick of all zombie media at this point, it all turns into this gratuitous gore and “wow aren’t humans so evil? aren’t we so cruel? look at how no matter what humans will hurt each other and it will always happen!” bullshit message with a slapped over “violence is wrong though :(“ message despite every writer on any of these being men who fantasize about violence and admit to it.