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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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not-poignant · 3 months

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hihi pia! youve said before that you like to leave a lot of the visuals up to the readers imagination with what you write, but i thought to ask can you explain maybe the layour of garys cottage? 😭😭 im so bad with stuff like orientation and space, and i struggle so much sometimes when i read and think ok, now where is that door they came from and where is that chair next to the table and that window. rereading the teacup incident & i just really cant make it work. its fine if not. ily!

Anon, very unfortunately, I am not an architect, and I just spent 30 minutes trying to draw this out which has highlighted to me that I know what the layout is but my job is actually writing and not...drawing the layouts of homes. (If only)

You can always just look up cosy cottages and then use that, anon!

The job of a reader (imho) isn't to imagine things exactly as they are, but go from the details they've been given and often relate that back to what they already know. Sometimes that might mean looking something up if it's genuinely something you've never seen before (karri trees), or relating them back to a tall tree you're familiar with (sequoias). In fact no reader imagines the same thing when they're reading. I could spend 1000 words describing a red cabinet and people will imagine 1000 slightly different variations anyway. Everyone has a different idea of 'red' and a different idea of 'wood' and a different idea of 'cabinet' and even if I lock down into the nitty gritty, if we're not living in the same country, our power sockets look different, our heating and cooling systems (and accommodations for them) are different, the fabrics we use are different (unless we all go to IKEA), the smells of the home are all slightly different.

I think even if I did draw it out successfully in two hours (which is not time I really have spare at the moment :/ I wish I did because I think it could be fun except that I don't want to download architecture software to make an actual blueprint of an entire cottage that's in scale but also shows exactly where the furniture will go which includes interior design as well x.x - and I do know exactly how it's laid out mentally, so I know I could make it work. (And I still might, maybe, but probably not while I have a 15 week old puppy I'm sorry anon D: ) But yeah doing it on paper has proven to me that actually writing out the location of like 50 different things means the blueprint becomes too small and messy to still tell what's going on. I wrote 'table and chairs' over the table and chairs and now you can no longer see the table and chairs in my sketch which is not useful!

There's a difference between the layout of a house and the layout of the objects and furniture in a house. I may have worked for an architecture firm, but I am not a house designer. *cries*

But! All you really need to know is that Gary can't see the kitchen cabinets from where he sits on the couch. Which means if someone crouches down and opens the cabinets, he can't see them either. There are a lot of houses that have layouts like this, especially houses that have a counter not just up against the wall, but in the middle of the kitchen.

For example in this image, if a couch was in front of the kitchen counter that's free-standing, and a person was sitting on the couch and looked at the free-standing kitchen counter, they would not be able to see the kitchen cabinets from the free standing kitchen counter, or what's in them. They can only see the counter. If the lounge was lower than the kitchen, they'd see even less.

In this image, if the couch was where the stairs are, you'd not be able to see what Efnisien was doing in the kitchen at all until he stoop and held up the teacup. If he kept the teacup low in his hands, you'd not be able to see it at all.

Because Gary's cottage is small, but open plan, the lounge has a view to the kitchen, but not directly into the kitchen.

There's lots of houses that feature this kind of architecture, so if you really want to go down that rabbit hole, you can just search different kitchens in cottages until you see one where if you sit on the couch, you can't see someone crouched in front of the kitchen cabinets.

Gary's free-standing kitchen counter is also multi-level like this is multi-level:

So someone could stand there and make a coffee and a person sitting on the couch wouldn't be able to see what they were doing. Ornaments and vases and notes etc. can go on the raised bit, and kitchen stuff can happen on the lower bit.

Ah marvel at my use of technical terms *cries again*

Anyway! I hope that helps somewhat. I'm mad that I can't draw this layout for you because I do wish I could just...mentally take people on a tour through this cottage. And it would be great to do that. But I am looking at the saddest most pathetic sketch in my sketchpad right now, and I used to work as an artist, but I'm just very very very very bad at this kind of technical drawing.

But maybe the teacup scene will make a little more sense now :)

#asks and answers #pia on writing #pia on failing at writing lmao #underline the black #setting description is tough because like #unless you yourself are actually drawing a layout anon #which almost no one does #what most people get instead is just a 'sense' of where things are #they might know the bedroom feels like it's in the right place if it's too the right or the left #or they might imagine something cosy for them #when you don't get that sense #you can then go to looking up cottages #like 'australia cottage bushland' or something #and get an idea of the woods and furniture used in some of the nicer small ones #if you find something you like you can use that #just like writing is an artform #reading is also a bit of an artform #the best part is you transform the story as you read it #it's not meant to look like how i imagined it exactly #it becomes something entirely new in your head #but i still hope this post helped!!!!

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