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asumofwords · 10 months

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Smoke, Fire and Ash

Warnings: This fic includes noncon, dubcon, manipulation, violence, death, forced marriage, and inc3st. Tags will be added as the fic goes on. Rape, assault, choking, slapping, suicidal thoughts, feelings of hopelessness.

This is a dark!fic. 18+ only. Read at your own discretion. Please read the warnings before continuing.

Summary: You are the eldest daughter of Rhaenyra and Daemon Targaryen. You are forced to navigate the difficult surroundings of your upbringing and the eventual disintegration between your family and the Hightower's relationship. What will happen when your older and estranged uncle suddenly takes a more sinister interest in you? (Dark!Aemond x Reader)

Masterlist

Characters: Aemond Targaryen X Reader, HOTD characters.

Note: Hello my babies, here is the next chapter.

I wanted to preface this by saying, please be cautious with the trigger warnings, it is going to be a heavy chapter. I also wanted to say, be kind in the comment sections and what you say, there may be survivors who read your words.

If you are at all triggered, please know that you are not alone, and that you are a survivor, and there are people you can talk to and get help with.

I think we all knew that this was coming, but even still, it feels wrong to say enjoy this time. Tread carefully, and be kind to yourself <3

Chapter 74: A Crown of Thorns

Another day went by in your chambers, time moving at an odd pace.

Sometimes it moved speedily, at others seemingly dragging on. You did not sleep that evening, sitting on the chaise as Helaena and Lucerys stood by the fireplace, continuing to whisper together until you had grown so used to their sound, that you did not find discomfort any longer.

It grew to be a noise that was like a breeze outside the Keep, brushing against the windows or through the corridors, or the soft crackling of the fire.

A sound that blended into the background, like the waves that would crash against the cliff-face of Dragonstone, or the soft discernible buzzing of Flea Bottom.

There.

Inevitable.

Inescapable.

Despite being in the Keep for only a few of moons, you felt as though you had been there for a lifetime. It was a strangeness that you couldn’t shake off. And an uncomfortable reminder of how much time you had lost with your family.

Another loss to never be gained again.

Your body had begun to feel weak, lack of sleep and proper meals scraping roughly against the sinews on your bones. You forced yourself to eat a meal, watched on by the maids that morning, concern evident in their eyes.

You finished the bread on your plate, and the entirety of the sweet star fruit one of the girls had neatly cut up for you with your own knife and fork. You had even indulged in three slices of beef, and attempted to swallow a roasted tomato. But the tomato did not go down smoothly, its wet and slimy texture causing you to gag as soon as it hit the back of your throat.

You had drank your tea under the eyes of the maids, who had whispered words of praise as you drank it, promising that it would make you feel better and that you should be yourself in no time. That Aemond would return soon, and perhaps they could escort you on a walk through the Gardens to lift your spirits.

They were kind. They were patient, and the walls that they had guarded themselves with when you first arrived had been lowered significantly. You even felt that they had come to care for you sincerely, and not just as a part of their duties.

You missed Saria and Aella.

The meal had definitely helped your spirits, and your body felt slightly better being given some sustenance. Yet your mind was still raw, Helaena and Lucerys had been by your bed when you had woken, their whispers peeling back layers of dwindling resolve.

Though as you had eaten, they had left from your sight, their whispering voices still ringing in your ears.

In truth, you were exhausted.

Mentally and physically.

It felt like an uphill battle.

You would take two steps forward, and five steps back. Your mind waxing and waning through strong and brittle. Memories of the past striking fear seemingly out of nowhere at times, and storms of uncertainty racing you towards the edge of a cliff you knew there was no coming back from.

But surely this was progress.

The road to recovery was a long one, and although your side had healed, it still came to irritate you.

Where there was once an open wound, now sat puckered and scarred skin, still sensitive to the touch if you pressed it. Some days it would twinge, and small sparks of discomfort would rise up your ribs if you sat at an odd angle, bumped it against something, or even if one of your gowns was too tight across the new skin.

At moments like those, when your elbow would push pressure against it, or the side of the chaise would dig into it meanly, or Aemond’s hands would grasp or tease, you could feel the phantom pains of when it had once been opened. You could feel the way in which the new skin was now pulled taut by scars and ached at random.

Sometimes it even itched, and you had to gently let yourself rub the pads of your fingers, no nails, across it to soothe the irritation.

The scar, you supposed, was similar to your mind.

Though it had healed, there was still the presence of what had happened. There was still the pain and uncomfortability, the voices and visions, and reminders of the past whenever those corners of the mind were pressed or disturbed.

Like your scar, if the wound was touched, even though healed, it would still offer a reaction. It would ache, or itch, or send panic rearing through you. And this was something that you hoped would heal with time.

You just needed time.

And time was what you had, though the looming threat of Aegon did little to the scars on your psyche which were poked, and prodded, or scratched by the sharp nails of paranoia and justified rage.

You doubted the lacerations to your mind had even begun to heal, and if they had, any little progress they had made, any scabbing over, or the prospect of change had been picked away by the circumstances surrounding you. Relentless fingers pulling at the platelets that had formed over the injury, blood and memories spilling forth, setting you back to where you started from.

The same open wound.

That evening, when the maids had come to your chambers, you had ate with little fuss, though your stomach cramped at suddenly being so full. You had nibbled at the warm bread and feasted on cooked potatoes and legumes. Even indulging in a goblet of wine, which somehow settled your nerves.

A quick fix to a longer issue.

When you had finished your meal, the maids, who had not left the chambers as you ate, hovering about, pretending to tend to their duties, when in reality they were casting quick and short glance over their shoulders at you, readied you for bed.

The vanity sat in front of you as one of the maids had begun to brush out your hair, combing it gently as she looked at your face in the reflection. A soft humming came from her chest as she worked, untangling your knots.

It was a tune that plucked a string of familiarity within you. A musical lilt that felt ancestral to its core, and you found that it calmed you almost immediately.

There was something about it, something that made your brain tick.

You shifted in the green cushioned seat and looked the girl in the eyes.

“What are you humming?” You had asked, voice soft.

The girl cleared her throat and stopped, “A daughters song, Princess.” She responded meekly.

“Would you sing it for me?”

You wished to hear it.

To feel it.

For it to drown out any whispers in the back of your head, or the corner of the room. You wished to hear it for what it was, to see if it did hold familiarity or if it was, like many things in that present moment, just in your head.

The girls hands stopped in your hair as she looked at you, before a blush spread over her cheeks. She looked down and then over her shoulder at the other maid, who had discontinued fluffing the same pillow she had been arranging for quite some time.

Clearing her throat again, she nodded, “Yes, Princess.” And began unsteadily, as if nervous for your reaction, uncertain if she would be punished or berated.

“Come now my daughter, come sit beside me, rolling green hills, and a mountain of flames,” She began, and you let yourself lean into her hands as she kept them threading through your hair.

“We sit one last time, two parts of the same, a curse to be born, a woman’s last name. A woman of duty, a wicked hearts game, a wife’s job is set, the children are tamed.” As she continued, you realised that you had not heard the song at all, though the melody reminded you of a memory you could not discern.

“The girls life is done, the woman’s life breathes, rise with the sun, and rest with its leave. Clipped of your wings, never to fly, a woman’s one job, is to let her man die.” The maid looked down, not meeting your eyes as her hands stilled in your locks.

As you made no move to punish her, or reprimand her, or even correct her, she continued, voice a fair bit more confident, though still soft and gentle, “We all face the fate, no woman can hide. The sins of the flesh, till the woman has died.”

You blinked sheepishly at the girl as she distracted herself with brushing your hair, not daring to look up at you.

“Why is that so familiar? Is it a Westerosi song?”

“I’m not sure, Your Grace. My mother used to sing it to me.”

“It is quite dark.” You mused softly, reflecting on the song.

‘Clipped of your wings, never to fly.’

“It is a song about becoming a woman, Princess. It is not an easy road, especially for common folk. It is a song sung to us to prepare us, should we ever be married.”

You hummed in agreement, “Thank you for sharing it with me. Is your mother-“

“Gone.” She uttered, voice hoarse with emotion, “A fever when I was a child, Your Grace.”

“I’m sorry for your loss. She sounded like a wise woman to sing it to you.”

“She was.” She smiled softly at you in the reflection.

The smaller maid came to the both of your sides as the other took her hands from your hair, “Will you be needing anything else from us, Princess?” She asked.

“No, thank you both.” You smiled at them, though it twitched from strain, “You may rest for the evening.”

As the girls turned to leave the chamber, a crawling sense of shame and realisation washed over you.

“What are your names?” You called across the chambers, looking at how the two girls stopped to turn and face you, not looking down at their feet, but instead directly at you.

The eldest of girls who had mousy brown hair, and deep brown eyes, bowed her head as she spoke, “Amala, Your Grace.”

The youngest whose hair was a deep blonde, skin littered in freckles followed the other, bowing her head and looked down as she introduced herself, “Joanna, Princess.”

You smiled at the both of them, a genuine smile, and repeated their names on your tongue to the chambers.

“Apologies for not asking sooner," You apologised sheepishly, "Thank you. You may leave.”

The girls gave another short bow and smiled at you before leaving the chambers, the orange of their robes disappearing out the chamber doors.

You sighed, back bending on the vanity chair as you relaxed without their presence.

Exhaustion seeped into your bones, and your eyelids grew heavy with every breath you took. Looking across the room, Helaena and Lucerys stood by the fire watching you, mouths moving, and only snake-like hissing coming out as they whispered.

Wearily you moved, and got into bed, promising yourself that you would only rest your eyes, if only for a moment, and then you could rise again and stay vigilant. Yet resolve flew out the window as soon as your leadened limbs laid on the plush down of the bed, and the soft doona was pulled over you.

Laying your head on the pillow, you kept your eyes on the chamber doors and waited. But the wait was longer than your body could stand, and so your lids grew too heavy to hold open and slid shut, the depths of sleep dragging you under.

Dreams of serpents surrounded you, their glistening yellow bellies and scales of emerald green shining against the stone floors.

Jet black eyes stared at you as the largest of snakes rose its head.

A forked tongue flicked out. The thin, pink muscle rattling in the air around you as it watched you with beady eyes, tasting the air.

Tasting you.

It hissed, large fangs showing as it begun to curl around your feet, winding its way higher and higher up your body, its muscles constricting you.

And yet there was nothing you could do, and nothing that you did do but watch as it wrapped around you higher and higher, pressing your arms to your side as it hissed in your ear. Your mind screamed at you to move, but your body refused, knowing that it could not escape its fate.

Knowing what was to come.

Making peace with its own demise.

The serpent pulled back to look you in the eyes as it curled its body around you tighter. Its scaled gums pulled back, revealing rows of needled teeth as it grinned at you.

“He is coming.” It hissed, before striking forward towards your neck.

You woke with a start, a sharp biting pain on your flesh as you felt weight atop you.

The chambers were dark, and all you could feel was your heavy limbs that were held down by a weight atop you. You jerked, breath coming out of you in a gasp as the feeling of teeth on your neck pushed you to the surface of consciousness.

Your heart galloped in your chest, beating against your ribs.

In the dim of the chambers, the teeth relinquished your neck, head rearing up to look down at you.

There, above you, hands holding your arms down and thighs pinning your own beneath him, sat Aegon. His teeth shone in the night as he looked at you, canines glistening predatorily as he realised you had woken.

Fear coursed through you as you began to thrash beneath him, desperate to get out of his grip as he held you down, his short wavy hair halo’d around his face.

“Thought you’d never wake up.” He grinned excitedly.

“Get off me.” You growled, trying to shift your legs to knee him between his.

He tutted you with his tongue, cocking his head as his hands tightened around your arms, bruising the tender flesh, “That’s not very nice.”

“Fuck you. Let me go!” You yelled into the chambers, hips bucking up as cold dread settled over you.

Please, Gods. Not this.

“Why do you fight this?” He mocked, “Why do you try to honour my brother when he fucks Alys? He has left you here,” A sick grin crawled wider across his face, “All alone.”

“Fuck you. Get off me! Kn-“ You began to call out to the knight for help, to see if he would respond, but Aegon’s hands lifted from your arms and pushed down on your throat roughly, pushing all air from your lungs and preventing the scream which had begun.

“You think the Knight would help you?” Aegon sneered, as you thrashed beneath him, pushing at him with all your strength, “Do you think he would listen to you? I could command him to come in here and make him watch, and he would do it. Should I call him for you?” He growled, fingers tightening around your throat, the room beginning to spin.

Please Gods, have I not given enough?

Your hands flew up to grab his, nails digging into the skin as you desperately tried to pry them from your neck. The muscles in your back cramped painfully as you tried to push up and away, to throw him off of you, but the Kings hands did not relent, and the world around you began to fade into black, the chambers softly floating away.

You relaxed beneath him, mind going numb as his laughter faded, hands releasing slightly. Air rushed into your lungs as you coughed and spluttered beneath him. One of his hands slid down your body to yank your chemise up from your thighs.

Grunting you tried to wriggle away from him, one hand lifting to try and claw at his face which he batted away with ease. His hand continued to pull up the chemise as you jerked in his hold, one hand still on your throat squeezing.

No.

Gods, please, no.

Not him.

Anyone but him.

“You know, I think I like it when you pretend that you don’t want me. The chase makes it far more enjoyable.” He purred, wine on his breath as it fanned over you.

Your voice was trapped in your chest.

You wished to scream at him.

To tell him to get off you.

To cry for help.

But nothing came out.

Aegon slapped your cheek playfully with one hand as he cooed at you.

“Should have taken you as my second wife, just as Aegon the First had. You and Helaena could have been sister-wives, and I could have watched you both swell with my seed.” He smiled, as you tried to push him back.

Aegon grabbed your throat roughly, pushing down, jolting your head and holding you, grin staring down at you in the dark of the chambers. The room dimmed as you struggled to breathe, legs kicking pitifully beneath you.

And then you were floating.

Not there in the room.

Not beneath him.

Not feeling anything but the pain against your throat and an odd numbness that began to surround your body. You could hear the mumbled voice of Aegon, but it felt so far away.

So far away.

You felt like you were fading. Drifting, and drifting, like a ship sails the sea, bobbing atop the waves as it moved through crystal waters on its way to a destination, weightless and carried by the tide.

But you didn’t know where your destination was, and instead you were being carried, drifting in gentle waves that told you not where you were going, moving you as you faded further and further into the darkness.

Until you lifted away.

Gone.

A weight moved across your body and the world came back around you, ears ringing as your body was jolted. A coldness spread down you as you slowly moved through the abyss and back to the room.

There was a voice, mumbling to you.

But you didn’t want to leave the numbness and dark you had sunk into. You wanted to stay were you were. You wanted to keep your eyes shut and bask in it.

There was no pain there.

There was no fear there.

There was nothing.

Not even you.

You were so tired.

Why wouldn’t they let you rest?

Someone was speaking to you.

Why wouldn’t they just let you sleep?

The pull on your throat steadily brought you to the present, and feeling shot back through your body.

There are hands on you.

Hands all over you.

Hands touching you and pinching you.

A hand slapping your face roughly, snapping you back into the room.

Your eyes opened as Aegon sat atop of you, lips moving but you couldn’t hear a word he said, your ears ringing loudly in your skull. The world tilted and confusion rolled through you.

Your throat hurt.

Why did you throat hurt?

You groaned trying to shift him off of you.

Why was he on top of you?

Aegon kept talking down at you, and as your body slowly came to be, and feeling moved back through your mind, you felt a rough pressure against one of your breasts as he squeezed it meanly in his hand.

You tried to squirm away from his grip, mumbling as he smiled at you.

“Get… off me.” You uttered softly, still dizzy and unsure of what was happening.

Aegon knelt half on you, half off, his knee pressed down on your stomach, as one large hand pinched painfully at your nipple, and the other moved between your thighs. You jerked in his hold, trying to get out from beneath him as a large finger forced its way inside of you.

You cried out as he thrusted his hand into you painfully, not caring for your pain or confusion. Pain rippled up from between your thighs, his fingers scratching against you dryly.

“Fuck you’re tight.” The King growled from above.

The world tilted, and you felt as though you were to be sick as he continued to fuck his hand into you, the other rolled a stiff nipple between his fingers. Tears began to gather in your eyes as the world caught up around you and realisation sat in.

This was it.

You could scarcely move from your spot beneath him. Every jolt of his hand stirred your head and made you nauseous, and all you could do was whimper beneath him, desperate to not throw up. You thrashed on the bed, feeling his fingers slip out of you.

The hand on your breast moved back to your throat and squeezed. The chambers grew dark, and your vision blurred as you looked at Aegon. His figure slowly disappearing as you faded away again.

You were so tired.

If you closed your eyes maybe this wouldn’t be happening.

If you closed your eyes, perhaps he would not be there anymore.

Your eyelids grew heavy and slid shut, and you felt yourself fade away from the world again, drifting away on the waves that pulled you in with its tide.

Please let me stay here.

Everything around you was black until it wasn’t, and you were blinking your eyes awake, a sharp pain blooming across your cheek.

“Stay with me, I want you to watch.” Aegon growled, as a tear slide down your cheek and onto the pillow below.

“Aemond.” You whimpered, head fuzzy, fear mounting within you.

Your heart was in your throat.

Fight back.

Where was Aemond?

“Aemond isn’t here to stop me this time.” He purred, “I’m going to fuck an heir into you like he should have.”

“He’ll kill you.” You slurred, tongue heavy.

Aegon laughed earnestly, “He won’t. I’m his brother, and you’re nothing but his whore.”

A sob fell from your lips as he laughed in your face. Despair settled in the pit of your stomach.

The King adjusted himself atop you, slapping away your hands as you tried to push him off of you again, kicking your legs out underneath him weakly, sheets tangling at the end of the bed, raising your head to chase his hand as you tried to bite him.

One knee slid between your thighs and then the other, parting you open for him as you tried to pull yourself up the bed and away. Aegon wrapped his hands around your throat again and squeezed, rutting his clothed cock against you roughly, enjoying the way you cried beneath him.

Please, let it be over.

You felt yourself begin to drift away again before he let go of your throat, your head lulling to the side as your body jerked from lack of oxygen. Your uncle jerked his pants below his ass, pulling his cock free before leaning over you. He rubbed his tip along your entrance and you felt the urge to be sick.

It was like the dungeons.

The feel of the stone beneath you. The dampness of the room. The darkness of the cell.

It all came rushing back as you sobbed beneath him.

“I’m going to fuck you, the way I should’ve in that cell.” He pushed forward, rubbing himself along you as you cried and clawed at his hands, “The way I should have when you first came back to Kings Landing.”

Aegon squeezed your throat, causing dots to form in your eyes as he forced you to stare at him, jerking your head.

“I’m going to fuck an heir into your cunt, and watch you swell with my child.”

Across the room, the whispers of Lucerys and Helaena had quietened, and all you could hear was the heavy breathing of your uncle who began to force his way inside of you.

Please, Gods, spare me.

You cried out in agony, sharp burning pain rippling through you as he forced himself through your folds dryly, huffing a laugh of pleasure as he pushed to his limit, seating himself inside.

You felt yourself tear as he jolted you up the bed with his thrust, crying out in pain, splitting you open on his cock as your eyes scrunched shut. Your hands raised to claw at him again, trying to reach his face or chest, but Aegon’s hand around your neck tightened further.

This was it.

You wished you would die.

You wished he would kill you as you sobbed beneath him.

You were so weak, too weak to fight back as he pulled back slowly, moaning as he went, looking down to where his cock speared you. There was a wetness between your thighs that you knew was blood, and you whimpered again as he slowly pushed back inside of you.

“Fuck, your little cunt is so tight for me. Are you sure you’re not a maiden? You’re bleeding on my cock like one.” He huffed, continuing to slowly push himself back inside of you, each and every inch of his cock sending agony racing up and down your spine as your legs were forced open beneath him.

“Aemond’s probably fucking a bastard into Alys right now as I fuck one into you.” He laughed, your heart clenching in your chest as you sobbed loudly into the chambers.

“Don’t cry,” The King cooed, thrusting harder into you, “It is an honour to have my seed inside of you.”

You coughed beneath him as he picked up his pace, pistoning his hips into yours, your body jolting beneath him. The pain never leaving you, and a sickness settling into your stomach.

Please let me die.

Please let me fade away.

Please Gods, take me away from here.

“Please.” You uttered.

Please, Mercy?

Please, Gods, help me.

Please, Aemond, return to me.

Please.

Aegon moaned as he heard you whimper, and let go of your throat, a lungful of air racing through your mouth as you gasped. Aegon fucked himself into you, the sound of his grunts and his flesh slapping against yours filled the chambers with your sobs.

And there was nothing you could do but endure.

As you always had.

It was only a matter of time.

This was inevitable, you told yourself.

It was always to happen.

You could never stop it.

Aemond could never stop it.

The Gods had made it so.

It was to always happen.

Your head lulled to the side as he continued to drag his cock in and out of your walls painfully, your breasts jerking beneath him as he fucked you up the bed.

You silently cried as Aegon raped you mercilessly in Aemond’s and yours bed.

Eyes looked anywhere but him, searching to be anywhere but beneath him. To feel anything but him tearing through your walls, or the way his cock bruised your cervix.

The fireplace was blurred, and beside it, two figures watching you.

Aegon’s pace began to increase, the bed creaking as you sobbed quietly and gagged, begging in your mind. You kept your eyes on your aunt and brother.

Please, help me brother.

Please, aunt.

Please.

But they did not come to help.

Nor did they whisper.

Instead the pair watched on from the fireplace.

Helaena’s face full of sorrow, and Lucerys’ of rage.

A numbness began to creep through your mind, the same numbness you had felt before. The numbness that had crawled through your veins at the night of the wedding, and instead of fighting it, you welcomed it with open arms.

Take me.

Aegon became more vocal the closer he got to his release, his moans and groans cascading into the air as his thrusts became sloppier and more painful. You blinked into the dark, slumping in the bed as you prayed he would finish soon.

That it would be over soon.

“Kepa.” You whimpered, calling out to your father that you knew could not hear you.

That you knew could not help you.

That you knew could not save you.

Aegon groaned loudly, and suddenly it was over.

He pushed himself as deep as he could go and you felt the heat of his seed begin to pool against your womb. Nausea rolled inside of you, and you retched loudly, feeling the food you had pitifully eaten begin to rise from your stomach.

The weight of the King settled atop you as he laid his body down from exhaustion, cock still twitching inside of you.

Searing pain spread through your core as you blinked the tears away, still crying beneath him.

It was over.

Aegon shifted, pulling his now soft cock from inside of you, a moan tumbling from his lips as a whimper escaped yours.

You laid still, mind reeling, body frozen as he looked down at you.

“Let us pray you birth a King’s bastard.” He snickered, your head still turned as you looked at the fireplace, Lucerys and Helaena watching on.

The tears continued to flow down your cheeks, and the familiar comfort of the murky tide rose to swallow you whole. It tugged you beneath its surface and dragged you under more rapidly than it had the first time, and you swam with it, diving down into the abyss.

And then it was quiet.

And then it was still.

And then it was over.

You do not know when Aegon had left, nor if he had left without a word. But your mind sought solace in the cold numbness that spread through you, and you let yourself drown in it, turning on your side to stare at the wall unblinking.

The sticky wetness of his seed and your blood on your thighs had begun to dry as your tears subsided.

The pain still strummed inside of you, but it did not feel like you, it was as though you were experiencing someone else’s pain. It was unfamiliar. Alien.

Uncertain.

Soon, the room faded away, and the world around you fell silent, and all you could feel, was the feeling of not being.

Thanks so much for reading along with me, if you wish to be added to the tag list please let me know :) Likes and reblogs are greatly appreciated ! Enjoy <3

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spacelazarwolf · 2 years

Text

actually yeah i would like to talk about how other queer people specifically were the reason it took me so long to come out as a gay trans man

(this is really fucking long, but especially if you’re not a trans man or trans masc, i’d like you to read it all the way through.)

as a preface, i’m not a kid. i’m a fully fledged adult who has been in the queer community for about ten years now, both online and offline. most of the queer people i know irl are my age or older. i turn 30 next year. also before you use the words ‘chronically online’, consider the fact that the things people say online are what they actually believe and will take out into the world with them.

anyway.

when i try to talk about transphobia directed at trans men and mascs from within the queer community, or lateral aggression from trans people who are not trans men or trans mascs (this is not just trans women and femmes, this includes any trans people who aren’t trans men or mascs. i have heard some vile shit out of the mouths of other ‘afab’* trans people), people often respond with “but cishets are the real enemy!!! they’re the ones causing all the actual damage and oppression!!!!!” and while i get the sentiment, that is where you’re wrong my friend. the thing causing my oppression isn’t cishets, it’s the cisheteropatriarchy. cishets tend to be the ones that chug that koolaid most readily, but queer people, even other trans people, have gleefully gulped down gallons of the stuff, and that specifically is what made it so difficult for me to accept myself and come out.

*i fucking hate the term ‘afab’ but this post is already so goddamn long

when i first entered the lgbtq community, it was on facebook in the early 2010′s. before that, i’d been stuck in a conservative small town and didn’t even know that not being a girl was an option. so obviously when i encountered a bunch of people that were like me, i was ecstatic and wanted to be a part of their community. because i still thought i was a girl at the time, i was immediately funneled into sapphic spaces. for the most part, they were great and lovely, i just felt left out because i couldn’t relate to the way they talked about their love of women. but i knew i was some sort of fruity, which meant clearly i was just repressing my attraction to women, so i needed to try harder to like women. some of this came from the things i’d heard in those groups, but a lot of it was just pressure from myself to deal with a reality that didn’t make sense.

the longer i spent in those groups, though, the more i ran into rhetoric like ‘men are inherently incapable of love and respect, it is impossible to be in a truly fulfilling relationship with a man’ and ‘masculinity is inherently evil and femininity is inherently good.’ some people tried to have nuance, but a lot, especially cis women, didn’t. in those groups, people were mocked for being in relationships with men, they were told that if they had a boyfriend they weren’t even allowed to mention it in the group because the group needed to be a ‘space completely free of men’, people were told that if they were being abused by a man then it was their fault because they should have been dating a woman instead, they should have known better. i was one of those people who was blamed for my own abuse.

as i started to realize that shit maybe i’m not a girl, there was a lot of pressure for me to make sure that i always stayed within the confines of ‘non man.’ because the second i slid over that line, it was over. i was lost. does that rhetoric sound familiar? it’s terf rhetoric, and the irony is that all of these spaces explicitly condemned terfs.

i was in a group for ‘non men’ and when people in the group came out as trans men, they were asked to leave. the network of groups that this one was connected to was of the mindset that trans men oppressed all nonmen, including cis women. the reasoning given was ‘it would be misgendering!!!!!!!’ but behind closed internet doors, the actual reasons were very clear. on a scale of ‘oppressed’ to ‘privileged’ it went trans women -> cis women -> trans men -> cis men, with nonbinary people being inserted into whatever category was most convenient for argument’s sake.

after that, i stuffed my doubts down for years, terrified of crossing that horrible threshold from ‘nonman’ to ‘man.’ even now, i still cling to the term ‘nonbinary’ because it makes other queer people view me as a more complex person. as soon as i started tentatively using the word ‘man’ to describe myself without all the disclaimers of ‘but don’t worry i’m not actually a man!!!!! i’m still a person!!!!!!!’, the way people interacted with me changed drastically.

i was the exact same person, still non-passing, still gender noncomforming, still someone with a very complex relationship to gender because of my sexuality and being autistic, but because that word ‘man’ was there, suddenly people felt they had the right to silence me and speak over me. cis women who were being blatantly transphobic dismissed me saying ‘i don’t argue with men’, queer people dismissed me saying ‘stop mansplaining’ and telling me that regardless of my presentation, regardless of how i was treated out in the world, i was still privileged because i identified with the label of ‘man.’

i made a video on tik tok about how traumatic it was to come to terms with being a man as someone who has been hurt by cis men, and an old mutual of mine started tagging me in cis men’s videos about unlearning toxic masculinity, telling me i needed to watch myself if i was going to be a man. another mutual also shared in that trauma, and theirs was exacerbated by a racial element. i tried to make more videos about my experiences, documented by journey with top surgery, but as soon as i started speaking loudly about including trans men and mascs in the fight for abortion rights, everything went downhill.

terfs started to find my account and get my videos taken down. queer cis women claimed i was ‘silencing women’ and used the ‘trans man’ in my bio to claim ‘mansplaining’ despite the fact i am nonpassing and the world sees me as a woman. a trans femme stitched one of my videos to chide me for saying that repealing roe v wade affected trans men and mascs, because i should have been talking about how it affected trans women and femmes and the rest of the queer community, not ‘centering men.’ a trans woman commented on their post in my defense, and they deleted her comment. after that, cis women reported by account by the dozens and i was eventually banned.

that’s when i realized, men hadn’t caused me trauma. the cisheteropatriarchy had caused me trauma. the system that had allowed my abusive ex to treat me the way he did, that allowed my friends to watch and say nothing, that allowed a woman who was a bystander in a public domestic violence incident to complain to us that we were ruining her day at the mall and threatening to call the police on both of us rather than standing up for someone who was literally publicly being physically attacked. the system that allowed cis women to say, quite literally, that because trans men and mascs were a numerical minority of the people who would be affected by the repealing of roe v wade that we shouldn’t be in the spotlight, that cis women should be centered, that it was somehow ‘misogyny’ to point out that anti-abortion laws quite literally would affect trans men and mascs more severely and in more ways than cis women.

women and other queer people may not have been the ones hitting me or writing these bills, but for years they were the ones telling me my abuse was my fault, that i was morally incorrect for being a man, that i could never love or be loved if i was a man, that i should sit down and shut up, regardless of how much my community was hurting and dying. that i would always be an afterthought, if even.

i think very often about two tik toks i saw of a trans masc person talking about transition, and one said “you spend the first half of your life being subjugated by the sins of men, then you transition and you spend the rest of your life paying for the sins of men” and the other commented about another user’s video saying “a beard, facial hair, stands in the way of this person being perceived as innocent and being perceived as capable of roofieing your drink.”

and i realized that’s part of why i’m terrified to go on t. completely separate from the fact that i have a career which relies on my voice so going on t would absolutely nuke that, i have already experienced so much aggression and isolation based on just identifying as a man. i cannot even begin to imagine how much worse it would get if i started to look ‘like a man.’ i have lamented the fact that i’m forced to lose my softness, whether i want to or not, that the very community that wants to break down barriers and liberate people are the ones who are forcing me into a box for the sake of convenience in online arguments.

and people can mock me and go on about ‘toxic masculinity’ all they want, but this is a hard truth about the community that we really need to start talking about, because i have absolutely no doubt that experiences like mine are what contributes to trans men and masc’s astronomically high rates of suicide, self harm, depression, anxiety, eating disorders, etc.

i feel more like myself than i ever have in my life. and i also feel more isolated than i ever have in my life. there was a moment where things finally clicked for me, and for a fraction of a second i was so excited. i wanted to share my revelation with my community and be celebrated. but then i thought back about the way people had talked about men, trans men, masculinity, loving men, and that little tiny moment of celebration was brought to a screeching halt. i realized that every other time i’d seen a gay trans man or masc come out and talk about their gender and sexuality, the responses had been peppered with ‘sorry for ur loss’, ‘ew lol’, ‘so u chose to become a man?????’, ‘omg u have to date men and be a man????? i feel sorry for u lmao.’

and now as i delve into the dating pool as a gay trans man, i see that all this online bullshit isn’t just ‘chronically online,’ it’s manifested in real life too. the way queer trans men and mascs are treated as entitled for wanting to date cis queer men, the way people respond if we say we’re unhappy with just being a hookup or a fling because we should be happy anyone wanted us in the first place. the way we’re treated as fetishizers and freaks, the way people specifically search through the ‘ftm’ tag on grindr looking for ‘sissy boys/femme bottoms/etc’ then get angry when you don’t respond to them. the way other queer people respond to you when you try to talk about this. the way trans men and mascs who can’t go on t are treated as less than men but also aren’t allowed to talk about their experience of someone perceived as ‘less than men’, the way testosterone is spoken about in queer communities as a poison, as something that makes you ugly and disfigured and gross and dirty when for so many of us it’s literally lifesaving medical treatment. the way we can’t talk about the things we go through without random cis people dragging trans women and femmes into it when, even though there are some concerning trends of lateral violence that need to be discussed, most of the aggression comes from cis queer women.

so when trans men make posts or host events or just do anything to celebrate trans manhood and masculinity, and your first reaction is to make fun of us, project your frustration with the cisheteropatriarchy, or respond with “we don’t need positivity for men”, i want you to think about the number of trans men and mascs who kill ourselves, and i want you to think “maybe i should not say this, maybe i should just do this one thing to make life a little easier for them, even if i don’t get it.”

#trans #transgender #trans man #trans masc #queer #trans community #queer community #lgbtq #transphobia #transandrophobia #transmisandry #antimasculism #it does not fucking matter what we call it #what matters is that it's killing us and y'all don't want to acknowledge it

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witchy-aunt · 5 months

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Johnny cade head cannons

first fanfic! I'll preface this by saying I wrote this a long time ago art like 2am so if its not great at there's a lot lot errors IM SORRY!! Also 'figured this would good to post with this years new round of middle schoolers who just read the outsiders, genius or low hanging fruit? can't tell.

f/m, no warnings, pure fluff maybe some angsty bits?, Johnny cade x reader

Johnny Cade

“Stay gold, Ponyboy.”

Johnny’s very obviously a nervous wreck so when you got together it was no surprise he was super worried about losing you

whenever it’s cold out he comes to your house instead of staying out in the lot as much as he used too

Late night talks out in the lot

You, Johnny, and pony are like the ultimate trio honestly

I feel like most fanfics I read say pony’s normally a third wheel after you get together but I disagree in my mind you were already all friends or at least friendly and so when you got together it didn’t change things all that much as far as your friendship with Ponyboy

I feel like he’d have a lot to contribute to the gangs conversations but because he’s too scared to speak up he’d tell you about all his thoughts throughout the day when you’re alone you’re just easier for him to talk too

Dallas is suspicious of you at first but wouldn’t outwardly show it for Johnny’s sake and besides he’d act basically the same way he’d behave with you if you weren’t dating, when he inevitably realizes your good for him I think he develops a soft spot for you like he has for Johnny and Pony

People really don’t account for how “sassy” (for lack of better words💀) Johnny and Pony are and honestly it’s funny as hell, like his sarcastic remarks are rare in front of the gang but hilarious when they happen

I think because he’s so tough starved he really appreciates any physical contact from you even if it’s just a simple hand hold or resting your head on his shoulder

He loves cuddling, he’s def the little spoon most of the time, but when you first cuddle he’ll try to be the big spoon because it’s just what he expects to be the normal he figures that he should act like how Dallas and the guys he sees in movies are the way he should behave with a girl because he’s never really had anyone else to base a relationship off of

You’re the first person he comes too after being in a fight with his parents, if he’s hurt real bad you’ll always clean him up and spend the night comforting him by cuddling him and talking to get his mind off of it, though I think it might be harder for him to be touched after a fight because he’s just so nervous and shaken, but he warms up too it after a few minutes and it definitely does help him afterward.

He’s always real nervous about messing something up and you being made at him so he needs a lot of reassurance

He’s honestly real good at comforting people himself, like when your sad he knows exactly how to comfort you and make you feel okay or at least safe.

He’s always anxious about pda but I think he does like to at least hold hands in public at I don’t think he’s all that against hugging you or laying his head on your should in front of the gang even if it means he’ll have to deal with two-bits dumb comments, dal’s taunting smirk egging him on or everyone else’s stares even if it does make him pretty nervous he’ll always accept your touch.

Johnny cares a lot for people and never wants to see those he loves hurting which is a pretty obvious fact but because of this anything that happens to you stresses him out so bad

He doesn’t like fights and it’s rare for you guys to get into one, he’s not the best at communicating but eventually will tell you if somethings bugging him before he’d ever let himself get angry about it, I don’t see you guys getting into screaming fights either, it’s possible but it has to be something really bad

If you got together before he was jumped by those socs I’d think the change of him becoming even more quiet and nervous would be the hardest to watch

He doesn’t have a lot of money pretty obviously but he does like to sneak into the drive-in and save up to take you out whenever he can because he just can’t get enough of spending time with you

Thank you for reading! My requests are open so feel free to send any you have in for Johnny!

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angelwithdemonictendencies · 10 months

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i wanted you until the halloween masks all melted down my face; finally the burns are healing, finally i can see you.

am34 x reader: a very different take on older brother’s best friend.

(warnings: NO SMUT! (crazy how that goes in my warnings). only tension, here. no actual smut. lots of family dynamic speak and emotional healing and childhood trauma and stuff of the like, but i promise it has a happy ending - maybe the happiest ending i’ve ever written. be kind to yourself. only read if you’re 100% sure.)

(a/n: let me preface this by saying this is simply a character who’s face-claim is auston. THIS IS NOT MY TAKE ON AUSTON MATTHEWS, SO DO NOT COME AT ME FOR THAT. honestly, i’ll be mad as hell if i get hate about that, so don’t even think about it. i did not proof-read, either. my favorites - i apologize, this is very different than what i normally write. but, right now, i’m not in a place where i can write good smut (trust me, i tried). this is what i can write right now, so i figured something is better than nothing. there is plenty of great smut on this site to go around, i promise. more so than any other of my stories, this fictional you is the star. she is healing and she is growing and she is so, so beautiful, inside and out. please know that this story is very personal to me. and while i refuse to take any hate personally, please be kind. sometimes we make someone up to be perfect as a distraction, like a survival technique. favorites, you and your snakes deserve to grow and heal and love yourself so brutally and wholly. i don’t know if and/or when i’ll see you next, but know i’m thinking of you often and fondly. go canucks. gif is not mine. love always.

it was the smell you noticed first, as you arrived back. your childhood home, exactly as you had left it, last summer. as if it had simply ceased to exist when you were away. exactly the same, yet foreign. and that smell, something like your mother’s subtle perfume and the cleaning spray your father used in the kitchen.

it made your stomach turn.

it made you young again.

you hugged your family hello, attempting to push any anxiety that nipped at your nerves away. you should be happy to be home, you told yourself. you should be happy, it’s normal to be happy, just be normal, please.

your mother said something about your trip and traffic before returning to her desk, your father mumbled something about barely recognizing you as he continued to prepare dinner, your brother barely looked at you before heading back to the basement.

and then, in a moment, you knew he was here. a kind of sixth sense you had developed in middle school. his voice came from behind you.

“welcome home, angel.”

oh, how his voice, that name, how it made time drip like syrup around you, made you lose your grip on what was here and what was there, what was now and what was then.

for as long as you could remember, auston matthews had been your older brother’s best friend. and for as along as you could remember, the mere thought of auston matthews sent a flurry of butterflies to spawn in your stomach, a fiery chill up your spine, a flush with a vengeance to your cheeks.

when had the butterflies been born? maybe it was when you were seven, him and your brother ten, when you were all playing pond hockey in your backyard. when he had given you his mittens because yours had gotten wet and your brother had refused. maybe it had been that simple, maybe that had been all it took.

maybe that big, perfect, toothy smile, flushed cheeks, on a winter night in your backyard had been it.

or maybe it had been strengthened a couple years later, when he invited you to play video games with them even though your brother had been furious, had slammed the door in your face.

maybe it had been that hand extended in the dark.

or maybe it had been solidified at your high school graduation, when he had been there, despite his season just barely being over, standing with your family and clapping as you walked across the stage to get your diploma.

maybe it had been the way he had hugged you that day, so hard it knocked your cap off, strong arms wrapping around your torso. the way he had whispered, “proud of you, angel,” into your ear.

for as long as you could remember, he had been grabbing a bottle of gatorade from your fridge, laughing from the next room over, his games on the television in your living room.

if your head was a living room, the sound of his voice would be the television static, constant and reliable and home.

your dad made his favorite meal when he stayed for dinner, your mom knew all his stats by heart. your brother was his best friend.

and you were there, had always been there. and every boy you had ever kissed hadn’t been their own person, they had only been not auston.

maybe it had been everything he had ever done. the way you had received everything he had ever done. do you ever get over your first crush? do you ever forgive them for stealing all your innocent peace and serenity?

do you ever want to?

you were older now, just finished your second year in university.

you were different now. everything would be different. that’s what you repeated in your head, over and over.

but he made you young again.

you turned to look at him, wholly unprepared for what awaited you.

“auston,” you greeted, more like an observation or statement.

of course distance had only made him more handsome. somehow taller, bigger, broader, more defined even through his sweatpants and shirt. his jaw sharper, emphasized by his five-o’clock shadow, his eyes brighter, lashes longer, hair messier and curlier and more lovely.

everything about him lovely, and no longer just a memory, an image in your head. here he was, right in front of you, and that made him so much better in every way.

“that’s all you’ve got for me, angel?” he asked, smirk playing up on his lips, making your stomach turn in a different sort of way. he crossed his arms across his chest, shoulders straining against his t-shirt, leaned against the hallway frame. he looked down at you, eyes ever so teasing. “i’d be lying if i said i wasn’t disappointed.”

you wanted to slap yourself for how his words made your stomach drop. because oh, how you so despised the idea of disappointing him.

and you wanted to slap him, too, because you knew that he knew that, as well.

different, different, different. older, older, older.

“and what would you have preferred?” you quipped, a bite to your voice that made his smirk widen in a flash of teeth. “should i have jumped into your arms, teary-eyed?”

he pressed his tongue to the inside of his cheek, cocked his head, let his gaze melt down your body and up to your eyes again. the moment was heavy, potent. your skin hummed.

he shrugged. “even your dad got a hug,” was all he said. a flippant reminder that he knew you as well as anyone, that he knew all your family history, that he knew what made you tick. and worse, that he noticed you and what you did, what you were doing.

and you were young again, glassy-eyed at the dinner table as you counted the amount of times your father sighed after you spoke, making a tally with penne on your plate.

suddenly you couldn’t meet his eyes as he pushed himself off the wall, made to follow your brother back into the basement, gave a single, disbelieving shake of his head. “didn’t think you could get prettier,” he almost whispered.

he said it as if those words didn’t make your vision spin. you could practically see his prideful smirk as he walked down the stairs, leaving you, dazed, gripping your suitcase too tightly. here, and now.

your first few days at home were tough as you fought tooth and nail to maintain the confidence you had forged from what felt like nothing, to preserve the version of yourself that existed away from home, the version you had worked so hard to build.

but every comment felt charged, full of meaning, slight intention. this house seemed to suck the energy clean out of you, so you tried to be out of it as much as possible.

but auston was sitting at the table, on his phone, early one morning as you walked into the kitchen, having just woken up. his presence was like an electric shock to your body and mind, still soft with sleep.

you rubbed your eyes and adjusted your tank top, suddenly very aware of how you looked, how much skin you were showing.

you poured yourself a glass of water, poured a second one for him instinctually and placed it in front of him. he put his phone down immediately.

“thank you, angel,” he said easily, his eyes alight as you leaned back against the counter, crossed an arm in front of you, the other holding your glass.

his eyes on you seemed all too much, this early in the morning. you shuddered.

“welcome,” you rasped, pretended not to noticed how his eyes darkened at the sound of your voice, blushed and quickly decided it would probably be safest to leave. to get out before he could reduce you to shambles, the way he always did.

he got to you first.

“used to like to hang around me, angel,” he said, making you stop in your tracks, turn to face him. “what happened, hm?” he smiled. “don’t like me anymore?”

if only he knew. if only he knew just how much you still liked him, how it was still his mocking laugh in your head whenever you meaninglessly texted a boy from school.

“no,” was your simple answer. you cursed the waver in your voice.

“yeah? what’d i do?” he brought his cup to his full lips and took a slow sip, his swallow practically pornographic, at least to you. “used to follow me around like a puppy, now you won’t even look at me.”

you flushed deeper at the reminder of that wide-eyed, trembling little girl, who felt so far away, now. the one who hoped her older brother would invite his friend over, just so she could catch a glimpse of him.

"wasn’t like a puppy,” you mumbled, rosy shame tinting your neck and face.

he shook in a laugh. you both knew you were lying. the fact settled between you, energizing the space.

“no? look at me, then,” he said simply.

you did, and regretted it in a second, his gaze much too dark, heated. a trap. and you, sinking.

“sit,” he said. you did, sitting across from him at the table, again overcome with the urge to please. perhaps that little girl wasn’t so far away after all.

his eyes flashed again at your obedience. you watched him register the change in your demeanor - stiff to malleable, your gaze, once hard, suddenly so desperate.

this was the you he remembered.

“are you mad at me, angel?” he asked you, slow and deliberate.

you shook your head, fidgeted with your fingers.

“no?” his eyes were more prying than any touch could be. “then tell me what’s wrong, hm?” your felt your exhale come out shaky. he let out a tsk noise.

did you imagine the trembling of your lips? you willed stability into your voice.

“nothing’s wrong,” you choked out. “‘m just different now, that’s all. grown up.”

he nodded slowly, sighed, the silence and understanding heavy between you.

“you’ve really changed, hm, have you?”

it was your turn to nod, and the words in his mouth almost made you believe them.

you got up to leave with a steady exhale, but as you walked past his chair, he stood up, boxed you against the wall with his massive frame, one hand on the wall next to you, the other tilting your chin up so your gaze met his, truly.

you stayed in that position for a moment, your chest rising and falling in an undeniable way. you couldn’t help but drop your gaze to his lips for a moment, but a moment was enough. of course he noticed.

“you sure, pretty baby?” he rasped, so close you could feel his breath on your lips. he smirked before drawing back, leaving you there, almost drowsy with want and anger and a million other things. “i have my doubts.”

doubt, disappointment, it rattled around your head like the aftershocks of an earthquake.

and leaning there, you realized that underneath the rubble, you were just so afraid. downright terrified of - of what? not of auston, not of your family, not even of time itself.

it was that teary-eyed little girl, broken-hearted at the dinner table, braiding and undoing and braiding her hair while alone in her room.

she scared you so, so much.

and what was he playing at? what did it matter to him, if you were trying so hard to prove that you weren’t that little girl? he had never reciprocated your feelings, so why did he care now?

was he really so insistent on keeping your eyes wide, full of hope, and on him? always on him? did that really matter to him?

every sign was pointing to yes, it did. yes, you did.

and you realized there was more than one way to be different, older. more than one way to change.

so a few nights later, when your family sat down to watch his game, you did not join them, as you had for practically every game before.

the smallest act of rebellion, the smallest bit of difference, and yet already you could feel some kind of confidence solidify in your stomach. look what i can do, it said. look who i can be.

the following night, when you bumped into him in the hallway, you didn’t shrink away when he asked, “did you watch me?” you didn’t let his smirk distract you, nor his closeness.

you looked him in the eye as you shook your head.

you swallowed your delight at the surprise that flashed across his gaze. “no?” he asked.

“you have enough eyes on you,” you said, as stable as you could muster, straightening your posture, refusing to fidget.

his smile was that of someone who had been winning since birth.

“oh, you’re right about that, angel,” he said.

you shivered at his tone. “i know.” different, older. changed.

“you’re so smart, now, yeah?”

the barest tint of a blush began to form on your cheeks. yes, you thought, i am. always have been.

“but it just feels so good. to be just drowning in attention.” was that a trace of cruelty, dripping down his teeth? “but you wouldn’t know what that’s like, hm, pretty baby?”

and part of you faltered, frozen, could have cried at this attack - so calculated and personal. if it was anyone else you would have called it mean.

but a different, older, changed part of you recognized that you had changed something in him, too. auston had always been one of those people for whom you felt winning was second nature, easy as breathing.

but this familiar game wasn’t one he was winning without trying. all this testing you, tempting you, this was him, trying. this was new for him, too.

and that filled you with something downright dangerous.

“i don’t know, auston,” you drawled, barely recognizing your own voice. you took a step closer to him. “if you’re drowning in attention, why do you seem to want mine so badly?”

he sucked on his teeth for a second, making you smile. you picked a piece of lint that wasn’t there off of his sweatshirt.

“what’s wrong?” you pressed. “can’t handle one person not treating you like a god?” you smirked, the expression feeling foreign, powerful on your lips. “thought you were tougher than that.”

that darkness grew opaque in his eyes. in a moment, he had you boxed up against the wall, yet again, both of his hands on your hips.

how many times had you imagined his touch, like this? how many times had you tried to will it out of him? how was this all it took?

but you weren’t ready to fully give in. not quite yet.

you leaned back against the wall, reveled in the warmth of his palms.

“so you’re really ready to play, then, angel?” he asked. a warning shot went off in your head. a game, a game, a game, a voice said. only a game. “you know i always win.”

you tilted your head. “you don’t even know what game i’m playing,” you said. “besides, no matter what,” you placed a hand on his chest, grabbed a fist-full of his sweatshirt. “i’ll outwork you. every time.”

and this time, you were the one to leave him there, practically panting. the high was almost addictive.

that high was what you were chasing again when you agreed to go out with an old classmate. you could concede that you probably wouldn’t have said yes on your own - but this was you, outworking the natural. showing the god that his angel wouldn’t always be around.

you knew he would be over just as you were leaving, he and your brother were getting ready to go to the beach.

“dress up for me, angel?” he asked, smug. he looked you up and down lazily, eyes catching on the short hem of your sundress.

joy bubbled up in your throat at the fact that the answer was technically no. you shook your head. “have a date, auston,” you said.

his face soured, if only for a second.

“that right?” you thought you saw his perpetual lean stiffen for a moment.

you nodded. “catching up with an old friend. should be fun.”

he shifted his sunglasses from to the top of his head to the bridge of his nose. “an old friend? didn’t realize you had any old friends, angel.”

a littler version of you would have choked back a sob. had his comments always been so cutting? so selfish and mean? “you don’t realize a lot, it seems,” you said instead, stepping so close to him you could see your reflection in his sunglasses.

you lifted a delicate hand to his face, stilling it in your grasp as you ran a finger along the edge of your lips, fixing your gloss in your reflection.

something rumbled through his jaw into your hand. it felt like power and healing and winning.

you released your grip and stepped back, grabbing your bag and making for the door. “have fun at the beach,” you said, only a little patronizing. “don’t wait up for me.”

on the way out, you let out the smallest laugh to yourself. if only younger you could see present you. telling auston matthews not to wait up for her. unimaginable.

the date was good, honestly. better than you expected. he was sweet, and funny, and you could really see yourself being friends with him, which was awesome. you were both on the same page, liking each other but not really attracted to each other, and by the end of the date you already had plans to hang out with some of his other friends.

you were happy when you pulled back into your driveway.

you were happy when you entered your room, laid down on your bed, smiled at this proof of your growth. a friend. what a beautiful thing.

you couldn’t tell how much time had passed between when you got home and when he appeared in your doorway.

suddenly, he was there. just like how he entered your life, you thought briefly. suddenly, he was there.

you smiled. “auston,” you said.

“what’re you smiling about?” he asked, the smallest bit of a smirk on his face.

you sighed. “just had such a good time.”

“did you?” he asked, “‘m glad, angel.”

“are you?” you mocked him, sitting up, fixing your dress around you.

he nodded as he walked towards you, made an affirmative humming sound.

“happy you thought he was a good time.”

you scrunched up your face in confusion. even as he got closer, the nerves that used to plague you were nowhere to be found.

he now stood next to you, a towering presence. the energy between the two of you was different than it had ever been before.

you tilted your head back, leaned against your headboard to meet his eyes. “and why is that?”

his smirk was delicious. “’cause he’s going to make me look even better than i already am.”

and a younger you would have sighed with desire, with want, with everything dangerous like that. but something even more dangerous was alive and growing inside of you now, something that had nothing to do with him.

you were almost confused at the fact that now, in this moment, when everything could have happened, you didn’t particularly care if it did.

it dawned on you then that perhaps auston had always loved you. he loved you the way a child loves the candy their parents tell them to save until after dinner - loving the knowledge that it is there, that it will always be there. loving the temptation, the prospect, the comfort. but not loving, truly. not the way you so desired. when dessert is done, that love is abandoned.

and he was not the auston you had so desired, all these years. he was not the hero, the god, the perfect boy turned man, he was not everything.

you looked up at him, now, feeling none of the delirious wanting that had defined him for so long.

“would you stay, do you think?” you asked, voice steady and simply curious.

he raised a brow in confusion. “what?”

“would you stay? afterwards? even for a little bit?”

you could see it now, and you sort of already knew the answer. you could see yourself laying in this same bed, shaken out of that sticky afterglow by him, getting up, getting dressed, getting out.

the man in front of you now, he actually let out a laugh. “what did you think this was, angel?” he asked.

and younger you would have cried forever. spent eternity breathing in tears.

but this older, different, changed you, she laughed right back at him. because he had said something that deserved to be laughed at.

“who do you think i am?” you asked, smiling.

because you were not his angel, not anymore. you were not his pretty baby. you were healing, you were growing. he was not your superman, your hand extended in the dark.

he was just a person, a person who was used to your attention, and didn’t like that he no longer had it. a person who could be cruel when you eyes weren’t on him.

and you thought that the next time you kissed someone, maybe they would finally be a real person, not a person lacking.

you weren’t really paying attention to him now, but at some point, auston matthews left your bedroom. and you didn’t even notice.

and your dad still knew his favorite meal, and would probably make it tonight. your mom still knew all his stats, even though they had changed from two nights ago. he was still your brother’s best friend.

and you were still there. beautifully, wonderfully there.

the living room in your head mellowed. the television static was finally just television static, nothing more. and there was a little girl sitting on the couch. and she was laughing.

fin.

#auston matthews #auston matthews imagine #auston matthews x reader #nhl #hockey #hockey x reader #hockey angst #angst fic #auston matthews smut #toronto maple leafs

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piperholmes · 13 days

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I wasn’t planning on writing anything about Chenford because I’m not trying to start an argument (not that I expected many will read this any way 🤣), but I have a lot of thoughts jumbled up. I think it would be helpful for me to just get them down, so I am better able to absorb what has been shared by others. I love a good discussion! Especially one centered around some form of literature.

(If you are reading this, then just let me preface with this is me really just free writing what’s going through my head. I definitely am not telling anyone else how to feel, react, or process this storyline—nor do I expect anyone to agree with my ramblings.)

For me, I think a major issue I have is with the breakup trope itself—particularly the “I’m not good enough for you, so I can’t be with you” trope. In my experience, this argument usually comes from the male character in a relationship. Romance novels are riddled with this set up; I’ve seen it in films and television plenty of times. It almost always comes from the guy. (And I acknowledge the majority of media I consume is M/F romance). The problem I have reconciling this concept is because it feels like this happens because the guy in the relationship feels comfortable and is willing to make the decision for both of them, and is often unwilling to listen to his partner’s thoughts or feelings. There is something inherently misogynistic in that, and it has never sat well with me.

I thought a lot about why Tim was upset about the 5 player trade, and while I don’t think the show did a particularly good job of explaining it, I think it boils down to the fact that Lucy made a decision about Tim’s life without talking to him about it. Even though it came from a sincere, caring place and had (for Tim at least) a positive outcome, it wasn’t right for her to make that decision on her own. If the argument is being made that Tim is walking away from their relationship because he feels (right or wrong) it’s best for Lucy, it just seems odd to me that Tim would choose to (essentially) do the same thing to Lucy after it was so upsetting to him.

Now, was Tim in a heightened emotional state? Absolutely. Does that impact a person’s reasoning? 100% But I think where this situation breaks with what has been established, is Tim’s choice to just walk away without discussion. Something that made me fall in love with Chenford in the first place was Tim’s willingness to listen to Lucy even when he was emotionally struggling. Outside Isabel’s apartment with the drugs, when she got on to him about being pissed over the report following the virus scare, his later acknowledgment over his behavior in the pilot with the Hispanic gentleman, and so on. To have Tim just walk away from her communicates one of two things: either he was willing to make the decision but wasn’t willing to deal with the consequences or he was so convinced he was right, he wasn’t interested in what Lucy would have to say. Neither are a particularly good look for Tim, and, again, why I just don’t really like this trope. (I would be saying the same thing about Lucy if she were the one doing this-in fact, I think she seriously mishandled her break up with Chris, but I definitely wasn’t emotionally invested in their relationship. So, sorry Chris; you don’t get a post 🤣).

Another aspect of the trope I find ridiculous is how it should essentially impact all relationships this character has; if Tim isn’t good enough to be with Lucy as a romantic partner then he should feel that way about being a friend to Lopez, a brother to Genny, an uncle to her kids, and so on. Otherwise, to isolate this feeling to specifically the romantic partner is just…weird? “I’m going to end our relationship because you deserve better, but just you. I’m going to keep all my other relationships.” Like, I don’t know, that just feels super icky. And, based on the preview for the next new episode, it definitely seems like Tim is going to spiral into pushing people away/isolating, but where is the line drawn? What if Tim had a kid? (And I know hypotheticals are probably not the best here, but I warned this would be meandering 🤪) Would he walk away from his own kid because he didn’t feel good enough? That definitely doesn’t make sense to me, but, again, it just highlights the pitfalls I run into with the trope itself and why I cringe when it is used. My view of Tim—and by extension Chenford—is now informed by what I see as the implications of the trope.

It’s incredibly off putting that now Tim and Lucy’s parents (oh, gosh, and I just realized, even Nolan) essentially fall into the same category. Do you think Lucy’s parents were so dismissive of her wants and hurtful because they hated her or didn’t love her? I am 100% sure it’s because they thought they were loving her. It doesn’t make it right or healthy, but I’m sure they thought they were doing what was best for Lucy. And John made the decision to end their relationship to “protect” Lucy, and I remember thinking the same thing about him that I think about Tim now. I really thought Tim was different and understood what Lucy had been through in her life, and, ultimately at this point, makes me question how I feel about Chenford overall.

I also want to say that I don’t begrudge Tim acknowledging something in him that wants to change and be better (openly encourage such self reflection and growth in fact). I’m also (pretty) sure this will ultimately lead back to then getting back together, and maybe even Tim being a better partner. I’m simply saying that using this particular trope in order to facilitate that doesn’t vibe with what I believe the show has established about Chenford, and it would have been very interesting (and, for me, preferable) to see how they could have told that story avoiding this cliche. That’s all.

Ok, if anybody made it this far, thanks for sticking with it. I’m always open and interested in differing perspectives and interpretations, and nothing I’ve said is my set-in-stone opinion, just my current opinion 😜.

#chenford #Tim Bradford #Lucy Chen #I guess what I’m saying is #that Lucy Chen should be protected #at all costs #I just never thought that would include #being protected from Tim Bradford #🤷🏼‍♀️

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incorrectsibunaquotes · 5 days

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I wanna preface this by saying Joy went too far in certain aspects of her S2 arc, but the Joy vs Nina situation would have never escalated that much in canon had Nina not been the Chosen One.

Like hear me out: the entire reason Joy was kidnapped in the first place was because she was supposed to be the Chosen One. And honestly, we’re never told for how long she was being told this. It might have been dropped on her only once she was back at home, or they might have told her way before then and she just didn’t give it too much thought before it suddenly became real. We have no real idea. But either way, her isolation from all of the friends she held dear, and the essential imprisonment in her own home was all due to being this supposed Paragon.

And she obviously doesn’t want to be the Chosen One. She says it multiple times in S1, to the point of tears and screaming. Joy is glad when it turns out not to be her, but it’s obvious that she basically went through that entire ordeal, missed a whole year of crucial social development in her actual home (bc lbr she probably spent more time at Anubis growing up than she did her actual house), all for nothing.

And to make matters worse, the actual Chosen One was walking around free as a bird, making friends with all Joy’s friends, and managing to capture Fabian’s affections. So here’s this girl that Joy doesn’t know at all, who has cemented herself in the daily lives and hearts of Anubis House residents, and she happens to hold the role that Joy had been forced to play to her detriment.

That’s what stings most, I think, though Joy says it’s about Fabian. Most of her actual hurt and actual retaliation comes from feeling excluded by Sibuna. “I’ve seen things, remember? Things we don’t talk about because you and your little Scooby gang shut me out.” She is most angry because her isolation never stopped.

Of course, it doesn’t help that she was in love with Fabian, and now the actual Chosen One (who in Joy’s mind has practically gotten everything handed to her) is with him.

I firmly believe that if Nina was just a normal girl and there wasn’t a mystery going on, but she still was dating Fabian, Joy would not have gone so far. It’s not right that she went that far in the first place, of course, but she was justifiably angry at the injustice of her situation. She should have turned that anger on the adults who got it wrong in the first place, but it’s way easier to punch on your level than to punch up at grown adults with power over you. It’s a real shame that Nina got caught in the crossfire of Joy’s war with the world, because they really could have been such good friends.

I made an edit of her that I think gets my point across better than this, that’s too large to post on tumblr so here is the link: https://www.instagram.com/reel/C5_a8GhO0Xg/?igsh=MWlncmRsdWJxdHd6NA==

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A post shared by tess 🎭✨ (@camelotslady)

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#I just feel so bad for her and idk if I articulated this super well #house of anubis #joy mercer #Instagram

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3ris-d1st0rtionnn · 1 month

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Statement of Eris [̴̡̡̯͇͕̻̝̱̘̐͗̓́̽̈́̈́͐͛̂̍̓̔̌̊͠R̸͙͎̼͈͑̌̽͒̽̓̅̀͘E̴͔̭̬̍̅́̃̎̏͋̂̇́̕̚D̴̡̫̤̰̝̲͍̪̖̥̥͙̭̭̰̱̜͖͍̹̟̬̋̑͛̆̀̄̚͜͜A̵̛͕͚͉͈͖̤̳̫̔̀̿̾͆͛͋̊̈́̄̿̀̒́͗͆̀̍̏́̊̐̑͝͠C̶̡̨̢̢̡̡̥͔̣̺̤̙̖͕̭̬̻̥͈̻̪̮̞̞̝̯͙̘̰̮̀̃͐̔͗͜ͅŢ̴̢̟̪̦̟̳̫̹̳͈͉̤͍̰̫̯͙̊̾̅̎̑̚E̷̡̢̛̞̼̜̞̪͓͕͉̰̘̞͉̤̺̮̭̯͛́̾͛̃̋̅̅̓͋̈́͆̆̑́̌̆̈͋͊̿͛̿̃̽̎̚͠͠ͅḐ̸̛̞͕̗̠̜̰̗̣̘͖̱̜̗͔̩͈͙̙̣̫̪̝̤͇͉̰̙̹̠̉ͅͅͅ]̶̛̻̟̥̘͇̬̫̹̠̤͕͔̏̓̕, regarding their university’s art school.

It was… I want to say a year ago. Maybe two, but my perception of time feels so strange now. It feels like I’m recalling some strange dream, but I know that what I saw was real. I know I lived this… experience.

To preface, I’m an art student at a local university. My university’s Arts building is definitely one of the older ones on campus and seems to have been renovated over time, leading to a very confusing layout. With all the additions and extra studios being repurposed and built over time, the place is pretty easy to get lost in if you don’t know it well. I like to say I know the place like the back of my hand from spending most of my classes there, I know I should, but… then I found the staircase. The door.

It was on my class list, the first day of my third year. “Advanced Visual Arts, Room 401”. I had no recollection of signing up for this class at all, and Room 401… shouldn’t exist. Rooms in the Arts building are numbered based on floors, with the 100s being on the 1st floor, 200s being on the 2nd… There is no 4th floor in this building. Nobody I asked had any idea where it could be; most looked at me like I was insane and some speculated that the room number was a typo, but I’d be damned if I missed my first class of the semester.

And so… I went looking for Room 401.

Looking back, I should have known something was horrifically wrong. The building seemed quieter the further I moved from the front studios, as if no classes were in session. I could hear the occasional distant voice echoing through the halls, but I never once saw another student or professor. I knew all these hallways, but the layout seemed different, like one of those dreams where a familiar location is… almost shuffled around. I eventually found myself on the 3rd floor access staircase - where else would I go if I was looking for this nonexistent 4th floor? - and it… It kept going. The staircase just kept spiraling up past the 3rd floor, into a space that I knew was never there. And at the top… A door. A standard wooden door, covered in stray paint splatters and labeled Room 401 with a rusted metal plate.

I don’t remember opening the door. I don’t remember stepping past that damn threshold. It was like I blacked out, like there’s a gap in my memories I can’t fill in. All I remember is the dread. The terror. The sense that something was wrong.

The door led into… I want to say it looked like part of the Arts building, but it didn’t. It was like an imitation, some kind of sick mockery. The walls were painted in sickly primary colors, so vivid they hurt my eyes to look at. The fluorescent lights overhead had a nauseating yellow cast to them. Hallways and doors branched out at odd angles that just didn’t look right, more like something out of a poor drawing.

I didn’t try to go back the way I came. Part of me knew the door wouldn’t open, and the thought made me feel sick with dread.

I’m not sure how long I’d been walking before the halls opened up into… what I can only describe as some kind of classroom, or maybe a gallery space. The walls were covered in these strange paintings; none of them were framed, just warped paper pinned to the walls, and I couldn’t make out any images. It wasn’t that they were abstract though, I knew I was supposed to be seeing something in them, but I just couldn’t decipher any of the images. A worn pedestal was placed in the center of the room, displaying a mannequin head. It appeared to be made of plaster, crudely painted to resemble… my face.

That, of all things, was my breaking point. I turned to leave, hoping to run back the way I came, but… the door to the room had vanished. It was just another wall, perfectly solid as if a door had never been there. I remember screaming, trying to claw away the papers and paintings in hope that another door was hidden beneath them, but I just… never got anywhere. There had to be hundreds of layers of the damn things, either that or… the room didn’t want me to go. And throughout my screaming, my feverish attempts to find a way out of this room… I felt a presence, like reality beginning to unravel around a set point… and that point was right behind me.

When I finally turned around to face it, when I saw what had been watching me struggle… it was like my screams couldn’t get out anymore. Trust me, I wanted to scream, but I… I couldn’t.

The thing, it… looked like me, but in the loosest, most awful sense. It was like seeing myself reflected in a funhouse mirror; it had my face, my hair, even the handmade jacket I was wearing, but… wrong. Distorted.

Its limbs were too long and disproportionate, almost appearing to bisect the pedestal it was sitting on as if its body didn’t know how to interact properly with anything physical. Its long, claw-like fingers twitched periodically, bent out of place as if they were broken. I couldn’t even focus on the buttons and patches on its jacket… Not when they changed appearance and position every time I looked at them. It just… smiled at me with this awful, knowing look in its painfully colorful eyes, like it knew something I didn’t.

And then… it laughed.

Its mouth opened, tearing right past the boundaries of its face to expose countless rows of teeth. The paintings all over the walls began to shift, incomprehensible images melting off the pages and bleeding together at a pace I couldn’t understand. It was like there was a message for me in there, one that I’d never be able to comprehend. And its voice… Its voice was like nails on a chalkboard, like the remnants of a lost radio signal, like glass shattering against my brain. I could hear it inside my head, burrowing and clawing at my psyche like a parasite while I dropped to my knees and screamed and screamed and-

…and my eyes snapped open.

I was… back on the 3rd floor staircase, surrounded by concerned students. Apparently somebody had heard me screaming and found me collapsed on the floor, nearly unconscious, but… I don’t remember that.

The stairs ended at the 3rd floor. Of course they did. They always have.

I understand if you don’t believe me, I really do… I’m not even sure if I believe myself, but… I can’t stop thinking about what happened. I keep seeing that door in my dreams, that same echoing voice and… no. No, it’s just my anxiety.

That’s it. Anxiety. It’s not real.

Statement ends.

#the distortion #the spiral #the stranger #tma #magpod #tma rp #the magnus archives #tma rp blog #spiral avatar #tma statements #tma oc #tma sona

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starryluminary · 6 months

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Honestly I want to know your opinion on Nemma. Because honestly I don’t like the ship either and want to see if someone agrees with me.

Oh my god hiiii nerd-chocolate!! I will GLADLY detail why I don’t like nemma. Buckle up cause I’m not exactly normal about this subject

I will preface this by saying I understand why it’s Noah and Emma. I get why if Noah had to have a girlfriend it would be someone who would match his intellect and someone he could hold a competent conversation with. Logically, on paper, I understand. It’s not so much the concept of Noah and Emma dating that I dislike, it’s the execution. The development of the relationship was a train wreck. HERES WHY!!!

From the very beginning Nemma showed problems. The Noah that couldn’t play a game of dodgeball for $100,000 and was so standoffish he could only make a good friend in Owen is now suddenly falling in love at first sight with a girl that did a front flip and I’m just supposed to accept it at face value??

You could argue that it’s been three years and a person could change in three years. I’d like to argue back: this is a cartoon. If the development happened offscreen, it didn’t happen. Noah had a drastic change in personality out of nowhere because they give us no reason to believe otherwise. This is just the beginning. It’s all downhill from here, honey.

This is very much subjective and a personal thing but do you know how irritating his face is.

It makes me ill. Who is this.

Back on track, Noah is out of character the rest of his time competing (not that he was perfectly in character to begin with.) Both the way he treats Owen and how he acts regarding Emma is not believable to me. He’s tragically mean to Owen almost the entire time and he’s insufferably… inconsistent? When it comes to Emma? Like they didn’t exactly have pinned down how he should act when he’s in love so it changes with every episode.

[I did a bit of research regarding the more important Nemma episodes and their writers, but couldn’t draw any good conclusions from it. I did find out Laurie Elliot wrote both Slap Slap Revolution from World Tour (notorious for the most significant Noco moments of the season) and New Beijinging (where Nemma is at its worst in my opinion.) This isn’t all that relevant but it IS fucking hilarious. The writer responsible for “Cody’s got a tiny sausage!” being made to (co) write a Nemma episode and subsequently butchering it is reeeeeally funny to me.]

On the topic of New Beijinging. I cannot watch this episode uninterrupted and it’s because of Nemma. I despise it. It’s not that I don’t believe Noah would act like a bumbling fool in love… in concept. In CONCEPT, I can buy the failed one liners and the speaking your thoughts out loud and the acting out to try and impress her. In practice it’s so painful to watch. The Noah that said he’s incapable of being embarrassed in his WT biography is now spitting hot food in his love interests face and physically recoiling every time he tries to talk to her. I can’t express through text the pain and anguish it causes me.

This is ALSO after giving her a suave one liner in the previous episode. How does he go from cool and collected to cringing at her I- AAAGGHHHH.

They don’t suddenly get better when the feelings are mutual, either. They just become insufferable together and it’s tragic. This is specifically about Māori or Less and Got Venom? (though admittedly I haven’t gotten that far in my rewatch and don’t remember Got Venom? too vividly. I do know they’re annoying in it even to Owen and Kitty so.) They just become so infatuated with each other they forget the rest of the world exists and while I enjoy the CONCEPT……… it just manages to drag down both characters. At least they treat Emma with a little more respect and have her snap out of the haze to play the damn game but THEY END UP KNOCKING OUT NOAH INSTEAD. Pain agony suffering and woe. Noah going catatonic and leaving Owen to struggle is the worst it gets but he still never truly focuses on the game and even hopes to get kicked off. He won’t even play for Owen.

Do I even have to mention Owen. My poor guy Owen. Owen suffers an unnecessary amount for Nemmas development. It hurts my heart even thinking about it but I’ll list off examples. Ways Owen has suffered for the sake of the relationship include:

Being made to carry dead weight (Noah) on more than one occasion.

Being used as a flotation device, offered by Noah to Emma, after being frozen solid.

Being forced to wait for the sister team, making his team go from first place to seventh.

Being victim to Noah’s snark and insults, which he does to either impress Emma or to reprimand Owen because of something Emma related.

LOSING THE RACE CAUSE NOAH COULD ONLY FIND THE ENERGY TO MOVE WHEN HE WAS OFFERED A KISS FROM EMMA.

(Side note: have I ever mentioned that RR Noah is my enemy? I feel like I don’t mention it enough)

To wrap this up, I do genuinely believe Nemma could have been great. I don’t hate Nemma cause I thought Noah was gay, or I’m a Noco shipper, or any other superficial reason. I hate it cause it’s a terribly written relationship that had to completely destroy my favorite character of the series to try and make it work. It’s a damn shame, really. I wish I could look past how different Noah is and how badly he treats Owen and how sickly annoying he and Emma can be and just, at the very least, tolerate Nemma. But I can’t, and I never will.

#and nemmas the reason the adversity twins got kicked off so they’re immediately on my bad side forever #SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG. I GOT BUSY AND MY THOUGHTS WERE HARD TO ARTICULATE #but there it is. all the reasons I don’t like nemma #thank you for letting me get that out of my system #ship hate #total drama #total drama presents: the ridonculous race #tdrr #I don’t feel like tagging anything else actually #let’s keep this one here #Starry has a question #Starry speaks

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handsonurknees · 1 year

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last kiss

din djarin x gn!reader

a/n: just a little preface, i am not a star wars expert i literally watched mando because of pedro and that’s it (don’t kill me) but sorry if anything is inaccurate! also thank you for all of the love on my first post!

(i did not proofread this so i’m sorry if there’s any mistakes)

warnings: mentions of graphic injuries, angst, hurt/no comfort because i’m evil, main character death (yikes)

wc: 1.8k

“let’s go!” you hear cara yell at you, her voice hoarse from shouting over shots and the fire burning just some feet away. your eyes flickered from her and your friends to the injured mandolorian sat against the flipped booth. when she realized what you were thinking, even more panic creeped into her face. “no, no. you can’t. he’ll be okay. we need to go!” she pleads, but your eyes never leave the beskar-clad man. you hear him grunt through the voice modulator and you flinch. you can’t leave him, he can’t die not knowing how you feel.

“she’s right. go, i’ll be alright.” he offers, unconvincingly. you feel tears well up behind your eyes, fighting them back before turning back to the group.

“go. you all go and both of us will catch up. IG, give me the bacta spray, i can do this. i used to be a trained medic.” cara sighs at your attempt at a deal, but clearly worried about running out of time, she turns to the droid beside her.

“do you think the two of them can make it out alive?” she questions.

“more likely than not.” is all the bot says in response. the droid removes a vile from its arm and tosses it to you. “though i should be the one staying, i’m sure she would stay as well anyways. i can confirm her medical history., he is in good hands.” sweat pours down your back due to the warmth of the fire as cara looks at you and the mandolorian, and she realizes deep down she won’t be able to change your mind. you almost think you see a glisten in her eye and a small smile directed at you, but that’s just before she turns around and crawls through the grate as fast as possible, the child in her arms. she won’t say goodbye because this isn’t goodbye. she’ll see the two of you again in only a matter of minutes. you quickly turn to mando, hovering with worry over him.

“i didn’t know you were a medic.” he drowsily says, the effects of his injuries settling in as you begin to move with more haste.

“yes mando. you forget i had a life before i met you.” you respond, swallowing quickly as you uncap the spray. he laughs, and you smile. it’s been a while since you’ve heard him laugh, and even longer since it’s been you who made him laugh. “stay with me, alright? talk to me.” you say like routine, all of your knowledge flooding back to you from when you first learned how to deal with a patient drifting in-and-out of consciousness.

“why did you stay? i told you to go.” he asks genuinely. “i was fine here, peaceful. i’ve always thought that if i were to die i would want to die a warrior’s death.” he continues, voice wavering occasionally. your heart lurches at the idea of him knowing the really reason why you stayed. once the mist is all set up, you look at him, searching for his eyes under his visor.

“you are not dying tonight, mando. that’s why i stayed” you respond, and while it’s not technically a lie, you still feel guilty. that’s when your breath suddenly stops, realizing what you have to do next.

“w-whats wrong?” he questions your hesitation. when you look down at the bacta spray and don’t meet his eyes again, the air shifts in a way that sends shivers down your spine, even while the sweltering heat just feet away from you tickles your face.

“i have to do it to save you.” you whisper, still looking at the spray. “you won’t live much longer if we don’t do it now.” your voice getting hung up on the last word. you both know this is the last chance. part of you screams internally, baffled by how he’s even considering the possibility of not getting the spray. that part burns with white, hot, boiling rage, wondering if you were just going to give up, why did i stay for you? you don’t even ask me to stay and i did. how can you make me watch you die? but before you are able to voice any of this aloud, a gloved hand meets yours and shakily leading you the side of his helmet. “are you sure?” you ask a final time. even though every bone in your body aches to rip that helmet off the second the metal touches your fingers.

“don’t make me s-second guess myself.” he answers dryly. you just nod and carefully remove the helmet with a gentle hiss. slowly revealing the features you’ve been trying to piece together in your brain for months. in the amber glow of the room, you wish to memorize his eyes and his nose and his lips and his cheeks. but instead of studying every ridge and line in his face like you’ve always dreamed of doing, you imagine his face as one you’ve seen one million times. you don’t even flinch when big brown eyes meet yours. as soon as the helmet is off, your hands work quickly. you quickly lift the spray to his head and administer it. a breath escapes you that you hadn’t even know you were holding in. he’s okay. he’s okay is all you can think, the feeling overwhelming you so much that you don’t hear the heavy footfalls behind you, or mando’s failed attempts to shove you out of the way and shouts of ‘get down!’

‘he’s okay’ is all you can think, even when you’re shot by a stormtrooper who wasn’t killed in the shootout. luckily, by you crouched in front of the mandolorian, you blocked him from the view of the trooper. mando instinctively grabbed his blaster and shot a perfect hit into the the gap of the trooper’s armor between his neck and his head. the trooper falls limply to the ground, but all you can focus on is the pain radiating from the new hole in your back. your ears ring and something in you calls out. something that made you suddenly understand what mando meant about being peaceful with dying a warrior’s death. in a strange moment, the two of you are transported back to only moments before, but this time, with the roles reversed.

“dank farrik!” he curses, searching your eyes, his eyebrows furrowed together tightly. your knees feel weak, giving out in your current squat above the armored man. you fall flush against his chest, eliciting a hoarse cough. your hands press firmly into his chest, pushing yourself up to look him in the eyes. in any other situation, your mind would be completely foggy due to the proximity between you two, but somehow what you want to say is completely clear. he swallows, holding a firm hand over your wound, frantically looking around the room, despite knowing it’s far too late.

“you know, this is not how i expected this to end.” you joke weakly, woozy from the pain. the mandolorian pants, his face drowning in concern at your state. you set a hand on his face, his scruff scratching your palm pleasantly. “it’s alright. this way-“ you wince “you won’t have broken your creed. no living thing will have seen you.” you chuckle, which turns into a cough, followed by the metallic taste of blood in your mouth. he just sits speechless, words failing him. there’s so much he wishes he could say, but shock keeps his mouth shut. you feel the familiar feeling of tears for the umpteenth time that day. your thumb grazes his cheekbone, and he just watches as you fight this losing battle. sadness swells in his heart, a hurt that hasn’t hit him in years. for a person, that is. “i love you.” and you’re unsure if it’s the adrenaline or if it’s your sort of last words, but he snaps back into reality and brings his focus back to you.

“what?” he attempts to confirm, even though he heard you the first time.

“please don’t. i just-“ your tears fall down your face numbly, in steady streams. “i just need you to know that i love you. before i die. i need you to know the real reason i couldn’t leave you behind.” your words stumble out of your mouth quickly, but you know if you don’t say them now, you’ll never have the chance to. his leather covered hands move to hold on to both sides of your face, and he starts to quietly laugh. “what?” you ask, confused.

“i cannot believe that you are telling me this now. this was not supposed to go this way. everything was supposed to be different-“ he continues to dryly laugh “you weren’t supposed to die before i could even-“ he’s cut off by the startling reminder that the room around you that was once just taken up by the warmth of fire feet and feet away from you, is now engulfed in flames. smoke finally begins to fill both of your lungs and the ashes make mando’s eyes water (or at least that’s what he tells himself it is.)

“go. go now. please go find them.” he feels a weight on his shoulders, pulling him into the ground beneath him, holding him in place. he can’t leave you. you stayed for him, he has to stay for you. but his eyes flicker to the grate and how the fire is getting increasingly close to blocking his path. he knows your right, he knows he should go. “it’s okay. it’s okay.” you assure him “just don’t forget me, okay?” and he has to stop himself from guffawing. how in the world could he forget about you? he just breathes shakily, grabbing his helmet.

“i have thought of you every second while we were together, and i will think about you every second we are apart.” he admits with a sort of finality that scorches you. this is the end. in a desperate burst of energy, you slam your lips into his, reveling in every last second. you want to die with his lips being the last thing you feel. not the pain of your wound, not the pain of him leaving, just him. he kisses you back clumsily, making it obvious to you that this is his first kiss. selfishly, you hold on for just a moment longer, then letting him go, letting your hand trace his face one for time before he gets up.

“and for what it’s worth, i love you too.” he says, turning away in a way that shatters your heart. still, even while the live of your life leaves you in the flames, even while your back lets out one final wave of pain, even while taking your last breath, all you can think is;

he’s okay.

#the mandalorian #the mandolorian x reader #mando x reader #din djarin x reader #fanfic #mandolorian fanfic #mando fanfiction #din dijarin fanfiction #the mandolorian x you #din djarin #mando x you #mando #the mandalorion spoilers #the mandolorian season 1 #star wars #star wars x reader #grogu #cara dune

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avianyuh · 2 months

Text

I'll Call You: Jaehyun (Part 3)

Summary: idolreader x jaehyun.

You and Jaehyun have had a secretive on and off again relationship for a few years. After a nasty fight and assumed break-up, you anticipate he'll be back at your door within a few weeks. When word gets back to you that he's been seeing Winter from aespa, you're angry, confused, but mostly hurt. Is Jaehyun done with you or is there more to the story?

Recap: After finding out Jaehyun had moved on, he tries to contact you, acting like he had nothing to hide. More importantly, he acted like he had nothing to explain. Will you hear him out? Or is it time for you to treat him the way he has always treated you?

Part(s):

- 1

-2

-3

The next morning was a bad one. I opened my eyes and was greeted by a sleeping Yura to my left. She had stayed with me the whole night. There were a lot of tears, but as the night went on, I decided that I would feel better if I just fessed up and told her everything about Jaehyun and I.

I started from the beginning about how we met, which was backstage at a music show. I had been walking down a hallway, preoccupied, looking at the walls of the accomplished artists that decorated the walls as I myself was nervously anticipating my group's performance. I had told my group I needed to take a breather so I wanted to take a walk. Jaehyun had been coming the other way and was staring at his phone. We ended up crashing into each other. Luckily he didn't drop his phone and no one was hurt. He immediately helped me up and started apologizing profusely. I was embarrassed but I reassured him that it was an honest mistake. But then we started talking and he said he had heard of my group and even started to sing one of our songs, which actually took my mind off of the performance for a minute. I didn't think I would have a chance to talk to him again after we said our goodbyes, but by the end of the show, a number was slipped into my bag when I went to collect my things. It didn't have a name on it but I had my suspicions it was him.

It was true because when I sent a simple 'Hello' text to the number, I was met with a 'Are you sure you're okay after that fall?'.

And that's where the relationship started.

We had texted for weeks, which developed into long phone calls, the meeting in person. I couldn't deny the fact that he was insanely attractive. He was charming, charismatic and kind. All of that was proven just in the first day of meeting him. I didn't understand what he could have possibly seen in me?

Our first kiss was after he had dropped me off at my dorm. It was really cliche. Up until that point, there had been no talks of a relationship and we had just viewed each other as close friends. But when we stood in front of my door, he held my chin in his hand and leaned in. Before I knew it I was leaning against the door and wrapped my arms around him. When he pulled away he whispered, "I don't think we can be friends anymore", with a smug smile on his face. I nodded, staring into his eyes.

We hadn't started any relationship talks that night. It wasn't until a week later that I saw him again. Though I'd like to preface that we had been texting the whole week.

But when he came over to my dorm and sat on my bed, next to my side, I could tell that something had changed.

He didn't seem as attentive as the night of the kiss. When I had greeted him at the door all he did was give me a brief hug before walking in and heading straight for my room.

And that was when he said it. That he wasn't ready for a relationship, but he didn't want to be friends.

And for a moment I thought that he would say we shouldn't see each other anymore. Which would have crushed me.

But when I over at him in confusion, he started to elaborate.

"I think that we should just see each other. No one else. But you know, I'll call you when I have time and you'll do the same. But we not dating or anything. No expectations, no time commitments." , he finished explaining and seemed pretty content with the idea.

I on the other hand felt like crawling in a ditch and burying myself. He didn't want to date me. He wanted to sleep with me, mess with my emotions, make me fall for him, but I couldn't call him my boyfriend.

Part of me thought that it would be a bad idea. But the other part of me didn't want to lose him, and could see that not committing could be an easier thing to hide from the public. Which would be wiser for both of our careers. The sad part was...I felt like it was all or nothing. If I didn't agree with this, he would probably leave.

So, I caved. I said I'd be willing to try and that's what we did for three years. But just like I predicted, I fell for him. I felt like a fool now knowing that he had replaced me. That he had moved on so fast. That he had been a lot more outgoing with information in this new relationship than he had even been with me. I think that's what hurt the most.

When I had finished telling Yura, she told me that everything was for the best. That I would heal. But that I shouldn't even think about taking him back if that ever became a possibility. I knew she was right, so I nodded in agreement.

But when I woke up the next morning after my mock therapy session, I was greeted by a text.

10 minutes ago: 'Can we talk?'

I didn't even have to look at the name to know who it was from.

So I picked up my phone and angrily tapped on my keyboard, I wanted him out of my life.

'There's nothing to talk about."

I was surprised by the text I received back.

'I just want to see you and apologize. I was a massive dick.'

True, I thought, but a little too late. He waited almost a month to contact you, for a shitty apology of all things? Had he texted me back within the first few days of the fight, sure, I would've heard him out. But to wait this long and learn he's been seeing someone else for half of that time...fuck no.

So, I decided to take the more blunt approach.

'Oh? I see that your new girlfriend has made you a better person, I don't want to talk to you. Leave me ALONE.'

He took a few minutes to respond, but all he did was make me angrier.

'What are you talking about? I don't have a girlfriend, the only person I'm seeing is you.'

All I sent back was 'Bullshit'. I couldn't believe he would play dumb. What's the point of an apology if you're not going to be honest...My train of thought was cut off when I heard my phone vibrate again. I looked down and read his last message: 'I really need to talk to you'

And to that I blocked him. I'm done. I don't think he can ever make it up to me. Three years of mind games, and he still can't be honest with me.

I felt the tears welling up again. I let out a sniffle, which woke Yura up. She sat up and pulled me into a hug. She didn't even ask why I was crying, but I think she already knew the reason.

I told her what happened, but as she was reading through the text messages, we heard the buzzer go off.

We could hear one of the girls go over to the intercom and look at the camera. Then we heard her make her way down the hallway before she stopped at my door.

"Jaehyun's here", she said. "Should I tell him to go?"

Yura spoke up immediately, "Yes, she doesn't want to hear what he has to say.", but when I thought about it. The fact that he came over in the first place, at least I could get some closure, face to face.

"No", I said as I stood up, "I want to talk to him.", Yura looked at me, disappointment evident on her face. "Yura, I need to get closure. Three years of on and off. I just want an explanation."

I quickly changed and splashed my face with cold water to help with my puffy face, caused by all of the crying, and I headed towards the front door.

~~~

{A/N: One more part to go! Might be from Y/N's perspective again. I have really enjoyed writing this little story so I'll probably start preparations for a new one, so if you have anyone in mind please let me know.}

#nct #nct 127 #nct u #jaehyun #nct jaehyun #nct fanfic #jaehyun fanfic #jung jaehyun #kpop writing

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voltstone · 4 months

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…so about that clementine comic: a (very long, sorry) essay (May 2022)

Getting around to writing this little essay of mine, putting my thoughts down before the comic comes out, has been like finally squashing the damn fly that’s been a nuisance for months. Like, half-a-year-ago months.

Before I get to it, I’m just going to preface and briefly explain what this essay is: it’s me more or less digesting this big change for the TWDG fandom, and articulating a bigger point with canon vs fandom—and just how weird TWDG actually is in how it fits with that bigger point.

That, and it’s an essay that was spurred by my irritation of the comic’s premise alone. To be transparent, this is an essay that’s biased. Clementine as a character means a lot to me, which should become evident given that I use myself (i.e my Clementine) as an example throughout this thing, and then there’s just my fondness of the games. So yeah. I’m biased. But, I’d like to think of myself as a storyteller (in progress) in my own right, so hopefully this essay will be able to articulate my grievances with the comic, and do it well—while still being as unbiased as possible, to boot.

In any case, being that the comic isn’t out yet, I would like to say that I’m not going to tear Tillie nor Skybound a new one. I’m just critical of the premise, to the point that I wish to essay. And it be long (…sorry, can’t help it; neurodivergent passion and all that).

Though because I’m not here to harp on my grievances and bulldoze something that isn’t even out yet, I’m going to meme a little too. Just to ensure that the essay maintains a civil but fun composure. ;)

[Why Comic?]

Okay, so, originally, this was going to be the last section of this essay, but now it’s the first. Because of one article. Lol.

Well, one possible article? Something like that. (Yeah no not really. I am a dumbass, but I’m a dumbass with a point that still stands in this section. Lol.)

Before we get into the article, however, it’s first important to discuss Skybound in relation to TWD and TWDG.

Skybound, or Skybound Entertainment (2010), is Robert Kirkman’s company where the overarching purpose is to provide space for creators with their intellectual property and, well, to create. Which is great! We love that. And this is Robert Kirkman, who, is the storyteller behind TWD, alongside Invincible, Outcast, and a slew of many others.

Skybound Entertainment itself is older than TWDG by two years, so the company has watched Telltale’s story develop since the beginning. And given that it has Kirkman at the helm, there are strong ties between Telltale, Skybound and TWDG that go way back. However, they are considered two separate companies—even with some history of collaboration on TWDG. But, by the time Telltale had to close-up shop, it’s unsurprising that Skybound—through Skybound Games, established in 2018—picked up where they left off—and they did this, from what I’ve found anyway, by giving the team behind TWDG the resources to finish Clementine’s story.

In short, Skybound has just as much skin in the game(s) as the chance of a walker being seen still in one piece, without chunks sloughing off: slim, but more probable than you’d think.

And this isn’t to blame Skybound in any way. It’s just how it is. Telltale had the rights to their series up until mid-Season Four: The Final Season (S4), and S4 was finished by the same team, just with Skybound’s resources (and probably with some of their own team as well).

…the thing is, however, is that Skybound seems to be more like the babysitter for Clementine rather than the parent who has nurtured and watched her grow. They still do care for her and what this character represents—the 10th year anniversary with the documentary and #clemenTEN (lol) shows that quite plainly—, but they never had the time and opportunity to truly nurture her, as a company, in the same way that Telltale had.

Ergo, Skybound is going to make decisions with Clementine that those more familiar with the character may not do—especially given that Skybound has other series and such that they’re working on.

Which brings us back to the article I came across in a meme. This article.

…which I can’t find? Yeah, I’ve tried to search for it on Skybound’s website, but…yeah no. I have questions if it has been removed, and if it hasn’t, please, someone, tell me where it is so that I can put the link in here. Lol.

[5/20/22 Edit: May not be able to find it because the article never existed or something something where a doodoohead on the internet, like, lied to me?! Making me another shatforbrains. However, it doesn’t really change my point in all of this. So yay. Also am not gonna edit anything because I don’t wanna.]

Anyway. In summary, Skybound announces in this article, “After some internal discussions and some reviews of fan feedback and online, [. . .] Clementine: Book One takes place in an alternate continuity that is no longer directly canon to Telltale’s the Walking Dead series [as] we now see that fans prefer to have their player choices honored in future storylines of Clementine.”

And here’s my response to that, regardless of wherever the article may be: thanks, but no shit, Skybound.

This essay is here to pick apart TWDG in terms of interpretation and what that would mean regarding any sort of adaptation. But ultimately, it is to criticize whoever thought this was a good idea and maintained the comic’s stance of canonicity with TWDG until recently. Because…as I will make very clear in the next two sections, I don’t know how anybody could’ve looked at this story, as a part of a company who wasn’t there to tell it until the end, and came to the initial conclusion that they did. It both confuses and bothers me.

Skybound. TWDG are a choose-your-own adventure story. What do you mean “we now see that fans prefer to have their player choices honored”?! That is the whole point of TWDG: I made a choice with this character, let’s see how it plays out. To the extent where people often have criticisms that Telltale didn’t allow for much impact with said choices.

So yes. I ask this given that I…genuinely don’t understand how this happened. And perhaps I’m a little late with this, but, well, I still feel the need to air everything out for myself, and explain thoroughly why I do not appreciate the comic on a basic level. One, because I think it’s an interesting subject regardless; I go into Clementine functionally as a character, fanfiction being a skill, etc. Two, if there is a chance (a very slight chance that I highly doubt will happen, lol) that anybody associated with the comic’s production sees this, it will (maybe?) serve as both the perspective of a fan and of a developing storyteller. …and perhaps a little jab of “please don’t pull something like this again, with anything.”

I am going to maintain that I don’t have ill-respect towards Skybound. Because I do respect them as a company; outside of this, I appreciate a lot of their work.

This Clementine comic has just left a bitter taste.

I also don’t blame Tillie Walden either, nor do I envy her position. All I can do is point towards my main TWDG fic and say that's the best I can do, which even then would have probably led to backlash of the fandom. Continuing Clementine's story, no matter what, would've always received some level of backlash. Which is kind of what happens after you wrap up a story with a neat bow, and then decide to try and cut it back open. If anything, as I discuss in this, the most I can blame Walden with is being reckless about Clementine’s story. Nothing more.

Ultimately, I find that Skybound underestimated the gravity of Clementine and what she means to people—which says a lot considering that I do think Skybound knows her impact on the video game industry. (And, on top of the history with Telltale and TWDG.)

I doubt that there was sufficient planning for this. I doubt they knew what kind of story they wanted, hence why they gave it to Walden. I doubt their decisions weren’t to cut corners—away from the nuanced, TWDG canonicity. I doubt that their intentions had nothing to do with the cash cow that Clementine is.

But, mainly, I doubt that they knew how to work around Clementine’s nature. Because, functionally, Clementine is a rather confusing character. She’s not the first, and hardly the last, character with Telltale-like qualities, though I do think that Skybound found themselves in new territory because of those qualities. To be honest, I genuinely wonder how Skybound sees Clementine. Do they see her as one singular, whole character? Or do they see her as one character made up of many, many interpretations? Or rather, slices…

Regardless, I feel like the majority of the backlash wouldn’t have occurred if Skybound didn’t maintain that this comic would be canon in the first place. That this is what Clementine does at the end, no questions asked. If they had said that the comic would be one iteration of what Clementine does after TWDG, how many people would be upset? If the games and shows and comics are all different from one another, why didn’t they say that the Clementine comic would be different from the games? Especially given that the games take a choose-your-own-adventure approach.

You could almost say that this comic is not very Telltale of Skybound.

[What…is This? (Brief Rant)]

Alright. Now we get into rant time.

…but first another detour. Let’s acknowledge the games as they are:

As a whole, TWDG stand as the story of Clementine. The odd seasons—Season One (S1) and Season Three: A New Frontier (S3)—are through outside perspectives, those being Lee and Javi. The even seasons—Season Two (S2) and S4—are through Clementine herself. But to explain what that story is, I think it’s better to shift the perspective a little bit. To her signature ballcap.

Because rather than Clementine’s story, TWDG is the story of Clementine’s hat.

The ballcap being the only thing she has of her home from before given that it was her father’s. The ballcap is the symbol of family.

So let’s shift again:

TWDG is the story of Clementine searching for a home, a family.

S1. Clementine dawns her father’s ballcap, borrowing it until her parents return from their trip. But, of course, they don’t, so Lee becomes her surrogate throughout the season. She’s able to have a father-figure for the first half-year in the apocalypse. Even so, much like the hat, Lee is temporary. Clementine wants to find her parents. Though come to find, they’re dead, and so too her surrogate swiftly after.

So Clementine is left without her original family, nor the one from the motel.

S2. The season of chaos—all to bring Clementine to a breaking point. She had Omid and Christa, a small family for quite some time, until they were lost. Omid, to her neglected gun, and then Christa, who was detached from Clementine, leaving S2 Clementine (at 11) with her first line, “Talk to me, Christa.” The woman’s fate remains to be debated, something unknown to Clementine, after they were ambushed and then separated alongside a river in the woods.

There’s then a new group—a potential family—who she travels with. And along the way, Clementine finds a remnant of her old, motel family: Kenny. One by one, the potential family succumbs to the winter—including Rebecca, but not before she gives birth to A.J, yet another ray of hope. By the end, A.J is believed to be dead, and Clementine is once again ignored. The remnant of an old family is at odds with the last of the potential—Kenny and Jane—, and they mean to fight to the death. Between them, Clementine is shoved away, quite literally, despite her shoulder having been shot, and, well, despite Clementine being a child who needed both.

So Clementine reaches a breaking point where she is the deciding factor between which lives: the last old family remnant, or the last of the potential family, or neither. And afterwards, once it is discovered that A.J is, in fact, alive—but was hidden to prove Jane’s point—, she can then decide if she wants to abandon the remaining family to live with her own. A.J…

S3. Regardless of how S2 ends, Clementine finds her way to Richmond alone with varying scars. A.J is still with her, though it’s made clear that she is getting tired—especially with a S2 solo ending. Because raising a kid is a lot to handle, more so when the parent is a kid herself. An offer to join a group comes in the form of Ava, who is a part of the New Frontier. Clementine eventually joins whether or not the initial offer is accepted (i.e. whether or not Clementine is open to joining a group, or not), in order for her to find the medicine needed for A.J, who falls ill.

Conflict arises between her desire to nurture A.J and serve this new, military “family”.

And Clementine is kicked out, once again under the belief that A.J is dead. So by the time we meet her as Javi, we find a Clementine who is hardened, and bitter. Or, a Clementine who’s a scorned kid with the identity of an adult, and a mom.

Through S3, Javi (and/or Gabe) is the one to remind Clementine that she doesn’t have to be alone. She discovers that A.J survived his illness, and with some help, Clementine discovers where he is and aims to reunite with her only family.

S4. After McCarroll Ranch, where A.J was kept, they’re on the road (with a car!). Clementine has found a way to survive with A.J, and has matured since the prior season. They find a new group (the car thing doesn’t last long in this, lol): the school kids.

And through them, Clementine and A.J find their home, in the end. The school kids teach A.J the lessons that Clementine couldn’t, and Clementine teaches them the skills to defend themselves against raiders—who are led by the final remnant of her old family, Lilly.

Clementine is bitten, however.

In her presumed final moments, she consoles A.J as Lee had done with her. But, no matter what, A.J disobeys Clementine’s request. Because A.J is not Clementine, and his love for his surrogate prevails the need to live on. He tells her that they could be like the walkers in the train station—tied to the spot, together in death. And not a minute later, he severs her leg, saving Clementine.

Weeks later, she gives the ballcap to A.J, for Clementine no longer needs it. The past is behind her, set in stone. She has found what she’s been searching for. Rather than a motel, it’s a boarding school. Rather than Lee and her, it’s Clementine and A.J.

Rather than a normal life alongside a treehouse, it’s set in a time where the dead roam, with a fishing house nearby.

Clementine is now on her last leg, but as S4 closes, it’s the beginning of a new life…

With these games and Clementine’s arc laid out, I have to be honest. I never wanted a continuation. Both as a fan of Clementine and as a writer, I feel that a continuation for Clementine would never be the best choice for a comic series. Especially when there’s so many gaps where we didn’t see Clementine.

That, and of course, S4 was perfect in wrapping TWDG up—with a little bow and all.

Now, to clarify before the essay gets into S4 in more detail, what I mean by continuation is what happens after. Yes, a lot of people would want to know, but here’s the thing: like in any sport, you need to end on your prime. S4 was just that for TWDG.

But I get it. At the same time, I do think having Clementine in her own comic would be perfect for her. TWD started out in the comics. By having the TWDG character recognized in this way would be to give the utmost, ultimate respect for Clementine within TWD universe(s).

If the comics expanded on the what happens after, then a choose-your-own-adventure comic should’ve been done to respect TWDG’s format. But, they could have easily expanded on things that, well, we’re curious about. Between S1 and S2—what happened? You could have Clementine be quiet and never talk about what exactly happened to Lee (if he was shot vs left behind). And this is in-line with set Clementine’s character given that remarks on her “being a puzzle” and keeping to herself were made throughout S1. So, that even leaves room for a comic that isn’t choose-your-own-adventure. Especially since Clementine is a strong enough character to not be the focal perspective. She is a strong side-character—in part because that is how she started off. So, a comic between the first seasons could’ve been from Christa’s perspective.

Between the other seasons. What about in the New Frontier? What did Clementine do? What did she learn from a bunch of ex-military surviving in the apocalypse? What about with A.J? What did they do together before they got to Ericson’s?

And outside Clementine’s story?

Kenny, between S1 and S2. The whole S2 squad—I want to see how Nick shot his mom, which traumatized him to the point of drinking in front of a kid. Carver! Christa and Omid before they met the S1 group! Lilly! What did she do?! How did she surpass the boat god and ended up with the boat?! How did she get into child labor?! (Not the pregnancy type, the— Okay, okay, never mind.)

And the school kids. What happened?! There were around forty at the start (according to the wiki), how did it get down to ten? Of course, Minnie and Sophie are a given, but that still leaves a lot of room. How did a bunch of troubled youth manage to survive?

And guess what?! That could’ve been done through Aasim! He has been writing a “chronicle” (diary) in the games, so why not go with that?! (Could even have a bombass title with chronicle in it!!)

Speaking of the school kids, let’s go back to S4.

Because this season is a mark of how TWDG understood a crucial lesson every writer must learn: when to end a story. How to end a story.

S4 is a masterpiece in this regard. And I don’t throw around masterpiece often. So I do mean it here; literally the only true criticism I have of S4 is how the nostalgia over Lee probably got in the way. (I mean, I know his impact, but the dude has been dead for all of A.J’s life plus a year or so.)

So yeah. And that is a nit-picky criticism at best.

Because S4, uh, like I just said, is a masterpiece in concluding Clementine’s arc.

First of all, can we just appreciate the setting itself?

Starting with the train station. The train from S1 was, arguably, where the brightest moments between Lee and Clementine happened. This is where, after losing Katjaa and Duck, Lee teaches Clementine how to shoot a gun, cuts her hair short, and—at another station—the first moment of fighting together and putting those skills to use. The train also led to Savannah.

So, really, where the train is symbolic of the birth of Clementine’s independency, it’s interesting that a train station leads to the school kids. The end of Clementine’s independency alone, with A.J, and the beginning of her independency as a leader.

Then we have the school.

For one thing, it’s the perfect little place for an apocalypse. Walls. Resources for food—from hunting, fishing, to a greenhouse. Land…

And, of course, it was established that Clementine liked school. Sure, she probably was bored since Clementine strikes me as a really smart individual, but she did like it. And Lee was a fucking professor. And, and, the school kids are around her age; kids around Clementine’s age…kinda don’t last in this story. So again, pretty symbolic that a boarding school is the setting.

On top of that, it’s a boarding school for troubled youth. Which…by this point, Clementine kind of fits that bill. (At least, my Clementine very much so does.)

The troubled youth element adds so much to this. It plays with many of the things introduced in this season: such as mental health (like Clementine being afraid of Rosie, though I do think they should’ve pushed that a little further). Because, think about it. The kids were left behind by the adults responsible for them. So what does that mean? Well, it means that they had to find ways to cope with their struggles in order to survive. Like Louis with his confidence, Violet with her abandonment issues, Ruby and Marlon with their anger, Brody with her anxiety, and so on and so forth.

Honestly, I don’t think there was a more perfect setting for S4 to go with.

Clementine has trauma. She has a lot of it. If anything, Clementine probably used that #roadlyfe to run away from confronting it. How so? Well, when you’re on the road constantly, hopping from place-to-place—by foot or with a car—, while taking care of your kid, there’s not a lot of opportunity to dwell on the past and truly unpack what is being harbored. I wouldn’t be surprised if Clementine used that as a sort of coping mechanism.

I also wouldn't be a surprise if that was part of why Clementine and A.J were on the road for so long. To be driving around for years is…a fucking long time in an apocalypse. Given that she would've needed to scrounge around for gas, Clementine would've come across other pre-Outbreak stuff, if not established settlements with people. Other things may have happened, sure, but that is something to consider.

But, yeah. Where S4 left off, there still would be some things that Clementine would have to process through. There would be a story there, albeit short. Arguably perfect for a comic trilogy where she reflects on the things we didn't get to see—like in-between the seasons.

Before we go too deep with that though, here’s another few things that this season taps into:

It was the first time we encounter a Whisperer in TWDG, and with James the question of whether or not walkers are inherently bad. Or rather, if they're monstrosities versus just another element of nature, albeit as a symbol of decay.

It was the first time we saw Clementine with a dog since S2—a Pit bull at that, one who isn't violent or terrifying because Rosie is a good girl and will only attack people who are bad.

Oh, Clementine doesn't need to worry about car insurance.

(No, but seriously, Clementine has a very bad driving record. She crashes two cars, three with Kenny, potentially one for each season after S1.)

And, of course, Clementine finally being bit. Thus putting “I’m still. Not. Bitten” to rest. (Although, “It’ll take more than a bite to kill me!” sounds pretty fun.)

Back to Clementine’s leg and what it means with that #roadlyfe. For one, Clementine is now, more or less, stuck in one place. She has to rely on people again, while leading them. And now that she is in one place, there’s opportunity to watch Clementine as she builds her own settlement.

With S4’s conclusion, questions were raised about how much hope there was for that settlement. Which could be answered with Kent Mundle’s response to the following anon question.

(At the end, there will be a link to Kent Mudle's stuff, including his comic Beret. Because why not?)

S4’s end is hopeful, and the beginning of change for Clementine. No longer is she a straggler on the road. She has graduated to survival within a community.

But…, as much as I love the ray of hope, we do have to acknowledge that Clementine, after her #roadlyfe, would probably have a very difficult time with this change. She is not used to relying on others. She is not used to having one leg, being kept on the sidelines watching other people deal with walkers, nor having to sit and confront all of what she has suffered.

So, yes, I will recognize that there could be conflict to explore with Clementine adjusting from being on the road to staying in one place, and maybe feeling that she isn’t doing enough for the boarding school given her leg. I can see scenarios where Clementine may act a little reckless, like leave the school to try and thin-out a (small) herd to help. With her one leg. And the school kids have to go and drag her back.

But not with Clementine leaving.

So now, with S4 concluded, we have the comic itself…

Clementine is back on the road, looking to put her traumatic past behind her and forge a new path all her own. But when she comes across an Amish teenager named Amos with his head in the clouds, the unlikely pair journeys North to an abandoned ski resort in Vermont, where they meet up with a small group of teenagers attempting to build a new, walker-free settlement. As friendship, rivalry, and romance begin to blossom amongst the group, the harsh winter soon reveals that the biggest threat to their survival…might be each other.

(This is "brief" rant time. Lol.)

What.

The ever-loving.

Fuck is that??

That is bad. That is really, really bad on a fundamental level. Notice the following: “looking to put her traumatic past behind her and forge a new path all on her own”, “journeys North to an abandoned ski resort”, “the harsh winter soon reveals that the biggest threat to their survival…might be each other”, and then, of course, “a small group of teenagers attempting to build a new, walker-free settlement.”

What does that look like? Premise alone, does this sound familiar to you?

It should.

Because everything from this summary—aside from the last quote—is S2.

This comic is not throwing away the last season. No. Oh no, it’s not.

This comic is rewriting Clementine’s journey, except this time, without A.J. But, from what has been released thus far, there will be an emphasis on Lee—S1 stuff. Which uh… Yeah. This is, quite literally, erasing all of TWDG.

So no. No. You can’t just reskin Clementine’s whole fucking story as if A.J never existed. You can’t just pretend that Clementine didn’t already forge a new path with the trauma from S1 behind her; you can’t just pretend that she didn’t already travel north with a band of new people to an abandoned ski resort; you can’t just pretend that she didn’t already find herself in a cruel winter where the walkers were literally the secondary threat to her. And, for the love of a writer’s integrity, you cannot just sit there and smear S4 as if Clementine would trade Ericson’s for another settlement—a settlement, which, would probably serve as an uneasy environment for her given that the last ski resort she went to was where she was kidnapped and immediately sent to work for Carver. Not to mention that, unless you had her journey with Kenny who was desperate to get to Wellington, Clementine went south the first chance she got because S2 was traumatic enough to send her immediately towards Richmond—not. North. There is no fucking reason why Clementine would want to go north. Ever. S2 left that impression on her: North = bad, we don’t like snow.

Like there is a fucking reason why S3 had so much fire, so much warmth to it—including the flashbacks. (Outside of Wellington, of course.) The last thing Clementine needs is to be reminded of how she got the big ass scar on her arm and the bullet wound at her shoulder.

And.

For the love of a writer’s competency.

You cannot just put a little stupid beanie on her head with a dumb little ball to replace the old hat—though thanks for leaving the ballcap with A.J, at least.

This is what I mean by the comic disappointing me as a fan of Clementine, but pissing me off as a writer. As I said before, something that every writer will have to learn is when to end a story. Those behind S4 understood that, and they did so masterfully. Now, I can’t tear apart the comic for that since, well, what’s going to come out this summer is the first of a trilogy. So like…yeah.

However, another thing that every writer will have to learn is when to evolve a story. When a character’s arc has been satisfied, and how the story thereafter will take on a new path. TWDG do this. Between S1 and S2, the change was shifting the story from Lee to Clementine. Between S2 and S3, the change was shifting Clementine from a character still needing others for survival to a character who knows how to survive on her own—to the point where Javi needed to remind her the value in putting trust/faith in others. And then, S3 to S4, the change was shifting from a bitter, angry Clementine without A.J to a Clementine who has matured, become cautiously weathered, with A.J by her side. Despite its flaws, this game series also managed to do this masterfully as well.

And the comic.

Does not.

Do that.

The comic doesn’t want to evolve the story. It doesn’t want to explore what conflicts would arise from Clementine finally being stuck in one place after so many years without a designated home, and being a fresh amputee on top of that. There was absolutely a story to explore there.

But no.

We got this.

Instead, we got a story where the comic blatantly ignores that Clementine already has a settlement of her own, and how the whole of TWDG is her forged path. And on the “put her traumatic past behind her”?! Yes! She absolutely needs to do that! But where has all of that trauma come from?! The road! So putting her back on the road—a few weeks—

The comic is set a few weeks later, by the way. (The wiki says so, anyway. I don’t 100% buy it, but it still seems like she shouldn’t be walking on a new amputated leg regardless.)

But to say that and put her back on the road a few weeks later—her leg is healed?!—is the last fucking thing you want for a person like Clementine with her experiences to do. It is the equivalent of telling a war veteran to overcome their PTSD by plopping them right back in the trenches. Or telling any PTSD-survivor to cope with it by plopping them into the environment that’s the source of said PTSD in the first place.

And sure. Some people don’t have the opportunity to do that. Sometimes that environment is the only place they have open to them.

Like the road was for Clementine.

Until she got to the school.

So are you. Fucking. Kidding me?!

Clementine is no longer the person who doesn’t have the chance to get out of the source of her PTSD—the road. She has a settlement of school kids at a school for troubled youth. Let’s remind ourselves that these kids had to learn how to manage their mental illnesses and behaviors given that they needed to survive after their caretakers abandoned them. They would’ve absolutely had the tools to help her.

Oh, and let’s also remind ourselves how devastating it would be for Clementine to abandon the school. Every single one of the kids probably have abandonment issues because of the adults. What’s more?!

Violet.

One of the two potential romantic interests for Clementine. Regardless of that, however, here is a character who has arguably the most significance to the plot of S4 no matter your choices. Violet is who is closely associated with Minnie, neck-and-neck to Tenn. Violet is the one who had the most conflict between both Marlon and Brody because of it, and is the one that sticks up for Clementine and A.J. She also is the one who takes leadership when Clementine and A.J are voted out. If you save her, Violet sees Minnie alive and realizes how twisted around she was about her; later on, she shoots Minnie with a crossbow to save Clementine, without hesitation, and then the last fight is where it’s a choice between her and Tenn. If you don’t save Violet, she ends up getting manipulated and twisted around further by Minnie (and Lilly, lol), and then acts as an antagonist on the boat as well.

This is by no means undermining Louis’ character as the other love interest, by the way. His role in the plot is quieter in large part because a) it felt to me that S4 was the first push towards his development, not a full arc like Violet (which isn’t bad in itself), and b) while Violet played a bigger role as leader, Louis was kind of pushed aside because he was morning and purposefully distant (again, not bad in itself).

The point is, it’s evident that Violet is the school kid with the strongest character leverage in terms of plot.

Which is why I’m using her specifically to show how fucking dumb it is for Clementine to abandon the school kids.

Violet has had abandonment issues since before she got to the school; Violet was abandoned by her grandmother who killed herself right behind her back, and then, presumably, her parents neglected her one way, shape or form. And then we have how this was probably exacerbated with Minnie—given that she thought she was dead, and, if you save Violet, knowing that Minnie was alive the whole time yet didn’t go back for her would’ve, I don’t know, pushed her abandonment issues further. Of course, if you saved Louis, then Violet with her abandonment issues is a given.

So uh. What. Are you. Doing?! Why?!

Actually, no, I don’t need to ask.

The comic took the route of cutting corners. The idea to continue Clementine’s story blossomed, and Skybound sprang on the opportunity. However, which is what this essay will discuss in depth, they realized how huge of an undertaking this actually is. So they didn’t even try to bottleneck every Clementine, every ending, into one comic—nor try to develop a choose-your-own-adventure series.

They threw away TWDG’s whole story because it was too difficult for them. Even though they are writers. And that is their job…

Now, before I go further, I will say that I am not going to go with the idea that this is all Tillie’s doing and Skybound just greenlit it. For one thing, the comic is also Skybound’s responsibility. They can easily approve or disprove what they want to come out of their company. Two, I don’t think it’s fair to dogpile on one writer for taking a job—especially this one since, again, it’s a huge undertaking—, nor when that writer has written some fair stories before. So as you read this essay, do note that I am not here to drag Tillie down or anything. I’m not happy with the comic, for sure, and I have a lot to criticize from the premise alone, absolutely, but I’m not going demonize a creator for something I can just ignore with my own fanfiction. Lol.

At its core, I doubt the comic understands the games at a fundamental level. Not Clementine’s arc, nor the school’s importance. It’s jarring, honestly, looking at the summary and looking at Kent’s response to the anon question. I don’t believe for a second that anybody from the game’s development actually took part in evaluating the comic. That, and if anything, I believe that if Tillie has played the games to prepare for this, the basic concept of the comics were already realized. Because I can’t imagine anyone could feasibly end the games, knowing that they’d have to continue with the story, with the conclusion that this would be the right step to take. And if that’s how it happened then…well, I learn something new every day.

It is a cash grab, something that plays into the insecurity of letting a story end.

However, as the high of my rant recedes, this isn’t to say that the comic will be a horrible experience. Because I do not know. It’s not out yet. Lol.

(Other than the first chapter which is…um, fine? I guess? Outside of acknowledge that exploring an Amish community within this world is actually very interesting, I’m not going to go into it. Don’t feel like it.)

Perhaps there will be some elements that will be good. Things that people would potentially incorporate into future stuff—assuming that TWDG will have future stuff to offer. It’s just unfortunate that the story has laid itself on a foundation that won’t viably stand the test of time. The concept and framework alone is terrible, and from experience, if the concept itself is terrible, if the story is fundamentally broken, there won’t be much you can do to fix it. Other than, well, scrap it and start over.

One lesson is that if any continuation of your story has to sacrifice crucial elements established beforehand, that continuation should not exist. This is different from retcons where retcons are used to adjust or edit a slip that was done before—like fixing a timeline issue that shouldn't have happened in the first place.

This comic isn't a retcon of the last three games. It's sacrificing ¾’s of TWDG and A.J along with it. For what? An interesting story? Sure. Maybe. But an interesting story that belongs here? I doubt it.

[Tangled Web of TWDG]

Okay, okay. Ranting aside, let’s talk TWDG.

Because…it’s a great series. :D

No but seriously, who actually thought that asking for any continuation would be a simple thing to ask for, and thusly an easy task to accomplish?

And I ask this earnestly: who really thought that would be an easy thing to do?! And do it well?!

Quite frankly, before we go frothing at the mouths, let’s evaluate how big of an undertaking a comic for Clementine actually is.

And I’m going to start this by sharing my Clementine (for brevity’s sake, Clementine bolded will mean my Clementine specifically): Clementine is not a hero. She made mistake after mistake in S2, like chopping a lovely lady’s arm off, and so, by the end of it, Clementine simply snapped. Both Jane and Kenny died. After S2, she lost faith in people and only saw good in A.J. She didn’t trust Ava’s offer to join the New Frontier initially, and only joined once A.J got sick and needed more than supplementary care (i.e. medicine). Once A.J was taken from Clementine, it was yet another breaking point. So, with the guilt of S2’s events—namely Kenny’s murder at gunpoint—, and the guilt of not being good enough for A.J, Clementine turned raider. She began to steal off of others, namely the runners for the New Frontier, and spurred up hell whenever she felt it right. (This stemmed from assuming Javi wasn’t the first person she robbed. Lol.)

Then Javi came along, and he served as the one who reminded her the good in people. He helped Clementine find A.J’s whereabouts, and Clementine tried to clean herself up to be better for A.J. Once on the road with her little goofball, she tried to hold herself together, be the better person for him. By the time she got to the school, however, Clementine realized that she was still guiding A.J down a rocky path. Of good intentions, sure, but she saw her own flaws that she’d inadvertently imposed on A.J. Especially once Marlon was shot—a parallel to Kenny, her greatest regret. Throughout the remainder of S4, Clementine teetered down the fine line between teaching A.J the right thing, and feeding into a nasty side of herself. The school kids were there, however, and they taught A.J when she couldn’t, and they taught her how to deal with that nasty side—since they had to teach themselves the same, after the adults abandoned Ericson’s.

That nasty side being addiction, actually. Clementine’s an alcoholic. And a bad one, at that. I know this element lives purely in my head, shh. Clementine can’t literally be an alcoholic in the games. However, the alcoholism is my own representation for Clementine losing herself, straying away from who she was with Lee. I played S3 and S4 as if she struggled with the addiction, so it still ruled my interpretation, and therefore the choices I made. Thus, she’s an alcoholic.

And for the past couple years now, I’ve been writing Clementine’s story in a fanfiction because, well, the story’s important to me.

But we won’t get into that. Point is, Clementine isn’t a hero. Complicated, for sure, but she certainly played the villain in multiple lives—including her own. Here’s the thing with this: that doesn’t sound like your Clementine, does it? Maybe some of yours are similar to mine, as in you’ve made similar choices, but it’s probably without the alcoholism aspect—which is a central component to Clementine. I do like to push things a little. Lol.

Now, what does that shit have to do with the comics?

Well, this: despite playing the same source material, depending on our interpretations, how our interpretations defined our choices, and how those choices furthered our interpretations (it’s a vicious cycle, really), we are going to end up with different Clementines. Clementine may not be the “correct” interpretation to you, but Clementine is Clementine to me. Clementine is the result of my interpretations, my choices, and my interpretations based off of those choices.

And this is the beauty of Clementine as a character: she evolves throughout the games to reflect every one of us. Clementine the character is a lot like her namesake in that Clementine is but one slice of the whole. She’s but one slice, a reflection of me; given that Clementine is the only slice of my own, however, that slice is Clementine whole. And your Clementine is but one slice, but that slice is the whole of your Clementine.

At the same time, however, those pieces are not made of different characters. They are Clementines, not apples or oranges or lemons. So I’m not saying that a certain interpretation will be unrecognizable, but rather that a certain interpretation will be distinguishable from another. I.e. Clementine may be very different from your Clementine, but both interpretations recognizably come from the same character while functioning as individual wholes in their own right.

I’d like to think that every one of our Clementines has a different last name. They’re all still Clementine, but just different enough to be appreciated individually.

(This line of logic also applies to Lee and Javi, by the way. Aside from the last name thing. Lol.)

The reason why Clementine is this way is because she is a game character shaped by our choices—even those made as Lee and Javi. She’s not the same as a book or film character where, while the interpretations can vary, their presentation remains stagnant. Rick will always say and do the same things no matter how many times you read/watch his story. As will Michonne (ignoring her game), and Daryl, and so on. Clementine isn’t like that, not unless you choose the same choices every time you play the games. TWD comics and shows will forever have the same input every time you open a page or flip on a screen, and thus the same output; TWDG have a variety of inputs (choices) which leads to different outputs. In this way, headcanons do actually bleed into the games but not the comics/shows because of this (take Clementine being an alcoholic where the choices I made, especially in S4, were based off of that premise, and how that headcanon interacted with the game, versus how headcanons don’t impact the comics/shows unless you’re actively working on them). Obviously there’s limitations with TWDG, like how Clementine can’t literally be an alcoholic, but there’s enough there to leave people with vastly different Clementines as a result. There’s limitations to the choices you can make, but my point is more on how those limited choices do have a heavy influence on our perception—which is arguably more important than “oh! What will this choice do?”

So yeah.

Expecting a comic to be able to bottleneck every interpretation of Clementine, and appease everyone, is outlandish. It’s an unfair expectation to have for any creator, and it’s a…really, really risky thing for Skybound and Tillie to have signed themselves up for. It’s quite honestly the same as knowing a bear-trap is there, then to step in it to earn some of that good, good money.

Maybe they thought they could get away scot-free without losing a leg, but Clementine also thought that she’d never get bit and keep both calves, so…

Though I guess it does say a lot about Clementine. She only has one calf left, yet she’s still quite the cash-cow.

…anyway.

As a result of Clementine’s nature—being that she is actively shaped by the player’s interpretation—, on top of us having watched her grow up throughout the seasons, there has been a foundation set for emotional attachment. There is a level of personal devotion that we harbor for Clementine since, again, she’s a reflection of each and every one of us.

So as a fanbase, there is that element at play. Then, there’s how TWDG is a niche of a niche. TWD was extremely popular at one point, for sure, but that popularity has since declined to a small audience, and not everybody is interested in apocalyptic settings. Ergo, TWD is a niche. TWDG are a niche of that niche—and, honestly, I think the fanfiction count found on FF.net and AO3 says that plainly (the TWDG is 10 years old now, and there’s 2,774 fics on AO3, which is slight compared to the 23,553 fics for TWD).

TWDG = niche of a niche. Okay, cool.

What that means is, in conjunction with our personal devotion, TWDG have a smaller community to cater to.

Or, Clementine has a cult following. Lol.

And with cult followings, feeding us is both very, very easy and extremely, extremely difficult. Easy in that you could literally give us a single line (something like, oh I dunno, “Clementine lives” at the end of another comic) and we will go frothing at the mouths after it. Yet, given that cult followings are particularly sensitive to how their character(s) will be represented, you still have to be careful. Granted, no matter what a creator does, somebody emotional will be pissed off. However, so long as the community can see that the development was treated with care and passion for what’s been already established, people will accept it. And I think S3 is honestly a good example of this; the game is the weakest of the four, and people love to hate on it (for fair reason; the script is…something I’d expect from a draft, lol), but S3 still does get the love that I think is deserved. People still do care about it and its characters like Javi. That, and it does some interesting things. There’s passion behind it, and people appreciate that.

By this point, since the games have concluded as a niche (of a niche), the cult following is really the only audience who is aware of the comics, and is who the comics are for. Having a cult following be the primary environment of your audience is a slippery slope for a company to appease—especially a company that, really, did not create the work that the audience follows.

Now let’s consider: Clementine = slices of a whole x cult following

Which is a scary equation for an adaptation. But here, with the slices of a whole, we have a juxtaposition upon us—which will guide the rest of this essay. It’s also something I kind of…skirted around before.

And what a strange juxtaposition it is. Clementine is simultaneously a character flexible to each and every one of our interpretations, but also a character that is, well, her own character. Yes, Clementine’s strength as a character is also a strange juxtaposition. She’s not like Ellie in The Last of Us given that those games are linear—choices can be made, but none that impact the story itself. She’s not like Geralt from the Witcher franchise since Geralt is an established character outside the games, and despite the games having choices that weigh into the story, his characterization is still quite true to what was established beforehand. She’s also not like other titles such as Elder Scrolls, Fallout nor Cyberpunk 2077 where the player characters are the most flexible in terms of characterization.

Clementine is, functionally, a strange character in this way. She’s neither the rigid characters people play as like Ellie and Geralt (though the latter has more wiggle-room), nor the player-inserts like in the aforementioned games. Clementine is a character made for the “Telltale RPGs” where the characters have rooted characterizations beyond the player’s interpretations, but the player interpretations of those characterizations will influence the choices made, and thusly the overall interpretation and conclusion of said characters. …which sounds like it extends to Geralt as well, but notice the made for the “Telltale RPGs”. Ignoring the comic (and fandom stuff) for a second, Clementine doesn’t exist outside the games. She, along with Lee and Javi, are unique in this way—even within Telltale’s character line-up, across the board.

And what does this mean for the comic?

Well.

It means they really shot themselves in the foot—with a rifle. On top of the whole…rant I made earlier.

As much as I would love to see Clementine have her own comic, she is not a character made for it. Unless it is a choose-your-own adventure novel, or it was established, from the beginning, that the comic is but one Clementine, Clementine as a Telltale-RPG character would never be able to function in a linear story because she was designed not to.

But also—and here’s the rifle part—the comic would still have to abide by her set characterization. On top of being flexible with her being a Telltale-RPG character.

This is what I mean by Clementine having a strange juxtaposition.

There are different slices of her—different interpretations—, but those slices are still all Clementine. Not apple, nor orange, nor lemon. We were given multiple choices, but all of those choices were within the realm of Clementine being Clementine. Clementine had the option of leaving or staying to watch Kenny beat Carver to death—but there was never a choice to help Kenny kill Carver. Because Clementine wouldn’t do that, ergo, the option wasn’t presented. Maybe apple would do that, however, or lemon. Clementine had the option of telling A.J that he should apologize to atone for his actions, or back him up after shooting Marlon—but there was never a choice to kick A.J out and leave him to fend for himself, nor start a fist-fight with the school kids for being upset. Because Clementine wouldn’t do either. Ergo. The options weren’t presented.

Now. This only gets more convoluted when you consider that, even though every option presented is in-line with Clementine as a whole, not every option is fit for a single slice of Clementine. For example, Clementine would’ve never accepted Ava’s initial offer to join the New Frontier. Because she does not trust people. If anything, she hates people. However, other interpretations may have jumped on the offer. Which is fine. Good even.

So yeah. Convoluted. Lol.

Either way, then we get to the question:

Would Clementine abandon A.J at the school?

The short, simple answer is no.

Clementine to A.J is Lee to Clementine. Clementine is essentially A.J’s mom, and A.J is practically her kid. She went through hell getting A.J back—even has the potential to have killed a man just to know where A.J was kept. (If you don’t make a choice for Javi when Dr. Lingard asks to euthanize him, Clementine will do it. How do I know this? Because of my interpretation of Javi: I played him as not a coward, per se, but someone who does not like seeing the face of who he kills. Thus, my interpretation of his hesitancy influenced Clementine and revealed something about Clementine’s character: that she would.)

Now, I know I’ve harped on this point long enough, but it’s for good reason.

I firmly believe that Skybound, and therefore the comic, greatly underestimated Clementine as a character—both in our attachment to her as a cult following, but also her complexity as a Telltale-RPG character. To avoid the time and energy that would’ve been spent in crafting a choose-your-own-adventure story, no doubt. Or rather, to cut corners.

And then insist that because they have the rights to the IP now, what they say goes. What they do equals canon. …while furiously brushing the nature of Clementine’s character under the rug. And what canon actually means.

Speaking of, let’s discuss canon, and how TWDG fit into that.

[What is Canon Actually?]

I’m gonna say it. You’re gonna watch me say it:

The concept of canon versus fandom is bizarre.

It is.

Take mythology for instance. Those stories, with a grain of truth or not, serve as a prime example as to what I mean.

And I’ll do this by absolutely undermining all of human, mythology history, but you’ll get the point: person creates story—as a way to document history via oral storytelling, or to express a message—, and that story is told; the story is passed down, and it changes with the interpretations of whoever is then telling the story; the story builds on itself and evolves to encompass every interpretation that has been accepted by the culture—by separating itself into multiple iterations if details being to contradict, or by converging in on itself.

And then.

The stories become ingrained, and the cycle continues on.

Canon is the source material. It’s that original storyteller. Fandom is interpretation. And come to find, throughout history, it’s fandom that ultimately decides the canon’s fate. Fandom will reject things that it doesn’t like with canon, and it will alter the story with time. And as a significant amount of time passes, we end up with stories of Heracles turning into Disney’s Hercules.

In this way, a culture’s mythology is an example of how canon and fandom is actually quite intertwined. And, as I will go over later, we see this with American mythology—comics. DC and Marvel comics being the major two.

Now, this isn’t to claim that there has never been a difference recognized between source material and interpretation. For one, Homer often credited in writing the Iliad and Odyssey—meaning he is the original storyteller, or, more probable, he is the one that documented oral traditions. Homer’s existence and the fact that his name has yet to be forgotten after all this time is, in itself, evidence that people didn’t just wake up one day and decide to finally credit a storyteller for their contribution to culture. This has been something that has been done for a while—albeit in different ways.

What this is to claim, however, is that there are two core reasons as to why fandom and canon are separated as we understand it now: copyright and technology.

And we’ll start with the former. Copyright history is quite interesting. Something that goes back further and deeper than people tend to assume. We’ll start in 1790 (yes, it’s a crusty, dusty law) where it was written into the new U.S Constitution:

“Congress shall have the Power . . . To promote the Progress of Science and useful Arts, by securing for limited Times to Authors and Inventors the exclusive Right to their respective Writings and Discoveries.”

United States Constitution, Article I, Section 8

And, in modern times, that translates to providing the “exclusive right to reproduce and distribute his or her work, [and] a right to publicly perform or display the work” (Copyright.gov). This also extends the creator’s right to give other parties a license to do the same, but, there are limitations, especially as technology has developed. (The Copyright.gov website explains this in more depth.)

What this means is that, already, we see a line dug between canon and fandom. People can’t just write fanfiction and expect to get paid for characters and a story they, themselves, didn’t create. Which, fair enough. I am by no means going to claim that writing fanfiction is a cakewalk, but I do understand why fanfiction is a free service: it is done out of passion, nothing more.

Technology has made its impact as well. And this doesn’t just mean the Internet—even though it arguably has had the largest impact with this discussion. Any advancement that makes it easier for people to communicate and discuss interpretations of material has contributed. Cars. School systems. Conventions. While versions of these concepts were probably present in the past, the sheer convenience of all of these has made it easy to bridge the gap between the creator and their audience. And because of that—at least for the sake of this essay—, copyright was established as a sort of barrier to ensure that the creator is able to be compensated for their contribution.

The Internet, of course, has done this tenfold. I’m sitting in my bed with my cat on lap, snoozing away. I don’t have to be at a convention, or even see anybody of the fandom, to discuss Clementine and TWDG and the comics with others. And because of that, the difference between canon and fandom is simultaneously a slippery slope and a solid border. The way people can interact with a fandom and talk directly to the creator allows for that slippery slope, but at the same time, because of the law, the difference is more defined. Which I find to be interesting, if anything.

So how do TWDG fit into this?

Well, to understand that, it’s best to understand how Telltale fits into this. Without going into too much their history—since, frankly, it’s not really relevant here—, understanding what Telltale Games was (and kind of is now?) will better contextualize TWDG and canonicity. Telltale is known for their choose-your-own-adventure, point-and-click style games. Yes. And, ultimately, that has remained to be the trademark for the majority—if not all—of their time. Another thing? Comic books. Outside of the gameplay and story type, Telltale is known for being the game company that adapted comic books.

Here's a few:

The Wolf Among Us. Bone. Batman. And, of course, The Walking Dead.

Granted, Telltale didn’t only adapt comic books, but for the sake of this part of the essay, the comic-book-thing is another point of interest. And I’m going to use Batman as an example.

We go to May 1939, in Issue #27 of the Detective Comics: The Case of The Chemical Syndicate. Or, Batman’s first appearance, thanks to Bob Kane and Bill Finger. Then, six issues later, we have his origin (you know the one: turned into a rich orphan in a dark, dark alley). Five issues after that, Batman sees the introduction of his very own Watson: Robin, who completes the dynamic duo. In the 1940s, Batman received his very own comic series, starting off with Joker and Catwoman appearing in the first issue.

Oh, and this early batman wielded guns. Which uh…, if you’re familiar with Batman, is really, really weird. However, this is an example of how characters and stories evolve over time, depending on what both the creators and fandom accepts and rejects.

We hop over to the 60s where Batman was associated with a campy, tongue-in-cheek, largely due to the show at the time. As that interpretation fizzled out, Batman was back to his roots with his grim stories rekindled.

And since then, with comics alone, we have a slew of different interpretations that, together, have built Batman’s overall identity: Dark Knight Returns, Batman: The Killing Joke, Batman: Nightfall, Batman: Year One, Batman: A Death in the Family, Batman: Arkham Asylum, Batman: Death of the Family. And a plethora more. The reality is, Batman didn’t spawn from one iteration. He is an amalgamation of a whole evolution: Golden Age. Bronze Age. Silver Age. Modern Age, and 21st Century comics. The New 52. DC origins. My rat pea brain is frothing. Television. Film.

(Also, the interpretation section of Batman’s Wikipedia makes my point plainly. Specifically the gay one, where the argument between whether or not Batman is gay I found to be entertaining.)

And. Of course. Video games.

Telltale’s Batman series is but another interpretation that has added to the mountain of other perspectives that makes the Caped Crusader, well, the Caped Crusader.

TWDG, however, are unique compared to the Batman games. Where Batman adapts both the world and characters from the comics, TWDG don’t (aside from Michonne, and a few character references done in S1, and Jesus). TWDG only adapt the world from the comics. The reason why boils down to TWD, and how it would’ve been redundant to have Rick Grimes be in a new game series when there were the comics and show going on all at once.

So, instead of a sheriff’s deputy, we got a convicted murderer. How fun! :D

But to that point, here is another element which Robert Kirkman himself noted (after being asked if Clementine would be in the show):

“I mean, honestly, like, we love Clementine and those games are fantastic, but I like that there are different elements to each iteration of The Walking Dead that you can only get in those iterations. [. . .] I think if we cross-pollenate too much, it takes away from what makes Walking Dead special in all the different genres.”

Iterations.

Something that has been commonplace in American comics like Batman, in mythology, religious texts, etc. Here, Kirkman recognizes why iterations are so fascinating and important for storytelling, and it’s just yet another reason why I do respect him as a writer:

Iterations bring individual perspective.

By using the same foundations—whether it be with all the characters, world, and storyline, or just the world—, it opens the chance for people to deconstruct and explore nuance. And obviously, Kirkman—as the creator—has given other parties the license to do such a thing, given copyright. Between the show(s) and the comics, the differing perspectives is in the different interpretations of TWD—the original storyteller, and then those who are adapting it. Between the comics and the games, however, rather than interpretations of TWD itself, it’s with the different interpretations of TWD’s world. “Okay, so we’ve followed a cop, let’s follow a convict.” And then it developed from there.

And this does extend to Clementine’s fic in regards to TWDG, though it passes into the fandom space. It’s the same as what’s going on between the show(s) and comics—with the additional, tangled web discussed previously.

So, in regards to this comic, it’s important to acknowledge that TWD—as a whole—has embraced different iterations throughout its time. Here, we can appreciate this layer of complexity with TWD on a grander scale.

On a smaller scale, TWDG have a another layer of complexity that the TWD comics and shows don’t have:

Well, obviously, the tangled web. The fact that Clementine is running around with a bunch of other different slices of Clementine. Those different slices arguably being different iterations in themselves, while being attached to one singular, overarching iteration of Clementine.

What this means for canonicity and TWDG is that it’s…complicated, though in a different way than Batman (and the TWD comics versus show, for the matter), yet with a similar result. Batman is an amalgamation of iterations throughout the decades, now including Telltale’s, which has left us with a multitude of interpretations, a multitude of versions—all of which still resemble each other as the same character. Clementine has one iteration—now two, including the comic. But unlike Batman, Clementine started off as a choose-your-own-adventure character, so she is inherently an amalgamation of every interpretation that has guided players through the games, as a reflection of those players, and each interpretation thrives and are considered canon.

And here’s how:

The games are canon up until a death screen. Between the fatal choice made—or not made, with those damn quick-times—to the red screen doesn’t count. Because, uh, you died. Which leaves the game to prompt you to try again.

So? It means it doesn’t matter how you ended S1, or S2, or S3, or S4, if you ended them, that was the story told to you. A story, which, becomes your source material. Your canon—and thusly your Clementine.

Which, like, no shit. Lol.

But then let’s dive in a little deeper. Dig up another layer:

Interpretation.

Because, hey, it works in a really funky way here. Interpretation in fandoms (which take the form of headcanons) are typically generated in isolation from the canon material. Simply put, copyright. Whoopie.

Another reason why goes back to the idea that there are characters who are stagnant—like Rick, and Michonne, and Daryl—, and those who are not—Clementine, Lee, Javi. Fandom headcanons of the former three can only do so much. They do not actively impact the story, not unless the creators allow them to (but, well, again, copyright). With the latter three? Headcanons do. Like how Clementine suffered from alcoholism as a way to represent her losing sense of self, and the way that interpretation influenced how I played—how my canon, my source material, took shape.

So, again, Clementine is a very, very strange character in regards to canon. When compared to many other characters created nowadays, most of which only have one (maybe two, if there’s a film-adaptation-thing going on) iteration, I can’t help but think that Clementine is reminiscent of characters from mythology. Depending on what story needs to be told, and who is telling that story, gods like Athena, Loki and Oya may do things that contradict what other stories claim, all while being recognizable as Athena, Loki and Oya. Functionally, it is the same with Clementine, albeit within Telltale’s singular iteration rather than centuries of cultural development.

I also like to think that where Batman is a tower, where the foundation will always be that Issue #27 and people have just built on top of that, Clementine is a mirror. Every person who has played the games has a shard of it, and when we look into our shard, we see our reflective Clementine, but when those shards are put together, we see Clementine whole. And Clementine whole isn’t one singular interpretation—not like how Kane and Finger created Batman.

Which, honestly, brings us to interpretation in practice.

And how it’s a skill.

[Writing Fanfiction is a Skill]

Nope, didn't read that wrong. I mean it.

I have almost 6 years and over 1,000,000 words archived on AO3, dammit (and a few more million to come, lol), so trust me when I say that writing fanfiction is a skill.

When you write fanfiction, you are developing the skills of writing which can be applied to your own, original works. Sure thing. You get to learn how to grammar, spell, use fancy punctuation (talkin’ about real fancy shit, now!), and other cool things. All without worrying or spending your time/energy on developing a world and characters from the ground-up.

However, when you write fanfiction, you're also developing other skills that you wouldn't otherwise develop. It’s like a special exercise that exercises one special muscle that no other lame exercises do. Lol.

The fact of the matter is not everyone can pull a character from another person's story and keep all the components of their personality. Well, okay, nobody can keep all components. Naturally, there will always be parts missing, or altered. For one, the original creator might not have included everything that was running through their head when their character was born; things are always cut, that's just how it is. Two, interpretation will always skew as people take the character(s) into their own hands.

If you're writing fanfiction purely as a hobby to express yourself, and you're not all that concerned over maintaining the intended character traits provided in the original piece of work, then this isn't an issue. A lot of people write characters as homosexual/queer, or as trans, or with mental illnesses (or all at once; sounds fun) as a way to simultaneously acknowledge their acceptance of a character and explore themes they wouldn't have otherwise explored. And there is nothing wrong with it. That's a normal thing to do, and I highly doubt that this is just some sudden phenomenon. So if that's how you roll, keep on truckin' along. There isn't inherently anything wrong with using fanfiction that way.

However, there is something to be said about the value in being able to write a character believably—as if you yourself wrote it (but not, like, in a stealing way). Being able to mimic their dialogue. Nailing their little quirks. Acknowledging their complexity. Out of the two directions you can take fanfiction—purely for expression or writing a character as is—, the latter falls more in line with comprehensive skill. You would have to comprehensively read in order to effectively write Percy Jackson as if you're Riordan himself.

Will anyone actually ever be able to do that? No, because interpretation will always skew, and everybody except for Mr. Riordan is not Rick Riordan. Is it constructive to be a fanfiction-copycat? No, because you have your own style in doing things, you have your own views, and why do Riordan's work for him when he could do it himself?

The truth is, for the majority of writers, fanfiction tends to be a meld of both. Writers will strive to emulate their characters, but with certain traits, they'll bend the characterizations set in order to express/explore their own interests. Which is cool. That's ultimately how you find yourself as a writer (or any artist, really) when practicing with fanworks. That, and you'll find people who think of characters in different ways. Which is also cool.

But there is a balance at play here.

When I write fanfiction, I am there to develop my writing skills, and my adaptation skills as well. Largely because it was a way for me to observe how different characters act, and to practice on how to write different characters. When I write fanfiction, I want you to be able to hear the characters speak through my dialogue. And if it’s a fic with minor-canon divergence? I want you to be fooled as to which lines of dialogue are from the show/game, and which are of my own.

In short, I want you to believe that the characters from whatever show, whatever game, would behave this way, talk this way, in my stories.

I want you to believe that Clementine could be an alcoholic, yet still recognize her all the same.

There’s a sweet spot in writing fanfiction. Of course, you may be able to pick apart which trace is of the canon, and which are of the fanfic author’s. But so long as the fic has you believing what the characters are doing are what they’d do, then it doesn’t matter if you’re able to pick apart those traces. Because that’s you accepting the fanfic author’s interpretation—out of appreciation, or even to the point where you adopt the interpretation with your own.

And about the value in being able to comprehensively read a character and then write your own story around it… Well, this comic may be a good example as to why that is actually a crucial skill to have:

The thing about fanfiction is that it's a collaboration between you, the person writing the fanfiction, and the creator. Most of the time, the collaboration isn't direct, and the creator doesn't know about it. And that's fine. (…great, even; most, if not all, fics are just meant to be unseen by the creator because of that legality stuff lol.) But, with the reader and fanfic author, that is typically reversed because you can interact with each other. That, and fandom discourse can and does impact how people write characters in their fics.

And you know what else is a collaboration?

Damn near every single bit of fictional entertainment except for writing. Literature, unless you buddy-up to write a book, is usually a solitary thing. But writing a script for film? Movies or shows? Video games? The continuation of a franchise?

Yeah. Those all require a collaborative effort in some way, shape or form. And it's funny how that skill in being able to mimic another person's character to continue the story, through collaboration, can be found within writing fanfiction—a (typically) solitary thing.

If Tillie isn't a good fanfiction writer, the Clementine in the comic can be, at worst, described as her own character wearing Clementine's skin. Which…I hope not. I’m gonna give her the benefit of the doubt. What I will maintain, however, is that the comic is another iteration of Clementine. Separate from the games. On account of how I don’t see the comics being able to effectively bottleneck every Clementine. That, and it makes more sense. In the same way that Batman can have many iterations, Clementine can as well. And you can pick-and-choose which you want to go with.

With all that said, though, this is the point that will be better judged once the comics are out. I can’t really say if Tillie is good at adapting another character because what I’ve seen isn’t much—especially since it will be 256 pages long.

I mean…from what I have seen, I know that the comic Clementine won’t be Clementine. And because of that, I’m not going to adopt Tillie’s interpretation with my own. My benefit of the doubt is extended to an appreciation if Tillie does end up serving Clementine well. …which isn’t what I saw from the first chapter and all that was released before, but whatever.

In any case.

Writing fanfiction is a lot like playing with action figures. You're borrowing them for your own stories—and that can include your own universes if it's an alternate universe. You could swap out the clothes and detachable limbs to craft a story however you please, or you could keep the action figures as they are and have at it.

More often than not, the action figures will remain how they came in the box, but they will act in ways that are skewed from the original characterization. Some people are better at closing that gap between original work and interpretation, and with very few, it's to the point where you barely realize it. To the point where, if the piece of fanfiction they wrote was published, it could be just a development of the story.

Which is how collaborative fiction works, isn't it? Especially in franchises based off of one creator’s foundation—like Robert Kirkman’s comic book—, which are then adapted as a tv show. Then you have how people are constantly swapped in-and-out of long projects, yet those different interpretations come together as canon.

And with the comic, if what we know as of now isn't a fluke but is instead what the story offers, it's probably in-part due to lacking that fanfiction skill—or, well, skill in adaptation.

But that isn't to say that Walden herself is a bad writer.

(tillie walden's artwork, with a.j)

[Walden Conundrum]

Let’s start here: do nOT HARRASS HER MY LORD THAT’S NOT WHAT WE’RE HERE FOR CLEMENTINE WOULDN’T APPRECIATE IT SHE WOULD SEE IT AS A WASTE OF TIME AND DOWNRIGHT STUPID ALSO THIS TUMBLR BLOG DOESN’T STAND FOR ITTTTT—

deep inhale

This does apply to Skybound as well, for the matter, though of course Walden is one person and Skybound is a company so…yeah.

Anyway. Look.

I'm going to be honest. I've investigated a little bit. I've gone around and looked into (some of) Walden’s work (which will be linked at the end).

First, let’s cover her professional career. Walden is a cartoonist, and as of now, she has seven works under her belt starting from 2015: The End of Summer (2015), I Love This Part (2015), A City Inside (2016), Spinning (2017),On A Sunbeam (2018), Are You Listening? (2020), and My Parents Won’t Stop Talking! (2022). And then, of course, the Clementine comic in not too long.

In the awards department, she has won three Ignatz Awards—for her first two books—, and then two Eisner Awards for Spinning, (Best Reality-Based Work), and recently for My Parents Won’t Stop Talking! (Best Graphic Album—New) . We will come back to the reality-based genre.

So…, yeah. Walden isn’t just this random cartoonist.

Outside of that, Walden is a graduate of the Center for Cartoon Studies, where she now works as a professor. Walden was also a competitive ice skater (sounds fun; it also means she likes snow). And, something that has bled into her stories, Walden is an out lesbian.

So from looking at both her achievements and Walden herself, I can see why Skybound would have an interest in hiring her. For one, she’s young—mid-20s. She’s an out queer person. Both of these mean that, following a line of logic, Walden would be someone who understands Clementine who is a young, bi woman (teenager, whatever) at this point—compared to an old fart who has his hands cramping whenever he draws. Then, you have her achievements. The Eisner Awards are a big deal in the comic industry—think of them as Grammys, but like, for dialogue-pictures.

Okay. Never going to describe comics like that again. Got it.

With this, I dug a little deeper. Turns out, you can read one of her works on her website—free of charge. ON A SUNBEAM (OAS). 20 chapters long. Easy read.

And you know what? It's quite enjoyable. I had a fun time at least.

OAS is a sci-fi novel in which there is space, and there are fishes, and those fishes are fuckin’ rad spaceships. There’s a cat-horse in there, and there’s high school, and a team of people who are in a fish spaceship that go fix some juicy-ass architecture (I do love architecture). 20 chapters. Free to read on her website. I do recommend.

Now, okay. To actually explain the story, OAS is a sci-fi novel where it follows Mia, who is about as flawed as you can get, in two main timelines: one at high school, and the other as she joins a team (on a fish spaceship!) that primarily oversees old architecture projects. In space.

Also, it is quite a queer, feminist story. There are no men, so the lesbianism is a given, but there is a nonbinary character (who’s pretty cool; hi Elliot :D). And with that said, I do appreciate how this was handled. None of it felt forced—especially compared to other, pandering stuff I’ve read. The story is of queer identity. Cool. And the story moves on.

So, yeah. That was a nice aspect of it.

Overall, the comic itself is more or less an emotional journey than anything. All the sci-fi stuff takes a backseat and melds into the environment.

The main character, Mia, is…destructive, reckless, abrasive at times, etc. etc. Yet, Mia's also fiercely loyal. She knows her flaws, and whenever they come back around to bite her on the ass, she's remorseful. I'm going to be honest when I say that it was nice to see. It can be difficult to be able to write such a flawed personality with their redeemable qualities littered throughout.

I’m not going to get too far into the comic, however. One, that’s not the point here, and two, frankly, going in blind was a fun time. I do encourage people to read it if you so choose just to prove the point that, no, I don’t think that Walden is a bad storyteller. So, if you have the time and interest, forget this Clementine business for a bit and read it. Maybe you’ll enjoy it too.

But…yeah. She’s not a bad storyteller. Instead, I believe that Walden was not at all the right fit for these comics.

And I’m going to start with her art-style.

Personally, it’s not my favorite. I love sharp, bold linework matched with vivid colors—see Marvel and DC comics. And if colors aren’t included? Well, that’s cool too. I absolutely love Little Witch Academia’s manga (specifically Satō’s), and adore Kakegurui. And many more, of course.

So, yes, I’m personally not the audience for Walden’s style. Hers is very simplistic overall. The linework is made of thin and “freehand” lines. The shapes are as well.

All to make room for color.

And, if you’re familiar with Walden’s work or have just popped over to OAS, you’ll understand why this is a huge thing:

Color is the blood to Walden’s style. Without it, it’s…dry? I suppose? The best way to describe Walden’s art-style is that it is all color with as little linework necessary to guide that color. The linework is there to show you where the characters are looking, not to be the epitome of detail.

Which…, while it’s not my jam, I can respect that. For one thing, this style worked well with OAS—and I can imagine it goes well with Walden’s other projects as well, outside of Clementine. In other words, it’s good for contemporary, self-reflective work.

If anything, I think this is the main reason why people have criticized the art-style in the Clementine comic as much as they have. Because TWD is known for its greyscale comics, which is why the Clementine comic is doing the same. The issue with this is because Walden’s style is reliant on color—that is truly where the story is being told, and I gotta say, she has an eye for it—, I don’t think that the linework in greyscale is going to be able to hold-up.

Now, to be clear, I have grown to appreciate the style. I don’t take much issue with it for the comics anymore. Partially because of OAS. At the same time, here I was just a week ago gushing about variant covers (especially Michael Walsh’s) because…damn, that’s my kind of shit. And it is very different from Walden’s work. But, again, I do appreciate Walden’s style. I know it has it strengths, because I’ve read it in a full, finished story. So I shall maintain that the Clementine comics won’t truly be representative of Walden’s style.

Another thing: concepts. I have a suspicion that the Clementine comics will tap into some interesting concepts. Well, okay. Less of a suspicion and more of a guarantee; as seen in the first two chapters that have been released (both linked at the end), we have the comics exploring an Amish community.

Which.

Um, yeah. That’s actually a really interesting thing to be looking into. The Amish are quite secluded from everyone else, but, wouldn’t the Amish fair better in an apocalypse an a city-person? They’re already independent. They already know the skills required to live off the land. And in a franchise that has largely explored how people had to change with the world, exploring a group of people who were already a step ahead—despite being behind technologically—is very interesting.

Now, uh, will we explore more of them? Well…no? Maybe? Unless Amos says things here-and-there.

Ah well.

But, that will be a potential highlight of the comics.

Another highlight is actually similar to Walden’s approach to sci-fi—have the genre be the environment, and let the people be people (or monsters).

This is another thing that fits TWD very well. In all honesty, this approach goes hand-in-hand with Kirkman’s refusal to explain how the apocalypse started—which is something that I actually like, and have incorporated in my own (fanfic) writing. Of course, the unknown is scary and interesting, thus curiosity beckons for an answer, but the point of TWD has always been about the people. (Until recently with the show trying to explain an origin, but…I don’t care.)

So…yeah. That is yet another point.

And now we get into characters and plot.

…both of which I can’t justifiably comment on using OAS as an example because, well, adaptations are different than what Walden is accustomed to.

Here we have an interview of Walden’s, given at the end of the first chapter. (The interview link will be at the end, through DomTheBomb’s video(s). I’m not going to go over the whole interview.) For our purposes, there are two questions that are important, though I will reference things from the other questions (there’s only five in this interview).

Tillie, you’re known for writing and drawing your own characters—what made you excited to take on this project and dive into Clementine and the world of TWD?

I was excited by the prospect of entering the world of TWD mostly because it felt so different from all the other work I’ve done. All my past books have been loosely autobiographical, pretty quiet, pretty sensitive. The idea of bashing in the heads of walkers, and writing characters who are shaped so deeply by survival sounded fascinating. And of course in the process of working with Clementine’s character to make these books, I’ve found so many connections between her story, the apocalypse, and my own life.

After I read this…, things started to add-up.

The Clementine comics are outside of Walden’s comfort zone. They’re within a genre that she isn’t familiar with, with a character that isn’t hers… And, yeah. Okay. For what it’s worth, I’ll give her props for branching out. It is an exciting thing for any storyteller to do.

But. It does raise the question of how far outside her comfort zone is she? Has Walden ever written (or drawn) fanfiction? To this level specifically. If so, how much? Has she ever developed adaptational skills to a professional level?

And as I’ve read through this interview, and some others, I’ve realized why Clementine is traveling to Vermont: to compensate for branching out. By plucking Clementine from an unknown to a known, I can imagine it made it easier for Walden to craft this story.

Here’s the thing.

Walden is a (loose) autobiographical storyteller—hence why she was awarded for her reality-based work, which I do think was deserved. Her skills are in slipping elements of herself into her stories. After reading OAS, I can say she does it well—with OCs and original stories, anyway. And if she’s played the games? Well, her Clementine is a reflection of Walden, isn’t she? So…naturally, Walden is going to impose herself onto Clementine—as was designed by Telltale to do, maybe elevated given Walden’s past work.

In regards to the comic, this is an issue.

A blaring one if Walden is not familiar with writing fanfiction to begin with.

When you write characters with comprehensive skill, you develop the ability to write in different perspectives. To write characters outside of your comfort zone—especially when you get to fandoms with large casts. And given that I live in a fucking desert with sand and dust and cacti and shit, I’ve had to spend time and research to write environments I’m not familiar with because most of my fandoms don’t take place in a desert.

Ergo, I don’t believe Walden developed those skills. Not enough for Clementine.

And because of that, we have a Clementine who is warped. She doesn’t talk like Clementine because Walden is writing Clementine’s dialogue as she herself would talk. Or, at the very least, how she thinks Clementine would talk, but through a heavy layer of bias. Clementine left the school for snow because Walden likes snow—even though, Clementine probably wouldn’t (again, Clementine would go fucking insane).

This is what I mean by fanfiction is a skill. Sure, elements of Walden’s personality would end up in the comic regardless. But, the key to fanfiction is being able to get into a character’s head unfamiliar to you. That is the trick to a successful fanfic/adaptation.

Not doing whatever the fuck you want because you’re in charge. We have a name for that. It’s called crackfic.

With that, here is the second question:

Your process as a writer/illustrator is a little different than most. You don’t do scripts, and instead prefer to just dive right into the layouts—why do you think this helps you?

God I hate scripts. I feel like as a cartoonist, our skill is in synthesizing the drawing and writing process. If you separate them, then in my mind, I’m not really making a comic anymore. Of course we outline the book before we start, mostly so my editor knows I have some idea of where I’m going, but then like you said, I go right into making a draft of the book, without scripting or thumbnailing. I think this process works for me for a few reasons. One is that it forces me to build the story visually right from the get-go, and often my best moments of writing and plot are inspired by an image I draw. Another reason is that it’s faster. This is huge, since we’re trying to bring a Clementine book to people each year (it’s a [trilogy]). And I think the final reason is that by writing and drawing at the same time, I naturally create a lot more silent spreads than I think would be inclined to do if I was scripting. “Drawing of the beach, no text” doesn’t sound lovely in a script, but when I see it, I can feel it, and I know it belongs.

Ah.

So there is a lot to unpack here, and I will do this by taking each reason at a time before diving into the meat of it. Because, frankly, this answer is the one that bothers me the most. Now, for one, I am not a comic writer. At the moment my focus is in literature, but I would like to expand at some point. But, I am a storyteller, as is Walden, so at the crux of this, I do have insight as to…what Walden is saying here.

Insight that isn’t just for writers. Lol. I think it’ll be pretty easy for people to pick up what I’m picking up on.

First of all, with this answer, we learn that Walden is a gardener/pantser—both terms used to describe how a storyteller crafts their story. Gardeners are people who write as they go, and let the story develop in the moment. This method is quite messy and unorganized, but that is the point. What you’re doing is letting a story grow organically.

…also, this isn’t as different as the interviewer described. For comic artists maybe, I can definitely see that, but you will run into a lot of writers who take this approach. I have, at least.

Now, I am not a gardener. At all. I am an architect. I outline—to an extreme. So while I do definitely give my stories that time and room to breathe, I don’t just write as I go along. I hop around. I keep an outline. I even script my dialogue for many scenes.

But you know what? This difference doesn’t really matter. There isn’t inherently a right or wrong with being an architect versus a gardener. Here’s why: so long as you can get from Point A to Point B, and the product is good, it doesn’t matter what journey you took. A storyteller’s journey with their story is quite an intimate experience in some respects. I can’t really judge Walden’s process in this regard.

However, it is crucial to understand that one process doesn’t have a leverage over the other in regards to time. Outliners tend to wait a while before actually writing because they are dedicating time and energy in, well, planning. Now, I will usually just plop down and write a few scenes to feel out the style for the story—like first person versus third, past versus present tense, etc.—, but a significant portion of time is just outlining. By the time outliners do start writing, it is rapid-fire. The actual writing (for me at least) doesn’t take that long. I’ve gotten to the point where I can write 100k words in a month easy. But those 100k words came out after a couple other months of planning.

With pantsers, that, of course, is flipped. To my mind, I would think gardening a story would take longer than outlining because you have to keep drafting and editing and catching all the plot-holes you missed before. But, then again, I’m not a pantser, so naturally that process would take longer for me.

So, to Walden’s second point with time, the only reason why it should take a shorter amount of time for her to garden a story rather than script is because she is a pantser, not an outliner. So, as pantsing a story would take longer for me, outlining a story may take longer for her. If the process itself, however, takes significantly less time than an outliner because only one draft is written, and finalized, then…

Yikes.

That is not a good sign. Especially with an adaptation. On Clementine. Where you have to keep track…of the choices made…and potentially incorporating her Telltale-RPG nature…

Walden may be a gardener, but with pumping out a ~200-300 page comic each year, with this process, for this character, is reckless. Not the gardening process itself, mind you, but the implication that this requires less work, less drafts, for Walden to do within a short amount of time—1-2 years isn’t actually a lot.

Then there is the emphasis on the art. While I don’t write comics myself, I would argue from a storyteller’s perspective that comics are more than the art. Yes, the art is the focus, just like the narration is for narrative writing. They are the key components to their respective artforms.

But a key is not the only part in opening a door. You need the fingers to grip it. You need the wrist to turn it. And then you need the lock itself—the story, in which the key is cracking open for the audience.

The art, the narration, is the flavor to the story, not the story itself. If that wasn’t the case, every chicken would taste the same, no matter how it’s been prepared. Every apocalyptic universe would be the same. Sure, there’s absolutely similarities given that it’s the same genre, but try to tell me that TWDG and TLOU are the same thing. Go on. I’ll wait…

Point is, while the flavor is absolutely important, people care more about the meat. Clementine’s cult-following cares more about the meat. We are invested in the comic—for better or for worse—because of Clementine, not the art. In her other works like OAS, people may be there for the art. But that’s the difference between a continuation versus original work, isn’t it? People weren’t invested in the characters of OAS before reading, but they may have been intrigued by the art. With Clementine, no. Cult-following will cult-follow. And being the primary audience, if the meat isn’t good, people will not care about the flavor. At all.

Now. Again. None of this is a criticism of Tillie with her work overall. As I said before, one’s process shouldn’t really matter when it comes to a product’s quality. So if the product is good, it doesn’t matter if you’re a gardener or an architect.

However.

A storyteller’s process does have its impact. It doesn’t matter with solitary work, but it does in certain other contexts. Like adaptation, and or, continuations.

I outline to an extreme because 1) it works for me, and 2) the outline is there to jog my memory whenever I get back to a project after, inevitably, having to take a break and work on something else.

So again, is Tillie the right choice for Clementine? In short, while I understand why she was hired for this—because there's fair reasons—, I don’t think so.

I will be the first to say that I do not appreciate the basic premise. At all. It's quite frankly appalling and a punch right to my spleen—and then some. It makes me want to wear down my teeth to little numbs by eating sand (I live in a desert; it would be cost-effective). And I covered that. Again, Clementine put down her hat for a reason; to just give her another one with a cute lil ball at the top as she goes off into effectively a war-zone is a complete misinterpretation of her and her arc. There are better solutions. So many better solutions. They just aren't as simple as throwing Clementine back out into the world. So in that sense, my knee-jerk reaction is going to be no, she was not. At all.

But, to be fair, it is still early. There is still room for the comic to redeem itself. As in, there is a plan for it that does make sense. And if the fandom doesn't like it? Okay! We'll just kick it under a rug and not talk about it. Skybound may try to promote it, but if it ends up being that poorly received, there is nothing that Skybound, nor canon, can do about it.

After digging around a little, I’ve come to one conclusion: Skybound hired the wrong person for this.

Walden is known for writing non-fictional pieces—or, at least, works heavily inspired by her own life. To the point where she received an Eisner Award for it. Walden is also not a greyscale artist. The crux of her art comes from color, which is why people have said that the cover of this comic looks better than what’s inside.

That, and, Skybound probably hired someone who is not adept at writing fanfiction. Because if that is the case, I can see how her being a (loose) autobiographical storyteller is actually exacerbating that.

This alone, however, isn’t really the core issue. Storytellers can absolutely expand in writing different genres. So I do commend Walden for taking that leap. However, I think she bit more than she could chew because, rather than adjusting her process to compensate for the shift in story type, she treated Clementine the same as her other works. Which is…reckless. For those who don’t know, writing fanfiction does feel different than original work. Because you are working different skills.

There are a slew of choices out there, other than Tillie Walden, that would have done better. But, there is something to be said about how those choices are out there only because other people took a chance on them. Every storyteller has been in her place, once upon a time. And sometimes they flop miserably before they succeed a great success. So if these comics do flop, I hope Walden does fit this bill and is able to come out with great successes later on.

Critique what you want about her work, in and outside of TWDG. I get that her style isn’t for everyone, and that critiquing elements of a story with an adored character is good. That’s how companies learn their audience. Just don't say that Walden’s here to cannibalize the fanbase. Nor harass her. Regardless of whether or not she has the necessary skills of a fanfiction writer as talked about, Walden is still just an artist that took on a job.

[End]

So…yeah. In the grand scheme of things, even though the comic may be "canon", it's still the interpretation of one person—which isn't true to how the games work, nor Clementine as a character. The "canonicity" of this work is…really not strong. I don't care if Skybound will shove it down our throats that it is. It just isn't. Not if we don’t want it to. Not unless we consider the comic Clementine as a different iteration of the character entirely. Clementine is special to us because she directly reflects each and every one of our interpretations of her. The character shifts with our perceptions, and thusly our decisions made. If you're still angered by the comic, just remember that. "Canon" or not, the comic's Clementine still won't be your Clementine—just as much as my alcoholic one isn't. (Lol.)

I get it. The comic stands as a slap to the face and just pisses all over the entirety of Clementine’s journey. And A.J. Who has been around since the second season. Many of us find it absolutely appalling for Skybound to pull with Tillie as the writer. Sure. To the point where the comic’s Clementine has been deemed “Tangerine”.

But, if you're one to give chances and be optimistic, and you feel like giving the comic a shot, go right on ahead. Pre-order it. See to it that Tillie knows what she's doing and winds up crafting a salvageable story. A masterpiece? Um…no. Hopefully I’m wrong, though, and that she has a plan that makes sense, in the end. So who knows? Maybe you'll even stumble upon a storyteller that you actually appreciate, even with all this TWDG game-comic-Clementine nonsense.

Again, though, given the nature of the games, one comic made by a person won't destroy all Clementines. It simply can't… As I said, the comic is another iteration. Something that you could completely separate from the games. Your Clementine is your Clementine, and mine is mine. You know your Clementine; if your Clementine can't perceivably leave the school kids, and do anything she does in the comics, then she won't. It's that easy.

And though I’m not here to tear anyone a new anything, I know Clementine certainly won’t be the Clementine in the comics. Speaking of, I'm going back to my fanfiction. I have an alcoholic to write. ;)

(...when I'm not a shit updater. Lol.)

If you did read all of this, thank-you. I know it's a lot. But, ah well, fandom and passion and all that. Seriously though, I get it, but don't drag down a comic writer for taking on a job—even if it's downright terrible. We live in a society, and stuff. Give any just criticism, sure (this essay certainly did), but don't forget that the comic will not matter if you don't want it to. That is how canon works, in fact. Sure, there’s copyright and stuff, but stories develop overtime with the fandom, given that fandom can last longer than its creator. So yeah. As for myself, I'll continue writing my fics. I'm not interested in the comic, but I wouldn't mind seeing Tillie's work outside of TWDG. Actually do plan to keep an eye out for her stuff, all things considered.

With all that though, here are the links I promised. :D

Clementine Comic: Chapter One | Chapter Two

Walden Interview (with commentary) | DomTheBomb Channel

Tillie Walden: Website | ON A SUNBEAM Webcomic

Kent Mudle: Twitter | Tumblr | Website

PS: I STILL WANT THOSE BOMBASS VARIANT COVERS AS POSTERS I DON’T CARE I WILL DRAIN MYSELF OF MY RESOURCES FOR THEM PLEAAAAASE.

#volt's library #twdg clementine #clementine comic #twdg #notmyclementine #mine is still an alcoholic #fight me #long essay #twdg 4 #twdg 3 #twdg 2 #this essay is dated with the second comic out but oh well #reposted from last account #if this looks familiar it's because i yoinked it from my last (dead) account #tldr fanfiction exists for a reason #and that canon vs fandom is kinda weird #so skybound cant do anything about their canon #they cant do anything about my alcoholic clementine either #they ainT TAKING HER OUT OF MY GRIMEY GRIMEY COLD HANDS

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