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quirkle2 · 3 months

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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.

#qkwrites #zombie au #hi <3 #why am i nervous to share this . jayshut up #just to be clear this isn't going to be a full fic #i don't ? believe in my ability to write a Good zombie apocalypse story #at least one in a novel-like layout yaknow #partly bc i know i'll struggle w the logistics and consistency #but also bc i haven't seen a whole lot of zombie media before #i've never watched the walking dead i've never seen any of the popular zombie movies or shows #i think i watched zombieland 2 once ... the one with woody harrelson and thatone guy #uhm. he looks a bit like michael cera but he's Not michael cera. im not crazy he Does resemble him #jesse eisenberg there it is #but that's.the extent of my experience with zombie things #so i!!! wouldn't know if im just making overdone cliche shit #i prolly already am.this concept is prolly old news. i wouldn't know i don't fucking watch zombie stuff VGEAIYVA #idk.my confidence for this isn't there so im not makin it a fic even tho i kinda want to #but i do still wanna write them. so any zombie au writing will be in little micro-scenes like this <3 #some of em might be bigger than others idk yet. we'll see #i Thought i could call this a drabble. but then i learned that drabbles are literally supposed to be exactly 100 words #this is . notthat GVIYEAGVA #ritsu kageyama #mp100 ritsu #mp100 shigeo #mp100 mob #shigeo kageyama #i feel bad putting this in the main tags but.i mean it Does pertain ....#not the mp100 tag tho . iwon't do that to u

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mrmichaelchadler · 6 years

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Home Entertainment Consumer Guide: April 19, 2018

5 NEW TO NETFLIX

"Beyond Skyline" "Eddie Murphy: Delirious" "Lakeview Terrace" "Nowhere Boy" "Porto"

7 NEW TO BLU-RAY/DVD

"The Awful Truth" (Criterion)

I love when the Criterion Collection digs into the comedy archives and unleashes films like those of Preston Sturges or the prime of Cary Grant and Katherine Hepburn. And so I was ecstatic to hear they were restoring the truly phenomenal "The Awful Truth," one of the best films of its kind ever made. He made a lot of wonderful films over the course of his notable career, but if you wanted to put one movie into a capsule and shoot it into space for other worlds to know about the star power of Cary Grant, this might be the one. He's so effortlessly charming here, and his work is well analyzed by David Cairns on a special feature. As for other bonus material, this one is a little light when compared to other Criterions, but you get an amazing film and an essay by the singular Molly Haskell. That's reason enough to click on the link below.

Buy it here

Special Features New 4K digital restoration, with uncompressed monaural soundtrack on the Blu-ray New interview with critic Gary Giddins about director Leo McCarey New video essay by film critic David Cairns on Cary Grant’s performance Illustrated 1978 audio interview with actor Irene Dunne Lux Radio Theatre adaptation of the film from 1939, starring Grant and Claudette Colbert PLUS: An essay by film critic Molly Haskell

"The Commuter"

Seeing this film at Ebertfest on the same day I caught a screening of Andrew Davis' "The Fugitive," I was reminded why I like the Liam Neeson action films, especially those directed by Jaume Collet-Serra (who did this, "Unknown, "Non-Stop," and "Run All Night"). I actually think history will be kind to these movies, especially in the "watch every time they're on cable department". This one is blissfully simple as Neeson plays a man on a commuter train who is offered $100k simply to find someone. When he realizes why he has to find this person, he tries to turn the tables on the people involved and, well, things get crazy. I'm a sucker for streamlined action films and the great majority of this movie takes place on one train. It's effective and fun. Kind of like the story of Richard Kimble.

Buy it here

Special Features End of the Line Off the Rails

"Knowing"

Alex Proyas' "Knowing" has been a fascinating film for me since it was released for one simple reason: Roger Ebert gave it four stars! It's often pointed to as one of those films that illustrates how much Roger was willing to go out on a limb. We're increasingly in a world of film criticism that often feels like it's built around consensus, in which everyone has to agree that something is fantastic or awful, but Roger never cared about that. Not once. He always went his own way, and he was willing to embrace a movie like this that spoke to him even if the rest of the critical body didn't agree. It's been re-released in a 4K Blu-ray and it's a better film than you remember (even if Roger's perfect rating may not be something I agree with) but it's a reminder that it's important to be in the minority sometimes when it comes to opinions. It's what makes us human.

Buy it here

Special Features Audio Commentary with Director Alex Proyas Knowing All: The Making of a Futuristic Thriller Featurette Visions of the Apocalypse Featurette 5 Things Worth Knowing About Knowing Featurette (4K Blu-ray Only)

"Mohawk"

Ted Geoghegan is a long-time associate as a publicist and a friend, but I really don't think that colors my opinion of his work as a filmmaker. His startling "We Are Still Here" announced a director who was willing to do things a little differently from the rest of the indie horror scene, and this film really makes his unique voice clear in that it doesn't feel like anything else that came out last year. It's a story of Native American culture that's also a thriller and a story of empowerment, and in an era in which so many genre films look alike, it's so refreshing to see something like "Mohawk" that stands apart from the crowd. You should check it out.

Buy it here

Special Features -None

"Molly's Game"

This column largely consists of films that I would recommend to buyers or renters, but I often extend it to include things that I realize more people like than I do, which is the case with Aaron Sorkin's directorial debut. I recognize that my opinion of this film is in the minority and that people who like it may want to know it's on Blu-ray and DVD. I will say that I still find it highly overrated, largely because of the issues I have with Sorkin's writing lately, and the deep misogyny embedded in it. Even this story that should be empowering given its protagonist culminates in a scene that fractures the entire narrative purpose of the story. I will say that the performances here are uniformly strong, including Jessica Chastain, Michael Cera, and Bill Camp, but I wish another director could have smoothed out some of Sorkin's rough edges.

Buy it here

Special Features Building an Empire

"Phantom Thread"

There are no rough edges in P.T. Anderson's latest, a film that I'm increasingly thinking might actually be the best of 2017. Talk about a film that holds up well on repeat viewing. This movie is a masterpiece of tonal balance and production value, anchored by not just one great performance but three. I love everything about "Phantom Thread," and have written about it too many times to add anything new to the conversation, other than to mention that it's a film that has gotten better every time I see it. That's not uncommon for Anderson films.

Buy it here

Special Features Camera Tests – With audio commentary by Paul Thomas Anderson For the Hungry Boy – A collection of deleted scenes. Music by Jonny Greenwood House of Woodcock Fashion Show – Fashion Show narrated by Adam Buxton Behind the Scenes Photographs – Photographs from the film by Michael Bauman with demo versions of Jonny Greenwood's score

"The Post"

I am a HUGE fan of Steven Spielberg's historical dramas, going to bat for "Lincoln," "Munich," and "Bridge of Spies" as being among the best works of his career. And so I was remarkably excited for "The Post," but consider second-tier Spielberg, in the good-not-great category of his career. Sure, the film is technically unimpeachable, and it contains the most interesting Meryl Streep performance in years, but it's easy to see how rushed this production was, and I wish everyone involved had taken a little more time to round out the reasons why they were making it and imbue it with a bit more heart and soul. Still, second-tier Spielberg is well-worth seeing.

Buy it here

Special Features Layout: Katharine Graham, Ben Bradlee & The Washington Post Editorial: The Cast and Characters of The Post The Style Section: Re-Creating an Era Stop the Presses: Filming The Post Arts and Entertainment: Music for The Post

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