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headspace-hotel · 8 months

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There, in the sunlit forest on a high ridgeline, was a tree I had never seen before.

I spend a lot of time looking at trees. I know my beech, sourwood, tulip poplar, sassafras and shagbark hickory. Appalachian forests have such a diverse tree community that for those who grew up in or around the ancient mountains, forests in other places feel curiously simple and flat.

Oaks: red, white, black, bur, scarlet, post, overcup, pin, chestnut, willow, chinkapin, and likely a few others I forgot. Shellbark, shagbark and pignut hickories. Sweetgum, serviceberry, hackberry, sycamore, holly, black walnut, white walnut, persimmon, Eastern redcedar, sugar maple, red maple, silver maple, striped maple, boxelder maple, black locust, stewartia, silverbell, Kentucky yellowwood, blackgum, black cherry, cucumber magnolia, umbrella magnolia, big-leaf magnolia, white pine, scrub pine, Eastern hemlock, redbud, flowering dogwood, yellow buckeye, white ash, witch hazel, pawpaw, linden, hornbeam, and I could continue, but y'all would never get free!

And yet, this tree is different.

We gather around the tree as though surrounding the feet of a prophet. Among the couple dozen of us, only a few are much younger than forty. Even one of the younger men, who smiles approvingly and compliments my sharp eye when I identify herbs along the trail, has gray streaking his beard. One older gentleman scales the steep ridge slowly, relying on a cane for support.

The older folks talk to us young folks with enthusiasm. They brighten when we can call plants and trees by name and list their virtues and importance. "You're right! That's Smilax." "Good eye!" "Do you know what this is?—Yes, Eupatorium, that's a pollinator's paradise." "Are you planning to study botany?"

The tree we have come to see is not like the tall and pillar-like oaks that surround us. It is still young, barely the diameter of a fence post. Its bark is gray and forms broad stripes like rivulets of water down smooth rock. Its smooth leaves are long, with thin pointed teeth along their edges. Some of the group carefully examine the bark down to the ground, but the tree is healthy and flourishing, for now.

This tree is among the last of its kind.

The wood of the American Chestnut was once used to craft both cradles and coffins, and thus it was known as the "cradle-to-grave tree." The tree that would hold you in entering this world and in leaving it would also sustain your body throughout your life: each tree produced a hundred pounds of edible nuts every winter, feeding humans and all the other creatures of the mountains. In the Appalachian Mountains, massive chestnut trees formed a third of the overstory of the forest, sometimes growing larger than six feet in diameter.

They are a keystone species, and this is my first time seeing one alive in the wild.

It's a sad story. But I have to tell you so you will understand.

At the turn of the 20th century, the chestnut trees of Appalachia were fundamental to life in this ecosystem, but something sinister had taken hold, accidentally imported from Asia. Cryphonectria parasitica is a pathogenic fungus that infects chestnut trees. It co-evolved with the Chinese chestnut, and therefore the Chinese chestnut is not bothered much by the fungus.

The American chestnut, unlike its Chinese sister, had no resistance whatsoever.

They showed us slides with photos of trees infected with the chestnut blight earlier. It looks like sickly orange insulation foam oozing through the bark of the trees. It looks like that orange powder that comes in boxes of Kraft mac and cheese. It looks wrong. It means death.

The chestnut plague was one of the worst ecological disasters ever to occur in this place—which is saying something. And almost no one is alive who remembers it. By the end of the 1940's, by the time my grandparents were born, approximately three to four billion American chestnut trees were dead.

The Queen of the Forest was functionally extinct. With her, at least seven moth species dependent on her as a host plant were lost forever, and no one knows how much else. She is a keystone species, and when the keystone that holds a structure in place is removed, everything falls.

Appalachia is still falling.

Now, in some places, mostly-dead trees tried to put up new sprouts. It was only a matter of time for those lingering sprouts of life.

But life, however weak, means hope.

I learned that once in a rare while, one of the surviving sprouts got lucky enough to successfully flower and produce a chestnut. And from that seed, a new tree could be grown. People searched for the still-living sprouts and gathered what few chestnuts could be produced, and began growing and breeding the trees.

Some people tried hybridizing American and Chinese chestnuts and then crossing the hybrids to produce purer American strains that might have some resistance to the disease. They did this for decades.

And yet, it wasn't enough. The hybrid trees were stronger, but not strong enough.

Extinction is inevitable. It's natural. There have been at least five mass extinctions in Earth's history, and the sixth is coming fast. Many people accepted that the American chestnut was gone forever. There had been an intensive breeding program, summoning all the natural forces of evolution to produce a tree that could survive the plague, and it wasn't enough.

This has happened to more species than can possibly be counted or mourned. And every species is forced to accept this reality.

Except one.

We are a difficult motherfucker of a species, aren't we? If every letter of the genome's book of life spelled doom for the Queen of the Forest, then we would write a new ending ourselves. Research teams worked to extract a gene from wheat and implant it in the American chestnut, in hopes of creating an American chestnut tree that could survive.

This project led to the Darling 58, the world's first genetically modified organism to be created for the purpose of release into the wild.

The Darling 58 chestnut is not immune, the presenters warned us. It does become infected with the blight. And some trees die. But some live.

And life means hope.

In isolated areas, some surviving American Chestnut trees have been discovered, most of them still very young. The researchers hope it is possible that some of these trees may have been spared not because of pure luck, but because they carry something in their genes that slows the blight in doing its deadly work, and that possibly this small bit of innate resistance can be shaped and combined with other efforts to create a tree that can live to grow old.

This long, desperate, multi-decade quest is what has brought us here. The tree before me is one such tree: a rare survivor. In this clearing, a number of other baby chestnut trees have been planted by human hands. They are hybrids of the Darling 58 and the best of the best Chinese/American hybrids. The little trees are as prepared for the blight as we can possibly make them at this time. It is still very possible that I will watch them die. Almost certainly, I will watch this tree die, the one that shades us with her young, stately limbs.

Some of the people standing around me are in their 70's or 80's, and yet, they have no memory of a world where the Queen of the Forest was at her full majesty. The oldest remember the haunting shapes of the colossal dead trees looming as if in silent judgment.

I am shaken by this realization. They will not live to see the baby trees grow old. The people who began the effort to save the American chestnut devoted decades of their lives to these little trees, knowing all the while they likely never would see them grow tall. Knowing they would not see the work finished. Knowing they wouldn't be able to be there to finish it. Knowing they wouldn't be certain if it could be finished.

When the work began, the technology to complete it did not exist. In the first decades after the great old trees were dead, genetic engineering was a fantasy.

But those that came before me had to imagine that there was some hope of a future. Hope set the foundation. Now that little spark of hope is a fragile flame, and the torch is being passed to the next generation.

When a keystone is removed, everything suffers. What happens when a keystone is put back into place? The caretakers of the American chestnut hope that when the Queen is restored, all of Appalachia will become more resilient and able to adapt to climate change.

Not only that, but this experiment in changing the course of evolution is teaching us lessons and skills that may be able to help us save other species.

It's just one tree—but it's never just one tree. It's a bear successfully raising cubs, chestnut bread being served at a Cherokee festival, carbon being removed from the atmosphere and returned to the Earth, a wealth of nectar being produced for pollinators, scientific insights into how to save a species from a deadly pathogen, a baby cradle being shaped in the skilled hands of an Appalachian crafter. It's everything.

Despair is individual; hope is an ecosystem. Despair is a wall that shuts out everything; hope is seeing through a crack in that wall and catching a glimpse of a single tree, and devoting your life to chiseling through the wall towards that tree, even if you know you will never reach it yourself.

An old man points to a shaft of light through the darkness we are both in, toward a crack in the wall. "Do you see it too?" he says. I look, and on the other side I see a young forest full of sunlight, with limber, pole-size chestnut trees growing toward the canopy among the old oaks and hickories. The chestnut trees are in bloom with fuzzy spikes of creamy white, and bumblebees heavy with pollen move among them. I tell the man what I see, and he smiles.

"When I was your age, that crack was so narrow, all I could see was a single little sapling on the forest floor," he says. "I've been chipping away at it all my life. Maybe your generation will be the one to finally reach the other side."

Hope is a great work that takes a lifetime. It is the hardest thing we are asked to do, and the most essential.

I am trying to show you a glimpse of the other side. Do you see it too?

#american chestnut #hope #climate change #biodiversity crisis #climate crisis #trees #plantarchy #learning to imagine the future

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the-crimson · 7 months

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Aight thoughts on todays bbh lore cuz we got A LOT. Just stay with me through my nerding about trees it’ll be worth it XD

We pretty much got 100% confirmation that he is intentionally hurting Baghera and Forever and that he thinks of himself as expendable. What fascinates me the most is when Bad asked Foolish this

“Is there anything wrong with burning the forest to save the trees?”

At first glance you might think YES if u burn the forest then there won’t be any trees??!! However it is a custom on fire risk zones to create controlled fires that burn up brush and dead trees so that the risk of a natural and far more devastating fire is reduced. Additionally, if a fungus infects a forest, burning the infected trees may be the only way to prevent the spread to the rest of the forest.

On top of that, there is a specific type of tree species that requires fires in order to reproduce. These are often Pine trees that drop pinecones. Pinecones hold seeds inside them that only germinate when immense heat is applied to them: the heat of a forest fire. When they are within these temperatures, the seeds germinate and the pine cones pop, scattering the seeds on the forest floor. These trees adapted to form a symbiotic relationship with fire one of if not the most destructive natural forces on the earth.

Do you know one of the trees that has developed this adaption? Redwoods.

Do you know which tree bbh brought up when giving Jaiden a PINECONE gift for her birthday today? A Redwood.

I’m like actually going insane. This can’t be a coincidence right????? I’m not going crazy right???

The whole reason I noticed this scene is because I live near the redwood forests in California and I know all about the way these trees depend on fires for their survival. It’s something that’s always fascinated me. That’s when I assume Bad was going to ask foolish the above question before Jaiden and Teana cut their conversation short while they were talking on the Titian . He literally had these specific trees on his mind when he was going to ask about burning down the forest.

Let me tell you another thing about Redwood trees. They are ancient. They are massive. They are sturdy. Natural fires are a common phenomenon here and a majority of the redwoods survive with barely a scratch, maybe an inch or two of its outer bark scorched. Nothing it won’t grow past in a year or two when these trees easily live for 500+ years.

(Side note, if there is one place in America you should visit it’s the redwood forests of California. It is literally like entering a portal to another world. These trees are 10-15 ft in diameter easily and you can just feel how ancient the forests are. It’s one of my all time favorite places to go)

So, in the situation Bad is proposing, burning the forest to save the trees, he is actively thinking about Redwoods in this hypothetical. Not only trees that are extremely resistant to fire but trees that depend on fire to survive. That completely changes the way he is approaching this question.

In his hypothetical, the forest will burn. The animals will die. The brush and non redwoods will turn to ash. The land will be scarred and the trees themselves may look dead, branchless and black. But. But. A season will pass and new branches will peel through the charcoal. Seeds deep in the soil will surge forth as the soil is fed nutrients from the ash. Animals will return. Pinecones will shed their fertilized seeds to give birth to a new generation of trees. And by next year, the forest will look just as vibrant as it had before the fire. Trees may bear the scars of the flames but life continues and it continues and it continues always.

I might actually be going crazy bbh makes me crazy cc!bbh makes me crazy I’m losing my mind

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bethanythebogwitch · 23 days

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Dry Beast Monday: chinchillas

For over a year now I've been doing weekly Wet Beast Wednesday posts where I do a deep dive on some aquatic animal, and you know what? I'm tired of it! This is now a dry beast blog!* And where better to start than an animal that can literally die if it gets wet? Beasts can't get much dryer than that. So strap in for the first Dry Beast Monday... Dmonday?... Drunday? Whatever, it's the chinchilla.

(Image: a pet chinchilla in a cage, standing upright on a wood platform that has been heavily chewed. It is a rotund mammal with a similar body plan to rabbits, featuring a large head distinct from a round body. Its hind paws are larger than the forepaws and have more distinct toes. Its eyes are almost completely black and it has a flat nose with very long whiskers. The ears are large, rounded, and mostly furless. The tail is bristly hair like a squirrel's and is curled up. Most of its fur is a dark grey but the fur on its underside is white. End ID)

Chinchillas are rodents (the best mammals, fight me) that are members of the family Chinchilladae along with the viscachas. There are two living species of chinchilla: the long-tailed chinchilla (Chinchilla lanigera) and the short-tailed chinchilla (Chinchilla chinchilla, formerly Chinchilla brevicaudata). The two species can produce sterile hybrid offspring. Domesticated chinchillas are descended from the long-tailed chinchilla. All chinchillas are medium-sized rodents with powerful back legs, long whiskers, large ears, and extremely dense fur. In comparison, the short-tailed chinchilla is larger and has a shorter tail, thicker and less distinct neck and shoulders, and smaller ears. The most famous feature of chinchillas is their fur. At about 20,000 hairs per square centimeter, chinchillas have the second densest fur of any mammal, second only to sea otters. Each hair follicle grows up to 50 hairs, compared to human follicles, which only grow 1. The fur is famous for being incredibly soft, often described as velvety. If you've never felt a chinchilla its really hard to describe just how soft they are. The fur is so dense because Chinchillas live in the highlands of the Andes mountains where it gets very cold. The fur is used for insulation and even with it being so thick, chinchillas still need to bask in the sun to warm themselves up. The fur is actually the reason why chinchillas can't get wet. Their fur is so dense that wanter can't evaporate easily, instead remaining around long enough for fungus to start growing in the fur. This can lead to a lot of different skin conditions and infections that can be lethal. When chinchillas bathe, they take dust baths. By rolling around in volcanic ash, the can work the ash into their fur, where it absorbs oils, moisture, and other contaminants. This keeps the fur clean and healthy. Domestic chinchillas need specially made dust for their baths. It cannot be substituted with sand or other materials. Chinchillas can release chunks of their fur in order to escape from predators, leaving the predator holding nothing but a tuft of hair while the chinchilla runs away. This is called fur drop and in domestic chinchillas it can be a sign of mishandling or stress. Wild chinchillas have grey fur, but domestic breeds have been bread to have other colors of fur, including white and black. Chinchillas can't sweat, which isn't a problem in their natural habitat, but is for domestic chinchillas. The only way for them to cool down is to expose their ears (which are hairless and heavily vascularized) to wind. Chinchillas in temperatures at or above 26 degrees C (80 F) are at risk of having heat strokes. Daytime in the Andes can exceed those temperatures, so chinchillas hide in burrows during the day. Chinchillas are very skilled at jumping, able to leap up to 1.8 meters (6 ft). Their hind legs are longer than the forelegs and provide propulsion when walking or jumping. The toes has fleshy pads called papillae that help them grip onto surfaces. Chinchillas live in arid, rocky conditions and are skilled at leaping between rocks. The tails act like rudders, providing stability and direction when leaping. The front feet are capable of gripping and picking up objects. Females tend to be larger than the males, but there is otherwise little visual difference between the sexes. Wild short-tailed chinchillas can reach 38 cm (including tail) and 800 grams while wild long-tailed chinchillas can reach 26 cm (including tail) and 450 grams. Domestic chinchillas can get up to twice the size of their wild relatives.

(Image: a wild long-tailed chinchilla sitting under a rock. Its body plan is the same as the pet chinchilla above, but its fur is a lighter grey End ID)

(Image: a short-tailed chinchilla in captivity. It has a less distinct neck than the long-tailed chinchilla, making it look like its head merges with the body. Its tail is shorter than that of the long-tailed chinchilla, making up about 1/5th of its length as compared to the long-tailed chinchilla's 1/3rd. End ID)

Chinchillas are social animals that live in colonies called herds that can reach up to 100 members. Females dominate the herds and can be aggressive toward each other, though physical fights are rare. The herd cooperates when finding food, always having at least one member acting as a lookout to spot predators while the rest feed. They communicate vocally, with 10 types of vocalizations on record for. Social behaviors include grooming, playing, and friendly nibbling of each other's ears. Pet chinchillas should never be kept alone. They should be in same-sex groups of at least 2. Chinchillas are crepuscular, active mostly at dawn and dusk. During the day and night, they are usually found hiding in burrows or crevices between rocks, where they can avoid predators and high or low temperatures. They are primarily herbivores, but will supplement their diets with insects and other bugs. Most of their diet consists of grasses, seeds, and succulents and cacti. Wild ones almost never drink water, instead getting all of their hydration from their food. Chinchilla digestive systems are fairly specialized to their food. Domestic chinchillas need special-formulated food and can only have wooden chew toys form certain species of wood. Fresh or dried fruit is good for a treat, but should not be a regular part of their diet as they have a lot of sugar. As with all rodents, the incisors grow continuously through the animal's entire life and need to be worn down by chewing on things.

It is surprisingly hard to find good-quality images of wild chinchillas. Most of the time when you search for wild chinchilla pictures what you get are either domestic chinchillas or viscachas.

(Image: a trail-cam shot of two wild long-tailed chinchillas. The photo is i black-and-white. One is in the foreground on all fours while another is on its hind feet in the background, standing on a rock. The terrain is rocky and the chinchillas are next to a shrub. The camera's light makes their eyes appear to glow white. End ID)

(Image: a wild short-tailed chinchilla that is part of a relocation effort. Its fur is light grey with darker patches. A gloved human hand is reaching in from the right side of the image. End ID)

Male chinchillas appear to be fertile year-round, but females only enter estrus during the winter, from May to November in their natural habitat. Gestation takes around 120 days in both species and both species typically have two litters a year (a low rate for a small mammal). Offspring (called kits) are born well-developed, with fur and open eyes, and can run as soon as they are born. They nurse for 6-8 weeks before being weaned. 1-6 kits are born at a time, with 2 being the usual number. Chinchillas are monogamous, mating for life. Either partner can initiate mating, which they do so with hair-pulling. Unusually for rodents, male chinchillas do provide care for their offspring. Members of the same herd will help each other with parenting. Female chinchillas have been known to adopt the kits of other females who can't nurse due to health issues. Females are usually dominant due to their size. Chinchillas become sexually mature at around 8 months. In the wild they can live for 10 years, which is doubled in captivity.

(Image: an adult domestic chinchilla with a juvenile. The juvenile is smaller than the adult, with proportionally larger head and limbs and proportionally smaller tail. The two of them are nuzzling their snouts together. End ID)

The name chinchilla comes from the Chincha people of the Andes, who hunted chinchillas for their fur and meat. This hunting increased vastly after European colonization of South America. Between hunting and trapping, both species of chinchilla were brought to near extinction and vastly reduced their native range. Both species are now only found in Chile and have been granted legal protection. The IUCN switched their classifications between Vulnerable, Endangered, and Critically Endangered for a while. As of 2016, both species are classified as Endangered, upgraded from Critically Endangered as their populations have seen some improvement. Poaching, both for fur and capture for sale as pets, is still a large threat to wild chinchillas. Their close cousins, the viscachas, are doing much better as they were not hit as hard by the fur trade. The domestication of the long-tailed chinchilla is thanks to Mathias F. Chapman, an engineer who became fascinated with the animals after meeting a native person who was trying to sell one. He ended up getting permission from the government of Chile to capture several and import them to the USA. It took him 3 years to catch enough that he considered suitable for breeding, 11 in total. He then spend over a year gradually bringing them down from the highlands to sea level, giving them plenty of time to acclimate to the lower altitude. Once in the USA, Chapman started breeding his chinchillas in a farm in California, though he had to deal with medical problems and a thief stealing half of his stock. Eventually, though, his experiment paid off. The vast majority of all domesticated chinchillas today are descended from those original 11, brought to the states in 1923. Chinchillas today are raised in captivity for their fur, for use as laboratory animals, and as pets. While both species are raised in captivity for fur, the domesticated chinchilla is descended from the long-tailed chinchilla and short-tailed chinchillas apparently do not make as good pets.

(Image: a black-and-white photo of Mathias F. Chapman, a white man with a large nose wearing a shirt and tie. A chinchilla is standing on his leg and looking at the camera while he looks at the chinchilla. End ID)

* April Fools

#april fool's day #the animal facts are real #dry beasts #dry beast monday #wet beast wednesday #chinchilla #long tailed chinchilla #short tailed chinchilla #domesticated chinchilla #rodent #mammal #biology #ecology #zoology #animal facts #informative #fur trade

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panem-crustus · 8 months

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SOUDOUGH SALUTATIONS!!!

I am the one and only Carbohydramancer on/ in the @wizard-island-trading-co! I am a Carbohydramancer, that is, a manipulator of Carbohydrates. A bread wizard, basically. My magics are based mostly on semantics. If it can technically be called bread, I can make it.

Pronouns: He/Him

CURRENT STOCK

Battery Acid Hawaiian Buns: An extremely potent electromagical power source. Boosts the power of any electromagical devices and machines hooked up to it. Requires Bottled Lightning and Lithium to bake. Handle only with insulated gloves.

Loaf of Armorsoul: Temporarily boosts defense In organic beings and repairs Automatons when consumed. Any bread baked using @odd-animated-armor's chest cavity results in this bread. This is the only way I've been able to replicate the recipe thus far.

_________________________

UPDATED: Starlight Sourdough: A mystical, mostly untested recipe. A potent, edible source of mana that is arguably more appetizing than a vial of purple goo. I used the Spores of a rare Starlight Mushroom as yeast for a Sourdough Starter, resulting in a promising way to cultivate the notoriously finicky fungus. The recipe has been stabilized, and is being used as a mana power source for @wizard-island-trading-co's Moon-Garden Dyson-Swarm.

Starlight Sourdough-Based effects (made to order):

Total Cleansing: clears all magical status effects and transformations, aside from Trans Magics.

Vitality Enhancement: Enhances your body to handle deadly poisons and fight off any disease or other foreign infection .

SPONTANEOUS MANA COMBUSTION: Causes your mana pathways to overload and have a meltdown that deals devastating damage at the cost of your ability to use magic, at least until you can be properly healed. ⚠️USE WITH EXTREME CAUTION⚠️

_________________________

Bread Bowls full of The Stew: They're bread bowls full of The Stew. Delicious. Mmmm stew. NOT LIABLE FOR ANY INJURY CAUSED BY THE STEW.

Accursed Garlic Bread of Breath Cleansing: Asexual Vampires Rejoice! Consumable for vampires and freshens the breath! All the good of garlic bread with none of the bad! Hurrah! Huzzah!

Sunlight Loaf: Imbued with Radiant Energy, this bread is a bite of sunshine on even the cloudiest of days. It perfectly replicates the nostalgia of Mom's cooking (or nostalgic equivalent) to give a bit of comfort when you need it.

Moonlight Loaf: Baked with Midnight Flour, this bread is a taste of darkness on even the sunniest of days. It perfectly replicates the traumatic experiences of your youth (or any point in your life) to add a dash of despair when you just need a good cry.

CUSTOM ORDERS!!!

Need a pita with a purpose? A magical managerie of baked goods can be at your fingertips! Just tell me the desired effects and I'll see what I can do. I don't take money for my services, however. I take exotic ingredients from which to craft new and exciting pastries.

Please place your orders through the root post or askbox, thanks :)

SOURDOUGH SAYONARA!!!

SECRET BLACK MARKET BREADS:

Biscuit of Testicular Torsion: Leave this unsuspecting biscuit in your victim's fridge. They will eat it, guaranteed. Just wait and listen for the screams. Does not work on those who lack testes.

Baked Horrors: do not. dont. Don't do it you won't like it. Neither will they. Dont.

Bread That Gives @the-gnomish-bastard a migraine every time you take a bite of it: This bread's effects are a mystery.

Not Bread: this is just some gravel I shoveled off of a riverbed.

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boots-with-the-fur-club · 1 month

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Literally just finished this, but here we go!! More lore!!

Prev, Next

@daboyau

@phoebepheebsphibs

@littlemissartemisia

@foxolotlfreak

@that0n3shr00mi3guy

NFIF: No Fun In Fungus

UIFY: Until I Found You

DvD: Donatello von Draxum

Dee: NFIF Donnie

“Donnie!….Donnies? MIKEY!? What happened to him!?” UTIFY Raph shouts, beginning to fuss over him.

Mikey moves a bit, face scrunched up from how loud his brother is being. DvD rocks Mikey a bit and brings him back into a comfortable sleep.

“He just used too much energy. He’s okay.”

Raph sighs in relief.

“You chaps scared me. Misa wandered off when we were looking for the other Leo and hanging out earlier, she found the other me. He was panicking about that hand.”

Dee noticeably tenses.

“Where is my brother?”

“He’s fine, I promise. Just a little overprotective right now.”

“….The hand didn’t infect him? Do you know if it was injured? Did you see any black blood anywhere?”

“Uh, no!? What kind of other infection can you get from that thing!?”

April grimaces, looking down at her arm.

“Should I be worried?”

“I think it’s the least of your concerns at the moment.” Dee replies.

“Why isn’t the hand injured anymore? We still have the rest of it, and it’s doubtful it can regenerate.” DvD insists.

“My Raphael may have encountered it before I did. Can you take me to him?”

“Of course, but where’s Gram-Gram- I mean, Karai?” UIFY Raph questions.

April wrings her hands together in guilt.

“I…..should tell you when Leo’s here too, but she’s not safe.”

Raph’s face immediately drops.

“But she’s an ancient warrior! What could have taken her out!?”

“…..Family. I don’t know how much you know about Hamato since none of you were raised by Splinter, but they’re filled with martyrs. I’d like to say we’re different, but every time there’s danger we’re fighting each other to be the freaking sacrifice.” Dee says bitterly.

Raph looks even more worried at hearing that.

April gets between them.

“Look, I know things are kinda dire right now but at least we’re learning stuff about this whole thing and the other Raph is okay. If we work together and don’t separate anymore we can do this.”

“If Mikey was awake, he’d agree. Even if it isn’t completely rational to do so, I say we push aside logical worries about our abilities and focus on a plan instead.” DvD adds.

“Donnie’s right. We get everyone can back together and work on taking that gross hand down. Got it?” April looks at Dee.

“…..Got it.”

“Good! Wait, you said other Raph was being overprotective, how’s that?”

“I’ll show you.” UIFY Raph starts leading them a little further up.

NFIF Raph is holding onto UIFY Leo closely and keeping his head on a swivel. Both seem perfectly fine except for the watchdog behavior Raph has going on.

“Is there a different reason for why he’s like this or is it just the obvious one?” DvD asks.

“Misa went to go get her portal sword and the only way he’d let her go is if he could at least keep an eye on Leo. Something about Leos keep getting the worst of it.” UIFY Raph answers.

Dee walks closer.

“Raphael?”

NFIF Raph quickly turns to his brother’s voice.

“Donnie! You’re okay! Come here!”

“Don’t do it! I can’t even do my escape maneuvers!” UIFY Leo warns.

“Raph, you’re going to have to let him go. His family is here now. It’s their job to protect him.” Dee touches his arm.

“I can protect them this time, all of them! And you!” Raph almost begs.

“Listen to me. You can’t do it by yourself. They took Mikey, they have Leo, and Gram-Gram is there too!”

Raph’s face pales.

“G-Gram-Gram? Theirs is still alive?”

“What do you mean she’s there!? And still alive!? What happened to yours!?” Leo shouts.

UIFY Raph looks at April for the promised explanation.

She takes a breath and tells them all exactly what happened.

There’s various reactions of shock, worry, and fear. Raph gently, very, very gently, squeezes Leo who squeezes him back.

Things got so bad, again.

Raph takes a breath.

“Our Gram-Gram sacrificed herself to shop her dad, the shredder. It….it was our fault, we took her out the Twilight Dimension and freed him. Now it’s our fault again for everything! The spores, the hand probably, your Gram-Gram getting trapped! I’m….I’m sorry…..” He starts tearing up.

Leo wiggles up and wipes his eyes.

“Hey, stop thinking so much! You’re working yourself up! Look, you guys aren’t bad guys. I’ve met a lot of them and you aren’t it. We stole from you and you still fed us, I’ve done a lot less and got treated way worse. You’re not the only ones who’ve….made bad choices. All of us have. I still kind of am but that’s besides the point. What is the point is that we aren’t blaming you because you shouldn’t be blamed.”

Raph tears up a lot more but quickly wipes his eyes.

“That’s some smart stuff you’re saying.”

Leo smiles.

“Being a thief isn’t easy.”

Raph finally let’s go of him, patting his head.

“Raph’s real proud of you for keeping yourself and your Mikey safe. I know it isn’t easy. When this is all done, if we don’t see each other again, I want you to know you’re always going to have an extra big brother out there who believes in ya.”

Leo blinks back his own tears.

“Yup yup, sure thing! And….you know….I guess I don’t mind it….”

Raph chuckles and allows Leo to walk over to DvD and Mikey. He strokes Mikey’s cheek which has Mikey nuzzle into it.

“So, now we can make a plan?” DvD looks around.

“I believe I have one. If I had access to a proper lab I could use the sample I have from the hand and the spores on it to create something to combat this new mushroom. I believe I saw one before somewhere.” Dee suggests.

April bites her lip.

“I did too. That’s nearby where everything happened. Are you sure we should go there?”

“I’m afraid it’s the only plan I can think of unless someone else wants to speak up?”

No one does.

“Alright, just be extra careful you guys.”

The group follows April back to the central area of the whole situation. DvD and Dee are behind everyone else, side by side.

Dee suddenly stops walking when they’re on the opposite end of the building housing the humongous mushroom, standing stiffly

DvD stops as well, raising a drawn on eyebrow.

“Did you see something?”

“No. I just…..usually Leo has fidget toys for me when everything is overwhelming. It helps for me to focus on holding or touching something. Just weight in my hands would do it.”

DvD glances at Mikey, somehow still asleep.

Is this close safe?

It was Dee who kept the hand from sporing them earlier.

“Here, you may hold him again.” DvD offers, carefully placing his brother in his arms.

Dee’s eyes light up slightly.

“I appreciate it, truly. However, I do also have a question for you.”

“…..Are you going to ask it?”

Something else switches in Dee’s eyes.

“You trusted yourself once with Mikey already and failed. Why on earth would you do it again?”

DvD immediately lunges at his counterpart. There’s no room for mistakes when it comes to Mikey. He’s made more than enough.

Dee’s eye color swirls with bright blue as he watches DvD hit a purple wall.

“Let go of him!” He screams and punches the wall.

The others hear this and turn around, shocked at what’s happening.

Purple, metallic vines appear from out of Dee’s battle shell, lifting himself and Mikey up.

“If I do that from this high, it’s not going to end well.”

DvD feels a horrific familiarity to this situation. Is this because he spilled his guts earlier? No, if this is connected to the hand then it already knew his fear.

It’s just bringing it back.

“D-Donnie….?” NFIF Raph nearly mumbles, not being able to raise his voice properly from how horrified he is.

“Yes, Donatello is here, Raphael. There’s more than just him. I think you know what that’s like.”

Raph’s hand goes to his formerly infected eye without realizing it.

“Leave my brother alone. Now.”

“Oh? Just the one? Are we picking favorites?”

Raph’s hand digs into his face out of pure rage.

“All of them! Leave my family and everyone else alone!”

Dee starts chuckling, the laugh divulges into true maniacal cackles.

“Leave you all alone!? Why would I ever want to miss a meal!?”

“A….A meal? What are you doing to them!? April shouts.

“I’m eating of course! It’s not enough though, that’s why I had him lead you here. Ah…..you should have realized what he was trying to tell you, but you still gave your brother to him.” Dee looks right at DvD.

Both Raphs struggle slightly at trying to hold him back.

“Mikey!! No, no! You are not forcing me to do nothing! I could handle Draxum, I can take on a simple alternate me!” DvD screeches.

One of Dee’s vines wraps around Mikey’s throat. This stops DvD dead in his tracks.

“Is your tantrum over now? Good. In being connected to various memories, I’ve become aware of the different kinds of entertainment that feature something like me. Musicals you call them. The Guy Who Didn’t Like Musicals, Be more Chill, and my personal favorite……Little Shop of Horrors. You may call me Audrey III.”

“Stop with your dumb monologue! Since you’re holding Mikey hostage and not sporting us, you must want something!” Leo shouts.

“I suppose I can tell you. Simply….”

The vines start grabbing at each of them, pulling them apart and lifting them up.

“Feed me!”

“Why does it have to be us!?” April struggles.

“Feed me!“

“Why does it have to be fear!?” Leo writhes.

“Feed me!”

“Why does it have to be ours!?” Both Raphs fight against the vines.

Dee separates them, bringing NFIF Raph close.

“You’re going to feed me, Raph!”

@burritello3000 Thanks for the Audrey III name and the lyrics you commented! Hope you don’t mind that I used them!

#rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles #rottmnt #no fun in fungus #2018 tmnt #tw death mention #i’m getting spored now i guess #rise of the tmnt #tmnt 2018 #rise fanfiction #rottmnt fanfiction #until i found you

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cinnamongorll · 5 months

Text

a fragile line - chapter 4

read on ao3! (111k words) | previous chapter | next chapter | masterlist

Pairing: Joel Miller x Female OC

Tags: extreme slow burn, age gap, older man/younger woman, protective joel, jealous joel, hurt/comfort, pov third person, mutual pining, angst, sexual tension, friends to lovers, canon-typical violence, feral joel, parental abuse.

Fic synopsis: three years ago, Juliet escaped her father's religious survivor camp, ending up in the Boston QZ. Juliet created a life for herself in Boston, desperate to forget the trauma of her upbringing. One day, Juliet arrives home to find a mysterious letter which forces her to return to her home town. Juliet can't travel the harsh post-apocalyptic landscape alone, so she enlists the help of the grumpy and, at times, frightening man she works alongside: Joel Miller.

Word count: 2k

Chapter 4: 'Something In The Way'

They moved like shadows, lurking in the gaps between the enforcers’ spotlights.

The roads were busy, armed guards and trucks patrolled the city with torches panned on every dark corner. The sound of their engines drowned out the anxious thoughts floating through Juliet’s mind. All she could focus on was the man in front of her, Juliet matched Joel’s every step to keep up with his impossible stride. The rain had picked up, puddles splashed against her already damp jeans.

Joel stopped without warning. Juliet struggled to see through the pouring rain but watched with squinted eyes as Joel’s blurry figure used his shoulder to break open the door of the crumbling building they stood in front of. Three hits and they were in.

Downstairs was the entrance to a series of abandoned underground tunnels, water dripped from every corner and various weeds had sprouted between rotting bricks. Joel was moving again, the sound of his boots echoed off the walls. Juliet jogged to catch up, rounding a corner and -

“Shit” she gasped, her feet stumbled to an abrupt stop. Her hands covered her mouth, her eyes wide. Fungus painted the wall in front of her in shades of red, green and brown, surrounding the body suspended in the centre. ‘Body’ wasn’t the right word, it didn’t even look human. The dampness had done a number on it, the skin rotted and swollen.

“This one’s done,” Joel observed in a monotone voice, he had stopped about a foot away from her.

Juliet dropped her hands, embarrassment flooded her cheeks.

“I know,” she replied, releasing a shaky breath. “I just haven’t seen one in a while.”

Joel raised an eyebrow, irritation evident on his face. The rain had soaked his hair, his fingers slicking it back. The dark blue of his shirt was almost black and it clung to parts of his chest. He stood there, staring down at her with ire poured over his features, dripping off him like rain. Juliet was struck by a sudden moment of clarity, a stark realisation that Joel was dangerous. Every inch of him radiated hostility. The set of his broad shoulders, the hard clench of his jaw, the look in his eyes, all screamed don’t fuck with me.

Working alongside him for years, Juliet knew of him, knew that he was a smuggler, a drug dealer. She knew, at least subconsciously, what he was capable of. To experience this side of him up close, his ability to come across infected without so much as flinching, was an entirely different story. Joel had started to move again, walking the dark trail through the damp tunnel. Juliet followed close behind, her heart was beating so violently against her chest she could feel it echo in the tight space around them.

Just this morning, they were working the same shift, shovelling ash and piling bodies. Now, she had placed her life in Joel’s hands, forced upon him the responsibility of getting her out alive. Juliet wasn’t used to delegating her safety, protecting herself had been her number one priority since she had set off alone, reclaiming her life. She clenched her fists, her fingernails dug into the smooth skin of her palms.

It was obvious to her that, on some level, she trusted Joel. They had never shared a real conversation in all the time they had known each other, but Juliet had watched him, mimicking his actions on shift, working in harmony. She knew his body language, what it meant when he raised his eyebrows, when his shoulders tightened, when he shifted his jaw. Juliet knew Joel was dangerous but she wasn’t frightened. He would get her out of the QZ and then she would survive, like she always did.

Juliet was pulled from her thoughts when Joel stopped walking and signalled towards a rusted ladder which hung from the side of the tunnel wall. Joel started to climb and released a harsh grunt when he reached the top and began to push against the mud and concrete sealing them in. The seal broke and he placed two hands on it, holding the slab open, the muscles in his arms strained against his damp shirt. His stare cut towards Juliet and he lifted his chin, indicating that she should climb up. Juliet gripped her hands on the rusted metal, praying it didn’t snap under both their weight as she squeezed past Joel. She held her breath as the side of her body brushed against his. The rough breath he released afterwards told her that he had done the same.

Once Juliet was standing in the open air, Joel climbed out behind her, wiping the mud that caked his hands onto his jeans. The rain was still pouring down, even heavier now. The droplets drifted across Joel’s face and trailed down his neck.

“Where do we go now -” Juliet began but was quickly cut off when a hand tugged her by the arm of her jacket. Joel dragged her to the shelter of a rusted yellow van which sat at an odd angle, as though it might tip any second. Juliet reached up, brushing the rain from her eyes and the soaked hair that had escaped her braid. She blinked a few times and opened her eyes to find Joel standing in front of her, his finger glued to his lips.

“We’re goin’ to move round the left edge of the buffer zone,” Joel informed her, his voice quiet. He stood so close to Juliet, she could feel his hot breath scalding her cheek. Juliet glanced at his other hand, still wrapped around the wet material of her jacket. Joel followed her gaze, his hand fell immediately.

“You move when I move,” he continued. “No exceptions.”

“Got it,” Juliet confirmed.

Joel shook his head, bitterness radiating from his posture. Then he turned, leading the way.

.................................

Lightning flashed as they silently crawled through large metal cylinders and raced behind abandoned cars. Juliet was panting, rain bled into her open mouth, choking her as she imitated Joel’s movements. They were nearly there, almost at the surrounding metal fence, only a few more steps -

“Don’t move!” a harsh voice echoed through the thunder.

Fuck. An enforcer.

“I said don’t fucking move,” he ordered. Joel stopped so suddenly Juliet almost ran into him.

He turned, locking eyes with Juliet as a silent conversation passed between them: Stay still and don’t say a word.

“We don’t want any trouble,” Joel called, raising his hands in a defensive stance. Juliet did the same, her fingers trembling.

“Yeah?” the soldier shouted back. “If that were true, you wouldn’t be out here.”

Juliet held still as the soldier came into view. He was young, around Juliet’s age or younger perhaps. He was dressed entirely in black, the colour a stark contrast to his pale skin. A shotgun hung from the strap around his neck, his hands gripped it tight, his knuckles white. Below the gun was a torch projecting a white light on Joel and Juliet’s frozen forms.

Joel was eerily quiet, his hands still raised in front of him, palms facing outward. Juliet stole a glance towards him and shock shot through her in a sharp bolt. His face was a barricaded door, every shutter closed with no entrance visible. Joel’s expression was paralyzed, his eyes entirely vacated. Whatever he saw in the young soldier had immobilised him, physically and mentally.

“On your knees,” the soldier commanded, his voice cracking on the last word. Juliet narrowed her eyes, Joel was entirely checked out. He was seized by some kind of ghost, his stare anchored on the enforcer.

The rain pounded down around them, the speed of it echoing the pace of Juliet’s thoughts as they circled her mind. The soldier stared at her, the grip on his gun getting tighter. She had seconds to decide what to do. It wasn’t supposed to be like this, Joel was supposed to get her out of here. There was no time.

“Fuck this,” she muttered, then dropped her hands. In one smooth, practised motion, Juliet reached into her back pocket and pulled out her gun, popping off the safety. The sharp click seemed to wake Joel from whatever trance he was locked in.

��“Juliet -” he started to shout.

Two shots rang out in the night air.

Joel swore and rushed towards the soldier, his arms out to grab the gun off of him but it was a wasted effort. The soldier was already dropping to the ground, his body a dead weight.

A small spot of red marked his forehead, no bigger than a coin.

Joel crouched next to him, his thumb searching for a pulse. Another wasted effort; he was very much dead.

Joel turned towards Juliet, shock painted his face when he saw her still standing, her eyes trained on the soldier. No remorse was found in her features, only a cold numbness.

Joel stood and walked towards Juliet, reaching out his hand to carefully take the gun from her. Juliet let him pry the weapon from between her trembling fingers.

“You hurt?” he demanded, breathing heavy, acutely aware that two bullets were shot, and only one ended up in the soldier.

“I’m fine,” Juliet murmured.

Joel was unconvinced, his eyes scanned her body, searching for any patches of red on her damp clothing. The light from the soldier’s torch still illuminated her form.

“Joel seriously, I’m fine. We need to -”

“Your shoulder, he got your shoulder,” Joel announced, the words rushing out in a single breath. His hand hovered over the torn fabric, blood flowed from the wound, blending with the rain soaking her jacket. He pocketed her gun and used both hands to push down on the bullet hole. Juliet released a sharp gasp.

“Shit,” he cursed, and looked behind him. “Someone might’ve heard the shots, we have to go now.”

Juliet nodded, dizziness crashed over her like a wave. The pain in her shoulder was minimal, Juliet knew this was not a good sign, that shock was diluting her pain response.

“I’m good. Let’s… let’s get out of here,” she muttered, her speech slurring slightly.

Joel’s stare was murderous. His jaw hardened before he swallowed and looked away.

“You need to put pressure on it,” he said, dropping his hands before he pulled her right hand up to cover the wound. “Push down, hard,” he ordered, and Juliet obeyed immediately, suddenly too tired to argue.

When Joel was satisfied with Juliet’s response, he pulled his backpack off, stuffing her gun in it, then swung it back over his shoulder.

Juliet couldn’t find the energy to care that he had taken her gun, her vision blurred slightly at the edges.

He gave Juliet one more brutal glare before stepping in front of her and heading for the fence around the corner. Juliet looked behind her, she could see spotlights in the distance. She pressed her hand harder over the wound and followed Joel, her steps stumbling a little.

They reached the fence minutes later. A hole had been savagely carved out of the tight metal wire, which Joel now held open for Juliet to pass through.

Juliet ducked her head and squeezed past. She knew that this moment should symbolise a sense of freedom, an escape from the frustratingly rigid rules of the QZ. But swinging her body through that fence, tired and injured, Juliet felt more trapped than ever. Her life no longer belonged to her. She would fight to stay alive to get to Ethan, to save him from her father's clutches.

Juliet's survival was now a currency; her life a means to an end.

#joel miller x original character #joel miller x female oc #joel miller x reader #joel miller x oc #joel miller hbo #joel miller fanfic #joel miller fic #joel miller angst #joel miller #ao3 fanfic #Spotify #pedro pascal

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messrmoonyy · 1 year

Text

It’s the apocalypse, sweetheart

Tess Servopoulos x fem!reader

Prompt- I did accidentally delete the original prompt but it was along the lines of ‘ reader is Bills niece and has raised her since she was little. When Tess and Joel visit her and Tess are a little flirty and they end up sharing a kiss ‘

A/N- let me first say. I literally re wrote this ENTIRE thing at 3am this morning. Idk what writing god possessed me. But. Here it is. And yk 2010 Tess was truly a blessing and I will take any and all opportunities to write about her. I love these more creative prompts. If anyone has seen Orange is the new black Bill and reader are totally giving Frieda and her dad vibes in this cause that’s what I was watching when I wrote the first half lmao

Warnings- I don’t think there’s any. I can’t even put my usual ‘Tess’ warning cause 2010 Tess is a soft baby lmaoo.

Word count- 8k ( I’m so sorry )

Masterlist

Reblogs and comments are always appreciated <3

You sat in silence, eyes on the screens in front of you, your fingers drumming nervously against your leg. Officers had been in town all day, pulling people from their homes and loading them up onto trucks. They’d been lurking in town since yesterday morning, after putting up the notice that the town would be placed under mandatory evacuation with 24 hours notice. Fencing the town off and pushing evacuation notices through everyone’s door.

You and your uncle, Bill, had been tucked away in the bunker for the last 3 days anyway. Ever since you’d watch the news on outbreak day, watched as the world had gone to shit over night.

But thankfully for you, Bill had basically been preparing for something like the current situation his entire life. He’d seemed almost excited by the entire thing at first, finally able to give a big ‘fuck you’ to everyone that had called him stupid for preparing.

Though mind controlling fungus hadn’t exactly been on his doomsday checklist, he was prepared all the same. And therefore, so were you. Your entire life has practically lead up that exact moment.

Instead of sending you to the dance class in the town hall as a child, he’d taught you how to assemble a gun in the fastest way possible. Instead of buying you a nail kit for your birthday, he’d gifted you a knife. You’d thought it was pretty awesome, the girls in your math class hadn’t. But fuck them. You could see some of them clambering onto the trucks, crying and holding onto their mothers.

Dance practice wasn’t looking so practical now was it.

The sound of footsteps above you halted your fingers, muffled talking of the officers trying to clear the house. Bill turned to you with his finger to his lips and you nodded. You weren’t stupid. The officers walked around, calling out for anyone home until you heard a faint ‘ all clear sir! ‘ through the floorboards. And a smile tugged at your lips.

“ not today you new world order jack boot fucks “ Bill muttered reloading his gun as way of punctuating his sentence. You turned back to the cameras, watching as they loaded up the last trucks after deeming the house empty. Deeming the town empty.

“ what fuckin idiots “ Bill exhaled sharply though his nose beside you, some half attempt at a laugh. You watched the cameras as the trucks left town “ where do you think they’re taking them? “ Bill shrugged, pushing buttons on the keyboard to switch which cameras were showing on the screens.

“ closest city is Boston. But I doubt they’ve managed to lock it down yet. There’s more further out, smaller. Probably already full “ you nodded understanding what it meant for them.

What was it that you’d overheard an officer say?

Dead people can’t get infected.

You watched the trucks on the screen, all filing out of town in a trail. Like some fucked up snake weaving through the streets and out through the gates.

Bill flicked through the cameras once more before standing up, nodding towards your gas mask.

“ let’s go make sure it’s clear. Mask on. If there’s any left they might have tear gas. And grab your gun “ you pulled your mask on, letting Bill pull at it to make sure it was secure before he headed for the exit back upstairs. You picked up your gun, double checking it was loaded before following him.

He’d given it to you on your last birthday. After spending your whole childhood teaching you how to use them, assemble them. He’d decided you deserved one of your own ‘ just in case ‘, something a little more exciting than a knife.

“ I’ll take the front. You take the back “ you nodded, shaking the nerves out of your hands and taking a deep breath “ I prepared you for this. Don’t look so damn nervous “

He went up first and you followed close behind, gun up and ready to shoot at any fuck wit of an officer that might still be lingering. You headed for the back of the house, movements careful and precise as you checked over the kitchen and the back rooms before stepping out onto the back porch. You scanned the bushes at the end of the garden for any sign someone might be there, before deeming it empty.

You almost wanted to laugh. You loved your uncle and his quirky ways and plans. But a tiny part of you had always thought that maybe he was just insanely paranoid. But he clearly knew exactly what he was doing.

You made your way back through the house, finding Bill on the front path pulling off his mask. You stood next to him and did the same. Listening.

The town was silent. The wind in the trees and the sound of birds all that could be heard. And you did let yourself laugh then, tucking your gun into the holster strapped to your leg and folding your arms across your chest.

“ looks like we did it kid “

“ hell fuckin yeah “

“ they’re here! Bill!? Come on! “ you were startled awake from where you’d been napping on the couch, by Frank charging through the house and clapping his hands to grab your attention “ come on honey! You too! Up! And straighten those cushions back up again. I just picked them up on the outer perimeter cameras, they’ll be here any minute. Come on!” You squinted at him through your post nap haze, brain attempting to register what the fuck he was even talking about.

Frank had too much energy on a regular day, but today he seemed ten times more hyped up. You didn’t know how someone could be so cheerful in such circumstances. He’d even had a smile on his face when you and Bill had found him, bottom of the pit outside the fence. Though you guessed if you’d have been in his position, you’d have been happy too. Of all the places to end up, Lincoln was the safest.

You hadn’t trusted him entirely at first. But Bill had. You’d never seen him like that. Like some lovesick little puppy and you’d spent the night sulking out on the porch, ready to go in and shoot him in the face if you needed to.

Of course, you hadn’t.

“ were they armed? “ Bill appeared from where he’d been hiding in the kitchen for the majority of the day, somehow being convinced by Frank to cook a fancy ass meal for everyone. You smelt what you thought was chicken, your stomach growled in response “ just the two of them? “

“ just the two of them! And of course they’re armed, what you want them to walk all this way with no guns? Jesus Christ Bill “ your sleepy brain finally woke itself up enough to remember what was going on.

Frank had made… friends. You’d over heard him chatting away to some woman on the radio one night, had then let it slip to your uncle. And now they were coming to fucking visit. Bill had gone ape shit when he’d first found out. But Frank had his ways, he knew how to wiggle into the tiny little soft spot in Bills heart. No matter how deep. Deep. Deep. Down it was.

“ Honey. Will you please get up, sort your hair you look like you’ve been yanked through a hedge “ you scoffed at that but ran your fingers through your hair anyway “ make an effort would you. Both of you. This is good. Seriously we need some friends… especially you two “ Bills face matched your own, as it so often did, a frown and a look that simply said ‘ are you fucking with me right now? ‘

“ we don’t need friends “ Frank simply waved a hand of dismissal at Bill and walked over to you, nudging you with his arm

“ you’ll like Tess I think. She sounds really nice. And she’s not much older than you “

“ you make me sound like a little kid that’s going on a play date to the park “ you said with a sigh.

“ this is good. Friends. We need friends you need friends “ you scoffed at that and Frank just rolled his eyes “ only talking to your uncle and me is not healthy “

“ in case you hadn’t noticed, we’re not exactly surrounded by options to talk. Oh shall I go sit outside the fence and chat to an infected? Frank, I think theres worst things to worry about than my social life, and lack there of “

“ you. Are just like your uncle Jesus Christ “ Frank said mostly to himself, pinching the bridge of his nose and closing his eyes for a moment “ come on. They’ll be at the gate any minute. Time to make friends. Whether you like it or not “ part of you did think that maybe. Just maybe. It would be nice to talk to someone that wasn’t your uncle or Frank. Especially another woman. You’d spent 7 years in the safety of the compound now, 3 of which had included Frank. Some new faces would be nice. But also. The world you lived in… there were no friends to be had anymore. No one you could trust.

In your- and Bills- eyes, this could all only end badly.

You and Bill were far too alike for your own good, that’s what Frank always said. But you had been with him practically your whole life, he was more of a dad to you than you real dad was. And yeah, maybe his forms of raising a child hadn’t been exactly… traditional. But you had a pretty good feeling that you were faring much better than the girls who had been at parties whilst you were being taught what to do if the world ever went to shit.

Which is exactly what had happened.

In fact you’d watched most of them get carted away on outbreak day. Whilst you and Bill had sat silently in the bunker and watched, listened to them searching the house above you to make sure they left no one behind. Stupid fucks.

You and Bill had only needed each other. You hadn’t had friends then. And you didn’t really want them now. But you decided to humour Frank at least.

So as you finally dragged yourself away from the couch, you grabbed the gun you’d left on the coffee table when you’d gone to sleep. Slipping it back into the holster on your leg and checking your pocket for your knife. Just to be safe.

Bill clearly had the same ideas as you had, as when you found him waiting for you at the front door he too had a gun strapped to his leg. It almost made you laugh at just how similar you both were.

“ c’mon kid. Let’s get this over and done with “ he grumbled and headed outside to where Frank was practically bouncing on the spot with excitement. Though he did drop his smile for a disappointed frown when he saw you two stroll down the porch steps sporting guns.

“ really? “ you simply shrugged and joined him in the road, arms folded over your chest. Frank went to walk towards the gate at the end of the street but Bill swung an arm out to stop him.

“ no. We wait here “

“ they’re not gonna sho- you know what fine. Here is fine. Let’s wait here! “ he said with a slightly forced sense of joy.

You tried to think slightly positive, if just for Franks sake. Trying to conjure up an image of who these people could be. You knew they were from the Boston QZ. That it was a man and a woman. And that was about it.

You were slightly surprised they’d even made it out this far, you didn’t know much about quarantine zones but you did know they were controlled by FEDRA. You wondered how they’d managed to get out, as far as you knew the only one and outs of a zone were for things like ration shipments or deliveries. Not visiting some strangers you found on a radio. You’d only had a small sampling of FEDRA yourself, the day they had come to clear the town.

Promises to the residents of taking them to a QZ. Taking them to safety. That staying in their homes would be dangerous.

They’d have faired much better if they had stayed.

You could still remember the day you and Bill had secured the outer perimeters of town, past the fences and gates. The shallow grave and the people left to rot. You could still remember the smell if you thought about it hard enough. Could still see the faces of people you had once walked by on the street, brought eggs from in the shop, lived across the street from. FEDRA had promised them safety and had done the complete opposite.

No wonder people wanted to leave the QZ.

“ there! I see them- you disabled the traps right? “ you gave a snort of a laugh in an attempt to conceal it, the thought that they might just blow up before they even reached the gate tickling you. And clearly Bill too, his lips twitching with a small smile “ I hate you both “

“ we’re well aware “ you all waited where you were as Joel punched in the temporary code Frank had given him over the radio, the static buzz sounding as it swung open. Frank was done waiting clearly, hurrying off towards them with a huge grin on his face.

“ that gun loaded? “ Bill asked in a low voice as you followed a few steps behind Frank.

“ obviously “

“ anything else on you? “

“ knife in my pocket “

“ that’s my girl “ as you drew closer and finally got a good look at your guests, you were mildly taken aback. You didn’t really know what you’d expected. Maybe some gnarled, scary and dirty pair of people. All you knew about QZs came from Frank and from what you knew they weren’t exactly great. But these people didn’t fit the thoughts.

The man had a stony face to rival Bills, dark hair and a slightly scruffy beard. But you weren’t interested in looking at him. But her? Her you were interested in looking at.

Maybe it was simply 7 years of having nothing but the posters of Kate Bush, Avril lavigne and Beyoncé on your walls to look at in terms of women, finally laying eyes on a real, non fungal looking, very much alive, woman again. She made you clam up for a moment, cheeks flushing and rational thoughts escaping you.

She was beautiful. There was no point trying to deny it when it was so plainly obvious. You didn’t know what you had expected. But it certainly wasn’t… her.

Maybe Frank had been right after all, you did need someone new to talk to. Because clearly your lack of human interaction over the years had rendered you absolutely useless in the face of new people.

“ it’s so amazing to finally meet you! “ you and Bill both hung back as Frank enveloped Tess into a hug then held his hand out for Joel to shake. You both must have looked a picture as Frank turned around mouthing ‘ smile! ‘ at the two of you. You threw him your best ‘ go fuck yourself ‘ smile and he sighed “ Tess, Joel. This is Bill. This is y/n. They’re not exactly huggers “

Joel held his hand out and Bill reluctantly took it, shaking it for a time far too short to be welcoming. But he was trying you supposed, for Franks sake. He took Tess’ hand next and then she turned to you. Your eyes flickered over to Frank who gave you a small nod and you looked back to Tess, taking her hand. In the way that Bills hand shake had been a second too short, yours was a second too long.

You attempted to ignore the blush on your cheeks and took Joel’s hand too.

“ you hungry? Bill is a wonderful cook. He’s prepared dinner for us all, do you like chicken? “

“ oh I’m starved “ Tess said with a smile, following after Frank as he gestured for them to follow him up to the house. You and Bill hung back again, arms folded over your chest as you watched Frank talking animatedly to Tess and Joel as he walked up the street.

“ you weren’t subtle “ Bill said in that almost light tone that only you- and maybe now Frank - could pull out of him “ blush a little harder next time I don’t think she noticed “

“ oh shut the fuck up I didn’t blush “

“ sure “

“ you’re in no position to talk to me about being subtle mr wine-and-dine-the-stranger-in-the-pit “ he grumbled something you didn’t quite catch and huffed

“ go change the gate code to what we discussed. I’m gonna finish the food “ you watched him head up the road, craning your neck to see Frank had Joel and Tess sat down in the garden already.

“ I didn’t blush. Fuckin asshole “ you muttered to yourself as you went about resetting the code on the gate. Of course that was complete bullshit. You knew you’d blushed like hell but you had hoped it hadn’t been noticeable. And if Bill had seen it. Tess clearly had. You wanted to slam your head against the gate and erase the whole thing from your memory. Is that why she’d smiled at you? Was she making fun of you?

Once the gate was reset you took a slow walk back up, trying to shake your embarrassment on the way. And create a plan to just completely avoid any and all eye contact and conversation with Tess until she left, seeing as you had social skills of a newborn baby apparently.

A solid plan.

As you pushed through the front gate Bill was placing down plates on the table, frown still etched on his face, placing them down a little too roughly so that a few peas nearly went rolling off the plate.

“ there she is! Just in time “ Frank said with his usual beaming smile, patting the empty chair next to him that would place you between him and Joel. And opposite Tess. Of course.

You took your knife from your pocket as you sat down and made a point of flicking the blade up, placing it beside you. Much alike the way Bill had his gun placed next to his fork.

“ I’m sorry about these two “ Frank sighed as everyone tucked in, Bills eyes trained inquisitively on Joel as he cut his carrots without even looking at them “ could you not?”

“ it’s okay. I’m the same “ Joel said in what you could almost make out as some attempt at a joke.

“ oh? You’re a paranoid schizophrenic too? “

“ I’m not schizophrenic “ Bill mumbled, eyes still glaring at Joel as he chewed on a chunk of his chicken. Tess turned her attention over to you, eyes narrowing a little in curiosity to find you already watching her.

“ and you? “ she asked, tilting her head to the side inquisitively. The eye contact almost felt like a challenge, and you held it as you sipped at your water.

“ I’m not paranoid. Or schizophrenic. I’m practical. You’re complete fucking strangers in a world where everyone is trying to fuck everyone else over. You can’t blame me, or him, for being a little on edge “ the look that grew on her face surprised you a little, a look that was almost… impressed by what you’d said.

“ that’s smart. That’s really smart “ your plan to withhold eye contact and conversation had failed ridiculously fast “ but look. I just want to say, guns and knife aside. Which I get by the way “ she said with a pointed look in your direction “ even if we don’t end up working together on anything, I’m happy we had this. A nice meal with civilised people? I needed this” she sounded genuinely sincere as she spoke. It made you wonder what the QZ was like again. How life differed there.

Of course it was different but… how different. How tough. How lucky were you really to be out there with just Bill and Frank. No officers telling you what to do, controlling where you went, rationing your food.

You all ate in silence for a few moments, your eyes flickering between Joel and Tess as she sighed around a mouthful of food.

“ what’s food like in the QZ? “ you asked, your curious brain getting ahead of your mouth.

“ not like this “

“ shit “ they both said at the same time and it made a smile pull at your lips.

“ I can’t remember the last time I had a vegetable that actually crunched “ she said with another blissful sigh, her eyes closing for a second. You looked away before you did something stupid like blush again “ and ate something with actual flavour “

“ we have mostly dried or dehydrated foods. Makes it last longer. Especially if it’s travellin cross country between QZs “ Joel added “ any of the good stuff gets snatched up by the FEDRA officers first. If you’re lucky you’ll get a 20 year old can of beans or somethin “

“ you know much about FEDRA? “ Tess asked, glancing around the table but eyes ultimately landing back on you as she sipped at her wine.

You and Bill both scoffed at that.

“ yeah. We know about ‘em “

“ couple days after outbreak day they cleared town. Told people they were gonna be safe. Going to a zone. You know what they did? Took them up the hill, and shot them all in the back of the head. Safe my fuckin ass “ you mumbled, taking another bite.

“ yeah. We saw the grave. Heard about that kinda thing but… not pretty “ Joel said with a shake of his head “ how’d you get away? “

“ he’s been prepping for this thing for years “ Frank said with a laugh and nudged Bills arm “ you’re looking at two real life preppers. I thought they were just made up for tv shows! Turns out they’re not “

“ survivalist not a prepper “ Bill grumbled.

“ like there’s any difference “

Conversation fell quiet again as everyone finished their food, Frank got Tess talking again once everyone was almost finished and you watched intently. Eyes locked on her as she spoke, not really even listening to her. Just watching. She looked ethereal in the late afternoon sun, her skin almost golden in the light. You weren’t exactly spoilt for choice these days when it came to getting to look at beautiful women, so you took all the chance you could get.

She caught you watching her once or twice, eyes flickering to meet yours, but you were far past caring if she saw you now. You’d embarrassed yourself enough to last a life time. So you might as well own it.

She didn’t seem to mind. In fact her face seemed to soften every time she looked over and found you were still watching her, almost as if she liked it. She didn’t come across as someone that constantly craved attention, constantly wanted people watching her and admiring her. So maybe she liked it because no one else was looking at her like that.

It made your eyes drift briefly over to Joel. They were together… right? You’d just assumed. But if they were surely he looked at her. Admired her. So why would she seem so flattered by your looks?

“ youll be staying next door, with y/n. It’s the only other house In town that’s fixed up, the spare rooms in our place have been taken over by Bill and his hoarding. She has the whole place to herself, plenty of room for you both “ your eyes darted over to Frank, tuning back into conversation as he readily offered them your place to stay without even asking you. He hadn’t told you about that. And some warning would’ve been nice about your new house guests.

And being stuck in the same building as Tess for the night was as terrifying as it was appealing. Having her just across the hall? You were barely surviving sitting outside with her. If she was in your house you’d have to talk to her. And not just wistfully stare at her from across the table.

“ I- what? “

“ thank you “ she said with a smile at Frank and then you.

“ why don’t you go show Tess around? “ Frank suggested and kicked you lightly under the table, a knowing look thrown in your direction. You scowled at him and he simply raised an eyebrow. God you hated him sometimes.

“ yeah. Sure “ you said, still scowling at him and his stupid fucking smile as you stood up from the table “ this way “ you didn’t wait for her, heading out of the garden gate and rounding to your own. You heard her footsteps behind you as you climbed the porch steps, pushing open the door and turning around “ after you “ she gave you another smile and a nod of thanks as she stepped inside.

“ whole house just for you? “ she asked as you closed the front door behind you. You hadn’t done all that much to it since you’d moved in. Frank had insisted you decorated a bit. He’d taken you around the old furniture store and made you swap a few of the things out, and you’d moved the stuff from your old room at Bills over. So it was a little more… you.

“ yeah. Figured I needed some space to myself as I got older so. We fixed this up. Moved in like a year after Frank got here. Gives them more privacy too “ she nodded, poking her head into the lounge and glancing around.

“ can I see upstairs? “ you nodded and followed a few steps behind as she went up. It felt weird to have someone in your space. Even Bill and Frank didnt go in too often.

She stopped at the top of the stairs and you pointed towards the spare bedroom

“ you can stay in there “ she headed in and looked around, hands on her hips.

“ wasn’t expecting this “ she walked over to the vanity, trailing her hand across the various trinkets that littered it and sending a small cloud of dust particles into the air, catching in the sun leaking through the curtains like glitter. You’d picked over the stuff in there years ago, taking the stuff you liked and leaving the rest. You hadn’t liked the family that had lived there before. So you actually quite enjoyed stealing their stuff “ you don’t strike me as a 1970s chic type of girl “

“ I don’t use this room “ you shrugged “ it’s how they left it. Minus a few things I liked “ she looked over to you with a smile at that, she picked up a bottle of perfume. It had gone yellow in its bottle from age and sunlight

“ not a fan of the perfume? “

“ she was like 50 something and always smelt like moth balls. I doubt it smelt any good then, never mind now “ she scoffed and placed it back down.

She moved over to the bed, pushing her hands down on the mattress and soothing her hands over the blankets.

“ almost forgot what a nice bed felt like. One we have in the QZ is thin as fuck “

“ most of the stuff here’s pretty nice. Most families in town were well off. The dicks that lived here were too, lucky for you. Smelt like moth balls but had a shit ton of cash “ she laughed a little and shrugged

“ Lucky me “

“ you can take anything you want out of here. I don’t need it. It’s mostly old lady shit but. Go for it “ she placed a hand on her chest and gave you an over dramatic look

“ wow. Just wow. Thank you. I’ve always wanted a girl to give me free reign at ‘ old ladies r us ‘. Some moth ball perfume? Man. You’re really spoiling me sweetheart “

Your breath hitched a little at the pet name. She’d been joking but it still made your cheeks prickle, made a funny feeling blossom in your chest.

If she noticed she didn’t say anything, simply averted her eyes to look around the room again.

You headed over to the en-suite then, clearing your throat lightly to try and appear as normal as possible. She turned to face you as you opened the door so she could look inside.

“ uhm. Bathroom. All the pipes and plumbing and shit works so you know. Use the facilities as much as you want to “ her eyes practically sparkled as you spoke and she walked into the room and over to the sink, turning on the hot tap and sighing as the water ran over her fingers.

“ hot fuckin water “ she said softly, mostly to herself it seemed “ in the QZ you get two types of water. Freezing or slightly less freezing. If it’s the summer and the suns been on the pipes you might get lucky and actually get lukewarm. Rationed too it shuts off after a few minutes “

You couldn’t imagine that. You loved being clean and warm, loved long showers that left the bathroom steamy or baths that you stayed in until the water was cold and your fingers pruned.

You really were starting to realise just how lucky you were in Lincoln. You’d probably be dead if you had gone to a QZ. You didn’t take orders well. And you liked your home comforts.

“ you can take a shower. If you want. I can get you some new clothes and there’s a bunch of soaps “ you said scratching your head a little nervously wondering if that would come off the wrong way, like you were insinuating she needed to shower. Which you weren’t. Of course. She seemed to spot the internal panic plastered on your face and smiled warmly at you

“ Now? Cause that’d be fuckin awesome “ you gave a small nod and shoved your hands into the pockets of your jeans.

“ sure. And don’t worry. It’s not gonna shut off. Hot water might run out if you’re in there too long but give it a few minutes and it’ll heat up again “ she turned to face you with a genuine look of gratefulness in her eyes.

“ thank you. Really “ she took your hand and gave it a light squeeze. She did exactly what you had done when she arrived. She held it a little longer than she should of, her eyes soft as she held your gaze. You couldn’t figure out the exact colour of her eyes in the late afternoon light coming through the frosted glass of the window. If they were blue or more green.

You wanted to know. You wanted to see them in the bright morning sunlight. In the moonlight. In the winter sun. The summer sun.

You wished you’d paid more attention outside.

“ I’ll leave you to it then “ you said after a moment “ I’ll go get you some clothes, I’ll leave them on the bed for you “ she gave you a small nod and you stepped away, closing the door behind you.

Maybe you understood Bill more now on the day Frank had turned up. How incredibly strong a sense of longing could actually be for someone you didn’t really even know. How overwhelming it could suddenly feel.

You took a breath and closed your eyes for a moment. Before heading out of the room.

As you went into the storage closet at the top of the stairs to look for some decent clothes for her, you realised you hadn’t left her a towel. You hurried through into your own bathroom and grabbed one from the cupboard. It was probably nicer than one that had been boxed up for months on end. So you took it back through.

You knocked on the bathroom door, not hearing the water running yet and hoping you’d caught her before she got in.

“ Tess? I. I have a towel. Forgot to give you one “ the door opened a moment later and all words escaped you, mouth hanging open slightly and closing again like some kind of fish. She was stood there in her underwear, that same gentle smile on her face as if it were truly the most normal thing possible. That it was an everyday occurrence for you to see her stood there like that. You knew your cheeks were flaming and you cleared your throat slightly, avoiding looking at her at all and staring at the floor instead “ t- towel “

She took it from your hands and you chanced a glance up at her face to see her smile, eyes narrowed slightly in question. Could she see how flustered you were? Could she tell?

“ thanks. You okay? “ you turned on your heel and left the room before you could embarrass yourself further, not even giving her an answer.

“ fuckin idiot “ you muttered to yourself as you went back to the boxes of clothes and sighed. Had your lack of human interaction affected you that much? That one interaction with another had turned you into a silly stumbling mess of a girl. This wasn’t you. You were strong. Brave.

It made you think of Bill again. How he had all but melted on the spot after half a day with Frank in the house.

You were almost a mirrors image.

One meal. Letting him shower. Letting him stay.

You leant your elbows on one of the boxes, cradling your face in the your hands with a sigh. You had made fun of him then and still did. Yet now? Maybe you got it. Maybe you were more like him than you’d ever allowed yourself to accept or see. You had pushed down that deep, aching, yearning in your chest for so long just like he had.

Yearning and longing for… someone else. Someone that looked you the way people did in those stupid romance movies. But also saw you for what you were. Brave. Strong. Capable. Accepted it and nurtured it, protected but wanted to be protected right back. You had wanted it all along. But had suppressed it. Forced it down in favour of focussing on things you deemed more practical.

Exactly like Bill. And it had taken a whole fucking apocalypse to see it. With him. And you. Some stranger leaving a QZ. In your case though, that stranger was going back again. But she’d be back. You hoped.

You gave another sigh before looking though the boxes of clothes, looking for something that looked relatively decent for her. You plucked out a few options and too them back through into her room.

You could hear the shower running, a small stream of steam seeping under the door. She must’ve had the water as hot as she could stand. You placed the clothes down on the bed and tried not to think about the image of her behind the door. You wanted to know what she looked like, feel how soft her skin felt under the hot water, look and touch and map out every detail. See the way the water droplets caught on her eyelashes, trace patterns in freckles.

You left the room, suddenly feeling too hot. As if it were you under the stream of scalding water and not her.

You busied yourself with finding out some clothes for Joel too. You wondered what he was talking about with Bill and Frank outside.

Were they talking about Tess? Discussing relationships and telling stupid stories of how Bill met Frank and how Joel met Tess?

It made your chest hurt. And made you realise that maybe you weren’t in the same situation as Bill after all. Frank had been alone. Tess wasn’t. Tess had a… Joel. Whatever he was to her. And there you were getting flustered over her in the shower. Idiot.

You loitered by the storage closet for a while. A pile of clothes for Joel in your hands but not entirely sure what to do. You didn’t know if she was done yet. She hadn’t come out. If you listened carefully you couldn’t hear the water anymore. And you couldn’t stay on the landing all night.

So you headed over to the door again, knocking lightly. There was some shuffling for a moment and then the door opened and you clammed up again. It’s not like she’d looked… dirty before. But now she just looked. Clean. Her hair was wet and tied up on her head, her skin that shiny glowy pink that came from a hot shower. The clothes fit her well. And a waft of the coconut body wash she’d clearly used drifted into your nose. You used the same stuff yet it didn’t feel as dizzying on you as it did on her.

“ sorry. I was just- you okay? “

“ I’m good. Thanks for the clothes “ she said and walked back into the room, sitting down on the bed with a content sigh “ I haven’t felt this clean in so long “ you stepped into the room, closing the door softly behind you “ you don’t realise how good you’ve got it here “

“ I’m starting to realise “ you said softly, dropping the clothes for Joel onto the vanity and moving to sit beside her. She seemed almost wistful. Looking around the room and hand tracing the embroidery on the blanket absentmindedly.

“ how’d you end up here? With Bill and Frank? Frank was never really clear about it on the radio “

“ Bill is my uncle. My mom died when I was little and my dad was about as useful as a screen door on a submarine. Thought a bottle of vodka was more important than a tin of baby milk. Bills the only other family I had, before my mom died she asked Bill to take care of me. He didn’t exactly want a kid but. I don’t know, he loved my mom. So. Here I am “

You didn’t like talking about your past much. You’d avoided it as much as possible before the outbreak, you hated the looks of pity you always got. You didn’t want pity. You couldn’t do anything with pity.

But Tess didn’t give you that look. Instead she smiled.

“ should’ve known you were related to Bill. You both frown the same “ you scoffed at that, but you knew it was true “ he’s been preparing you for this shit you whole life then? “

“ not this exactly. But something. Don’t poke fun at it. If it wasn’t for his smart thinking you wouldn’t have just had a hot shower “ it came out a little more snappy than you meant to and she raised her hands in mock surrender

“ I didn’t mean anything by- “

“ sorry. Sorry “ you sighed. You ran a hand over your face before standing up and deciding to just get out before you embarrassed yourself further “ I’ll leave you to it. I found some clothes out for Joel I’ll take them next door and- “

“ no no “ she reached out and grabbed your hand “ stay? I wanna talk to you more. It’s nice to talk to someone other than Joel “ you hesitated for a moment before sitting back down.

“ you don’t like talking to Joel? “ she shrugged and flopped backwards onto the mattress, throwing an arm over her eyes

“ his brother was the more talkative one. But he’s gone. He wants to save the world. Joined the fireflies “

“ like the bug? Is this some kind of metaphor or- “ Tess laughed at your clear confusion. An actual laugh. Not like the small little chuckles you’d heard once or twice in the day. You liked it. Liked the way it made her eyes crinkle and her nose scrunch.

“ are you being serious? I can’t tell “ you rolled your eyes with a huff, not exactly fond of her making fun of you “ okay. Serious “ she pulled at your arm until you lay down next to her and she smiled at you “ there’s a group. Trying to make things how they used to be. No FEDRA laws. They’re fancy terrorists basically “

“ and Joel’s brother joined them? “ Tess propped her self up on her elbow and turned to look at you.

“ Joel said he’s… ‘ a joiner ‘. He wants to change to world “ a lot of people wanted to change the world. And a lot of people failed at it “ it’s a shame. He was nice. Joel… he has his moments but. He’s not much of a talker “

“ And you are? “

“ maybe “ you were hyper aware suddenly at how close you were, lying there beside her and looking up at her.

Her eyes were green.

The setting sun outside was shining across her face and you could finally see them better. Green.

“ I don’t know if I’m much of a talker “ it came out far quieter than you’d meant it to, but she didn’t seem surprised by it.

“ i gathered that from the way you were just staring over dinner and not actually joining in the conversation “ your cheeks were aflame, your eyes blowing wide in a mild sense of horror. Of course you’d known she’d seen you watching her. But to have it confirmed out loud wasnt exactly what you were expecting. You went to sit up and escape the situation as fast as possible but she grabbed your arm again to keep you down “ hey. Don’t… you keep doing that. Runnin off “

It was instinct to run.

She didn’t let go of you even when it was clear you weren’t going anywhere, her hand sliding up from your wrist to your bicep and squeezing softly.

“ im sorry- “

“ don’t be. It’s nice “ her voice was quiet now. Soft. It made butterflies erupt in your stomach “ you’re also really not subtle with it. When I arrived. Over dinner. When you gave me my towel. Now” you hadn’t even realised you’d been staring that time. But you had. Examining the green of her eyes again.

“ I’m. Sure I’m not the only one “ you have Joel for that

She shrugged again her hand moving from where it been burning into your arm, up to tuck some of your hair back behind your ear.

“ only one worth looking back at though” her fingers grazed across your jaw, lightly over your lips before coming to rest on your cheek “ stop acting like you have to be tough all the time. Even your uncle seems to have let down his guard if he let in Frank “ You didn’t know what to say to that. How she seemed to have sussed you out incredibly fast, seen through your facade “ so let me in too “

You hadn’t expected her to kiss you. So it took you a moment to process it when she did, closing the small gap in between you and capturing your lips in hers.

But as soon as you accepted what was happening, you pulled away and sat up, your brain screaming at you for how wrong it was. Joel was only downstairs and you were there kissing his girlfriend?

“ no. We. I- can’t- Joel “ you said it a little broken but she got the point, her brow furrowing and her hand on your shoulder.

“ Joel? What’s Joel got to do with- oh “ her eyebrows shot up and she let out a little laugh again. The same kind as the one from earlier, the nose scrunching, eye crinkling kind “ you think? Me and Joel? “ you folded your arms across your chest, a scowl forming on your face as you realised she was laughing at you again.

“ what was I supposed to think? “

“ look. Me and Joel… it’s not like that. At all. I promise you “ she reached out for your hands, turning to face a little more “ don’t give me that look. You look so much like Bill when you scowl it’s off putting “ you couldn’t help the way your lips twitched as you tried to suppress a smile at that. Frank often said the same thing. That you and Bill both had the same pissed off face. The same everything face.

“ you could’ve told me that earlier “

“ what? You think casually slipping into conversation that me and Joel aren’t fucking is just easy? “ you huffed, the scowl still etched into your face “ hey! It’s so lovely to meet you. I’m Tess and this is Joel who’s not my boyfriend. Oh chicken you say? Awesome I’m starving! “ she said with sarcasm dripping from her words “ I thought. I thought I was being as obvious as you were. Clearly not “

You thought you’d have noticed. You had been staring at her all day. But you hadn’t. Too consumed with admiring her rather than paying full attention

“ would’ve stopped me ruining our kiss if you’d just said something“ you grumbled and she sighed, sliding a hand back up to cup your cheek again.

“ yeah well that’s the thing about kisses, you don’t just have to do it once. You can redo it. Over. And over “ she pulled you in closer as she spoke, her nose brushing against yours “ and this time, please don’t think about Joel. Knowing you’re kissing me and thinking about him is a real fuckin turnoff“

“ shut up oh my god “ she did just that, pulling you back in again. It was better than the first, of course, it lasted longer than a few seconds for a start. And you didn’t have a voice in your head telling you how wrong it was.

You revelled in it. Letting her pull you closer until you were practically sat in her lap, fists twisting into the material on her shirt too scared to actually… touch her. She wasn’t afraid though . Her fingers were laced into the hair at the nape of your neck, the other hand holding your face to guide you at the pace she wanted.

It was a little clumsy. You weren’t exactly open to opportunities for practice when it came to kissing, well… anyone. But she didn’t seem to mind. Your heart was pounding so loudly in your ears you were afraid you’d go deaf, your skin prickling with goosebumps. So starved of touch for so long that you didn’t even know how to fully react.

But the way she inched her fingers just under the collar of your shirt, told you she was probably as touch starved as you were.

When her tongue brushed against your bottom lip you wasted no time in letting her in. The whimper that escaped your throat was slightly involuntary, and at any other time you thought you might have been embarrassed by it. But you were far too preoccupied with her to care. The fingers splayed across your cheek burning into your skin, guiding you and keeping you grounded. You were running out of air but you couldn’t find a single part of you that even cared.

You didn’t want it to stop. But the world, as it so often did, had other ideas.

“ y/n? Tess? “ you startled as Franks voice sounded from downstairs, his footsteps growing nearer as he climbed the stairs. You practically dived away from her, hurriedly trying to soothe your hair and look somewhat normal. She didn’t look even remotely concerned, falling back against the mattress again with a smug smile stretching across her face “ hello? “

“ in- in here! “ you called, clearing your throat mid sentenced as it cracked with your nerves.

Franks head popped around the door, his usual goofy grin in place.

“ you two doing okay? You’ve been up here a while “ his eyes flashed between Tess and you and his smile took on new light, quirking an eyebrow at you “ honey? You’re all red. Doing okay? “ the little shit

“ I’m fine “ you said with a glare that only made him smile more.

“ well the alpha male energy out there is becoming unbearable. Come save me? “

“ is Joel in one of his moods again? “ Tess finally spoke, getting up and smoothing her hands over her shirt “ I’ll come save you. Let’s go “ she gestured for Frank to lead the way and headed for the door, grabbing your hand as she passed and pulled you along “ you too sweetheart. Looks like you’ve got a new member to the grumpy club “

“ I’m not grumpy “ you muttered under your breath. She simply scoffed and headed back outside, hand still laced with yours.

#tess servopoulos #Tess servopoulos x reader #the last of us #tlou hbo #the last of us fanfiction #Anna torv #x you #x reader #fluff #Joel miller #Ellie Williams #bill and frank #lgbt

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scary-lasagna · 1 year

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Hey Kitty! can you do Creepypasta Zombie apocalypse headcanons?

I've been watching The Last of Us and it's fuckin amazing so far, I've also maybe been playing a lot of L4D2.

Zombie Apocalypse? More like Hurricane tortilla!

Basically they all mind their business and stay the fuck inside

No one goes out unless they absolutely have to, and it must be in groups of five, with inhuman team members so they lesser the chance of infection.

And anytime someone leaves and returns, they are but in quarantine for the incubation period.

If anyone does happen to get infected, Slender will be the one to handle them.

Speaking of Slender, he is suffering the most out of everyone. Even Eyeless Jack can eat infected organs if they're not rotting away. (Unless it's TLOU zombies that spread through fungus. Then the non-humans who eat humans would be very much fucked)

If the zombies are fungus-based, Eyeless Jack would be willingly chained up. When in a state of hunger, Jack will turn into a mindless, powerful being that stops at nothing to get food. That inner demon does not see relationships, only meat.

And if he's sent out, he'll only come back, because he's not completely mindless. He has his memories, the location of the manor, and exactly how to get in. He might be tied up at the Proxy Cabin instead, with a caretaker watching over him, that's evasive enough to get away if he should escape, such as Ben.

But Slender needs souls, human souls in order to survive. He's weak and frail and can't handle himself as well as he used to. He is deteriorating.

Only Tim knows of this, and put himself in charge of taking care of Slender. There's no survivors from miles around, and zombies are merely hosts of what the humans once were.

It's killing off other operators as well, so he can't even bargain for the bare minimum for the greedy ones.

Clock went out one day and never returned, much to everyone's dismay. She was hungry, starving, and rations were wearing thin. As time progressed, search teams would have to go out farther and farther to find food, and even forest animals were becoming scarce from the constant hunting from both humans and zombies.

The only steady food source they have is egg and rarely chicken meat from the henhouse outside. But something got to them, either a fox or a zombie, and it hasn't been touched since.

Clock was never looked for, presumed dead, but Toby found her wandering around near the outskirts of the Black Forest. She chased him all the way back, her jaw nearly falling off, and half of her arm missing.

He managed to risk everyone's lives to selfishly keep Clock chained up in the basement. No one saw him sneak in with Clock, in direct contact with an infected, and feeding her bits of rotting meat he finds in the forest.

He refuses to let her go, because a cure will surface one day, right? This can't be the end, no. He can save her, he won't leave her to die like everyone else did.

This may or may not lead to the eventual downfall of the manor altogether. Once Toby is found out, everyone will want to go their own ways, loosing complete trust and faith in each other.

#creepypasta #creepypasta imagines #creepypasta blog #creepypasta headcanon #creepypasta x reader #ticci toby #zombie au

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jazzzzzzhands · 9 months

Text

Ok FOR REAL Theory Time!!! Gonna be massive spoilers plus mention of bugs/fungus! So I'm calling this the Mold Theory And what is the Mold? It's the black stuff under Home! (Mold under a house is very suiting, right?) The Mold has contaminated Every single thing that the Restoration team has found! The team talks about the envelopes, the antiques, and the artwork found for Welcome Home and how it is alwasys Wet and covered in Grime. The stuff that is "Growing" all over the found items... Staff must wear gloves or they will get covered in it

You can see it all over the gloves, the Walls, and even the Website Itself! It's also been shown on the restored art prior to the update. But one unfortunate person seems to have touched it. and that is.. The Question Answerer! (The head person of the Restoration team is also most likely infected) Now what this Mold does is, It seems to have an effect of the person's mental state. Causing them to see and hear things, as well as having lucid nightmares and an overwhelming urge to draw spirals. From the very moment of contact, it seems to have effect "When I Unwrapped the first letter, I felt it. I heard it. Open Open Open. I want it out, I'm Going to get it Out" Instant Hallucinations and Obsession! Now I'm going to be Comparing this Mold to a Real fungus called Cordyceps, or the Zombie-Ant Fungus. It is a fungus that can control BUGS (familar themes right?) and take over their minds, forcing them to act unnaturally and wander far in order to spread itself! ~Similarily~ this Mold can take control of the Host's mind as well. The "Spores" that it is trying to spread are the drawings of the spirals/eyes. And the more eyes are Drawn, the more Wally can SEE. Wally has made it truly apparent that he can see us through any rendition of his eyes. "I've seen you every time you've looked into my eyes" "I have more eyes than I did before, you know how to draw eyes You draw mine, many times. I know it is thanks to you, Neighbor.. That I can see.. but it is still.. I can't see" He is giving us instructions.. "You have work to do" -Giving us instrustions on how to draw an eye... "Please Open, Let me In" Now I find this last instruction very funny He doesn't say "Let me Out" No... He says "Let me IN" Into What? What are we Opening? Our doors?Our EYES? our Mind? our Heart?? I think that could be exactly it!!! Letting him.... into You!!! (The collective You) Isn't that Funny? A Funny little thought?! The Puppet becoming the Puppeteer! ooh hee hee hoo hoo I think I'm very clever about that! But there are so many themes of Strings/Control/Scripts That I simply couldn't help myself! Now does that mean I think Wally is Evil? Absolutely NOT I LOVE Wally, and hey, what's a bit of mind control between Neighbors? <333 I'll borrow a cup of sugar and you can borrow my sanity! That's what Neighbors are for! <3 Jokes aside, No I Do NOT think Wally is Evil!! No, he might become a Puppeteer over the Real world... (and It might be for good reason, to save his friends and himself) but he is still very much a Puppet himself. Literally and Figuratively, And the Real Mastermind behind the strings is... Home!

Afterall? Isn't that where the Mold is coming from? From Down Below? Below Home?

This image gives me BIG TIME Obediance vibes Reporting/Worship/Subjugation I very much see Wally as the Lure of a very big Angler Fish.. The bait, the perfect little puppet that has captured our hearts and led us by the hand into Welcome Home. Isn't that very much how it has gone in real life? (Oh I KNOW I got the Mold BAD!!! ahahaha) (I can't stop drawing himmm!!! :3c ) But this is where my rambling stops, Until Next Time! I will just say that: The Relationship between Home and Wally (And by extension, YOU) Is a Strange one for sure! And I cant wait to see it further! And Just one more extra note on this whole Fungus thing.. Did you know that the BIGGEST Organism on the entire Earth.. Is a Mushroom? It is because they are connected through their Roots... (Down Below) and Houses kinda are shaped like musrooms... I will Leave it at That! Ahahahaha!

#im very very normal about all of this!#lyinggg #mold theory #welcome home #wally darling #welcome home theory #i know i can be a bit sparadic i hope this all makes sense!!#i can go a bit off the wall sometimes!!#its hard for me to articulate what i want to say sometimes!#i swear its so much more in my brain!!#also i am really bad at typing #im going to look for mistakes but im sorry if i typo!#jazzisaspazz #long text post #shout out to my sister for putting this into my brain #maybe i will have more thoughts later!#i do have a bunch of random things written down #maybe i will make an “observations” post?#will u guys be interested??#please feel free to send me asks and theories of your own!#feel free to add on or to correct me!!#i mean u can also send me art request ...;w;#or to randomly tell me about how you also enjoy cereal on ur hot dogs.. no? just me? ok #i have a really nice art coming tmrw that im so so proud of....#saving it for tmw... cause its my birthday tmrw!!!#a gift for me! to post something that im really really happy with!!#oof oog i talk a lot in the tags #i'm talking to myself really #if you made it this far... you get ... a gift..#its an apple! 🍎

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ratcandy · 3 months

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OH YEAH and yeah idk maybe the big skull fungus very well could be like, a god. that it could be like, the one god shroom. i remember people before sotf were wondering if the mushroomos infected sozo(nious) on purpose because of the implication that its a god was in the file name even before the lore tablets mentioned it.. i think. i havent seen them for myself either besides small glances IT ALSO HAS A WHITE STEM?? INSTEAD OF A BLACK ONE LIKE SOZO HAS?? like?? is it a different type? what if its from an ancient ancestor? whats going on, whats the relation of the mushroomos to these similar but different fungi? im honestly just as confused as you are. i think about these things about the game, especially with sozo, so often and im glad someone else also does just as much LMAO. at this rate ive posted 3 fucking anon asks in a row im so sorry

COTL DEVS ANSWER ME WHAT IS THE SKULL SUPPSOED TO BE

If it is a god shroom then everything explodes because It's A God Shroom it could do whatever it wants for any reason . In which Sozo has a god in his body/brain(???) and that's why it can drag him with it when it's revived. and that is a Theory I've proposed before but then it's like. WHY would a god shroom NOT infect more than just Sozo. Surely it wants to propagate right??? Otherwise why infect at all?? Unless it just wanted a vessel??

I mean fuck if we really want to go insane about it, the fungi that kills Sozo doesn't even look like the same fungi

and it split the one on his head in HALF so like. I assume it's the same fungi and it just spores in a strange way, because otherwise we're going into complicated ass hyperparasitism territory (parasites that infect other parasites) which we COULD do but like WHY, but i mean.

like. maybe this is a neverending spiral of endless fungi. who knows Throws my hands into the air.

AND DIFFERENT STEM COLORS YOU'RE RIGHT I DIDN'T EVEN NOTICE?? COULD THEY BE DIFFERENT SPECIES THEN? BUT WHY ... Or is a maturity thing and maybe the one on Sozo is younger and will lose its darker colors as it ages????? I mean. And bear with me here, but. The shroom on the skull has fuckin age lines. So like. Old shroom? Old shroom gone white with age? Old? Shroom? Aged? Elderly shroom?

and don't even get me STARTED on the mushroomos who are themselves seemingly menticide (given they drop it when killed and sozo will eat them). like. the worldbuilding here is so fucked and I can only barely try to contain it into digestible boxes that make a vague amount of sense in my brain

#AND DON'T APOLOGIZE YOU'RE letting my brain whirr very loudly like an overloaded computer (positive)#cotl's biology-based worldbuilding makes me clutch my head in agony and double over in pain #I am just doing my best to file it away into somewhat understandable boxes without overthinking because this is where we end up #when we overthink. neverending fungi spiral #ask #cotl sozo #cotl #sozo

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voltstone · 2 months

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…about the clementine comic (again): why is she illiterate?

I've already written an exhaustive essay about the Clementine comics written by Tillie Walden, and that was before the first book was out. It was more of a discussion of what was already seen from the teaser, Walden being an…interesting choice to write this, but more than that, it was to preemptively stake the claim that no, it isn't canon. Not in the way that's just "ew I hate this I refuse," but more so, "the games (and character) by design and functionality do not allow for single interpretations to adequately continue the story."

These comics can be…a canon. But not the canon.

In the same way as The Walking Dead Game's (TWDG) fanfiction, like my own where I'm writing only my canon interpretation, the others who do the same, and so on.

(This right here is the essay, by the by.)

It has been a couple years since then. I have read both comics, and there is a lot I can say about them. I may one day, but not right now.

Instead, I want to direct attention to how…weirdly anti-apocalyptic it is?? Because it bothers me. A lot. That I'm watching a Clementine as a character get reduced to a kid who doesn't know how to read or write, doesn't know how to dress and care after a wound...

All things necessary for survival—the reading especially within an apocalyptic setting. Which. No. I'm not kidding. I do mean that.

Before I really indulge in my grievances, however, I will start by outlining the world that TWDG has established, and what it actually takes to survive within it.

(And yes, this is another lengthy post.)

[Surviving the Apocalypse]

Throughout the games, we ultimately see the apocalypse under two overarching eras. The initial stage is calamity. The walkers swiftly overrun what people upheld as a stable, and very secure way of life. And the fact that it only takes one factor to destroy the "we're untouchable" notion, it's terrifying. (Which, on that note, though the undead is an extreme, we did maybe learn this post-COVID. Ergo, stories like these may resonate a little bit better than they had before.)

What's different about The Walking Dead (TWD) as a universe is that…, the true calamity arguably doesn't hit until later, because the dead themselves aren't what really destroys the untouchable mindset as before. In most universes, such as The Last of Us, it's something contagious that you don't want. However, it is also something to overcome and fix. Though the dead in TWDG's cousin is far more brutal, if you isolate them, or find a way to vaccinate…, there could feasibly be a future where the fungus is more akin to rabies or the black plague rather than a devastating change in society.

Because that's how diseases like these work. They will never go away, especially if humanity mishandled their responses to them. Rabies is still out there, because it is a violent disease (am also under the impression that walkers is very synonymous with rabies, but I digress). The Black Plague? That whole thing? Yeah, the plague itself is also still out there. The problem was solved by nature, where a fire torched all of London.

But since then, we have vaccines. We know better (…I hope) in how to appropriately respond. And…that's the best we can do. Pathogens will always dictate life.

Of course, this isn't to undermind what outbreaks as seen in those other stories do to the world. They evidently are a turning point, if not the end, of humanity's way of life. The reason why, however, falls more in-line with a society being greatly unprepared, and a virus, fungus, whatever being the perfect amalgamation that spreads rapidly. It's what we as humans have gone through, will go through, to an absolutely extreme. Complete annihilation. That kind of deal.

Here's the thing about TWD, and I honestly could go on and on with this (and why it's my favorite apocalypse I've seen in fiction):

The bite is not what does it. Everyone is infected.

And the longer you think about it, that in itself will not end. I'm in the camp that it would be maternally passed-down given how blood circulation works within pregnancy, so. You know.

The point here is TWD as an apocalypse is very unique in this one change. It fundamentally breaks how people approached these kinds of stories. The walkers are not particularly fast because they don't have to be. They are a looming presence. As they deteriorate, because they're so slow-moving (as apposed to clickers), they manage to tell their own stories in how they died. You can see if they were bit, or starved, or shot… List goes on.

They are representative of nature reclaiming the world, and on top of that, a dangling threat to anyone who has the gall to think they're above it.

Because they're not. So either make sure your head is shot, or deal with walking around like a mangy pile of rot.

It changed how people approached this because rather than a devastating outbreak, this feels like a sort of damnation. There is a very bleak sense of finality to this universe—to the point where… Yeah. They could live on, try to find a cure, but this is it.

This is the true calamity of this world—not the walkers themselves, but the fact that they are there to stay, there is no going back. At least, for a long, long, long time. You can't just isolate them. If someone dies the wrong way, there could be one in the room right with you. Hence…making sure your head is shot.

And as with in the games, it is such a bleak reality that it forces people to just move on.

Which they do. The way to survive this initial era is, amongst a wide scope of things, to accept the fact and carry forth.

The characters that don't, and are simply too rooted in the past, like Katjaa… Well, they don't make it, do they? There's a reason why we don't see that many unable to let go after the first season, because they don't last. If they do, like with Tenn, it's because they got lucky and had a community to fall back on. Regardless, given what we see with Katjaa, Season One (S1) is this time.

The second era of the apocalypse is seeding. Both in the literal sense, and symbolic.

I'm not talking established communities, no. The closest we get to that is the boarding school, given they do have established practices. But, with how many things need to be done, the schoolkids are still within this second era.

Season Three (S3) is arguably the first season of the four solidly within the second era. Sure, there are still scavengers, but there are also several communities at once—enough so that the conflicts between end up being why they fail, not purely the dead. This leaves Season Two (S2) to be the fitting chaos that ensues between the eras, where much of the world is scavenging, they're reminded of how cruel winter is actually, but there are already solid efforts in building communities; then, Season 4 (S4) as well within the second era, with clear signs that there is the gradual chance of establishment.

The second era requires not only what the first proposes—moving on—, but also a sense of ingenuity. They're left with the scraps of the past world, but that past world also grew out of the earth, so they can cobble those scraps and earth together and make something out of it. We have Prescott on the airstrip; that is the epitome of cobbling things together. There's Richmond, and Howe's Hardware as well, where it's making use of the scraps left behind to establish proper farms. Then Ericson's as a meld of both—the kids have their structure, but they needed to feed off the land. (Not quite at the farm stage like the others were.)

All of what I've discussed thus far, however, is on an overarching scale (and isn't exactly exhaustive either). It can be extrapolated and used in reference to an individual's survival, but there are ways to better articulate an individual's survival than just…get the fuck over it, and build a farm.

And what's interesting is there is a vast difference in requirements depending on how they choose to survive.

With a community. Or. Alone.

The benefits to a community is you yourself don't have to encompass the three traits to survive. (Oh, yeah, this essay will have three primary traits of surviving on an individual scale; obviously there will forever be more nuance, but…shush. I'm typing.) Within a community, you can rely upon others that do encompass the three traits—and it doesn't have to be all in one person. The people within a community can specialize in skills.

And the schoolkids best emulate this.

Tenn and Willy, though they have their own skillsets, are example of those who need to rely on others. Both have the school, though they are closest to Violet and Mitch respectively—those, if asked, would likely be considered the closest thing to caretakers that either boys have.

And right alongside them, Louis, because my man…would like to say he's allergic to work, but really, it's the self-doubt. Now, if not a person who is reliant, he is good for raising spirits. He knows games to play. He brings entertainment.

There's Marlon, who's the well-spoken leader. Ruby, who plays nurse. Aasim, who…writes? Writing's important and stuff in the apocalypse, right?

(Yes. It is. Again, we will get to that, so, hush-up.)

Rosie. Dog. (This is also very important. You can pet her!)

Mitch was likely the muscle, or something along those lines. Omar, the cook.

I would say Brody sits near the "needs to rely" camp, given her anxiety, though, she does actually pull her weight, ergo, support. You can task her with anything. She'll likely be able to do it, such as with fishing and hunting.

Violet was also probably another support, though it is difficult to really tell at the beginning because she's withdrawn from the rest of her people. (I've always felt the Violet we meet at the start isn't who she was before the twins left. Of course, Violet is Violet, but… Depression, and stuff. Probably BPD stuff.) Here's the thing though: come to find, Violet is also another thing.

That being deputy. She can step-up and play leader when need be, but will step down because that isn't quite what she is—hence why the leadership ultimately goes from Marlon to Clementine by the end. This has Violet be the ultimate support. She can do whatever, fill in the leadership role, so on and so forth.

As the community develops, the others will find more nuances in themselves like these. Beyond what I've outlined, and the present nuances already in S4.

The thing with this line-up to understand is there's huge variety here. Not only in the nature of each role, but also their complexity. Because…, turns out, there's a lot to living.

Which. I mean. All of that is no shit, Sherlock. Because yeah.

When I go on about, say, Violet, it's to explain a very specific concept that one word is not going to do. There's a specific reason why I say deputy, and not second-hand; there is a thing where roles will and do change depending on circumstance, and time. (As with Willy (and Tenn) when he grows up, and when Louis becomes more confident.) But this doesn't mean it's more important. When I say "Omar, the cook," or "Ruby, who plays nurse," neither are to designate either as lesser roles.

They're actually crucial. Because no fucking shit. You need to eat. You need to learn how to mend yourself.

It's why those roles are so…simple. Because title alone says everything.

Certain roles, like Violet's (which…may or may not be ironic), are very community-centric. Others, like Omar and Ruby's, are fundamental to just life. And what you see is within communities, those fundamentals go from just skillsets to an art or to a science. When you have people who specialize in each, they are given the time and space to truly understand the ins and outs of what they're doing.

Cut to alone.

Those like Clementine.

Surviving alone is difficult because not only are all of these crucial roles in the community on one set of shoulders, there has to be great sacrifice. Of course, a leader or deputy isn't needed because there's just one. The social aspect of a community is not present.

With that social aspect follows specialization of the core fundamentals.

You need to eat. You need to learn how to mend yourself. And defend...

When you are on your own, without the security of a home, you are not given the time nor the space to truly know those ins and outs. So, when you look at those like Clementine, yes. She's not going to know little tricks, or the sciences, in what she does. The stitching for example:

Clean it. Sew the fucking body part shut. Wrap if you can. There you go, you just did stitching.

Which she does. However, S2, part of why the dog bite (oh, and yes, comic people? yeah, there's supposed to be a deep, concerning scar down her left forearm) scarred the way it did is because 1) …um, she was in a shed, dunking-back apple juice in between sutures in my case, getting jumped by a dead dude, and 2) the stitch-work was very rudimentary. Enough to close the wound and have it heal, sure. Then, S3, the same with Javi; Kate upon inspection does mention that she sees it bleeding through, indicating that again, it's very rudimentary. But, we have Eleanor examine it, and she notes that it is satisfactory, so long as it's looked after.

Had someone like Ruby, or better yet Eleanor (who Dr. Lingard complimented this exact skill) done it, they would have known different stitch techniques that not only closes the wound tight, but also leaves minimal scarring. And the other things, like how to adapt the techniques to different parts of the body, because…no, you really can't just stitch a knee like you would a back.

But again, Clementine didn't have the time to really learn the specifics. She's busy learning how to cook, and hunt, and defend, and scavenge supplies, drive, shoot, car maintenance, feeding a child, taking care of the child, protecting the child, prioritizing necessities…

Essentially, in terms of community vs solo, it's an argument between the specialized, and the jack of all trades.

Stay with me now. I'm not exactly done going over what is needed to survive, because there are more. There's the three traits I mentioned. But as I babble on, once the discussion over the comic begins, I do hope it's clear as to why I am going through these things as meticulously as I am.

Now we get to why Clementine of all girls would be able to live in this kind of environment. She's a kid, but like…young adult given the context. (I'm sure the medieval ages wouldn't argue.) She's like…stupid, or something. She only went to so much school, and we all know that only smart people graduate from school. I never met a dumbfuck at college ever! No!

…got a little side-tracked.

Genuinely though, what is it about Clementine?

I'll start this with a curveball:

What is the dumbest thing that she has ever done within the games?

There's room for debate, but the majority will probably point to S1, where she goes on to trust the voice at the other end of her radio—the voice being the Stranger's.

It's the decision that we, as an audience, thought Clementine was above doing even at that age. It's also what ultimately kills Lee.

Here's the thing, though:

Clementine putting faith into the Stranger wasn't just a child being stupid. For one, she is…eight/nine. So. A child. But, two, it was an exercise of her greatest flaw:

"She's a puzzle."

Something that is brought up, time and time again. To my mind, it's most notably done by Katjaa, whenever they're beside the train, and Duck is of ailing health. Clementine sits on her own log. Doesn't respond much to Lee, not until Chuck (as a breath of fresh air) comes to join the party.

See, she heard a voice from the other end of this radio—one of two (including the hat) mementos she has of her family—, and the one thing that she had in way of sanctuary. The Stranger said the right things, so she kept to herself with that radio, and let her desperation flourish.

Finding her parents was the one thing she wanted. So yes, through a child's gullibility, and a man's manipulation, she believed the wrong person.

We see this sort of flaw propagate time and time again. Granted, it does depend on the player's interpretation of her for S2 and S4, given we play as her, but in S3 where she's (quite literally, for the most part) out of our hands, what does she do? She keeps to herself. What happened to A.J? was a question on our minds, largely because of her reluctance to open up. Clementine lies to Javi about the New Frontier, then she turns around and explains her lie…, reveals her branding…, purely for survival's sake, not because she wholeheartedly trusts him.

Of course, in S3 it's understandable that she doesn't just open up to Javi. That game covers only a handful of days—short of a week by the end—, with the exception of the flashback sequences. (As opposed to S1, across several months, S2, a few weeks to a month, give or take, and S4, which sits about the same.)

Still, however. This is absolutely a part of Clementine's character: she's reserved. Without the player, her first inkling is to keep herself from the topic of conversation.

The thing to understand about this flaw, and how it bleeds into the comics, is that…I think(?) Walden acknowledged this part of her character. But…half of it.

The reason why comic Clementine pulled away from the boarding school is because she…, as she does…, kept to herself after her leg, got into her own head, and thusly ran off. I will say, I do agree that Clementine would be an absolute fucking mess with her leg gone because she has to rely on people again. (Which is devastating because of her specific trauma: à la parentification.)

Now…, run away…? Um…

(…it's also this specific trauma that… Um. Yeah no, she would not leave A.J.)

Whatever. Not the point of this essay.

The other half of this flaw, the half that the comics blatantly miss, speaks to quite an…insightful aspect of Clementine:

She is a very, very perceptive individual. Because the thing we see in S1 is that she's not just quiet. She's watching. She's observant. Clementine is quiet, not only because she gets into her own head, but because she's taking in the world, and so she notices things that other people don't pick up on.

Throughout S1, there will be moments where Lee can try to sugarcoat things, particularly after Duck's bite, only for Clementine to say it plainly:

"You don't know that."

Those moments speak to a kid who knows the difference between reality and not, and telling Clementine that she won't get snatched or bit is…not reality. It will likely happen, and it does.

Other moments, she'll notice details in the environment. She can point them out. Help Lee, as with getting into the train station. Make a comment, like in Hershel's barn with the "dookie"/shit/manure.

Or, back in the drugstore, where Carley (…not too subtly) outs Lee as a murderer in front of Clementine. …which, of course, Clementine picks up on. (The trigger for this is to pick up the photo of Lee with his family, hence why it can be before or after moving the desk.) To which, upon leaving the drugstore's office, she'll ask about it, and you'll have the option of being open and honest, sugarcoating it, or just flat out lie.

Staying in the drugstore! Lee asks for something to bar the entrance. Walkers are scratching to get a nibble. And? Immediately, she goes to his dad's cane (cuz that man ain't using anymore!).

S2. Same spiel. Because…, oh boy, incompetence is rampant as it turns out, and as I've stepped into adulthood for myself, I've come to appreciate that season as essentially "Clementine learns why the motel family fell apart, adults are grown ass children, she has to babysit them— KENNY, DOWN! STOP IT! STOP BITING THE RUSSIAN!— throughout a winter."

Because. Newsflash. Adults? About as stable of a concept as a table with a missing leg, then another one of mangled-together cutlery. And I will forever adore stories from a kid's perspective slowly realizing this fact.

(…also, parentification's a knocking. It wants in.)

Then, S3, where she gave up being the hero, but still…, somehow…, rattles off exactly what the player needs to do and where to get the tools when stealing a truck because she just can't help herself.

…okay, I think I've done enough. S4 also speaks for itself.

Point being, Clementine is a very perceptive, very resilient, and very adaptive person. It's why she out of all the kids she comes across is the one to survive.

Sarah immediately comes to mind as someone who really struggled with adapting. She can, but the tragedy of it is that it's not in time. Too little, too late. (Circumstances also don't help.)

With Gabe (if he dies), same kind of thing. He always struck me as someone painfully unaware of how good he had it, and how bad everything else was. And he needed to grow up. Fast. But again, that alone isn't what saves him—his uncle, and/or Clementine do(es). If he's saved at all, anyway.

Duck? Same fucking thing. And it was his death, through Chuck, that spurred Lee to start teaching Clementine the basics.

To which she adapts, and she adapts well. Their first outing doesn't go…all that great. Clementine freezes. But, throughout S1, she does shoot her first walker (with Omid, or in Crawford). If Lee cannot fight off the Stranger, she will be the one to kill him. And then, of course, the whole Lee death scene thing.

The second season starts off with Omid dropping because of a neglected gun. (Clementine freezes again.) Change is always on rocky road—despite the season prior, she still had a lot to learn, and she did throughout said season.

Perceptive, and resilient, and adaptive. To be those is the ticket to survival. Those are the three.

So why…does it seem like the comics don't know?

[VANCOMYCIN]

To anyone unaware, vancomycin is not a random string of letters for Clementine to work her mouth through. In fact, she knows how to read it. Had to, in order to inject this medicine into A.J within S3—whether or not she goes through with it is dependent on player choice.

Vancomycin, to give a better idea of the sheer desperation she was in, is not something to treat the common cold or flu. It's to treat Gram-positive bacterial infections—hence why it wouldn't necessarily work for colds or flu, given most are virus-borne—, and is generally synonymous with more serious infections.

Meaning. A.J was genuinely sick.

(My hunch is bacteria-borne pneumonia.)

I don't know what most of the fandom assumed, but it was not just a little bug. It was…bad. And a legit miracle that he survived (whether it be without the injection, or…with the injection where Clementine poked the syringe through his shirt? Game? Graphics?).

What likely happened was, somewhere down the line, he either just caught something on an off chance (the world hasn't been sanitized), or he got too close to danger and got himself sick that way off of one of the walkers/animals around. (If it was pneumonia, he likely inhaled something.) Regardless, Clementine was at a point where she…just did not have the resources to help him, would not know where to look, wouldn't feasibly be able to scavenge for it, and so she joined the New Frontier (whether or not you had her agree initially) because it was just that bad.

It is a heavy drug. Not only does it give insight as to why Clementine chose to join regardless of your choice for her, it also explains why the group threw her out for even handling it. It's not like aspirin that's easy to come by.

And, of course, there's the pronunciation of it. As with every medical term like this, it looks and sounds convoluted, but as you break it down, it's pretty straightforward.

Keep this in mind as I rattle on further. I find the vancomycin to be a very succinct contrast to what I take issue with in the comics.

Speaking of, the comics.

Hello there.

…Clementine.

The Clementine Comics, by Tillie Walden, read as a hard reset on the series, from S1 onward. Which yes, is the core issue. There was no effort in even trying to continue off from S4, it was just a way to have Clementine still run around, while avoiding the whole Telltale-RPG implications of a continuation.

So, if you're somehow out of the fandom and you're reading this, hi? Welcome. This is why people are upset about the comic, and for once, no, it's not just because this fanbase is being…unhinged. (In a bad way.)

On top of the plot decisions, however, there are things that just prove Walden was not the artist for this project. The artstyle is an interesting(?) fit for TWDG, but ultimately is an aside. There's the focus on romance. There's the dull characters.

And then there's Clementine herself. Very out of character, and that's coming from someone whose Clementine has…made decisions in her life.

What this essay will focus on, however, is the choices made to have Clementine incompetent.

Medically so.

In the first book, Clementine is taught how to clean and dress her amputated leg. I can get behind learning how to wrap the thing properly, because it is a different part of the body, and it's a different angle—on herself, not someone else.

But she asks…why she needs to clean it. Like she doesn't know. Clementine has to be taught that.

This kind of ignorance then follows her into the second book, because she fell ill (and slipped into a month-long coma??), largely due to her not cleaning the wound. Her leg had an infection. And it spread.

…okay. Um.

That's very interesting considering Clementine:

(S2) Got bit by a dog, felt like she needed to take care of it herself due to circumstances, cleaned it, sutured the wound with fishing wire, and then went to bandage it (before getting attacked). (By the way, the scar is not on comic Clementine. So.)

(S2; optional) Can sit beside Rebecca during her pregnancy to help, but then does have to assist with the walker/lurker problem.

(S2) Tended to Kenny's lost eye because he was beaten by a walkie-talkie by cleaning it.

(S2) Probably had to deal with that whole wound in her shoulder, you know, from the FUCKING RIFLE SHOT, either with Kenny, Jane, those at Wellington, or on her own (feat A.J). (No, they did not patch it up because time, and it went clean through. When Jane and Kenny fought, Clementine just had an open bullet hole.)

(S2/S3) Had to take care of a baby. With Jane or Kenny or in Wellington, and/or on her own.

(S3; alone S2 ending) Broke her finger on a car door to the point where she (presumably) had to amputate and cauterize the finger herself.

(S3) THE WHOLE VANCOMYCIN THING. I WILL GET BACK TO THAT.

(S3) Cleaned and sutured Javi's arm after he got shanked (cuz Gabe… never mind).

(S4) Twas a great start. Car accident—boo boo head.

(S4) Had to patch-up A.J cuz he got shot by a shotgun. And was in recovery for two weeks.

(S4; optional) Louis/Violet gets their finger chopped off. Probably helped deal with that.

(S4) Um. Her leg? You know. The one she lost, and the schoolkids managed to get her stable. Willing to bet Ruby would lose her fucking shit if it wasn't cleaned properly.

And that's just what we do see, in regards to Clementine personally.

Do I…have to go on and explain why it's fucking stupid that she doesn't know the basic information she had to learn in the comics? No?

Okay. Good.

I will get back to it, because I think this choice is indicative of a larger issue. We'll get to that weird…bias the comics have with Clementine being negligent and ignorant to all things medical.

Because now, we're here.

Not only is Clementine ignorant medically, she struggles to read her way through a dictionary. There's scenes of her sounding out words like she's in preschool.

For what reason?! Because in a world where people don't have higher education, they just don't read and write?! What?!

Okay, so, no, I didn't outline precisely why reading and writing (more so reading) is crucial of a skillset to have within an apocalyptic setting. I will do so now.

Because it's the crux of this essay. Hence why I've given it its own section. (…that's what this is, by the way.)

Why is it, exactly, "so" important Volt? Society's gone!! You don't need to read!

Listen up, ✨ dipshit ✨ This is an apocalypse. Not a nomadic setting.

Okay, that was a little mean. If you're asking this, you're not a dipshit.

Anyway, I am being genuine here. To the point where even implying that nomads by nature are illiterate is also…wrong. Because that's not necessarily true either, but assuming so falls into such an ignorant bias that people in 1st world countries have. (The same that the comics have.)

And this bias is the reason why I really, really want to have this discussion because the comics really rubbed me the wrong way with this, and, I'm kinda sick and tired of reading other people implying the same thing.

So let's start here:

What distinguishes us from the rest of the animal kingdom? Why is it we consider ourselves more intelligent?

The answer boils down to one thing:

Our mouths.

We can talk. And in doing so, we can communicate to each other very complex and nuanced concepts that require articulation beyond body language and emotion.

It's why we're able to distinguish things like envy versus just being irritated by someone. Because frankly? They physically feel the same because they are the same emotion. The context is what differentiates envy vs irritability. The why.

"I feel [this] because I want what they have." vs "I feel [this] because they're being stupid right now."

The [this] is the same. The body only has so many ways it can tell you what you're feeling, so it ends up boiling down to very basic emotions, where they can be felt at different extremes, or in unison. So. You know. Think Inside Out. What makes envy special is…you have to take context into consideration. Yes, it is also irritability, but it goes beyond that. And it requires language to communicate such a thing.

When you look at animals, that's why they're "unintelligent." They respond to what they feel the way they do because they don't have a way to articulate it. So they just react. Rather blindly in our eyes. Same thing with babies. They haven't gone through language acquisition just yet—they're in the same boat. It's also why a lot of dog breeds are said to "have the same intelligence as a 3 year old." It's related to language. They feel the same emotions, or whatever equivalent (can't claim I know how their bodies process emotions). However, they physically cannot exercise language verbally. Ergo, they're more or less stunted in the acquisition.

And then you have that we are wired to speak. Our mouths by design are made to verbalize complex sounds. A lot of our brain power is in being able to talk, or at least comprehend patterns in speech if the individual is mute. I for one was a child who rarely spoke for my first ~4/5 years, but I knew what people were saying. (Funnily enough, I was a lot like A.J.)

Beyond emotions, it's also to communicate things rather than [follow me, are you following, I'm looking at you, follow me,] it's "okay, I'm going over here, meet me by this tree." There's immediate clarification. There's a passage of thought between two brains. We don't have to interpret body language as much, we have to comprehend words.

To the rest of the animal kingdom, that makes us already mind-readers. Given that people are honest, and can articulate well, we literally are.

…it's also this emphasis on verbal language that has people be real fucking shit a reading body language, but whatever.

The point here is language is so fucking important. And there's a reason why we started writing things down. Some of the first records of written language, hundreds upon hundreds of years ago, were to keep track of agriculture. We also forget things, so we wrote those down. Heard of the Iliad? The Odyssey? Those were orally passed down for generations, but Homer decided to scribe them so they weren't forgotten. (From what I remember, he wrote those during the Hellenistic era of the mythos. …I want to say the stories come from the Mycenaean times?)

And above all.

Long distance communication. Or. Leaving behind knowledge.

So there would be couriers. There would be scholars who learned from scrolls of scribes decades before them.

(In modern times…, labels on products so that you know what it is, how to use it… Just a thought.)

Language is what makes us different. And by proxy, writing helps us retain that.

It is never something people are just going to abandon when the world goes to shit. If anything, it's going to be the one thing people will grapple onto by the skin of their teeth.

Out of the two, yes, language would come first. There are many cultures that lived (even thrived) without having a true writing system, and did just fine because the culture had such an emphasis on oral tradition, or other ways in cementing their culture to the test of time. A lot of the Native American cultures come to mind. Nowadays, however, there's been an effort to have them written so they aren't lost because…colonialism. I don't really need to explain that, but I do think the history is important to understand (the linguist in me is also morbidly fascinated). In summary, however, the way in which these cultures were torn apart rattled people, and people saw their way of life was evaporating with every person lost. They couldn't leave anything physical behind.

I do bring this contrast to light, however, because there is a detail to understand about an apocalyptic setting, and its relationship with written word: it's reflective of what society fell. If the society before was like a lot of the Native cultures, where their culture was recorded through oral traditions and other practices, then sure, I would expect the people left behind to be "illiterate". …at least, in terms of writing. They're literate in those oral traditions and practices.

But, that's not TWDG. What we have is a society that is reliant on writing. So much of our world is articulated through an alphabet printed onto a surface.

In any case, back to the apocalyptic setting.

Another thing is, yes, we do see language come before writing. In survival, it does land people in situations where it's "I don't have time, I've been starving, I'm going to grab all the food in this place before the books." Of course. Then you have that books are heavy. You're not going to realistically carry a library around. You're going to choose other things that would help immediately.

Like a knife. Or a gun.

Those do better bashing heads in than a book (but a tome wouldn't do that bad).

Here's the thing though. To step back to how reliant our society is on writing, I don't think people realize just how much they read. (Hint: you're reading right now. You had to read in order to navigate this page.) So here's the follow images of things that, in an apocalypse, are pivotal for survival, and requires of you reading comprehension:

Signs. Food labels. First Aid labels. Maps. Manuals. Guidebooks.

You need to know where you're at. You need to understand what it is you're eating, how to cook it, and quality (ex: expiration). You need to understand first aid, what you're working with and how to apply it. You need to know where you're going. If you have equipment (like, say, a car) that you're not privy to, but need it, you need to learn basic maintenance. If you're not familiar with how to do certain activities (how to make jerky, how and where to put your urine/fecal matter), you can learn in a guidebook.

Literacy is about self-sufficiency. And each of these represent different aspects of how to live off of the scraps of a failed society.

Signs are pretty straightforward. They're articulated landmarks, and given how streets are, they're good to follow for navigation. If they're signs for complexes, they're a good way to know where you should scavenge should you be looking for a specific thing. Ex: hardware supplies; you're trying to build a camp. Either it's get lucky, or go over to someone's garage, or go over to a hardware store.

Food and First Aid labels are different things—the way they're organized is very different—, however, they serve the same purpose: those are there to inform consumers how to eat/utilize. Even though each have a very specific language, they are designed so that people not specialized in food or medicine can use them. This also applies to a lot of agriculture. Things like seed packets. Or anything that can be planted. If it has a consumer-base, there's a label on it. If it doesn't have instructions, it will most likely inform what it is.

Maps is where we start to get into more "optional" territory. Do you necessarily need a map to survive? No. It would be a life-saver to know where you are, even away from where the society was established. It would also tell you where the next town vs city is (which, to someone like Clementine who may be inclined to avoid cities, she would know which roads to take).

Manuals and guidebooks, again, are the same. They also fall into the kind of thing where weight now has to be considered.

But. Here's the thing: how many people know how to go camping? How many people were ever in boy/girl scouts? And how many more people didn't have to learn any of that because society promised security and the fact that…we don't need to focus on survival?

Okay sure, go on and on and on about how people who knew those skills already and prepped for the apocalypse would be the ones to survive. Because, uh, don't know about you, that's not necessarily how that works (luck is always a thing, and people surprise you), but also, within TWDG, I can only come up with so many people who would fall into that camp: Lilly, Mark, maybe Larry (military experience), Christa (got the vibe), Pete. Um… …Carver? He talked about, like, sheep and stuff. In reference to people, sure, but like… Uh. Hm. Well shit.

You know all the people who didn't have the experience before the apocalypse? Everyone. Fucking. Else. Including Clementine.

This is the reason why manuals and guidebooks are invaluable. They speak to a luxury because you do have the space and capacity to carry them around, so that you can gather what knowledge they have. And people just don't know this shit. Community helps, because you may meet someone who does, or has read up on it, so you don't have to. But when you're alone? …kinda a really, really good thing to have.

And none of that is going into how important books are in just passing the time. People get bored. Books are nice if you got a bum leg.

Regardless, my point should be quite clear. Sure, reading and writing will not be important in the same immediate regard, and neither will be as prolifically done as it was before. Within an apocalypse, it's not about texting, or emails, or news reports, or essays… None of that. Ergo, they're designated as an investment that weighs heavy (quite literally). It takes time to read. It takes strength and space to lug them around. You may not have any.

However. With all of what I raised, it goes back why it is, actually, so fucking important to be literate to some capacity. And to build upon that literacy. Because these people are not just living in caves. They're not in a place where humans have never gone before—quite the opposite.

Which makes it an apocalypse.

In order to navigate within the carcass of a fallen society, you need to be able to comprehend the very scraps that you're taking from said society. It left behind food, and medicine, and tools, and machinery, and knowledge. To just put that all to waste because you can't read?! Really?!

And what about a life-and-death situation where it entirely depends upon your skills in being able to read and comprehend information given to you?

I'm going to go back to the vancomycin now.

It's not something the game harps upon, but it is significant enough to Clementine's arc in S3. This medicine, regardless of injection, is why she could not see A.J, and why she had such a resentment for the New Frontier. They said they could help. In her eyes, they instead left him to die.

It is also a significant point of interest as far as this essay is concerned. Because this scene alone encapsulates all of what I'm rattling on about:

The medicine itself is a scrap of her past society. They're not making these anymore, and while I can…question how good that medicine would be by this point in time after the apocalypse (shots do have an expiration date; they also need to be stored appropriately, like in refrigerators or freezers), the vancomycin represents a limited, valuable resource.

Clementine's comprehension of what this medicine is, and why she needs it, speaks to something far from an ignorance medically. She is competent. She even knows to ensure there aren't air bubbles trapped in the syringe (hence why she lets some of the drug out before injecting; air bubbles can lead to…really nasty ways to die).

How she actually knows which drug to use, well… Either someone wrote it down for her, or she wrote it down herself. Maybe Dr. Lingard told her, or she found a resource somewhere and realized that's what she needed. It speaks to literacy, despite the challenge medical terms often have—even for medical professionals themselves.

This…is what it takes to live in an apocalypse. You have to be perceptive, and resilient, and adaptive.

Part of that adaptation is being perceptive of your environment. This environment asks you to read it—because it says everything, wears its heart on its sleeve. Ergo, you have to adapt by learning how to read.

Maybe not novels, or scriptures, but specific things. Like signs, or labels. Maps.

But this comic, it falls into a bias that a lot of people have.

And that bias bothers me. A lot.

[Why Does This Hurt Me So?]

There are three reason why this just does not work for me.

First of which, Clementine's characterization. The continuity of it. I really don't have to go on about this, since if I do, I'd just regurgitate all of what I've established before. For the sake of this section, it's just that Clementine is medically competent, just not in a specialized sense, and she knows how to read to get by. (She even starts to teach A.J how to both read and write.)

Now we'll get to the larger points of discussion.

Secondly...

How the fuck did Tillie Walden get this project?

Say what you want about the artstyle, or the characterizations, or the narrative. None of that is really what this essay is on, but are all viable criticisms down this same line of thought. You have the artstyle being very whimsical…, but…since when has TWDG been about whimsy? Or the characterizations? Which…, by now, we know about that—again, I don't need to regurgitate. Then, the narrative too? Why does it read like a romance by the time the second book comes around, rather than a story of survival?

Actually, that last one may be relevant to this after all.

Walden does not write apocalyptic works. Of course, there is no correct way in writing an apocalypse, but I'd argue this is one of the wrong ways. Not only do these comics misinterpret the bulk of Clementine's character, and precisely why she's been able to survive as long as she has—to the point where her playing the games at all is put into question—, these comics also have a strange notion on basic intelligence, and does the thing where people without school are just…stupid, almost, if not plainly illiterate.

It goes against what I've outlined as a mark of an apocalyptic setting—the survival both within nature, and within the rotting shell of the society it once was.

And, it feeds into this bias that I keep bringing up.

That bias is the third reason, and it's not a comment on Walden herself, because she's far from the only person I've seen/heard make the same assumption(s).

The bias I refer to is what I'd like to call the Modern Intelligence Fallacy. I'm confident that I and this essay are far from the first to comment on this…thing people do.

Essentially, it's whenever people judge the past and/or present group of people for being "dumber" than the current society they're based on, solely because "we're modern; we have technology, and medicine, and schools. And we know how to read and write too." It's when people undermine other cultures and/or time periods because they themselves are ignorant to what intelligence actually means.

Going back to Native Americans, and any cultures alike that didn't have a written structure. I've heard people make comments and assumptions, rather ignorant ones. But the fact is, no. The lack of a writing system is not indicative of intelligence, it's indicative of what the culture valued, and how they wanted to express that.

Part of why writing is such a core element in many European cultures, for example, is because…colonization. Look at English, and why it's such a patchwork language. They had to find ways to communicate long distance, because have of them were separated be countries between. Ergo, they wrote. Nowadays, there's telephone, or video. Then, there are other contexts which beckoned for writing, but I digress.

With a lot of these Native cultures, they valued community. That's why so many of their traditions fall within that, and that's how they communicated and passed down their history. Essentially, they just found other ways to do what the other cultures around the world were doing, and it worked for them, so what of it?

The attitudes behind this fallacy doesn't care, however. This bias does put value on the presence of language in written word in regards to intelligence, and an overall sense of superiority.

Yes, I've gone through and maintained that I do not believe, for a second, that Clementine is illiterate, and I've been defending that tooth and nail. I also do put value in language—I'm a writer, and I love linguistics. Of course I do.

And that's the awkward bent in this essay.

So, I must say, the thing to understand is…it's not really about the language itself. It's the attitudes behind the bias.

You here to argue that Clementine isn't as competent reader/writer like a girl her age would be now? (…present issues with the school system aside,) yeah. Probably.

But then why…does the comic have her be negligent with medicine? To the point where it comes across as, "Yeah, Clementine! Clean your wound! Everybody should know that! And that's just the basics!

"Silly kid in an apocalypse! She needed a grown adult to carefully explain it to her!! Oh boy, we would be so lost without our society now!"

This is why I've also taken note on the medical throughout all this. Because the medical practices aren't really related to literacy. You can be told, like Clementine was in the games, and go from there.

In the comics, however, the moments where she's told about how to take care of her leg, and the moments where she is learning how to read… They read the same. Because they are the same. They're commenting on this weird idea that humans would be stupid without our current advances, which is ridiculous because in order to have said advances…, we needed to be learning this shit before in order to create them.

These moments come from this Modern Intelligence Fallacy, and it bothers me because, let's face it, we're just as smart as we've always been.We have more knowledge. Whether it's we pass them down through specific traditions, or we've written them down to share beyond time and distance. But in terms of intelligence… No.

Do you know how many stupidass people there are out there?

There's tons of them. If anything, there's more of them now because they can rely on their communities to do the heavy lifting. And they saddle themselves right beside the people who need to rely on others, and not by choice.

I'm talking as though I'm not one of them. I don't know. I might be.

I did accidentally melt two plates in microwaves on two separate occasions so. If you want to take my words with a grain of salt, fine.

With that, though, hopefully my point(s) came across well enough.

[Conclusion]

And now I am left here. With…this.

I'm not as resigned as I was of TWDG since the comics came out, because quite frankly, there's so much to these comics where…it just feels like I'm not watching Clementine. Whether it be I'm on a couch silently judging someone else play the games, but nodding along to play nice, or just…this isn't the character at all… Yeah, I'm still stewing on it. But, I have my fanfiction, and I have the games. It is easy to ignore the comics.

The reason why I've decided to write this is 1) I find it interesting, 2) the bias people have is SUCH a pet peeve of mine, and 3) I am BAFFLED by Skybound. I honestly don't know what qualified Tillie Walden to write this, to the point where I'm frankly impressed.

It's one thing to hire someone who's unfamiliar with the franchise in hopes of an objective and new perspective, or an artstyle to try something new and unique...

And entirely another to hire someone who either isn't interested in writing, or doesn't know how to write, the genre. There are so many ways to go about writing in an apocalypse, but at its core, it will always be "no matter what, humans are going to human." This is how you can have stories of hope in an apocalypse. Or have them be bleak. And so on. With TWD, it's always been a meld of both.

Because it's human are going to human, this…bias towards any scenario where people are not traditionally educated gets in the way. Because "traditional education" is not traditional, actually. It's societal. What is traditional is people learning an array of skills to survive, much of which is medicinal, and with writing… That's dependent on the environment. Way back when, in times where the world didn't rely on literacy, absolutely not many people would be literate. But in eras where so much hinges on at least being able to navigate?

Or or, in times where you are relying on a recent past that did write and read as much as it did for survival? Um. Yeah. You do need to be able to at least read, if not write as well, for communication's sake. Which I didn't go much into, but oh well.

And this right here is what TWD is set in. This universe isn't a hard reset. You're effectively just going back a couple hundred years. All the infrastructures and scraps left behind are still there, just not maintained.

So… Yeah. I don't get it. The most I can fault Walden for is being negligent, but this is just…Skybound, not caring enough about this story to the point where they'll hire anybody for some reason.

I also don't get the bias people have about intelligence, and stuff, but I really…, really don't want to go on a spiel again. It incites violence within me. I've already gone and done a mini spiral over the comics themselves, and they were kinda but not even the point.

Ah well. I'll just crawl back to my hovel now. The links to some of the linguistic concepts I raised are below, if you want to do any additional research. The specific articles are more generalized to give a broad picture, but can be used as a jumping off point should they pique an interest.

I'm just gonna continue to write about my alcoholic Clementine.

Hope you enjoyed.

Linguistic Articles:

History of Writing Systems (1), (2) ; Language Acquisition (1)

Native American Language History (1), (2), (3)

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thana-topsy · 9 months

Note

My choice fell on Enthir/Gallus, number 4, because this ship deserves more than one angst drabble👍

Well, anon, thanks to that original Enthir/Gallus prompt, I've been so thoroughly infected with Enthir brainrot that I've started crafting an entire fic around him and his messy fucking life post-Gallus's death. Decided to take the opportunity to use this suggestion to flesh out their relationship a little bit more. I wouldn't say this follows the prompt exactly but it's close enough.

Note: gets a little raunchy near the end of this drabble. This scene will most likely make an appearance in the fic that's slowly being birthed.

Enthir had never known Gallus to be one who asked for help. He was a man with a plan, always. Every situation had a contingency, a fallback, a plan B. This being the case, when he turned up in the Frozen Hearth one evening, paler than a ghost and covered in a sheen of sweat, Enthir knew something had to be very wrong.

“I believe I’ve found myself in a bit of a jam, my friend.”

Enthir only had to take one look at him to know that was the case. “The fuck did you manage to get into this time?”

Gallus flinched through his smile. He was hunched over in an odd position, his body (and whatever else he might be hiding) obscured by his thick woolen cloak. “You know I wouldn’t be here if I could take care of it on my own.”

“Which means it’s bad.”

“One could say that, yes. I’ll just say, what I’m experiencing is rather unpleasant, and I could use, ah–” His eyes did a quick sweep around the room, his head remaining still, and Enthir took note of the sweat beading along his neck. “A discrete touch.”

Enthir furrowed his brow. “Follow me.”

After making their way into the basement, in the privacy of Enthir’s office, Gallus removed his cloak, then pulled the glove from his left hand.

Enthir hissed in empathy, his pulse spiking with panic. “Gallus, you idiot.”

The veins of his hands pulsed black, traveling up his arm to his elbow like trails of ink. On his middle finger was a ring adorned with the image of a skull, its eyes inlaid with sapphires.

“I admit, I didn’t quite do my due diligence,” Gallus said with another wincing smile.

“Sit,” Enthir barked, pointing at a chair. Then turned to one of his warded chests. “How long has it been on?”

“Oh, a few days…”

“Be specific.”

“Since Fredas. Late evening.”

Enthir cursed under his breath, dismantling his wards and opening the chest. “One more day and that thing would have killed you. You understand that, right?”

“I do hate being chastised,” Gallus quipped, but his voice wavered.

Enthir pulled a soul gem from the trunk, along with a ceramic plate inlaid with sigils. He returned to his desk and set the plate down in front of Gallus. “Hand in the center of the main circle,” he instructed, then sighed. “The most disappointing thing about this situation is that I don’t think I’ll be able to salvage the ring.”

“Please try,” Gallus urged.

“It’s either your arm or the ring, Gallus. And while I know it’s not your stroking arm, I think you’d probably miss it.” He sighed. “But I’ll try. Now hold still.”

It was a delicate process—untethering the ring’s curse from Gallus’s life force. Enthir had recognized it immediately: an artifact of the second era, worn by priests of the Worm Cult. Unless worn by the properly initiated, it would siphon the vitality from its wearer, storing it in the ring until a proper cultist required use of it. Worth at least ten thousand gold to the right buyer.

“You’ve always had a bad habit of sticking your fingers where they don’t belong,” Enthir quipped. Humor eased the panic, made it feel less dire.

“I’ve never heard any complaints,” Gallus volleyed, as was expected. “Especially not from you.”

Enthir smiled at the comment but maintained his focus, a soul gem in one hand, spell in the other. His fingers twitched as he altered the form in his head, delicately untangling the invisible strings that spread like a fungus through Gallus’s arm, latching to his energy pools like leeches. Slowly, the blackness in his veins began to fade, shrinking back towards the ring. He heard Gallus exhale shakily. After several more tense minutes of silent concentration, Enthir saw the inlaid sapphires flash and he deftly yanked the ring from Gallus’s finger.

“Fucking hell,” Gallus exclaimed, drawing his hand back to rub at his finger. “I owe you my life.”

“Again,” Enthir reminded him. He rolled the ring across his palm, picking up the nearby magnifying glass for closer inspection, checking the inner band. The delicate sigils were still intact, glowing faintly. “Good news: it’s still functioning.”

“Praise the shadows,” Gallus breathed in quiet prayer.

“Yeah, that would have been one of your more costly fuck-ups.” He handed the ring over to his friend with mild dismay. It wasn’t every day something that lucrative passed through his hands. “I assume you’ll be compensating me accordingly?”

“Coin, goods, or services?” Gallus shot back with a grin, the color returning to his cheeks.

“Coin,” Enthir clarified, leaning back in his chair and folding his hands in his lap. “Once you sell it. If you manage to sell it, that is. Otherwise I’ll take whatever you think is fair.”

“Fair?” Gallus got to his feet and strolled around the desk, still rubbing his finger absently. “You place so much trust in me. It’s touching, really.”

“Hopefully not something you intend to put to the test,” Enthir said, his pulse quickening as Gallus dropped to his knees in front of him, hands sliding up Enthir’s thighs.

“I would never.” He laced his fingers at the small of Enthir’s back, arms resting along his legs as he gazed upwards with that boyish smile he so often used to get his way.

Enthir cocked his head to the side, reaching down to brush a thumb across Gallus’s lower lip, tracing his fingers along the line of his jaw. “I could accept… services. In the interim. Think of it as a downpayment.”

Gallus’s pupils had blown wide, the hazel green of his eyes reduced to a thin ring. He smiled, placing a small kiss against the pad of Enthir’s thumb. Then he began to unbuckle Enthir’s belt.

It was a perfunctory blowjob—more business than anything else—but Enthir threaded his fingers through Gallus’s hair softly, indulgently, gripped the sides of his head as he bobbed on his cock. He closed his eyes, tipped his head back and let his mouth soften, groaning into the silence of his office, the only other sounds the slick suction of Gallus’s mouth as he worked. Gallus always swallowed, which was commendable. Left little to clean up. Enthir slid his thumb past Gallus’s lips after he’d pulled off, just to feel the soft heat of his tongue one last time, before leaning forward and kissing him firmly, tasting his own seed in the process.

“What did we learn?” he asked in a low growl.

“Hmm?” Gallus replied, eyes closed, a soft smile on his lips. “Sorry?”

“Cheeky fucking bastard,” Enthir laughed, gripping Gallus’s jaw tighter and pulling him up for another kiss.

#topsy writes #enthir/gallus #enthir #gallus desidenius #skyrim fanfiction #nsft #mildly raunchy #prompt fill

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possessable · 2 months

Text

sorry i heard song about character giving up their morals for what they perceive as ultimately the greater good and blacked out and then this existed

also it's might be obvious from context already but i'll explain it anyway because i like explaining things,

The version of Oas with the flames coming out of her face is the Visual Representation of Her Consciousness, it looks Like That because when she originally got infected and Deatais tried to contact her in a dream, her consciousness:

1. had a big hole in her face from The Fungus

2. was unconscious [ironic]

so he couldn't even dream-talk to her like normal and kind of just tried to heal her with magic , which caused orange light to burst from the hole in her face and now she kind of just has magic flames emanating from there at all times

#animatic #espialposting #characterOas #characterOlen #[sorry olen]#video

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imtryingmybeskar · 1 year

Text

Come Home Chapter Twelve

Joel Miller x F! Reader

Word count: 5755

Fluff, fluff and more fluff. With a little angst on the side. We finally get a small insight into what has been tormenting reader, along with Ellie behaving very strangely. And of course, it's the morning after the night before...

Spoiler for what Joel does for Ellie for her sixteenth birthday (as shown in TLOU 2). Its my favourite scene of either game and I can't wait to see Pedro and Bella bring it to life!

Come Home

Chapter Twelve - Dull The Pain

Music pounds so hard you can feel the vibrations in your chest. The neon-painted corridor you’re standing in is so tiny that condensation is running down the walls from the bodies packed tight together. There’s a queue. Why is there always a goddamn queue? You’d think by this point they’d design these places with twice as many stalls as urinals. You shuffle, tensing the muscles in your leg to distract from your bladder and then stand on tip toe, trying to see over the heads of the people ahead of you.

People…no, not people. Not anymore. No laughing. No chattering. No hopes or dreams. Just swaying, drunk on the chemicals of infection that the fungus is pushing. You walk among them and they do not attack, their skulls with their fungal-infested sockets merely turn to look at you impassively as you go, as if you're as dead as they are. You have to get out. But there is only one way through, one chance at salvation. The black doorway looms large. The door to the bathroom.

But then...it isn't. It's a different door. One that you keep your back to every second of every day. You try to stop your feet from moving forward but it's as if the fungus really is driving your motor functions and you have no control anymore. The music is gone, relegated to a time long dead, but your heart still jars with its pulse. The walls are blank now, a mysterious slate grey at the edges of the halo of your torchlight. You are alone, no infected to watch your progression and you feel a gaping loss for the poor company they provided.

The focused beam reflects off the metal bars of a medical cart on wheels, the grid reflection cast wide upon the wall behind it. Nothing of value remains inside, just scattered dusty records of patients who were lucky enough to live in a world where people cared enough to write down what ailed them.

Shattered windows with twinkling broken shards of glass teeth line one wall and inside...you can't bring yourself to look. The mural that your light sweeps against tells all. Smiling rabbits and squirrels and raccoons dance eternally as giant, gleeful toadstools oversee everything. The cots lie in haphazard rows under their collective gaze.

But worse, far worse awaits and some desperate part of you thinks that maybe if you don't put your gas mask on this time that the outcome will change. That the place, the portal you can now see at the end of the corridor will open out into sunny pastures and true peace. Your fingers betray you, slipping the constriction into place to protect your body even as your soul is screaming.

And in the black doorway at the end of the corridor, the too-large figure begins to emerge…

“Hey!”

You sit up, panting and sweating and breathing so hard you think you’re going to pass out.

“Hey.” The voice is gentler this time and you realise a big hand is resting on your arm, squeezing it slightly, leading you back to reality. Squinting against the morning light that spills around the blinds you follow the path of the hand, up an arm to see Joel sitting beside you with a look of concern on his face.

“You’re okay. Just a dream.”

“Yeah. Yeah…a dream,” you gasp. He sits in silence with you while your breathing returns to normal, then silently hands you a cup of coffee which you take with a wan smile.

“A man of your word I see, Miller. Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.” He picks up his own cup from where it rests on your bedside table and warms his hands around it. “Thought I’d let you sleep in. Maybe that was a mistake.”

“Nah, I appreciate it,” you say and you suddenly realise how husky your voice sounds from both the sleep and the aftereffects of the drink. You clear your throat. “It was just a bathroom dream.”

“Just?”

“There may have been infected also queuing for the bathroom.”

“Ah,” he nods sagely. “A classic.”

You huff a laugh and pull down a sip of the bitter, hot, steaming coffee.

“You okay?” The soft concern in his voice startles you and you blink up at him stupidly, head still feeling a little like cotton wool.

“Yeah…yeah I’m fine. There’s just…a recurring dream I also have which was kind of blending in to the bathroom dream. You woke me up before the best part of that for which I’m very grateful.”

He frowns and nods and the simple gestures tell you he knows exactly what you’re talking about.

“Guessin’ you don’t wanna talk about it.”

You shrug and open your mouth to say “Not really,” but what comes out instead is “I didn’t used to be like this.”

“None of us did.”

Your own desire to talk takes you by surprise and you don't know if its because you're still half asleep or because you know Joel will understand but you take a deep breath before plunging ahead.

“No I mean, of course the outbreak changed me. But even after that I didn’t used to be like this. I lost someone. He travelled with me to keep me safe on some stupid fucking goddamn mission I cooked up and…I lost him.” You draw your knees up to your chest and hold your coffee cup on top of your knee cap.

“And the worst part is that its not even what happened to him that gives me these fucking nightmares. I carried on. I went alone to do what I thought I had to do and-“ You break off and shake your head, then look up at Joel with a bitter smile.

“Doesn’t matter,” you say. “This is just the post-alcohol depression talking.” Another swig of scalding coffee helps to stabilise you. Sharing was one thing. Re-living was quite another.

Joel bites his lip as he stares into the black depths of his own coffee.

“I lost someone that way too.” His voice is so quiet you’re not even sure you heard him correctly. “When I first met Ellie. There were three of us at first and…she got bit in the process of protectin’ her.”

His jaw clenches in angry thought and you know that he too can’t forgive himself for his mistakes. For all of it. For any of it. Regardless of if it was his fault, it was his fault. So you don’t try to sympathise, don’t spout any platitudes. Instead you wordlessly slide your hand over his and squeeze it hard. His dark eyes flick to yours and bore into your skull and at that moment you know that you were wrong. He’s not a closed book, not at all. He walks with the weight of what this world has made of him every single moment. He carries it, clutches it to him like something precious because he doesn’t believe he deserves redemption, much less that anyone could redeem him. Something shifts in the air between you. An understanding settles like blossom on river rapids.

“But then there’s Ellie,” you whisper, and the trembling breath he releases tells you all you need to know.

“Then there’s Ellie,” he agrees, and you finish your coffees in comfortable silence, hanging on to one another’s hands for life itself.

After a shower and fresh clothes you feel much better, though your head is a little painful and the sun glaring off the snow outside is much too bright for your liking. Following a smell that makes your stomach rumble, you head downstairs to find Joel cooking.

“Eggs? I didn’t have any eggs.”

“I do. Or did,” he replies. “You look like you need ‘em.”

“Thanks,” you say in a sarcastic tone, though you genuinely are grateful for both the food and the thought. “I’ll have to make you guys dinner soon.”

“You don’t have to,” he corrects you. “This ain’t a transaction.”

“No, but…I want to,” you shrug. “I like having you and Ellie here.”

He gives that coy little smile again as he focuses his efforts on the pan and you feel your chest swell with affection. How can someone so rough around the edges be so…well…so damn cute?

“Take over will ya?” he asks. “I just gotta go to the bathroom.”

He departs and you resume pushing what will be scrambled egg around the pan. When you had first met Joel you would never have thought that you could be alike. He exuded danger and coiled menace, and you had seen that come to the fore when faced with the situation in the store. But every time you had opened up to him, he had reciprocated. Little by little, bit by bit, he was showing you other facets of himself and you found yourself more eager for that than you would necessarily like. He had trauma, everyone did. But his and yours seemed to stem from a similar place, at least in part. He understood the need to push away those things that you simply couldn’t deal with and he made no judgements. He understood that in order to survive you sometimes had to cut pieces away from the person that you had been and solder those wounds shut. He was so kind – to you and Ellie at least - but you didn’t doubt for a moment that he had been truthful when he said he was very different ten years ago. You wonder just what he and Ellie had gone through to bring about such a change.

A knock at the door jolts you from your reverie and you turn the eggs off and move the pan before going to answer it.

“Hey,” Ellie says, a nervous energy permeating her as she absent mindedly rubs her right arm. “Have you seen Joel? I don’t think he came home last night.”

“Oh, yeah,” you say, stepping back and gesturing for her to come in. “He’s-“

“Have you put a bookcase up against that door?” Joel’s voice rings out as the stomp of his boots comes down the stairs. “I mean that’s one way to deal with it I guess-oh! Hey, Ellie.”

Ellie’s eyes are wider than you’ve ever seen them, darting between you and Joel and a sly smirk begins to creep over her face.

“Before you say anything, no,” you say firmly.

“No what?” she asks innocently.

“You know what. No.”

“Hey, it’s none of my business what fogeys get up to when they’re alone!”

“Jesus Christ, Ellie,” Joel huffs as he joins you at the foot of the stairs, and you have your own moment of sneaking amusement at the fact that he looks quite flustered as he shakes his head in disapproval at her.

“Yes Joel, I put a bookcase against that door. Out of sight, out of mind, right?” you say, not taking your eyes off Ellie. “As for what we got up to-“

“Oh fuck! I don’t wanna know!” Ellie exclaims, suddenly horrified.

“-it involved very clothed sleeping. No touching, no kissing, no se-“

Ellie stuffs her fingers into her ears and walks off humming loudly before exclaiming “Can I have some of these eggs?!” as soon as she walks into the kitchen.

Joel and you exchange an amused glance and you notice a creeping redness up his neck before he goes off to portion what he has made on to plates.

What you had told her wasn’t strictly true. You had awoken sometime in the night to find yourself pressed in tight against Joel’s back, your arm thrown loosely around his hip and your cheek against the soft plaid of his shirt. He smelled even better this close – warm sleep musk mixed with an indefinable scent of comfort that was purely him and you had gently removed your arm and turned over before you got too enamoured of it.

He had other ideas, giving a deep, sleepy groan that shot straight to your core and then flipping over so he was on his side with his chest now pressed against your back and his arm thrown around your waist, his movements clumsy in his semi-conscious state. You had held yourself stiffly and hardly dared to breathe, wondering if it was intentional, if he wanted more. The gentle snores that came almost immediately told you no, and you relaxed back into his embrace, smiling drowsily as you fell back to sleep yourself. The next time you had awoken it had been to his hand on your arm and the relief that you wouldn’t have to relive yet another nightmare. You have no idea if he knew what had occurred, and you weren’t about to bring it up.

The morning passes in a haze of pleasant domesticity. While Joel goes back to his house to shower and change, you take Ellie into town to do some shopping and pick up eggs for both you and Joel, as well as some fruit, vegetables, rice and chicken. Next stop is the armoury. The bows and arrows that you had retrieved from the town had made you realise that it had been a while since you had practiced with that particular weapon, and you wanted to make sure your skills were up to par for the next planned sweep by a scouting party. Ellie sets up the targets in the yard outside, and you spend an hour being completely outmatched by her abilities, though you do get better under her tutelage as time goes on.

As you make your way back towards your respective houses, you get the impression she wants to talk to you. She’s dragging her feet a little through the stony slush on the ground, pensively looking down at them. You allow her time, and eventually your patience wins.

“So…you and Joel huh?” she says. Her voice is more timid than you’ve heard in a while, as though she’s scared of your answer.

“No," you laugh. "I meant what I said. Nothing happened between us. You know sometimes I’ve had…difficulties adjusting to life here. He helped me through one of them last night. Not like that,” you hasten to add, feeling heat rising in your face. “He just…he was kind to me.”

She nods, her face a little less anxious and a little more Ellie, a small smile creeping over her lips. “But at the dance…you guys were kinda close.”

“I was pretty drunk,” you admit. “He looked after me, made sure I didn’t make too much of an ass of myself and then helped me home. That’s all.”

“Do you like him?”

The direct nature of the question catches you off guard and you splutter a little in your reply. “Like him? I’m too old for that high school shit, Ellie.”

“I’m not hearing a ‘no’,” she shoots back in an irritating sing-song voice.

You sigh and try to collect your thoughts. “Of course I like him. He’s a good man. And he’s already helped me through a lot. So have you, come to that.”

“You know what I mean,” she presses.

“Ellie, I can’t think about shit like that,” you say, bluntly. “Much as I’d like to, it’s just not possible. I let myself get close to people and then they die. Chris…Jacob…A-Alex-“ The litany stops and so do you, squeezing your eyes tight against the memories that threaten to invade. You take a deep breath and open your eyes to look at the girl ahead of you. “It’s too hard.”

“And what if they don’t? Die I mean.”

You frown and try to make your next words as gentle as possible. “But everyone does. It’s just a matter of when.” Before she can formulate a reply, you carry on, trying to bring a levity back to the conversation as you continue walking. “I’m not taking your old man away from you, don’t worry.”

“Not what I’m worried about.” The reply is waspish and it takes you by surprise.

“Well then, what’s this all about?”

“Never mind. Just forget it.”

“Hey.” You stop again and gently touch her shoulder. “If there’s something bothering you and you don’t want to go to Joel you can talk to me. You know that.”

“Sure,” she says, nodding, but there is nothing else forthcoming and you walk the remainder of the journey in silence, wondering if you’ve somehow managed to already fuck up your friendship with her.

The afternoon is spent beginning to tackle the garage that came with the house. There’s not too much in there for which you’re grateful – some standard junk that you sort by usefulness. A pile for you, a pile to donate to the supplies in Jackson and stuff that you think should probably be thrown away. Then you clear the cobwebs and dust and sweep up as much as you can. The light is beginning to fade as you stand tall and stretch out your back. Maybe tonight you should use your bath as intended, though you’re not sure of the wisdom of using that much hot water in one go. Deciding to shower instead you open up the garage door to leave, but before you can you hear a flurry of raised voices from next door.

“Jesus, Joel. Can’t you just fucking leave it alone?”

“No, I can’t. Not when you’re bein’ pissy with me for no goddamn reason!”

You don’t want to hear this. You don’t want to intrude on anything so personal and you definitely don’t want to think about the possibility that you’re the reason for Ellie’s bad mood that she’s now taking out on Joel. As you exit the garage as quickly and quietly as you can you hear Joel’s voice again.

“Ellie? Where are you goin’? Ellie!” Then the distinct sound of Joel’s side gate slamming hard and his quiet curse of “Goddamnit!”

You creep up your back steps and your hand is on the door handle and about to turn it when –

“Uh. Hey.”

You close your eyes against the thought of the conversation that will follow, but turn and speak to Joel who is standing in his yard looking both angry and a little ashamed.

“Hey.”

“So…guessin’ you heard all that.”

“I wasn’t trying to, I swear,” you protest. “I was just finishing clearing out some of my garage and-"

He’s shaking his head. “Naw. S’ok. We musta been pretty loud. Not used to havin’ neighbours still I guess.” He rubs his hand on the back of his neck in an embarrassed sort of way.

“Are you okay?”

“Fine. I just…I don’t get that kid sometimes.”

You lean against the wooden railings of your porch and take hold of the top of it, feeling the paint crumble a little under your hands.

“But you do remember what it was like to be fifteen?”

He scoffs and folds his arms. “I guess.”

“I’m sure she’ll be fine. She just needs some time to work out whatever’s bothering her.” Joel nods, but his jaw is still set angrily and his eyes are faraway as he stares toward the place that she stormed away.

“I uh…” You grip the railing more firmly, anxiety swirling in your stomach at your imminent confession. “I think it might be my fault.”

Joel looks taken aback. “What, you guys have a fight or somethin’?”

“No…yes? I don’t know really.”

“Look, why don’t you come over? I don’t really wanna discuss this outside in the dark when I’m not wearin’ a coat.”

“Understandable. I’ll be right there.”

You remember to grab the eggs you had got for him before crossing to his side of the fence and knocking on his front door.

“Come on in,” he calls from inside.

You weren’t entirely sure what you had been expecting in Joel’s house, but the first impression that hits you is that this is a home. The hallway lies in front of you and opens up to his living room, along one entire wall of which is a huge, beautiful bookshelf, packed with ornaments, framed pictures, video cassettes, DVDs, books and magazines. His furniture actually matches – a brushed suede settee in beige with a reclining chair off to one side and a window seat also upholstered in the same, all with plump, welcoming cushions on them. He was correct in saying that it is more modern than your house, but not by much. It does, however, exude a charming middle class quality that is distinctly lacking in yours.

You don’t get a chance to be nosier than that before he’s calling you, and you follow the sound of his voice into the delicious warmth of his kitchen, which is fitted in shades of warm white wood, a large central unit in the middle of it all against which he is leaning, his back toward it and arms outstretched behind.

“Drink?” he offers.

“Tea?” you ask hopefully, and he nods and begins to prepare it.

“So what happened?”

What did happen? You don’t really have a good answer for him, so you start from the beginning.

“We did some shopping – here’s your eggs by the way – and then we practiced some archery. Well, I practiced, she told me where I was going wrong. And then on the way home she seemed to have something on her mind and when I tried to talk to her about it she just shut down.”

“Any idea what it was about?” his voice is full of concern and you realise you can’t keep the details from him, no matter how much it might embarrass you.

“Well she…she asked about us.” He raises a questioning eyebrow at you and you plunge ahead. “ ‘You and Joel huh?’ were her exact words. I told her again that nothing like that had happened last night. And then she asked-well she asked if I liked you. I said of course I did, you’ve been nothing but kind and generous to me. Both of you. But she meant…well, you know. And when I said that I can’t think of that kind of stuff because…well because of the past, she just shut down.”

“Hmm,” Joel says, his back to you as he grabs two cups and places them on the counter. “Anythin’ else?”

“I told her...I told her everyone dies,” you blurt out. “And that’s why I can’t get close to anyone. I thought…I thought that being who she is and living the life she has that she would understand that. But maybe…she’s so young. Maybe I shouldn’t have been so blunt about it. And I said-“ You take a deep breath before continuing. “I said that I wasn’t going to be taking you away from her and she said she wasn’t worried about that and that’s when she stopped talking completely. I’m sorry if I overstepped. Or if I was insensitive.”

He continues to make the tea in silence, his back to you and your anxiety moves even harder through your veins.

“Joel? Did I…did I fuck up?”

He sighs before turning to you and handing you a steaming cup that smells wonderfully of apple and winter spices.

“No, I don’t think you did. Comin’ to Jackson has been an adjustment. Well, you know yourself…Sometimes she confuses the hell outta me and I just wonder if I’m too old to be raisin’ a teenager. Especially now. What the fuck do I know about what she’s goin’ through?”

“Well,” you say slowly, picking your words carefully so as not to betray any of Ellie’s confidences. “I never raised a teenager. Or any kids for that matter.” You stop, take a breath, get a firm grip on yourself. “But you know some of what she’s been through because you lived it too. Its hard…now you’re safe. The stuff you couldn’t allow yourself to feel, it starts to come through anyway no matter how much you might not want it to. And so much stuff is so much more important at her age. Being liked by her peers. Finding out who she is. That’s all still there but we got to do it in high school. I’m not saying high school was great, but there were things you took for granted y’know. There were lots of people to bounce off and figure shit out. She has to find her own way. I guess…all you can do is always be there for her.”

Joel nods slowly, seeming to absorb your words. “I will,” is all he says firmly before taking a sip of tea.

You relocate to the living room, where you carefully put your steaming cup on a coaster on the table while Joel lights the gas fire that sits under an ornamental mantelpiece.

“Ooooh fancy,” you tease.

“I actually prefer yours,” he says, collapsing onto the soft cushions with a slight groan on the other side of the couch from you. “Nothin, like an open fire.”

“Your house is beautiful,” you say, looking around and taking it in again. “Guess this is what you get when your sister-in-law runs the joint.”

He grins softly. “Ellie chose it.” His face suddenly clouds. “You think I should go after her? I’m kinda worried. She has a history of…runnin’ off.”

“If you want to,” you reply gently. “And I’ll help if you want that too. But if you find her before she wants to be found, would it make things worse? I mean…you don’t think she’s gone out out, do you?”

Both of you look outside simultaneously, your eyes drawn to the darkness beyond the windows by the horrific notion.

“I’m goin’ to the stables,” Joel says as he puts his own tea on the table and stands, the firmness of his voice still not enough to quell the faint note of panic you can hear underneath.

“I’ll go look around town,” you say, standing too and grabbing your coat from where it lay on the back of the couch.

Before either of you get any further, you hear a scuffling on the porch and then the sound of the door opening. Joel moves quickly into the hall and his relieved sigh of “Ellie,” is enough to make your stomach untwist itself. Faint murmuring reaches your ears and you debate sneaking out of the back door to give them the time they need together. You don’t get a chance to make a move before Ellie is coming around the corner, looking at the floor slightly shamefaced and twisting her fingers together.

“Hey,” you greet her. “I was just gonna go. Sorry to interrupt-“

“No, no,” she says, “Its…its cool. Stay.” Joel nods his agreement behind her and you take your coat off again. A slightly awkward silence falls between the three of you before Ellie ventures, “So…you guys wanna play cards?”

The peace offering is taken up and the evening ends up as so many of them have recently, with stupid jokes and playful teasing and smiles all around. After Ellie beats you and Joel for the third time in a row, the crowing becomes almost unbearable and to make it stop you offer her something you know she won’t be able to refuse.

“Hey, Ellie?”

She gives a tiny delicate cough. “I think you know that’s not my name right now,” she says somehow managing to sound both prim and full of glee.

“Fine! Supreme Queen of Go Fish and Jackson in general-“

“Yes, peasant loser? What can your Queen do for you?”

“You want your Christmas present a little early?”

All pretence drops from her as she sits forward eagerly. “You got me a present?”

“Sure did. And Joel said he’d be more than willing to help you use them.”

Ellie says “Them?” as Joel says “What now?” and you laugh as you rush out of the house to collect the skates. You place them into one of the many boxes that you had emptied out of the garage this afternoon and inwardly curse your impulsivity and bemoan the fact that you hadn’t made it look nicer for her before heading back to Joel’s.

“Thank you,” she breathes as you hand her the box, her eyes bright with excitement. When she opens them, her face falls just for a second. “Oh! Thank you. But I-uh-I don’t know how to skate.”

“Well I thought I could teach you,” you smile. “Or Joel can. He’s not half bad when he’s not falling on his ass.”

Joel covers his eyes with his hand as Ellie giggles. “I ask you to keep one goddamn secret,” he jokes.

“Yeah, I’d like to learn,” Ellie says happily. “Is this where you went earlier in the week when you were “scouting”?”

“I got these from when we actually did go on patrol through that town. But earlier in the week we were scouting, just not for supplies. There’s a good lake not far from here. It’s safe, the ice is thick enough. Tested and approved by Joel’s ass and my knees.”

“One time! I fell one time!” Joel protests. “Pretty good considerin’ I haven’t skated in almost thirty years!”

“This is so cool! Thanks,” Ellie smiles happily. She stands, clutching the box to her chest. “Well, I’m gonna leave as the undefeated Queen and turn in.”

“Chicken,” teases Joel.

“I am making a tactical retreat,” she replies haughtily. “G'night, fogies!”

Joel grins fondly after her as she departs. “Night, Ellie.”

You wait until you hear the door close softly behind her before asking what you want to.

“She okay?”

“She’s fine,” Joel reassures you. “Just needed some time. And while we’re still on the subject of gift givin’ I have a favour to ask you.”

“Sure, what do you need?”

“It’s Ellie’s sixteenth in April. Now I got an idea of what I wanna do for her, but I’m gonna need your help. I’m plannin’ to take her to a museum. Its a few days ride out."

“What museum?”

The Wyoming Museum of Science and History. She loves space, thought I’d take her to see the exhibits if there are any left. But it won’t be much of a birthday if we’re fightin’ off infected every step of the way. I need your help to check it out, clear a path to it. You up for it?”

“Damn straight,” you say with a smile. “I love a museum. And no one can tell me not to touch anything now!”

Joel relaxes back into the couch, a relieved smile on his face. “Thanks. I was gonna ask Tommy originally, but he’s got so much shit to do with the dam that I woulda felt bad takin’ him away from it.”

“Not a problem. Might be fun. Apart from the possible infected. When do we go?”

“Not for a while. Not till the weather gets a little better. We’d need to go partway anyway, sweep those areas once the snow clears and make sure it’s all okay.”

“Sounds like a plan.” You drain the remnants of your tea and then stand. “I better get going too. Otherwise she’s gonna think there really is something going on between us.”

“Before you do, just…hold on a sec, okay?”

Joel springs up from the couch and retrieves a small parcel wrapped in brown paper from one of the shelves on the bookcase. He hands it to you with a smile.

“Since you’ve decided we’re doin’ Christmas presents early.”

Your mouth falls open in shock. “Oh shit, Joel no. I didn’t get you anything. I mean, you’re more than welcome to pick through the stuff I found in the garage, but unless you REALLY like old copies of classic car magazines you might be shit outta luck.”

“Its okay. Honestly, sharin’ your coffee has been more than enough. Well go on. Open it.”

A rush of warmth and excitement trills through you. The presents you and Chris had managed to exchange each year had been tokens at best. This felt like...well it felt like-

You gasp as you unwrap the book to find a beautifully embossed book of John Keats poetry in your hands. Your eyes rove over the cover, not quite comprehending that you actually had a copy in your hands and more, that Joel had given you something so precious and meaningful.

“Ellie said he was your favourite.” His gravelly voice breaks into your shock and you manage to nod at him, your eyes suddenly watery.

“Thank you. So much. This is…this is incredible.” You skim through the pages, to find them barely touched by the ravages of time. Even the cover is only mildly battered. “Where did you even get this?”

“I might’ve been on a sweep with Tommy and we may have come across a bookstore. I got me some more Game of Thrones books too, don’t you worry.”

You laugh, but it sounds like half a sob and half a hiccup when you do.

“Thank you,” you whisper again, managing to tear your eyes away from the book to look at him instead.

“You’re welcome,” he says softly.

He walks you down the hall to the door and when he opens it, instead of stepping through immediately you move forward to hug him, your arms barely able to circle the breadth of his shoulders. You feel him tense at the contact, but before you can pull away and apologise you feel his arms come tentatively around your back, holding you a little closer. His beard is prickly against your upper cheek, his muscles hard under your hands, his scent once again filling your nose and before you allow yourself to get dragged too deeply into that undertow you pull back.

“Goodnight, Joel.”

“Goodnight,” he smiles softly, dimple winking in his cheek.

The short walk back to your house feels like you’re walking on air. The thoughtfulness and beauty of the gift is unparalleled, the emotions spiralling uncontrollably from you are all blissfully good. Tonight, the tub is just that and you barely even contemplate getting in before heading toward the soft welcome of your bed. You lie there for a moment, thinking about the warmth of Joel's hands on your back and the soft light in his eyes when he saw your joy at his gift. You turn over to hug the pillow that his head had laid on, wrapped in his comforting scent and smiling into the darkness.

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