#probably was the milk duds

[voltstone]

…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)

[vasfasan]

everytime i watch 6x12...

i’m reminded of 6x01...

[death-rebirth-senshi]

*Joker voice* You bring up breeding that man, nobody bats an eyelash. But you mention mpreg, and suddenly-

[king-crawler]

The scene where Ralph meets King Candy for the first time is one of the most interesting ones on a rewatch because you already know who King Candy is pretending Not to be. The way Ralph behaves is interesting too. (I’m studying these little 1kb game characters under a microscope)

Below the cut is a LONG scene/character analysis (~6min read?)

First off. King Candy’s mere Entrance in this scene already characterizes him a ton and he hasn’t even said anything yet. He speeds obnoxiously around Ralph in his little go-kart BLARING HIS HORN. This immediately gives off the impression of: Very in your face. Very full of himself. And Very Annoying About It. (sir.. your Turbo is showing)

BUT THE DIALOGUE. JUST THIS SINGLE INTERACTION:

(Ralph Face Reveal While Screaming)

“Milk my duds! it’s Wreck-it Ralph??”

“Yeah...? And who are you, the guy who makes the donuts?”

“Hoohoo, please- No! I’m King Candy!”

I love this interaction because King Candy INSTANTLY knows who Ralph is. And from Ralph’s perspective that’s… weird.

Ralph is probably a little confused. Given how he answers “yeah?” He doesn’t just straight up ask “How do you know who I am” because he’s currently being interrogated (Probably Not a Good Time) Also that recognition is something he rarely receives in the first place, so why from this guy…? So instead he asks: Well who are you supposed to be?

WELL FIRST OF ALL. HE KNOWS WHO RALPH IS BECAUSE TURBO’S GAME CABINET SAT NEXT TO HIS FOR YEARS. Which is why King Candy is so surprised - he’s probably seeing him for the first time in decades.

“Hoohoo, please- No! I’m King Candy!”

I also love how he nervously laughs at first before responding with “No!” In that particular way- simply laughing it off before being Rather Quick to reject Ralph’s proposal that he could possibly be someone else. Interesting .

But it’s the way he says “I’m King Candy!” That carries so much implication. His pose and smile, the perfect inflection in his voice- it’s theatrical, it’s like he’s rehearsed it. It’s almost like he’s trying to convince Ralph that he’s really who he says he is with the best performance possible. He’s been doing that for years and by this point he’s totally mastered it. Nobody suspects a thing. (For now……)

—————————— Skipping forward a little, Ralph explains that he got a medal from Hero's Duty.

"Your medal? (giggles) Bad guys don't win medals!"

"Well, this one did. I earned it over in... Hero's Duty"

"You game-jumped?? Ralph... You're not going Turbo, are you?"

"What? No no no no no..."

"Because i-if you think you can come in here- (laughs nervously) to MY kingdom, and take over MY GAME, YOU'VE GOT ANOTHER THING COMING!"

THERE IS A LOT TO UNPACK HERE.

First off we'll focus on Ralph. The way he admits it... He knows it sounds bad. He breaks eye contact and hesitates before saying "Hero's Duty." Probably because he knows what King Candy is gonna retort with. But he still says "I earned it" not only because he doesn't want to incriminate himself, but because he believes it. He did earn it... right? And then Ralph tries to brush off the suggestion that he's going Turbo before being interrupted by King candy's rampant tantrum. (WHICH I WILL GET TO.)

At this point, Ralph is becoming less confident that he earned his medal because he's in denial about “going Turbo.” His confidence wavers here especially because he's in the presence of this apparent authority figure whose trying to guilt and incriminate him. (And this is a situation he's already all too familiar with- think of how Surge Protector always halts him when going into games just because he's a bad guy.)

But there's still one major thing keeping this denial intact: He wants to hold onto the fact he deserves his medal so bad. Others have hurt him for so long, he thinks getting that medal alone means he'll finally be respected, praised, and loved.

"Is it Turbo to want a friend? Or a medal? Or a piece of pie every once in a while? Is it Turbo to want more out of life?"

(I know that’s literally the Conflict of the Movie. BUT ITS WORTH MENTIONING OKAY I LOVE RALPH’S CHARACTER LEAVE ME ALONE)

I think the fact you can gather all this info just from the way he's portrayed during this SINGLE INTERACTION- its amazing. Amazing character writing is when when nearly every action a character does reinforces their motivations or personality and you're able to SEE IT!!

——————————

Now to focus on King Candy again… this FUCKER‼️

First off, him mentioning Turbo Isn’t even that suspicious at this point in the film… well… at first glance at least.

At first it seems like everyone knows who Turbo is. Ralph is questioned at Bad-Anon, Q*bert tells Felix and the nicelanders freak out- everyone who’s been around for a while knows who this guy is. But if you think about it… isn’t Sugar Rush a newer game? Not as new as Hero’s Duty, but it’s still a little odd that King Candy would know who Turbo is ON TOP of knowing Ralph. Just a little.

"You game-jumped?? Ralph... You're not going Turbo, are you?"

Ok but Seriously. That Part. The pure irony of King candy saying THAT a threat against Ralph in an attempt to incriminate him. The way he says it too... He breaks eye contact and glances to the floor like it’s something forbidden to even mention. His accompanied hand movements too (and King Candy speaks with his hands A Lot) they move like he’s describing a ghost story. He’s obviously trying to scare Ralph… trying to scare him into admitting something.

This is... a lot. Maybe even some level of self projecting...? Cuz MAN. that is too deep for me to even start getting into

But the fact that his OWN NAME (a SECRET IDENTITY MIND YOU) has become so infamous that now HE’S WEAPONIZING IT?!? IS INSANE??? Can you Imagine his thought process. Like how far gone into the deep end is he.

(SORRY FOR NOT USING MY OWN WORDS. BUT I JUST ADORE HOW @simpingforcys PUT IT HERE. …..)

THIS. this is so good. And the way King Candy eludes to “Turbo” as some kind of monster. Could that be offering him like. A Brief moment of catharsis. Or fuel some twisted sense of pride. What the FUCK is going on in this SICKO’S HEAD !!!!! I NEED TO KNOW!!!!

"Because i-if you think you can come in here- (laughs nervously) to MY kingdom, and take over MY GAME, YOU'VE GOT ANOTHER THING COMING!"

SECOND!!!!!! King Candy gets SO defensive SO FAST. That man jumps to conclusions IMMEDIATELY!!! He essentially throws a tantrum while stepping closer to Ralph, stumbling over his words and giggling nervously. The mere thought of there being ANY threat of someone else taking over "his game" riles him up SO BAD.

This is the same EXACT SAME TEMPER that made him storm into Roadblasters as Turbo years ago, because he saw Roadblasters as a direct threat to his own game's popularity - HIS popularity!!!! Because getting exposure- infamous or otherwise- is the ONLY thing that drives him. (Pun intended. Sorry.)

And the way he repeats “MY” kingdom “MY” game… mine mine mine mine mine mine mine mine mine. Are you done with your tantrum old man.

——————————

Wow. Anyways I think that’s enough for now. And that was in response to only a minute of content. (Oh dear.)

[cregan-starks]

15 questions for 15 friends

tagged by: @carmybcrzatto and @roostersrocket tysm, darlings!! 💞

Are you named after anyone? Technically, no, but my father's grandmother had the same (first) name.

When was the last time you cried? A few days ago lol.

Do you have kids? No, and I don't want any.

What sports do you play/have you played? As a kid, I played tennis, I did ballet, and I took swimming classes. Nowadays, I play badminton occasionally. Looove badminton.

Do you do sarcasm? Yeah, probably too much sometimes.

What is the first thing you notice about a person? Their face.

What's your eye color? Green.

Scary movies or happy endings? Bittersweet endings.

Any talents? Does rambling about random topics count?

Where were you born? Romania.

What are your hobbies? Reading, writing, listening to music, doing legos and puzzles, looking after my pets, watching movies and shows, learning Spanish.

How tall are you? 157 cm/5'2.

Favorite subject in school? None.

Dream jobs? I don't dream of labor.

no pressure tags: @axreliono @shewhomustbecalledking @aemondtargaryen @fairysluna @sylasthegrim @moonlight-prose @maevemills @camiladnne @lateasalways @pedropcl @lavendertales @nocturnal-milk-dud @agirllovespancakes @rocketraccoot @pedropascalsx @acourtofsnakes @mandaloresson @mitchi-c @themangolorian @buttercup--bee

[sadie-bug345]

the gang movie night if you haven't already?? or maybe how they'd play mario kart as well

gang movie nightttt let’s go🫶🤪

snacks consist of slightly burnt popcorn, milk duds, sour candies, and sodas/beers

honestly goated selection cause darry went shopping just for this occasion

my guy has tasteee

anyways they all fight over spots

two is right next to the tv

darrys just in a rocking chair (bouta fall asleep three minutes in checkkk🤩)

steve and soda are sitting on the ground, leaning against the front of the couch

dally johnny and pony all share the couch

dallys the biggest blanket AND snack hog 🙄

eventually the gang gets fed up and moves the snacks all the way away from him and he’s just like “UGH fine whatever idc😾😠”

johnny suggests a scary movie and everyone fights over it until two bits like “you guys are a bunch of babies” and everyone’s ego just forces them to shut up about it and watch the damn thing

soda and steve exaggeratedly scream whenever there’s a jumpscare

darry has CLOCKED OUT bro is either asleep or just disassociating in the corner

pony and johnny are struggling but getting thru it ✊😔

dally is like “this sucks this isn’t even scary” but then after the movie two keeps making sudden movements to scare dal and it works cause bro was so tense thru the WHOLE THING

my man was fighting for his mental stability during that movie😭😭😭

ANYWAYS everyone just lowk falls asleep on the couch or on the ground LMAO afterwards💀

TYSMMMM to the person who requested this! the mario kart hcs are here: 👇

please feel free to request anything you’d like!!

[dwobbitfromtheshire]

I'm safe. We only lost power, but it's back now, and there's no damage. Thank God for Milk Duds. Oh yeah, I should probably explain that. When I was younger and we had to evacuate for a hurricane, we left the words Milk Duds up on the whiteboard. When we came back, everything was intact, and my dad made a joke about maybe it was Milk Duds who saved us. Ever since then, it has become a tradition to write down milk duds whenever there was a hurricane. Oddly enough, it works. It's silly, I know, but it's our tradition. 🥰

[rainbow-nerdss]

Vaguely inspired by the first half of this post

We have absolutely nothing in common," they said. 

"He's a metalhead!"

"He's a preppy rich kid!" 

"He plays d&d"

"He plays sports" 

"He's a total nerd"

"He wears polos, for fuck sake" 

Dustin listened to them and rolled his eyes. Ever since he'd learned the real reason Steve and robin didn't date, since Steve had come out as bi and since everyone else finally figured out Eddie was gay, Dustin had been matchmaking again. He'd expected it to be easier, honestly. They were perfect for each other, if they'd only open their eyes and look beneath the surface. 

He watched them deny they had anything in common in one breath, then turn around and be the exact same brand of grumpy in the morning, refuse to eat toast unless there's a pool of butter in the middle of the slice, moan about him and the other kids for the same reasons while routinely putting them first, laugh at the same jokes, eat the same junk food, drive with the same road rage and care the same way. 

They were meant to be together, and Dustin just needed them to see it.

He whined about it to Robin, who agreed but reminded him of another thing they have in common.

"You know, the harder you try to push them together, the more they're going to deny it." 

She was right, of course. Dustin realised now that even if she hadn't been gay, her and Steve would never have worked. Though they looked like they'd be perfect on the surface, she was far too sensible for Steve. 

Steve needed to be with someone as dumb as he was, as ignorant to their own feelings. 

Steve needed to be with Eddie. 

"You ever heard of something called reverse psychology?" He asked Robin. 

"I'm not a part of this," she insisted, but Dustin could tell by her smirk that she was on the same page. 

Or at least that's what he chose to believe. 

"You're right, Steve," Dustin said while Steve was driving him to hellfire. "You and Eddie really don't have anything in common. He never lets me mess with the volume control in his van."

He reached out and turned the radio up, then smiled to himself as Steve struggled between letting Dustin mess with his stereo, or admitting he had something in common with Eddie. 

"Steve is definitely your polar opposite, Eddie," Dustin whispered just before the Hellfire session kicked off." He keeps candy in his glove box because he likes to snack on the go. Weirdo." 

Eddie subtly moved the box of Milk Duds which were behind his DM screen into his bag on the floor. 

"Right, this is what I've been saying! Guy's a weirdo," Eddie bluffed. 

Dustin rolled his eyes. Idiots, the pair of them.

He dropped more hints. Steve’s favourite soda, which happened to also be Eddie's. The weird way Eddie eats lasagna (layer by layer, exactly the way Steve's mom used to yell at him for doing when he was little). He even bought them coffee once, handing them each a cup and letting them take a sip before "realising" he'd handed them the "wrong cup". The cups were identical, of course, because they both took their coffees with the same obscene amount of sugar.

That time, Dustin noticed a look pass between them. Progress, at last.

Then he idly mentioned eating pizza for dinner, knowing that it would make them both crave pizza, both go to order from that place on the corner of main street and collect it in person because they both hated the way the delivery that worked on Thursdays sometimes carried the box at a weird angle so the cheese started to slide off. 

They'd both order a large pepperoni with extra cheese, and Dustin was sure it would work this time.

Dustin knew it was probably creepy, but he watched from across the street. 

Steve got there first. He parked his car, then hopped out onto the street. He locked the door, twirled the keys around his fingers, and put them in his pocket. He whistled a familiar song to himself as he walked to the door of the pizza joint — Belinda Carlisle.

Eddie pulled up two minutes later, like clockwork. He parked his van right next to Steve's. Hopped out, locked up, twirled the keys, whistled — Dio this time, not Belinda Carlisle. 

Dustin watched. Surely they'd interact. Surely they'd acknowledge the coincidence, recognise they had this in common, realise Dustin had been right all along.

Steve left the restaurant with the pizza box balanced against his left hip. He took his keys out of his pocket, put the pizza in the passenger seat and walked around to the driver's side. He leaned over, opened the box, and inhaled.

Eddie walked out, carrying his own pizza exactly the same way.

Steve took out a slice and started to eat it, while Eddie put his pizza in the passenger seat.

Steve finished the slice as Eddie got in the driver's side and smelled his pizza.

Steve drove away as Eddie took out a slice of the pizza and started eating it.

Neither of them acknowledged the other. It was like it was choreographed, but they didn't acknowledge each other's presence at all.

Dustin should have known subtlety wouldn't work on them. He was going to have to rethink his strategy again.

[riverdale-retread]

If Riverdale was going to make a trauma dump candy salad, in your opinion what would they say and what candy would they bring???? If you’ve already answered this question before feel free to ignore this!

This is a fun ask because I think given the extremely weird way these people grew up, what Riverdalians think they are traumatized by, as opposed to what most viewers would think, might be quite far apart.

Jughead would say, This teacher that I thought was going to be my new father figure, my new writing mentor, and someone who recognized my talent to give me guidance into gain entry to a stable middle class life committed suicide by defenestration in front of me in the middle of class. He'd bring KitKats for the sounds of breaking.

Cheryl would say, There was a rat who ate itself into and then back out of the abdomen of my beloved Jason's corpse and all I did was scream. Like, she processed a lot about his death, over and over, and even killed him herself once, but that rat defeated her for real. She'd bring Reese's peanut butter cup for the gooey insides.

Veronica would say, New York City didn't work out for me. She didn't actually ever want to be in Riverdale. She kept yearning for NYC. She wanted to go to Columbia and eventually went to Barnard. She pursued very NYC things, including a very NYC banker type man, and yet it just didn't work. She'd bring a York Peppermint Patty.

Archie would say, I got branded while I was strapped down half naked in a prison. Like, he fought the bear, you know? He fought the bullies in juvie. He fought the enemy in war. He fought Hiram Lodge. He even fights Jughead, later. But the branding? That was helplessness personified. 3 Musketeers because he felt so alone that day.

Kevin would say, I've failed at every relationship I've ever had, including the time I gave an actual demon head. He'd bring Twix because he's always looking for that double, that soulmate, and can't find him.

Betty would say, Yale rejected me, at first. I mean, they allegedly rejected her because of the whole Black Hood's daughter thing, and after Jughead lost his spot they gave it to Betty, but she probably takes that initial rejection to heart, you see, because she was so confident she would absolutely get into Yale that she didn't even apply to any other college. She'd bring Milk Duds for the pun effect.

This is because by the way, Betty has too many fucking traumas that are unspeakable. So Betty would do what Betty does and lie.

Reggie wouldn't say anything, but he'd bring Skittles. Just cuz. To give it all a bit of color.

[mmmichyyy]

a.u.gust 2023 - day 4: teacher(s)

1.5k words of shop teacher!mickey & school nurse!ian @gallavichthings 🖤 posted on ao3 too!

Faculty meetings are–in Mickey’s opinion–the bane of his entire existence. Completely unnecessary, redundant, a total bore. Just send it in an email for god’s sake. Especially when the meetings are scheduled at the ungodly hour of eight on Monday mornings, an entire half an hour before he usually arrives at school. Well, twenty-nine minutes, to be exact - if the first class starts at eight-thirty and it takes him a minute to rush from the parking lot to the shop classroom, then he’ll show up right as the bell rings, not a minute more.

Except the new bright-eyed and bushy-tailed principal went to some new-age educational conference over the summer and came back brimming with ideas of bonding and connecting amongst faculty members. How important it was to foster a community and create an open forum and a safe space for communication–her words, not Mickey’s. 

As if any of the underpaid teachers give a flying fuck about any of that. None of them would've gone to the first meeting and continued to attend week after week without the bribe of free bagels and the not-so-subtle suggestion of possibly taking away the one good vending machine from the teacher’s lounge. The threat of losing easily accessible corn nuts and milk duds really was the reason why every person working at this underfunded Southside high school had to suffer through thirty minutes of mandatory torture every week. 

Mickey worked there for two years and never laid eyes on half the staff at the school or knew anyone’s name until these meetings. He stays in the shop classroom all day, makes sure none of the students drill a hole through their hand or cut themselves on a hacksaw, then goes home. But now, everyone from the basketball coach to the art teacher to even the goddamn janitor had to attend and endure the principal babbling about upcoming school events and ways to improve the school–like time and resources aren’t already limited as it is. 

What a colossal waste of time, Mickey grumbles to himself, as he strolls through the main doors of the school after smashing snooze multiple times on his alarm clock and begrudgingly getting his ass out of bed. 

At least his on-the-fritz coffee machine decided to work today, or else he may be prone to commit murder without caffeine this early in his system. 

But to Mickey’s luck, he doesn’t get two steps into the foyer before slipping on an invisible wet patch on the linoleum floor, crashing forward into what his mind registers for a split-second as a moving wall, which he practically bounces off of, if it's even possible to bounce off a solid surface. The impact causes him to stumble backwards and nearly collide against the glass trophy display case. 

“Fu– watch where you’re going!” 

“Oh shit, are you okay??” 

Mickey rolls his shoulders with a groan. Just as he’s about to unleash hell, he looks up to a pair of worried green eyes staring right at him. Turns out the walls aren’t out to get him - not this time at least - it’s a person. Not just any person, a man who is built like a fucking brick barricade with a firm taut body and fierce red hair that nearly causes Mickey’s jaw to drop in surprise.

“Uh…” Words. What are words? He didn’t hit his head, did he? Why can’t his mind form coherent thoughts?

Unaware of Mickey’s temporary brain daze, the redhead continues to ramble in an apologetic voice, “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have been blocking the entrance, it’s my first day and I’m a bit lost–”

“It’s fine,” Mickey mumbles, cutting the guy off. Not that he cares if he’s late to the faculty meeting, but he needs to not be here right now. But before he can make a quick exit–

“Do you know where the teacher’s lounge is?” 

Huh. A new teacher. With a body like that? Probably another meathead coach, Mickey thinks. To save his ego from continuing to make a fool of himself, Mickey wordlessly nods towards the east hallway, silently signalling the man to follow him. The man does, a bit too enthusiastically, much to Mickey’s chagrin.

Mickey hopes Clifford the Big Red Dog isn’t a talker. The teacher’s lounge is at the end of the hall around the corner and there’s only so much conversation Mickey can handle early in the morning. Especially after sustaining a possible phantom head injury. Especially after almost falling flat on his face in front of someone who looks like that.

But you know what they say about hope - it breeds eternal misery.

“Never thought I’d be back at high school,” the man chuckles. “But I saw the job posting online and thought, what the hell? Might be fun.”

Fun is definitely not the word Mickey would use to describe working at a high school. The very high school he dropped out from, actually. Life has a twisted sense of humour sometimes, but he’s made his peace with his current reality a long time ago.

“Are you a teacher here?” the man presses on.

Mickey grunts as a response. Quickens his pace, but the man doesn’t take the hint.

“What do you teach?” 

Only a few steps left... 

“Shop class.”

“Oh cool! I’m the new–” 

“There you are, Mr. Milkovich.” Ms. Tinsley, the principal, peeks her head out of the door to the teacher’s lounge. Looks behind Mickey and beams. “And Mr. Gallagher! I’m glad you’re here, I was starting to worry you might’ve gotten lost.”

Gallagher? Mickey furrows his brows. The name sounds vaguely familiar, but then again - half the Irish population in Chicago probably has the same last name. 

“I was, but then I bumped into Mr. Milkovich here and he led the way.” Gallagher flashes Mickey a grin, and Mickey tries to ignore the somersault flip inside his chest. “Hope I’m not too late.”

Ms. Tinsley shakes her head. “You’re just in time, I was just about to start the meeting.” She turns to Mickey. “Mr. Gallagher here is replacing Mrs. Farris since she’s gone into early retirement. Fell down the stairs and broke her hip, the poor thing. ” 

Retirement? Mickey doesn’t remember seeing any of the sports coaches being geriatric enough to retire. Or maybe he’s not paying enough attention to the stupid faculty meetings.

Seeing the confusion on his face, Ms. Tinsley adds, “Mrs. Farris, the school nurse.” 

A lightbulb clicks in Mickey’s head. Must’ve been the grouchy old woman with the Q-tip head and a permanent scowl on her face he used to see roaming the halls. He just assumed it was someone’s grandma who had gotten loose from the senior home and got her rocks off yelling at anyone in her way. Did the old bat fall down the stairs or was she pushed? The latter seems more plausible.

“Anyway,” Ms. Tinsley continues, “Mr. Gallagher here will be taking over as the new school nurse. I might get him to teach a couple health classes too, god knows these crazy kids need proper sex health education!” Both she and Gallagher laugh while Mickey cringes.

“I’d be glad to,” Gallagher replies with a smile. Glances at Mickey out of the corner of his eye. “Sex education is very important.”

No. Not today. Nope. Mickey slips past the principal through the door and quickly plops down on his usual seat in the back corner, silently praying the heat he feels under his skin isn’t reflective of how red his cheeks are. What the hell has gotten into him? 

And because the universe is fucking with him, the only empty seat left is directly beside him. Mickey stares straight ahead and pointedly avoids Gallagher’s gaze as the principal starts the meeting.

“First thing on the agenda: the school bake sale! Who wants to volunteer?”

“Hey,” Gallagher whispers in a low voice, so only Mickey can hear him above the surrounding chatter, “my first name’s Ian by the way.” Leans in close, hot breath fanning Mickey’s ear, sending a shiver down Mickey’s spine. “Maybe you can show me around sometime?”

Mickey should ignore him. Ian. Pretend to be fascinated by fundraisers or pep rallies or whatever the fuck Ms. Tinsley is droning on about. Definitely not focus on the hopeful tone in his voice. Tell Ian to fuck off and leave him alone, like everyone else in the school has learned to do.

But maybe Mickey woke up on the wrong side of the bed today. Or the right one? Or he’s in an alternate reality? Or maybe someone drugged his coffee this morning? 

Or maybe it’s his lucky day?

Because against his better judgement, Mickey angles his head to the side. Pretends to be nonchalant and shrugs in agreement. Tries to bite down his own smile from seeing the way Ian’s face entirely lights up, all eager and warm and full of light.

Maybe eternal misery isn’t the only outcome to spring from hope.

[proceduralpassion]

Depth Over Distance

Prompt: Day 1 Of Narcoctober - Create a fanwork about a canon character you’ve never written about/used before

Characters: Mika Camarena x Brother!OC (Michael Luna)

CW: language, discussions of grief/death

WC: ~2.2K

A/N: Hiiii friends, my first Mika fic! Credit to @nocturnal-milk-dud for the pic above. Also, if you've read my IWBSS series, you're probably already familiar with my OC Michael Luna, who's actually Mika's older brother. Had so much fun writing their sibling dynamic and a little insight into how Michael winds up in Colombia. Hope you enjoy 💖

“Just the person I wanted to see.” 

“Michael!” Mika exclaimed in both surprise and excitement. It’d been a while since she’d seen her older brother, a steady presence in her life for as long as she could remember. His position as an agent for the Mexico Interpol field office kept him busy, but that wasn’t why he’d been keeping his distance. 

The two of them basked in their hug before taking a seat next to one another and looking out at the baseball practice field. The park may as well have been a second home for her with how often she was here for her oldest son’s practices and games. 

“How’ve you been? Work must be keeping you busy, mano.” 

Michael shrugged, “It’s never not, unfortunately.” 

She hummed in response. They were no strangers to sitting in silence, savoring how the quiet was an easier kind of forgiveness. Their relationship didn’t allow for conflict or discord. It was effortless even at its inception. Maybe it was the decade length of age difference, but Mika and Michael had never been the type of siblings to fight. 

“How’s he doing?” Michael asks, nudging his chin towards his oldest nephew.

“Better. He’s been putting a lot more power behind those swings,” Mika sighs, “I’m glad he has the outlet. He needs it.”

She had planned on taking him out for the season after Kiki’s passing, but he begged for her to keep him in. Now, as she watched him pour every ounce of grief into his swings, she wanted to kick herself for ever thinking of the idea. Somehow, the conscience inside his little body craved for something he hadn’t realized he would need. An outlet. 

Mika chuckles to herself, wishing she had one of those. Some kind of avenue to channel every emotion bouncing in the recesses of her heart and mind. But every second of every day was dedicated to making sure her boys would and could grow up without such a vital figure in their lives. Anything less than 100% was unacceptable to her. 

Michael coming to these games might’ve been the only adult interaction she got these days. Her life had become a precise routine, down to the hour, and she never veered from it, too afraid that the facade of togetherness would shatter with any detour. She clinged to the sense of normalcy and warmth she got from their bleacher seat conversations, even if they were of the most mundane topics. And mundane they were. 

Michael’s way of helping his little sister grieve was to simply not bring it up. She had more than enough people asking if she was alright, he figured. So he didn’t ask. He was patient with her and comforting during those moments when it all felt like too much and she needed a good cry. Otherwise, he carried on as usual. The first practice after Kiki’s funeral, Michael sat down next to her and started talking about some new television show he started watching called Murder, She Wrote and how he confused Angela Lansbury with Agatha Christie. 

It’s the first time she bursts into laughter since she became a widow. She calls him an idiot and explains that they are indeed two different people, though Angela had starred in a film based on Agatha’s novel. Later that week, she watches an episode of Murder, She Wrote so she can discuss the episode with him. 

Another week, he brings polvorones. He notices she’s losing weight and this is his silent way of getting her to recuperate her appetite. She’s never been able to resist the crumbly shortbread sweets and smiles to himself when she takes the bag from him and hogs them all to herself. 

Ever perceptive, she knows the intentions behind the gesture, but doesn’t acknowledge it beyond obnoxiously licking her fingers after finishing them all.

“What if I wanted more?” He jokes.

“Too bad.”

He holds his youngest nephew in his arms as Mika rounds up her oldest, adrenaline-drunk son. He should be dead tired after the lively game under this scorching sun, but his team won and he’s still amped up as they walk back to their cars.

Her youngest babbles in baby talk and Michael indulges by nodding his head, as if actually following along with whatever the infant is trying to convey. 

Mika catches it and remarks, “He could be telling you that he thinks your goatee looks like a ferret on your chin and there you are, nodding and smiling like a doofus.” 

He looks at his nephew, seemingly ignoring his little sister’s comical dig, “What do you think, sobrino? No más polvorones para tu madre, ¿bien?”  

Mika’s eyes widened, “Wait, nevermind. He said that’s a nice shirt you’re wearing today.”

All in all, she’s not sure she’d be keeping it together if not for her big brother. It’s only once a week that she usually sees him, but the other six days are filled with longing. It’s like she crawls desperately every day so that she can get to the day where she finally sees him. 

He’s been less present this past month. Skipping practices and games, leaving vague voicemails on her machine in the aftermath. When she does get to see him, he’s more withdrawn which is saying a lot coming from a man of so few words already. She doesn’t breach the topic. Namely, it’s because she’s got a lot going on as a young widow and mother, but also because Michael’s not the kind of person you cajole or nag on. He’ll come to you when he’s ready but will blow away like a leaf if you push him too hard.

It’s annoying, but again, they’re the kind of siblings who roll their eyes at each other, rather than fully air their grievances and argue. 

“I’ve got a job offer in Medellin, Colombia.” 

When she learns of Kiki’s death, it’s like the noxious feeling that takes over you when you jump out of a plane with no parachute. Your stomach doesn’t drop, but your senses are swiped from you. You can’t see because grief is like the air that blasts into your eyes. You can’t hear because your ears have just been violently assaulted with the worst news of your life. If you touch anything, it’s like you’re grasping nothingness because how else are your hands supposed to act when they know they’ll never touch their lover again? 

When Michael tells Mika he’s leaving, it’s more like a rollercoaster. There is a drop in her stomach. She feels nauseous. Her stomach roils in spirals.

With her husband’s death, it was a long, unidirectional descent that left her fractured in pieces when the news landed on her.

With her brother leaving, it’s like the sudden drops, the highs and lows, and loops of a rollercoaster.

She’s proud because she knows how hard he works at his job.

Loop.

She’s angry because he’s leaving for an entirely different country and that solid mass of reliance that she’s had for the past four months is leaving with him.

Loop.

She’s scared out of her mind because how is she supposed to function now that she’s realized he’s become a crux?

Another fucking loop.

She only nods when she finally digests the news enough to form a response.

But when he follows her home, something he hasn’t done before, she slaps him two steps into stepping into the house.

And then she goes to grab him an ice pack in short order, because shit she didn’t mean to do that even though it kinda felt good. He takes it and they sit on the couch together once the boys are in bed for the night. Michael hasn’t taken the ice pack to his face at all in the couple of hours since she slapped him. Finally, she takes it from his grasp and holds it in the hand that she striked across his face. All this time, it’s been sore and she presses the mostly water but still somewhat chilly pack onto it.

“That shit hurt, didn’t it?”

Mika laughs and laughs until the queasy feeling in her stomach is replaced by aches from the overuse of her accessory muscles in snickering loudly at his comment. She cackles even more as she notes the red hand print forming on his cheek, knowing that it probably hurt as much for him as it did for her. He’s just too fucking prideful and that’ll never change. 

Once her laughter finally leaves the room, Michael heaves a heavy sigh.

“I don’t have to leave for another month. And Christmas isn’t that far away when you think about so… I’ll be home, then.”

Christmas is six months away and she already struggles through the other six days of the week that she doesn't see him.

She could tell him not to go, but to her, that would be admitting weakness and he’s already the one person that doesn’t pity her or treats her with kid gloves. And she is feeling pretty weak right about now, and she knows that he knows it, but it’s different when you have to verbally admit that. 

She also tells him not to go because she knows that he’ll stay. 

When she was six, she watched a horror movie called El Monstruo resucitado even after the warnings from her parents not to. They were out having dinner with friends and only her and Michael were home. He comes out into the living room to see her cowering in the corner at the image of the disfigured creature who possessed the eponymous character. Sure, like any other sixteen year old brother would do, he laughed and teased her for being afraid of some dumb movie, but later that night, his face veers into resolute seriousness when she finally breaks and tearily begs for him to sleep at the foot of her bed so that the monster man doesn’t come to hurt her. 

His back feels like shit the next morning and he still continues teasing her when she gets in trouble from her parents for watching the movie, but she knows then that he would do anything he asked of her. 

She had a will right now, in the present day, not to break no matter how much the rope of her composure bent. And damn, did she want to break. 

But if there was anything else that kept her glued into one piece these days, it was rage. 

Rage at the ones responsible for her husband’s death. Rage at the existence of drug cartels. Rage that they wielded such strong enough power to rot out the heart of entire families. Leaving them in shades of gray and blue from the lack of oxygen and the rush of anguish and despair that came in to replace it from the air. 

The drug trade was as interconnected and intricate as the labyrinth webs that spiders spun. And their touch was just as covert and venomous. There were ties between the Guadalajara cartel and Medellin cartel that necessitated relationships between the law enforcement agencies trying to sever them. A man with Michael’s accomplishment and knowledge was the perfect person needed in Colombia as the cobwebs grew. 

If that led to the takedown of not only the men who murdered her beloved but also all the other scum just like him, then she opined that he absolutely needed to go. 

Michael knows that his little sister will stand on her own two feet and continue carrying herself, carrying her boys forward into this new, harrowing chapter of their lives. He doesn’t doubt for a second that they’ll be okay and he acknowledges as much when he says, “Do me a favor and make an individual tres leche just for me on Christmas. Don’t tell her I said that, but I hate when mamá puts all those mangos in it.”

And because that’s their “thing”, she jokes, “I’ll tell her and put extra mangos when I make it for you.” 

She’s not sure where she goes from here, but she’s got two young boys relying on her and a husband whose demise deserves retribution.

She leans on her brother as they watch an episode of Murder, She Wrote together while night blankets the sky outside. If there’s any source of strength that she can gain from what’s probably their last night of one-on-one bonding, she’s quick to cipher it for all of its worth. 

They’ve said “I love you” to each other maybe a handful of times in their lifetime. They don’t say it now. It doesn’t need to be said. 

She can’t see what the other end of the tunnel looks like. 

The light’s too dim and she’s all alone. But if she closes her eyes and listens closely enough, she can hear him, hear Michael’s voice. 

Where life takes her next, she’s gotta do it alone. But she knows he’ll always be the one to catch her before she falls. The one who protects her from monsters and demons, even the ones taking hold in her head.

Two thousand miles of space between them could never change that.

It was always depth over distance for them.

Click here if you want to be added to my taglist! Taglist: @asirensrage @narcosfandomdiscord

[aerodaltonimperial]

Trick or treat

"Milk Duds?"

"Too chewy. Get stuck in my teeth."

"Reese's?"

Orange sighs. "Always melts on my hands. Then I gotta wash 'em somewhere. Who has time for that?"

"Are you serious?" Hook gapes. "You don't like any candy?"

"It's just..." Orange doesn't finish, trails off. Sighs. Hook waits a few moments to see if he's going to continue, and then he just... doesn't.

"Kinda boring to deny yourself treats," Hook says, and he doesn't really mean it like anything, except maybe it comes out like something; it's possible.

And Orange's expression does something: flickers through a few things that are largely hidden behind his sunglasses before it settles back into neutrality. "I like treats."

"You just nope-d all of them," Hook says. "What kind are you talking about?"

"The better kind."

And that... huh. Okay. Orange has a tilt to his head, and that's... Hook has to give him that, because sure. That's better than candy. He hadn't meant to steer the conversation here, but he can work with this. He agrees with this.

He pushes up from the bench and crosses the space between them, moving to where Orange is slumped against the wall, sitting with one leg slung over the chair arm like he owns the place. He always makes himself at home, wherever he is, sinking down into the space as though it's always been his.

Hook wonders if he does that with other things, too.

One way to find out. He slides onto Orange's knee, giving him enough time to re-adjust so he's sitting normally, just so Hook has room to climb up. And Orange does that, shifts; doesn't push Hook off when Hook's hands slide up the denim covering his arms.

"Treats, huh?" Hook murmurs.

"'s a kid holiday," Orange replies

Hook huffs. "Really? You gonna make an age joke?"

"Probably gonna make more than one."

"Yeah? Now?"

Orange's gaze flickers down, pauses on Hook's mouth. "Later."

"Good," Hook says, and grins.

[my-castles-crumbling]

Lmao I'm almost offended you put spicy as last?? 😂

Also no idea what the sweet thing or sour one was but I hope they're good haha

Also damn why are both you and my beloved in such a different time zone 😭😭

You're 6h behind me and my beloved is 7h!! Not fair lol

Also I did almost write why must you both be American lol {yes that was supposed to be a joke but idk how well its received by yall since Europeans would get what I mean 😅 }

I promise I love you both!! It's just that we do shit talk usa as a country a lot because of.. well lots of reasons but your education being one of the biggest 😭😅 I'm sorry 🥲

Question: when and how did you realise the difference between the education systems {across the whole world, I feel like we all had a point when we realized how differently we all get educated and just wanted to know yours!}

Hahaha I'm so sorry to offend

Okay milk duds are like hard caramel bites covered in chocolate.

I am extremely offended that you've never had sour patch kids. They're so good. They're like...fruit gummies with sour crystals on them? So good.

hahaha @beautyoftheships and I can just leave you all the love while you're sleeping (in a not creepy way?)

Okay, education...probably in High School? I started meeting people online more and realizing that what we learned in school and what was prioritized in school was different from other countries. I think before that, I was in a very ignorant bubble in a lot of ways.

[the-trinket-witch]

Can we see Class and Club for your Octavinelle boys?

(Ask Meme Here)

Class: He's a first year, same as Levi, So alongside each other, they have Epel, Sebek, A/Deuce, Jack and Ortho.

Ace: He's teasing but is quick to relent

Deuce: A much closer friend. Also one trying to not let their anger get the better of them, haunted by their pasts.

Epel: A fascinating look at another culture, Tidus would love to visit Harveston at some point

Jack: A nice guy! Determined, good morals, but a bit cagey

Sebek: Definitely brusk; Probably the one first year he gets along with least. Doesn't understand the self-hatred, but is too wary to ask more about it (but understands it might have something to do with Human/Fae relations)

Ortho: Just as curious and loving of the world around them

Club: His club is actually Film Studies! He's receptive to Vil's instruction because 1) he's clear, 2) Tidus doesn't have any qualms about being backstage (Lighting). He also gets to hang out with his lil buddie, Tallis!

Class: He's a first year, same as Tidus, so alongside each other, they have Epel, Sebek, A/Deuce, Jack and Ortho.

Ace: Quick to retort against Ace's teasing, willing to escalate to fists

Deuce: Also willing to escalate words to fists, but actually gets bored when Deuce pulls back and disengages.

Epel: another one to scrap. Levi's actually pretty good with languages and can clearly understand his more country twang, but can't understand how others can't.

Jack: Jack has clocked Levi in the mouth once, and immediately disengaged. No worse than a warning bite. It was def enough for Levi to not push his luck.

Ortho: Ortho is Levi's in to Ignihyde and it's tech. Levi is a bit of a reverse engineer, if he weren't a part of Octavinelle. He's just too bent on Freedom to worry now about tech. That isn't to say his curiosity as to how to incorporate tech into his plans isn't there.

Sebek: Another one to come to scrap with him XD. Though, Levi is surprisingly adept with energy magic (a surprise to Sebek after he cast a lightning spell) It only spurs Sebek to get stronger to find a way to overpower him

Club: He's a Science Club Bro! Being two grades below Rook or Trey, they are more than glad to teach him all they know (As long as one or the other doublecheck to make sure he's not 'sampling' the duds for his poison reserves)

Taglist:

@ceruleancattail @squidwen @thecosmicjackalope @vaporvipermedia@writing-heiress

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[darkvioletcloud]

Sorry for gushing about Louisa or fucking up her lore as I found out more about her. I hope you continue to do stuff with her.

Just a thought I had regarding her guilt and feeling tainted. Have you ever thought of a possibility of an event where she turns on a player/party members? Not in a conventional sense. 🤔 ik she isn't a fan of violence so perhaps the events of the festival get to her. Like on the possibility that her mind is at 0, a hug is done too many times or there's a coin flip in that instance and it it's missed then she could go crazy herself or an involuntarily suicide is done.

If that question is a dud, how do you think she'd fare in the prehevil bop club? 😮 or that event where Henryk poisons everyone.

I was thinking that over time as she grows and connects with other members of the party, she gets more confident in herself and becomes more of a protective member. She would end up joking about being depressed and suicidal in a concerning way and would make everyone else uncomfortable, but I’m not sure about her turning on other party members. That would be interesting, though! She’d probably turn on those who she doesn’t like as much, as she’d definitely pick favorites.

!!! You just gave me an idea for Henryk poisoning everyone. Louisa’s whole thing with the Enduring Soul is that she’s constantly suffering. She has to endure hardship and tries her best to see it as Alll-mer testing her faith. I think she’d survive the poisoning but she’s in agony. She’s sort of the reverse of Tanaka, who has like 6 different unique deaths, while Louisa just can’t die. She’s forced to continue on. Someone with more confidence would spin it into a form of empowerment, but Louisa is a very meek person and doesn’t have any faith in herself. It becomes a form of overwhelming and pathetic self-pity. It’d be a trait that could be a bit annoying to others.

Her passive and self-pitying nature isn’t supposed to be cute. It can be sad, sure, but her wallowing could be too much. Louisa needs to find strength and confidence in herself, and at this point in her life, she can’t find it by herself. Friendship and love are what’s helping her, like my idea with Abella saying that it’s not too late for Louisa to pursue her dreams. Louisa thinks she’s past her prime.

I also had an idea that in PRHVL Bop, maybe there’d be a conversation with Daan as the bartender where he automatically assumes she’d want milk or something nonalcoholic. He doesn’t see her as the drinking type. She asks for his strongest liquor and says she likes it.

There are two possible endings: Her drinking with Tanaka and not being impacted by the alcohol at all while he’s wasted, or Louisa getting drunk and trying to challenge Marcoh or August to a friendly brawl and then immediately passing out. I wanna draw this as a dumb little comic.

Also thank you for talking to me about Louisa!! :D

[mariamariquinha]

Maria’s Fic Recommendation

Soooo since I’ve been writing my stuff, I think it’s more than fair to share some of the most amazing things I’d read or I’m reading now. Probably forgot a lot of them, which I apologize!

Oh, I may add that I don’t write to a few characters on it, BUT I truly appreciate these works below. Enjoy! (And thank you for all those amazing writers making good and beautiful content. You are the best! ❤)

(here we go)

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Baubles of stolen kisses by @brandyllyn (Richard Alonzo Muñoz)

Cerebral by @laters-gators (Nathan Bateman)

Relative Dating by @youvebeenlivingfictional (Indiana Jones)

Homestead by @youvebeenlivingfictional (Benoit Blanc)

You Want me To? by @youvebeenlivingfictional (Benny ‘Borracho’ Magalon)

The Warmasters’s Wife by @youvebeenlivingfictional (Gurney Halleck) 

Healing hands by @cheesybadgers (Colonel Horacio Carrillo)

Old Habits Die Hard by @cheesybadgers (Colonel Horacio Carrillo x Javier Peña) 

In Another Life by @cheesybadgers (Esteban) THIS THING HERE IS LIKE... A GEM! LAURA KNOWS IT BUT I’LL REMIND YOU ALL THAT WE’RE TALKING ABOUT A MASTERPIECE. 

Objectos de Deseo by @massivecolorspygiant (Colonel Horacio Carrillo) 

Black Lace and Wine by @nocturnal-milk-dud (Benny ‘Borracho’ Magalon)

Slow Hands by @drabbles-mc (Angel Reyes)

Lunch Break by @tropes-and-tales (Bishop Losa)

Human touch by @tropes-and-tales (Sheriff Hassan)

I Got a Bone to Pick With You by @placeinthemiddleofnowhere (Frank Castle)

A Problem of Communication by @dunefeather (Gurney Halleck)

A Flirtatious Game by @supernovafeather (Duke Leto Atreides)

arise, ascend by @zinzinina​ (Boba Fett)