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ineffable-endearments · 1 month

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Nineteen Eighty-Four by George Orwell

Wow. There is...there is so much here.

First, a caution about the book itself: there is significant sexually violent narration, and lots of torture as well. This post is going to discuss these topics only in general terms - I don't think I need to go into detail to discuss what they mean for the story - but take care of yourself when you're deciding whether to read it. If you have any questions, always feel free to send an ask or message.

I am going to need to make multiple posts about this book. For this first one, I'll focus on summarizing the book and its main themes, especially the ones that I think relate to Good Omens. As always, I can't summarize it in a way that will give you a better understanding than simply reading the book, but summarizing it will help me put my own thoughts together and hopefully help you follow along as I try to articulate them.

Because it's impossible to miss, I think it is best to confront this issue at the outset: there is a lot of especially blatant misogyny on Winston's part in Nineteen Eighty-Four. This is not meant to be a good or sympathetic thing. It is a demonstration of how messed up he is, and how messed up everyone in that society is.

The Society

The plot of Nineteen Eighty-Four is tied up very much in the story's world. The characters are at the mercy of their society in this story, much more than in most. It will make sense to describe the world first. Indeed, a massive portion of the book is just information about Oceania itself.

In the world of Nineteen Eighty-Four, the entire planet is supposedly ruled by three perpetually warring authoritarian states: Oceania, Eurasia, and Eastasia, conglomerations of Earth's former independent nations. Through the novel, it is revealed that all three states have governments that are structured in largely the same way with approximately the same quality of life for their people, and the perpetual war is itself a way of controlling each population.

Technically, we don't know for sure that the war is really happening. In fact, we don't know that anything is true, because almost all the information the characters have comes from the Party, the government of Oceania, and the Party's operations revolve around reality control. The Party's "leader" is an enigmatic figure referred to only as Big Brother, who, of course, is watching.

Our protagonist, Winston, lives in Oceania. There are Inner Party members, who are the highest-ranking, with the highest responsibility and the highest quality of life. There are Outer Party members, who work for the Party, are heavily surveilled, and whose daily needs are all provided for with low-quality supplies; they have a highly regimented daily schedule. Inner and Outer Party members have telescreens, which broadcast Party propaganda but also have cameras to monitor all Party members. It is incredibly difficult to get away from telescreens, since there's at least one in every home and they're everywhere in public. Altogether, the telescreens form a panopticon that is hard to evade.

Then there are the proles, a shortened term for proletarians, who are the lower classes of Oceania and make up the majority of the population. The proles live in poor conditions and are constantly manipulated by State-generated propaganda. However, they have more freedom than Party members, in the sense that they are also largely ignored by the Party because they have no real power and are assumed to be incapable of engaging in revolutionary behavior. For this reason, proles get to have human relationships and enjoy pleasures, wherever they can find pleasures, in ways that Party members are not allowed. In reality, the Party's perpetual war is a way of grinding through resources in order to keep people, especially the proles, buried under work without improving their quality of life. This is because when people have free time, they can use it to learn and organize, and they might become a threat to the Party.

Winston is one of the Outer Party members. He works in the government department that rewrites history. See, every time a fact or anecdote in the media is inconvenient for the Party, the Party goes back and destroys all old copies of newspapers and books, all old video content, all paperwork, any scrap of evidence that anything was different. Newspapers are routinely reprinted with "updated" (falsified) information. For example, Oceania is always either at war with Eurasia and allied with Eastasia, or at war with Eastasia and allied with Eurasia, and as far as the Party is concerned, this has never changed. Every single time Oceania's alliance changes, the newspapers are updated so that the current alignment has always been true. Every time someone becomes a disgrace to the Party, their previous deeds are rewritten.

On the surface, this sounds difficult to implement, but over the story, one realizes the vast majority of the Party's operations revolve purely around the constant reshaping of history, control of people's memories, and control of people's emotions for the purpose of maintaining power eternally. Art produced by human beings is actively discouraged; instead, the Party mass-produces art, including novels, using machines, to control what kinds of ideas people are consuming.

The Party is essentially a machine that controls reality, or at least, what the people inside it consider to be reality. There are people who specialize in managing the thoughts of the public: the Thought Police. While they may technically not be able to literally see inside one's mind, they watch everyone carefully and are excellent at noticing everything: every facial expression, every eyebrow twitch, and every breath.

The Party rules through a series of four "ministries." These are the Ministry of Truth (like an educational ministry, responsible for producing propaganda), the Ministry of Peace (like a military, responsible for warfare), the Ministry of Love (like the correctional system, responsible for jailing and torturing dissidents), and the Ministry of Plenty (like the treasury, responsible for rationing).

When it suits the Party, anyone can be "vaporized." This means they are secretly murdered and all evidence of them - any existing record whatsoever, any news story, any list or database entry - is erased.

The Party has a new language they're developing as a method of thought control called Newspeak. The purpose of Newspeak is to make it impossible to articulate certain kinds of thoughts. The following is a character named Syme describing Newspeak:

"Don't you see that the whole aim of Newspeak is to narrow the range of thought? In the end we shall make thoughtcrime literally impossible, because there will be no words in which to express it. ... In fact there will be no thought, as we understand it now. Orthodoxy means not thinking - not needing to think. Orthodoxy is unconsciousness."

It's worth noting that Syme is later vaporized, presumably just for being too insightful out loud about Newspeak. In Newspeak, people who have been vaporized, if they must ever be referred to at all, are called "unpersons." In this way, no one has ever been killed by the Party, because those people have never existed in the first place.

There's a key Newspeak word that appears over and over: doublethink. It's the ability to believe two contradictory things simultaneously, and unlike the way we usually experience cognitive dissonance, there is no urge or attempt to reconcile what is really true. With doublethink, the existence of two contradictory ideas at once is itself exploited to help Party members serve the Party.

The Party (and its equivalents in Eurasia and Eastasia) uses perpetual war to control the population by squandering the resources produced by human labor and keep people in a perpetual combination of patriotic fervor and fear. The war is infinite and can never be won; the whole purpose of the war is to be at war.

Socially, the Party has destroyed family life. Winston was married years ago. He and his wife are so estranged that he is no longer sure if she is alive. They did not have a good relationship. The Party does not want close emotional relationships between its members, so while they are strict about who is allowed to marry (not for love, strictly for procreation), they don't care if people continue to live together. However, the Party does not want people forming new relationships, so divorce and extramarital sex are also illegal. The Party has also turned children against their parents by encouraging children to report their parents' potential thoughtcrimes. All in all, family members are generally afraid of each other.

We see, over and over again, how the Party does its best to frame human beings as both inherently untrustworthy and as objects to be used. Pitting people from individual family members to entire classes, sexes, and races against each other is one of the Party's many techniques for controlling people, and it has seeped into Winston's everyday thought processes. Only actual experiences with other human beings even begin to break these ideas down.

Eventually, it becomes apparent that the Party's motivation is immortality through the denial of the individual. Human beings are denied their own personal thoughts, feelings, and bodies. Only their ability to be assimilated into the Party is permitted. Even thoughts and feelings about the greater good are unacceptable because these lead to regime changes and interfere with the raw totalitarian power of the Party. Every Party member in Oceania is meant to strive exclusively for the continued power of the Party. Dissidents are denied even the ability to be martyrs, because the Party does not kill people while they carry hatred for Big Brother; they simply change their thoughts until they are good Party members again, and then kill them later, when they are no longer dissidents and have no legacy of resistance to leave behind.

Winston's Plot

Winston has a secret desire to be free of the Party. He does get swept up in the Party's fervor when he's in the middle of it, but he also longs for the extremely basic pleasures and freedoms that have become taboo. For example, Winston secretly buys an old pen and journal to write in - a completely forbidden act that he has to conceal from the telescreen in his own apartment. He finds himself almost unconsciously writing things like "DOWN WITH BIG BROTHER" in that journal.

There is an Inner Party member named O'Brien who Winston admires greatly from a distance despite knowing only his appearance: "intelligent" with a "prizefighter's physique." Winston perceives that he and O'Brien "understand" each other somehow, and even believes O'Brien has spoken to him in a dream, saying they "shall meet where there is no darkness." Eventually, Winston imagines he is addressing his journal to the mysterious O'Brien, believing him to be an ally.

Winston has an acquaintance at work named Syme. Syme is very passionate about revising the Newspeak dictionary. However, he is a little too openly insightful about the true purpose of Newspeak for his own good. Even though Syme does not seem to have any intention of betraying the Party and in fact is extremely taken with Newspeak, Winston is convinced he will be vaporized, and sure enough, he is.

There is a woman Winston thinks he hates because she looks like the perfect Party member who would turn him in to the Thought Police. Actually, the narration outright states that he doesn't like women entirely, because he thinks they're too committed to the Party and enjoy betraying men. However, it turns out that this woman observes Winston by the shop where he bought his illegal notebook. By simply observing Winston in that shop, the Party would suspect he's committing thoughtcrimes, and Winston panics. However, the woman later bumps into Winston at work and passes him a note that says, "I love you." Winston then instantly decides he wants to be with her; the idea of not being with her never even occurs to him.

The woman's name is Julia. It turns out Julia is putting on an incredibly convincing act, but she hates the Party, too. Winston is technically married, so he can't legally marry Julia, and any kind of non-procreative sex is illegal anyway, so their relationship is entirely forbidden.

Winston and Julia meet up and have sex in secret. It's worth noting that during their first meeting, they enjoy listening to a thrush singing. During this first meeting, they go out to the countryside, where there are fewer telescreens and microphones; Winston comments that it's like the "Golden Country," his symbolic dream-place where people are free.

A man named Mr. Charrington owns the shop where Winston had bought his notebook, and he also owns a room for rent above the shop. It's an old-fashioned prole room without telescreens and with a great number of old-fashioned fixtures. Winston and Julia rent it to get away from Party life for a few hours every now and then. When they first start staying in the room, Julia observes a rat and throws her shoe at it. Winston is utterly terrified, showing that he has a serious phobia of rats; it is vaguely implied that he had a traumatic moment related to them as a child. Julia takes the rat in stride; they are everywhere. She promises to block up the hole so the rat does not return.

Julia and Winston spend time in their prole room knowing for sure that it will eventually lead to their capture, torture, and death, but they decide it will be worth it. Winston voices some interest in trying to work against the Party; Julia does not believe this is possible whatsoever, and is not interested in trying. She believes people are better off putting on a convincing act and getting away with as much as they can for as long as they can.

Meanwhile, during the workday, O'Brien speaks to Winston. He mentions Syme without using his name, which is incredibly unusual, since people who are vaporized are never ever acknowledged again; all their work is erased from history. But O'Brien mentions Syme's work on the Newspeak dictionary and gives Winston his home address so that Winston can borrow the dictionary. Party members also don't often give each other their addresses. Because of these unusual cues, Winston infers that O'Brien is inviting him over to conspire against the Party.

While Winston and Julia meet up and have sex, they also indulge in other pleasures of the world, like real coffee and chocolate, and proles singing outside their window, and art that hasn't been generated by the Party. Observing the proles and their richer emotional lives, Winston and Julia decide they are going to worry only about their feelings. The Party can coerce them to do anything, including to confess, but as long as the Party can't make them stop loving each other, they agree, they will never have betrayed each other. Julia says that for all the things the Party can do, they can't get inside their heads.

So seized are Winston and Julia by their conviction that they decide to go visit O'Brien together and confess to wanting to destroy the Party. O'Brien tells them they may join the Brotherhood, a mysterious group of dissidents working to bring down Big Brother, but they must be willing to sacrifice everything; they must be willing to not only suffer and die, but to murder civilians, to spread disease, to sow discord, to do anything the Brotherhood asks of them. They even, O'Brien says, must be willing to "separate and never see one another again." This is the only thing Julia and Winston are unwilling to agree to. O'Brien accepts them anyway and, many days later, gives Winston a book through a secret messenger.

This book contains the writings of Goldstein, the supposed leader of the Brotherhood, outlining the Party's core philosophy. Winston reads this to Julia, who is hinted to not be all that interested, but she does listen a little.

While they look out the window and contemplate that the proles are alive and the Party members are already dead, Winston and Julia are captured. It turns out Mr. Charrington was a member of the Thought Police and the room had surveillance in it. Winston and Julia are separated and dragged to the Ministry of Love.

While at the Ministry of Love, Winston spends a lot of time waiting, watching other prisoners pass through. Some of them are proles, and some of them are people he knows. The waiting room is enormous and brightly lit with telescreens on all walls. There are essentially no shadows.

Another familiar face appears at the Ministry of Love. It's O'Brien. Winston first thinks O'Brien has been captured, but it soon becomes apparent that O'Brien was masterminding this whole operation and is in charge of Winston's torture. They have, indeed, met "where there is no darkness" - because of all the telescreens and artificial lighting. O'Brien and other Party members even wrote Goldstein's book as yet another propaganda piece. O'Brien states the description of the Party in the book is true, although the book's implication that the Party can be defeated through a prole uprising is false because a prole uprising will never happen. (Note that Winston did not actually read the part of the book where "Goldstein" outlined how the Party should be defeated.)

Winston is tortured for an undetermined amount of time. He discovers that he is a prisoner of his body; his torturers can get him to say pretty much anything through punishment and reward. In fact, they can force him to feel certain ways, too. O'Brien and the Party aren't only trying to get Winston to give away information; they want him to really internalize sincere belief in the Party doctrine, like doublethink, symbolized by the concept that 2+2 equals 5.

Winston starts out promising to himself there are certain things he will never agree to or say out loud, but torture proves an effective method at getting him to say whatever O'Brien wants. Winston vows that he will recite the Party lines, but will not actually believe them. If he lies to get the torture to stop but still retains his ability to reason for himself, Winston believes, then he can beat the Party.

However, O'Brien and the torturers are slowly able to break that down, too, as they are good at reading Winston's emotions, and they torture him every time he recites their desired lines without the sincere belief they're looking for. Winston is highly resistant to the 2+2=5 idea, but as he is tortured over and over, he does come to believe that because the Party can define his reality through brute force, then 2+2=5 could very well be true. They can force it to be true. He has no choice but to believe it, because only believing it might possibly end his torture, and the torture must end.

In other words, Winston and Julia were wrong. The Party can, in fact, get inside your head.

When Winston starts to believe 2+2=5, O'Brien does indeed start to improve his treatment of Winston, providing him with food and comfort, allowing Winston to become much healthier over time. This bonds Winston to O'Brien and makes him feel attached. However, Winston has not forgotten Julia, and in an unguarded moment, he cries out for her. This prompts O'Brien to ask Winston his feelings, again, about Big Brother. Winston states that he hates Big Brother.

It is at this moment when O'Brien sends Winston to the notorious Room 101.

In Room 101, prisoners face their worst fears - which, of course, the Party knows, because they know everything about everyone. Winston, who we know has a phobia of rats, is shown a pair of cages with starving rats in them. He is told that the rats are, as everyone in this world knows, flesh-eaters, despite being rodents. Winston is restrained, his head held in place, and O'Brien informs him that the rats will be released to eat his face.

Winston realizes what O'Brien wants to hear: he realizes his torturers will probably not allow the rats to eat him if he is willing to inflict the torture on Julia instead. They want Winston's betrayal of Julia to be complete. They want him to stop caring for her, the one thing he and Julia had once agreed they would never, ever do. And Winston has reached his limit: he cannot tolerate the idea of being eaten alive specifically by rats. So Winston says, "Do it to Julia! Not me! Julia!"

And then he is finally let go.

We continue with Winston once again living on the outside. He has seen and spoken to Julia, who was also let go. But the bond between them is completely broken. Julia admits she also betrayed Winston when she was faced with Room 101.

"Sometimes," she said, "they threaten you with something---something you can't stand up to, can't even think about. And then you say, 'Don't do it to me, do it to somebody else, do it to so-and-so.' And perhaps you might pretend, afterwards, that it was only a trick and that you just said it to make them stop and didn't really mean it. But that isn't true. At the time when it happens you do mean it. You think there's no other way of saving yourself, and you're quite ready to save yourself that way. You want it to happen to the other person. You don't give a damn what they suffer. All you care about is yourself." "All you care about is yourself," he echoed. "And after that, you don't feel the same toward the other person any longer." "No," he said, "you don't feel the same."

In other words, by demonstrating to Winston and Julia that they ultimately cannot escape their own self-interest, O'Brien has caused them to reject each other.

At the tail end of the book, Winston is sitting in his usual spot at a place called the Chestnut Tree Café, pondering a happy moment from his childhood before pushing the memory away, believing it to be a false memory. When an enormous military victory is announced on the telescreen, Winston realizes that he finally, truly loves Big Brother.

Interpretation of the End

Although the events at the end of the book are pretty straightforwardly described, I found them slightly confusing on an emotional level. Winston and Julia aren't really angry at each other for their betrayals, it doesn't seem - in fact, they admit to each other that's what happened, and they agree on their mutual experience. But they don't love each other anymore, and Winston loves Big Brother instead.

So, here is my initial thought on what the characters went through:

For people to love each other, both need a sense of individuality. There needs to be a connection, but there also needs to be a specific You and a Somebody to love, to connect to.

Through torture, O'Brien has effectively torn away Winston's individual sense of self. I know that's a weird thing to suggest when the book repeats "all you care about is yourself" multiple times, but I think that by so completely obliterating Winston's ability to make anything resembling his own decision, O'Brien has essentially made "Big Brother" and "Winston ('yourself')" the same person. Big Brother's wishes are Winston's wishes. Winston has been assimilated into Big Brother. Winston and Julia's conversation at the end describes what it feels like to be liquidated as a person and assimilated into a collective.

Winston now knows that the one core impulse he can never escape is self-preservation, and the only one who can provide that, with infinite military might and an infinitely-deep torture repertoire, is Big Brother. Julia represents the ideal that caused Winston to estrange himself from the safety of embracing and trusting Big Brother. And because Big Brother is both eternal and almighty, giver of both life and death, he is the only one it is safe to trust.

By betraying Julia, Winston discovered that his own will inherently had limits; because he would always, eventually, revert to self-preservation, his will and therefore his identity became synonymous with the force that decided whether to preserve him. That's why the end of the novel involves Winston imagining that he has finally been shot in the head and killed; he has experienced the death of his sense of self. And this is exactly how "Goldstein's" book indicated the Party's operations work: eliminate individuals and assimilate them into a collective to achieve immortality.

Character and Faction Parallels Between Nineteen Eighty-Four and Good Omens

The Party and Heaven and Hell

They're both the one overarching power over everyone's existence. The inner workings of it are mysterious to the characters and even moreso to the audience. The main characters are agents working for these entities, and they are controlled through surveillance, punishment, and reward.

Although Heaven and Hell give the impression of being two large overarching powers, it seems apparent to me that the whole thing is really just one system that has intentionally split its workforce into factions. Ultimately I think we will see in the most explicit way possible that whoever is actively calling the shots in Heaven is also actively in charge of Hell.

Winston and Julia, Aziraphale and Crowley

Both pairs are agents who are in love with each other even though they're not supposed to be, who enjoy Earthly pleasures and experience the joys of humanity before getting arrested and dragged away by their authoritarian "employers."

It's tempting to try and figure out which character mirrors which - Aziraphale mirroring Winston, Crowley mirroring Julia? - but I think, sort of like with Nina and Maggie, the reflections work in every direction. The characters aren't literal stand-ins for each other, but they are exploring similar themes, including what happens to people when a society forbids intimacy.

O'Brien and the Metatron

"More even than of strength, he gave an impression of confidence and of an understanding tinged by irony." This line describes O'Brien from Nineteen Eighty-Four, but it sounds quite a lot like the Metatron's manner as he enters Aziraphale's bookshop. Confidence and an understanding tinged by irony indeed.

O'Brien seems to appeal to Winston's ideal in authority figures, appealing both intelligent and physically strong. The Metatron seems to have tailored himself to appeal to Aziraphale's ideal of an authority figure: someone who is calm and in control, but also has an exceptionally gentle manner (and this isn't really true of the Metatron, but he can make it look like it is).

There are more similarities. Winston thinks and hopes O'Brien will be a helpful figure, and O'Brien convinces Winston he's a helpful figure, but in the end, O'Brien is the mastermind behind Winston's capture and torture. Additionally, Winston assumes, during his torture, that the Party's drive for power is for the Greater Good. But O'Brien tells him this is stupid, and the Party's drive for power is just for the pure sake of having power, because that's the only thing that will guarantee the Party's immortality.

This reminds me a little bit of the Metatron telling Aziraphale the point of the war is to win it, not to avoid it. It also hits me as a potential motivation for Heaven - like, why do they do what they do instead of doing something else, since the universe seems perfectly capable of running itself? "Power" or "immortality" could be a reason, and it would also be a reason that would resonate with very human themes, since power and (symbolic) immortality are among the motivations that can drive real-life authoritarians.

The Proles and Humanity

The common people. The populations who are considered by the main characters' societies to be "beneath" them, but who the main characters become fascinated by, and whose lifestyles the main characters come to prefer.

Both Nineteen Eighty-Four and Good Omens contain in their narratives the notion that the prole or human way of life is where true meaning can be experienced. Winston and Julia go as far as to announce that proles are alive and Party members are dead. And at the end of Good Omens Season 1, Aziraphale outright tells Adam that being "human incarnate" is better than being Heaven or Hell incarnate.

This mirror is probably the one that brings up the richest speculation possibilities for me. I won't go in-depth here, but I see in both stories the main characters developing this love for the proles and humans while continuing to separate from them - even trying to turn around and exploit the very power structures that have oppressed them in an effort to fight against the oppression.

It's worth noting that in Nineteen Eighty-Four, Mr. Charrington, the man who Winston and Julia rented their secret love nest from, and whom they thought was a prole, was actually a member of the Thought Police who helped capture them, whereas in Good Omens, so far, the humans have just been humans, and while Adam Young started out as an incredibly powerful non-human, he later chose to be a human and used his power to reject authoritarianism.

The Themes

Authoritarianism and Power

Obviously, the whole overarching cautionary tale in Nineteen Eighty-Four is about authoritarianism and the insidious ways it affects populations. The Party's power is almost as absolute as it can possibly be. Big Brother really is almost always watching; there is almost always a telescreen somewhere nearby. Even when there isn't a telescreen, there are microphones. And unorthodox ideas and behavior are punished with annihilation - not just death, but the total annihilation of the self.

Doesn't this sound like a version of Heaven and Hell in Good Omens?

At first glance, it appears Oceania's Party is more aggressive about surveilling its Party members than Heaven and Hell are about surveilling Aziraphale and Crowley. One has to wonder if perhaps Heaven and Hell are just as aggressive with surveillance in the Upstairs and Downstairs themselves, but are less aggressive or maybe even less capable on Earth, just like the Party's surveillance is less in the countryside (although it is still a significant threat there).

But still, we see Michael pull out those photos of Crowley and Aziraphale through the ages, and we hear the Metatron refer to reviewing Aziraphale's "exploits," and we see Hell drag Crowley down in 1827, and we see both Crowley and Aziraphale anxiously glancing around throughout history with the assumption that someone might be listening, and we see how ready Heaven is to erase Gabriel's memories (his identity! his entire self!) from existence. We also watch Heaven and Hell try to make Aziraphale and Crowley disappear in a gout of hellfire and a tub of holy water after realizing that Aziraphale and Crowley do represent a threat to the current celestial order. Heaven and Hell's Nineteen Eighty-Four-esque insidious threat is clearly established in both seasons.

Vaporizing Dissidents

In fact, Heaven and Hell's arrest of Aziraphale and Crowley reminds me a bit of Winston and Julia's arrest, in the sense that the protagonists knew what was probably coming but not exactly when. And Heaven's attempted execution of Aziraphale in particular reminds me very much of the Party choosing to vaporize a dissident. They were going to try to disappear him. No angel or demon other than the ones who were involved would have known what happened to him. Hell's attempted execution of Crowley, meanwhile, reminds me of the Party's public executions of war prisoners.

Finally, the Party will attempt to erase people from existence by killing them and then erasing all records related to them, down to the very last detail. Meanwhile, the Archangel Michael threatens Aziraphale with being literally written out of existence in the Book of Life. There's lots of speculation about how possible this is. I wonder if maybe, it's a flawed process. Maybe erasing someone from the Book of Life can cut a hole shaped like them in the universe - but maybe it isn't that simple, and they don't actually get taken from anyone else's memories. Maybe, as people in Oceania haven't quite lost the ability to remember their dead, Heaven cannot actually erase the fact of anyone.

Social Disconnection

I see a lot of complaints online about the characters of Nineteen Eighty-Four being impossible to like. What tends to make characters likable? Their behaviors toward others, especially humor, compassion, individual quirks, and affection. Their moral strengths, like a sense of justice, might appeal to us, too. And what has the Party been systematically beating out of people for decades now? Anything that could possibly make fictional characters likable.

One of the Party's primary modes of social control is to keep people from having individual, intimate relationships outside of the Party. Each individual regards every other individual with distrust at all times, and only the Party is capable of providing safety. Winston mentions many instances in which he believes parents are afraid of their children, for example. There are also a number of people who he thinks would report him for thoughtcrimes.

This is getting into heavy speculation territory, but it hits me as a major motivation for the Fall in the first place. It's a great way to instantly divide Heaven itself in half, make everyone instantly suspicious of everyone else, and set up a whole bunch of rewards and punishments to hold over people's heads related to Falling.

One thing that's obvious, though, is the total lack of social connection in Heaven. Michael and Uriel are constantly treating each other with barely-suppressed contempt. Muriel wants approval so badly, but nobody has any patience for them. The "friendliest" any angels get are Gabriel and Sandalphon in Season 1, and that's still like, corporate-coworkers-style friendliness. Gabriel outright tells Beelzebub that no one has ever given him anything. Although it's...theoretically possible Gabriel is an outlier, I think his experience is probably representative of all the angels.

Bodily Experiences, Physicality, Gross Matter

There is a moment that made a big impression on me. Winston observes a prole woman outside singing a silly popular song at the top of her lungs as she works. This woman is not an attractive person by Winston's or Party standards; she is older, she is fat, she has a "lower-class" accent, her skin is weathered and reddened from working outside. But Winston, self-admitted misogynist who came of age on the Party's feminine ideal, thinks she is beautiful. He has a moment of realization that she's beautiful because the very things that theoretically would make her "unattractive" are evidence of a human life fully lived.

We also have Winston and Julia enjoying the world through their senses together in a way that they simply cannot in the grips of the Party. From listening to a thrush in the countryside to drinking real, delicious coffee, they experience pleasures that are denied to them and cause them to feel peaceful in a way that is denied to Outer Party members. As they experience life in a way that is much closer to the ways of the proles, they decide that only proles are alive; Party members are dead. It is at the moment when they speak this out loud that the Party chooses to capture them.

There's a darker side to the bodily experiences explored in Nineteen Eighty-Four, and that's experienced in the Ministry of Love. Here, Winston and Julia discover that their thoughts and feelings are indeed controlled by their bodies. There is only so much pain a human being can withstand before they will comply with their captors just to get the torture to stop. In fact, if the Party's psychological manipulation tactics haven't worked thus far to indoctrinate the population, then the body can be used to brute-force an attitude change.

The connection to Good Omens here is obvious. Aziraphale and Crowley are just like a couple of Outer Party members who haven't experienced real pleasure before, and then they discover wine and ox ribs and music and nice clothes and all those delightful human experiences that the other angels sneer at. It seems Heaven looks down on Earthly pleasure as a morally inferior, dirty pursuit, while Hell looks on Earthly pleasure as a kind of weakness, a pathetic softness. But Earth is where Aziraphale and Crowley have found meaning. Physical existence is where they've found themselves, where they've connected with each other, and where they've connected with the stuff of the universe itself.

Memory Manipulation and Thought Policing

In Nineteen Eighty-Four, there are massive governmental departments dedicated to revising all printed records, including reprinting newspapers as needed. Private writing is also not allowed. This means that even if a Party member has a memory, there is no physical evidence of it. Even if there were physical evidence, something a person had stuffed away in a safe place, there would be another, more "official" source to prove one's personal source wrong. Of course, anyone trying to make any kind of fuss about official sources being wrong would disappear, too, so no one will even try.

Winston mentions often in his narration that he has trouble remembering large portions of his life because of the way the Party has controlled the public narrative and obscured any fact that would once have been a point of reference for him. For example, Winston estimates that the date his journal starts would be April 4, 1984, but he actually isn't certain, not even about the year, because time isn't kept track of by those dates anymore. Historical facts, like events that led to the Party's ascent to power, have been rewritten so many times that Winston can no longer know what really happened. He can be sure there was chaos in the streets, followed by violence, and then proclamations from above about what was supposedly true, but one individual human being usually can't judge the big picture of what's going on in their entire society without a relatively objective source of information for major events.

Nineteen Eighty-Four also has literal thought police, Party members who study their fellow citizens for any sign of even the most remote disagreement with Party doctrine. If someone proves to be a problematic thinker, as Winston and Julia both did, they are dragged to the Ministry of Love to be violently re-educated. Using a series of punishments and rewards, prisoners are slowly broken down until they are unable to think for themselves at all.

Although it's unclear what Heaven is like in regards to spreading information, we've got the Metatron and the Archangels literally ready to erase Gabriel's memory. In Good Omens, since it's all dressed up in Heavenly attire and the characters have their unique attitudes, it comes across as less dystopian, more quirky and fantastical. But they are fundamentally threatening exactly what is done in Nineteen Eighty-Four. And based on Beelzebub's comment about how Gabriel's memory is "all your...you," the same identity issues would be at play. To erase Gabriel's memories would be to erase everything that makes Gabriel himself - an execution by another name.

Reality As A Construct (Or Not)

The Party's stance on reality is fairly simple: human beings perceive reality, so if human perception can be altered, reality can be changed and turned into whatever the Party wants it to be. This sounds wrong because it is wrong, but people who the Party has targeted for thought control don't get to think for themselves about it, because they can't withstand the torture.

This might be Heaven's approach to reality as well. Look at how questioning is discouraged, and how the angels choose to believe whatever is most convenient for Heaven, or whatever they believe should be true ("there are no back channels").

More importantly, though, we have characters in Good Omens who actually can change reality. In particular, this is what Adam Young does - and what he actively chooses not to do for the majority of the world, in the end. He only adjusts reality enough to be allowed to make his own decision: he's not the Antichrist anymore. Otherwise, he restores the world to its state from before he ascended to power (aside from a couple of tiny little eleven-year-old-boy-ish tweaks here and there; hey, you can't blame a kid for adding a few extras of his favorite books to the world).

Proles as the saviors of society

So this one is complicated because repeatedly through Nineteen Eighty-Four, we come across this feeling from WInston and Julia that the proles have some almost mystical connection to True Humanity which Party members have lost. However, there is also the repeated assumption that the proles are incapable of revolution on their own. And in a practical sense, this appears to be true. The intellectuals of their world look down on them for it, but the truth is that just as in real life, the proles are living in poverty and are far too desperate for their basic necessities to ever gain the class consciousness needed to overthrow the Party. This is, of course, by design.

Winston goes as far as to believe the proles might possibly rise up and overthrow the Party, but he never considers working with them. He goes straight into the jaws of the Inner Party instead! This seems to be for a couple of reasons, but primarily because Winston has formed this sort of attachment to O'Brien, his Inner Party member of choice.

In Good Omens, Season 1 and the book, humans do eventually save the world. Well, Adam - technically an Antichrist - saves the world by thinking like a human and accepting humanity as his true "side."

Free Will

"Free will" as a theme really ties into humanity as a theme in Good Omens, since Earth is neutral ground between Heaven and Hell and humans aren't born to a particular Side. In Nineteen Eighty-Four, of course, the Party's goal is to eliminate free will, while in Good Omens, Heaven and Hell are looking to eliminate humanity.

Individualism Versus Collectivism

Oh there it is! There's my pet theme!

I've always argued that in Good Omens, the core of the dualism explored between Aziraphale and Crowley is individualism and collectivism, with Crowley the dedicated individualist who nonetheless would like to belong somewhere, and Aziraphale the nervous collectivist who is secretly desperate to have an identity and belongings to himself. Good Omens has already touched on the notion that working together as a collective is necessary to keep the world turning, but it's also important to preserve individuality, so we have people to keep us company and meaning to live for. I think this will come up again.

Meanwhile, Nineteen Eighty-Four explores an authoritarian and destructive form of collectivism in which human beings are not allowed to have individual interests or experiences; everything flows toward the power of the Party. Individual identity is viewed as a weakness. With that said, Nineteen Eighty-Four does consider the potential power of collectives to overcome authoritarianism.

Mortality, Immortality, and Change

In Nineteen Eighty-Four, O'Brien eventually reveals that the goal of the Party is to become immortal through collectivism. While the fate of an individual human being is always to die, the Party believes a collective that is single-minded enough about maintaining power can live forever. In that way, people who submit to the Party's power can live forever, too. One has to wonder about the real point of all this, of course. The Party regards change as its downfall. For the Party to succeed, it must keep everyone moving toward the exact same goal of maintaining power forever.

In Good Omens, many of the characters are naturally immortal, as angels or demons. They don't have to change, and Heaven and Hell don't have to change. However, existing as immortals in Heaven or Hell, not experiencing any of the things mortals do in the physical world, all seems pretty obviously pointless. Aziraphale and Crowley, and then Gabriel and Beelzebub, and then Muriel, all start to find meaning on Earth among mortals. And I think this is all yet to be expanded upon, especially with the looming Second Coming.

Where Good Omens is concerned, the notion of change as a type of death and/or death as a type of change may be important (and ties into The Crow Road by Iain Banks as well).

By coming to Earth, the immortal characters are essentially doing the reverse of assimilating with the Party or Heaven and Hell: they're discovering themselves. With self-discovery comes the risk of change - changing from who they used to be in Heaven or Hell - and the reward of meaning.

The Party of Oceania wants to assimilate everyone into the same goal of maintaining the Party's power in order to make the Party immortal. While "maintaining power" is a "purpose" of sorts for the collective, on an individual level for any specific human being, it is nihilistic, since there is no place for the individual other than ensuring the success of the Party's destruction of the individual.

Freedom in the Natural World

In both stories, we've got the notion of nature as a place of freedom. The countryside where Winston and Julia first meet up lacks telescreens, and there are fewer microphones as well, allowing them to act naturally in a way that isn't usually permitted in the city. The room that Winston and Julia rent from Mr. Charrington is also so old-fashioned that it doesn't have a telescreen; they believe themselves to be momentarily safe in their own little world there. Unfortunately, Mr. Charrington is not really an ordinary prole, but a member of the Thought Police, which allows the Party to invade Winston's and Julia's space.

Of course, in Good Omens, Earth is the ultimate place of freedom. Heaven and Hell are both awful in their ways, hyper-controlled and devoid of real meaning. It's on Earth that Aziraphale and Crowley can begin to truly live. Of course, the safe little place they create together, the bookshop, is eventually invaded by Heaven and Hell.

I'd like to leave you with a pair of quotations.

"If you want a picture of the future, imagine a boot stamping on a human face---forever. ... And remember that it is forever. The face will always be there to be stamped upon. The heretic, the enemy of society, will always be there, so that he can be defeated and humiliated over again. Everything that you have undergone since you have been in our hands---all that will continue, and worse. The espionage, the betrayals, the arrests, the tortures, the executions, the disappearances will never cease." O'Brien Nineteen Eighty-Four by George Orwell Part Three, Chapter III

"If you want to imagine the future, imagine a boy and his dog and his friends. And a summer that never ends. If you want to imagine the future, imagine a boot . . . no, imagine a sneaker, laces trailing, kicking a pebble; imagine a stick, to poke at interesting things, and throw for a dog that may or may not decide to retrieve it; imagine a tuneless whistle, pounding some luckless popular song into insensibility; imagine a figure, half angel, half devil, all human . . . Slouching hopefully towards Tadfield. . . . . . . forever. Good Omens by Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett

#good omens #nineteen eighty four #good omens 2 #good omens 2 spoilers #1984 #good omens book club #long post #torture mention #sa mention

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foreverinadais · 1 year

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summary: steven ‘accidently’ messages you after you’ve broken up.

pairings: ex! steven grant x ex! reader, allusions to ex! marc and ex! jake as well

warnings: literally just angst :( and very minimal cussing

word count: 870 words

a/n: sooo this is the first small part of a series based on ex! moon boys. will have everything from angst, angst and angst, to pining, forced close proximity and hopefully fluff!!! enjoy :)

ex! series: (1) (2) (3) (4) (5)

Surely it was an accident.

The message shone on your screen, illuminating a small portion of your dark room that the sun had not yet reached, eyes squinting with the unwelcoming light. You had blinked once, twice, harshly, rubbing the sleep out of your eyes to ensure this wasn’t a cruel trick your mind was playing.

But it was still there.

Hi.

The message was so simple, a single word. But your heart was pounding, and your mouth was dry. You could imagine him saying it. Could still feel the warm embrace of his breath against the top of your head as he whispered the word, and you knew you were home.

Steven had messaged you. But why?

Maybe it was an emergency. Maybe he was in danger. Had to act like everything was normal and the only person he could think to message was, well, you. Or maybe he was drunk. It wasn’t like him to get drunk when he had control of the body, but you didn’t know him anymore. Perhaps he had completely changed. perhaps he wasn’t the Steven you fell in love with anymore.

The thought made you sick.

But another nagging in your brain pulled you back. Maybe he had meant to send it, completely sober. Maybe he was as desperate for you as you were for him. Maybe this was an opening.

Or maybe it was an accident.

You didn’t know which was worse.

You looked at the message a few minutes more, fingers ghosting over the keypad. What could you even say? How could you even articulate your thoughts into just a short message?

Hey, Steven, how are you?

Why’d you message?

Do you still love me?

Sometimes I think I see you in the street but it’s not you and every tiny thing reminds me that no one could ever be you and that your not in my life anymore…

You stopped drafting messages, huffing in frustration as you deleted all you had typed. It was hopeless. You were hopeless.

Should you even reply? Just ghost him, his message, like he was never the man you thought you were going to spend your life with?

You thought about the others, about Jake and Marc, about how they would be cursing him if they found out. Unless it was their idea, too. Unless they all missed you like you craved them.

But your thoughts pulled you back to Steven. Of his trembling fingers and beating heart as he types the simple word. You thought about how nervous he might’ve been. How he was probably feeling like you were now.

You exhaled shakily, finally typing out a message, closing your eyes as you hit send.

Hey, is everything okay?

The question invited conversation; you were well aware. But you were desperate to feel some of him, grab onto every last morsel he would give you. Even if that was just his words through a screen.

You laid still, phone resting on your chest, rising with every heavy breath you took to try and ease your rapid heartbeat. A few minutes passed until it buzzed. You nearly screamed, stomach dropping as you jumped, phone clattering to the floor. “Shit!”

You all but scrambled onto the ground, grabbing your phone, unlocking it and turning to look at it. Sure enough, it was Steven.

Sorry, accident.

You all but felt everything inside of you deflate, felt the heavy weight of just two words settle on your shoulders as you sighed. Of course. You rested your head back on your mattress, eyes shutting as you tried to hold back tears. Of course.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Steven groaned as he pressed send, rubbing his eyes in frustration. “Happy now?” He said to his alter through the reflection of the bathroom mirror. He could hardly meet his eyes.

“Of course not, you know that. But it’s the right thing to do.” Steven couldn’t help but scoff, throwing the phone on the counter so that it made a clunk.

“It was just a message. Hardly anythin’ wrong with that.”

“Steven.” And the word was enough to have him quiet. Well, for a moment.

“I can’t keep doing this. It just… it hurts too much-”

“I know.” His alter agreed, looking to the ground. “I know.”

Steven didn’t regret the message until the morning. Until you texted back. He could imagine the turmoil you went through when you read it and instantly felt guilty. He hated himself for having to shut you down. For having to lie. It hurt him more than he could even express.

He looked at the small read next to his message, realised you weren’t saying anything else today. Perhaps you would never say anything to him again. Perhaps this was it. An accidentally on purpose message and an unanswered question.

Sighing, Steven locked the phone, put it in the cupboard, and threw himself into bed. Resting his head on the mattress as if it was too heavy for his body, too full of the thoughts of you.

He felt everything inside of him deflate, felt the weight of just two words crush his shoulders. And just one thought swirled through his mind as he drifted off too sleep: I can’t keep doing this.

#steven grant x reader #steven grant angst #steven grant fanfiction #Steven Grant #moon knight fanfic #moon knight headcanon #Moon Knight #marc spector #marc spector x reader #jake lockely x reader #jake lockley fanfiction #angst #moon knight angst #ex! steve grant

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nomelwelloy · 7 months

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Legolas drabble / imagine | Legolas x reader

☆彡

After a long period away from each other, he engulfs you in his arms in the firmest, warmest of hugs, his face buried in the crook of your neck and arms clasped tightly around your waist, breathing in your scent as he falls into rhythm with your heartbeat once more.

"Meleth nin," he sighs into your skin with a relief as though the days without you has had him in the throes. "You’re finally home."

You laugh, surprised at his reaction yet secretly delighted to know your absence has had such an effect, but you know yourself to be no better, having clutched his memento every night just to be able to fall asleep. "I’m home, I’m home and I’ve missed you so, my home," you quietly confess.

Legolas’s hands travel along your arm and to your face, cradling your jaw as his fingertips brush along your cheek. He leans in just a breath’s away, nose bumping against yours. "My starlight, it’s been dark without you," he whispers in elven tongue, and it elicits a shy chuckle from you.

"You exaggerate," you say, despite yourself. Indeed, it had been challenging getting used to being alone again for so long, having grown used to Legolas’s constant presence by your side. Being by your lonesome felt particularly peculiar, as though unable to feel the bite of a snowstorm despite smothered in its chill. But arriving home to Legolas was like experiencing the first warm rays of sun after a long dark winter. Your senses thawed, you grasp him as tightly, unable to articulate your own feelings, but Legolas makes up for where you lack, his words carrying both his and your deepest sentiments.

"I feel whole again," his lips graze your forehead, your eyes, your nose and finally claims your lips.

Your heart sings and you follow his lead in a dance you both know well, slow and earnest, savouring the missed taste and presence of the other. Legolas holds you tighter to him, finding your hand to intertwine with his as his other slides against the back of your neck, gently coaxing your head back to deepen the kiss. He’s zealous in pursuing your touch, leaning into you when you cup his jaw, almost breaking the kiss just so he can rest his head fully in the heat of your palm.

A soft, contented sigh escapes him, and a fleeting thought crosses your mind; perhaps it isn’t so bad to go on long missions more often, if it meant coming home to something like this.

☆彡

a/n: im back with another!! Thank you for the love and wonderful remarks on the previous drabble <33 it is very encouraging to know that my writings are enjoyed ;;

this one was my first ever Legolas drabble that I’d left in my drafts for forever... It was originally pure word vomit and fluff but i polished it a bit and hopefully you guys enjoyed it! Thank you for reading, and if you like this, feel free to drop a reblog / follow (but be forewarned, I write like,, anything so.. expect the unexpected) but it is all very much appreciated .｡.:*☆ ( ´ ▽ ` )ﾉ

#diabetic tooth rotting plaque inducing fluff #it’s dramatic as hell but #i was feeling pure fluff and this is what happened!!!#sorry not sorry!!!#only sorry for typos.. pretend they don’t exist #legolas #legolas imagines #legolas x reader #legolas x you #lotr imagines #legolas drabbles #lotr #nomelwelloy

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devilfic · 2 months

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Idk if you have seen daredevil but in the case you have can I request a head cannon of you making a playlist for him and him talking about songs that remind you of him?

Like I was listening to The Marias and I felt that their songs give this feeling of how it would be to date him.

❝making a playlist for matt murdock❞

pairing: matt murdock x gn!reader. cw: established relationship, brief mention of sex. words: 1k.

a/n: I actually have seen daredevil and I love him a lot, this will be fun. shoutout to this post that confirmed the "matt murdock loves jazz" vibe he gives off

I wanna start off by saying that as soon as I saw "daredevil" and "songs" in the same sentence, I got a VIVID image of matt in a jazz bar

I can't recall off the top of my head if matt mentions any specific artists or genres he listens to in the show, but I personally think matt likes jazz, funk, maybe some soul/neo-soul, or anything you'd hear in a nice understated bar downtown

the thing is I think that matt really likes instrumental-heavy music because he appreciates being able to pick apart the melodies

I also imagine he's a stickler for his favorite genres and won't really relent unless you introduce something new to him by force

so, a playlist

you push an mp3 player into his hand as you walk past him and he thumbs over the buttons, twists a finger through the cords of the earbuds, and smiles, "what's this?"

he hears you land on the couch and makes his way over to sit beside you as you take one of the earbuds to put in your ear, stretching your legs over his lap, "I made a playlist for you!"

"yeah?"

"yeah. I know you like your vinyls but this is smaller, more compact. easy to put in your pocket and hopefully not break when you're running around the city at night. I'm serious. don't break that."

"I'm honored," matt tilts his head in your direction, inhaling the scent of your shampoo, listening for the parting of your lips as they break into a smile, "nothing too shocking, I hope?"

"I tried to stick to things I thought you'd like, and I did include some of the songs you've recommended to me over the years since you can't lug your vinyls everywhere. it won't sound as nice but... it's something. it's pretty romantic, right?"

it is romantic

matt imagines you hunched over his computer, tediously searching up mp3s of his favorite songs and putting together a playlist for him, trying your best to ease him into unfamiliar territory

he can also hear the nervous thumping of your heart as you wait for his reply, so he splays a hand over your ankle and squeezes, "yeah, you're pretty damn romantic. any particular order I should play it in?

"just hit play, handsome."

when the first song starts playing, he's transported back to hearing it for the first time in the bar where he met you, sharing drinks at a table as you humored him on your theories of who the devil of hell's kitchen really was

you were a few drinks past tipsy and had come to chat him up at the behest of your friends who—and you learned this several days later—he'd heard call him sexy at least four times

but it was you whose voice had caught his attention, who had sworn that a "man like him" had to be waiting for a date, that there was no way he'd be here all alone

and had promptly eaten your words when he chimed in to let you know that he did not, in fact, have a date

he was fuzzy on the details as to how you'd gotten on the topic of his alter ego, but it tickled him nonetheless how you presented your theories more confidently than you flirted

he countered each one but in good faith, playing devil's advocate if only so that he could hear how your mind whirred with ideas

after a few pretty well-articulated counterarguments, you'd snorted and asked, "what are you, a lawyer?"

and when you learned that he was a lawyer? the matt murdock of nelson, murdock, & page? oh, he was sure you lit up like a christmas tree

even after walking you to your place, matt was humming the tune of the song he'd discovered you to, a feeling in his bones that more than just it would be sticking around

matt takes you to a jazz bar for your first date, feeding you details about the musicians over drinks as you ask him about his favorites

he likes a lot of the classics: things his dad enjoyed, stuff he's heard at the jazz bars he's roped foggy into visiting with him during law school

he tells you he likes some of the new stuff but nothing beats the classics, all of which he has vinyls of at home

and you ask him about the newer artists he likes and he tells you he'll put some on for you at his place if the night is still young

that night, he brings you back to his and plays this while you make love

most of the songs matt thinks of when he thinks of you are wordless, often more abstract representations of how you make him feel

the few songs with words are quite literal. whatever the lyrics say is how he feels about you

you've learned—if you're not already a fan of the same genres—to appreciate his taste

and you've also learned to love the way he lights up as you describe what the music sounds like to him, the way he slips in a word here and there when you come up short and it always just fits

it's kind of like his love language

you've got some of these songs on the playlist too

you see him get a little stiff when a song comes on that he doesn't know, and so you watch all the minute expressions in his face as it plays, wondering anxiously if he likes it or not

you know he does when he replays it

he'll tap out the rhythm on your ankle like he's picking apart every detail of the song piece by piece, placing them layer over layer in his mind until it becomes whole and he turns to tell you he really likes it

while he usually likes to keep his ears open for anything in the city while he's out and about, he'll pop in an earbud and start your playlist and think about you

now, if only you'd add a recording of you singing to yourself every morning, it'd be complete. that's gotta be his favorite

taglists: @yikes-buddy @alexxavicry @theclassicvinyldragon @marina-and-the-memes

#matt murdock x reader #matt murdock scenarios #matt murdock fluff #matt murdock fic #matt murdock headcanon #matt murdock #daredevil x reader #daredevil scenarios #daredevil fluff #daredevil headcanons #daredevil fic #daredevil #marvel #mjwrites

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kimdokjas · 10 months

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why you should read Mystic Prince if you enjoyed ORV

Mystic Prince / Prince of Myolyeong (묘령의 황자) is a fantasy and action-adventure manhwa with art & story by Aheuredal (아흐레달) and in my humble opinion, an absolute hidden gem. it's literally one the best manhwas i've ever read (among the top 2) and i've finally gathered my thoughts enough to try to articulate why i love it so much, and hopefully convince you to give it a chance!

here's the official summary on webtoon:

An immortal emperor rules the Kingdom of Yeol, a divine country blessed by gods with awesome powers. After a thousand years of peaceful rule, the time has come for a new emperor to be chosen. This is determined by a series of trials, in which twenty princes with special powers who have trained since birth must compete. As all princes of varying personalities and agendas gather to partake in the trials, intrigue and possibly even bloodshed seem all but certain. Meanwhile, unbeknownst to the other princes, the Fourth Prince Jeok-yeon Ryu hides a secret he must guard with his life.

anyway i literally made a carrd for this, that's how much i care about this manhwa and i worked very hard on it!! you can find the carrd here*

(* also if you hate daily pass like me pls note that there's a fan translation as well! just keep in mind that some episodes have ost but you can find the links to youtube on the carrd as well. but if you enjoy it please do try to leave likes, comments, and a good rating on webtoon to support the creator!)

Mystic Prince is incredibly unique in terms of story and execution that i can't really compare it to anything else but here's why i think you'll enjoy it, especially if you also liked orv:

strong-willed MC who's not naturally skilled but works extremely hard

said MC is willing to suffer and hurt themselves to achieve their goals (aka kim dokja-esque tendencies)

seemingly cold and aloof ML with yoo joonghyuk vibes at first, naturally gifted and seems to look down on everyone

...but is actually head over heels for MC and just doesn't know how to express his feelings

ensemble cast of incredibly complex and well-developed characters with different personalities and motivations

MC seems a little dense at times but they have a tragic backstory that explains why they're Like That

incredibly bisexual vibes !! like literally off the charts

slowburn romance that is cooking up such a great meal

MC and ML have actually known each other for centuries

characters go through trials that involve risking death

extremely unique lore and world-building

i said ML before but there are actually multiple potential MLs with how much complexity all the character dynamics have

beautiful character designs (literally over 10+ within the main cast and they're all so unique)

evocative writing and heartfelt monologues that seem taken out of a book of pure poetry

narratively significant motifs of fire and water (à la orv's black/white and reader/protagonist)

profound and realistic depiction of the inner feelings and troubles that the characters go through

incredibly heart-wrenching original soundtrack! (actually made me cry)

some of the most gorgeous art i've seen in any manhwa (seriously pls just open the 1st episode and look at the first few panels)

[spoilers below for chapter ~10]

delicious gender fuckery

MC is actually cross-dressing afab (i personally hc them as genderqueer; korean doesn't have gendered pronouns but the official tl uses she/her pronouns)

bonus: they're built like a fucking tank (as seen here) like hello??? which is so refreshing to see for an afab MC

plus they're also canonically lacking in empathy but still deeply compassionate which again is really refreshing

i'm sure there's even more stuff i'm forgetting but these are just some reasons off the top of my head why i think this manhwa is so amazing

please do give Mystic Prince a chance, it's an absolute delight!! there are multiple beautiful covers but here's a couple of them, BE ART BAITED <3

and finally some of my personal reactions to Mystic Prince and also a note regarding the content warnings under the cut!

feel free to skip this part lol but personally when i look for recs, i love when people tell me their emotional reactions and how passionate they are about it! so if this tells you anything,

this is the ONLY manhwa to have made me cry so far (yes that includes the orv webtoon, but not the novel ofc) like actually ugly sobbing with snot and tears and everything lmao

(it's not all sad though! this manhwa will have you clutching your heart one moment and then cackling out loud the next)

and it's also the ONLY manhwa i've ever spent actual money on before the fan tl picked it up just so i could read the advanced chapters (i'm notoriously cheap so this says a lot imo)

and i'm not alone in this, every other comment on webtoon is people saying the exact same thing. the general consensus is that this is 100% a hidden gem (webtoon DP my behated why'd you have to shoot yourself in the foot like that)

also regarding the content warnings on the carrd: this was my first time making a list of cws (i don't think anyone else has made one yet?) and i was a little hesitant to add them, so i sincerely apologize if i missed anything!! if anyone else has anything else to add (cws or otherwise) then please feel free to send me a message and i'll be happy to edit it!!

(btw this was inspired by this post which is also a great summary for why u should read a cnovel called mist unlimited)

#mystic prince #prince of myolyeong #orv #omniscient reader's viewpoint #webtoon #manhwa #manhwa recommendation #묘령의 황자 #gabby speaks

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beatingdrumspouringwine · 8 days

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Words from the Gods 1 - Where Are They?

I figured I would start this series with the way most people begin to encounter the Gods - through beginning their worship of the Gods. I don't know if this is super prevalent, but I feel like I've seen occasional posts from people asking how they can reach out to the Gods. Usually, this is accompanied by worries about receiving signs, altar prep, or whatever else have you.

I'll delve into signs in another post, but I want to talk about where the Gods are. One of my favorite things about being a Hellenic Polytheist is that the Gods are, both literally and figuratively, all around us. There are Dryads in the trees, Nymphs in the waters, and Gods in general in the world around us. We're never alone, and unlike the slight paranoia that this sentiment can cause us, it's actually a rather peaceful thing. Even if you've never called out to a particular God before, or if you haven't prayed to Them in a while, as long as you can call to Them, or even think to Them, They will be there.

And I think this is something that some people kind of miss. The really big, really intense experiences with the Gods are what are really sought out, as they can lead to interesting stories, and possibly a deeper faith as well. But this comes with the flip side of forgetting about the beauty that stands so close to us, we are always within it. We don't need the Gods to call out to us if, say, you're already standing in Athena's domain by hanging out in a library, or you're already in the presence of Zeus by watching a thunderstorm roll by. Reaching out to the Gods, in that sense, isn't necessarily some great big step that can only occur under the most formal of situations, but can even happen in a casual passing acknowledgment. Personally, as someone who loves rainstorms, I always make sure to say hello to Zeus when there's a particularly good storm. I don't necessarily worship Him fully (yet), but at the same time, acknowledging His existence is something easily done.

Unfortunately, I've been writing this essay on Finals Brain Rot (if you know, you know), so my thoughts aren't quite as well-articulated as they could be. If I can give any kind of conclusion to this, however, it would simply be that the Gods are always closer than we think they are. And if you come from a Christian background, with the idea of an omnipresent/omnipotent God, this can sound a little scary. But it's not quite scary or malicious. Instead, it's like having a friend who is always within reach, who can be spoken to with the gentlest touch. The Gods are good, They are kind, and They are always near to us.

This went a little less "metaphysical" then I was planning on, but I'll save that for the next installation, which will hopefully come out a bit faster, and will be about dreams and discerning said dreams.

Also, credit for the little end divider goes to @cafekitsune :)

#every prayer to Athena i've been making lately is just “oof ouch my brain”#so i hope this makes some degree of sense #dionysian #dionysos #dionysus #hellenic polytheism #hellenic polytheist #dionysos deity #dionysus deity #hellenic pagan #hellenic gods #hellenism #helpol

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pyrus-salicifolia · 17 days

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I don’t know, I still have a hard time making friends even with other autistic people.

When I got my diagnosis a while ago, I kinda expected that I’d start talking to autistic people and make a bunch of friends and be effectively “fixed”. Since logically, I thought, I’d be able to communicate perfectly fine with people with the same thought process and struggles as me. We’d really get each other and become best friends.

That didn’t happen and I cried a lot. I can’t be the only one who experienced this, right? I feel like this is how autistic friendships are often portrayed. And sure, I have a few autistic friends who I’ve really bonded with, but it’s equally as difficult as maintaining a relationship with anyone else sometimes.

Like, I don’t see a lot of people talking about how you’re still autistic around other autistic people. You still have communication differences and difficulties around other autistic people. Yes sometimes the communication issues are a byproduct of objectively unreasonable societal rules, but other times you just find it difficult to start a conversation. And when the person you want to be friends with also finds it difficult to start a conversation, you might just end up not talking at all. Not being able to show interest (at least in a way other people can perceive or understand) is another example I can think of.

I’ve thought a lot about this lately as I’ve tried getting to know another autistic person and building a friendship with them. I’ve talked to them about, and the feeling seems to be mutual so this doesn’t come from one-sided attempts. Once we actually get going and have a conversation, I feel so comfortable and able to be myself, and I have so much fun. But we rarely get to that point ‘cause we both find it hard to approach the other. When I feel like I want to talk to them, but can’t make myself, and when they haven’t talked to me in a while, I find myself thinking the same things I think when I want to talk to an allistic person: “why can’t I just be normal?”, “why is it so difficult to start a conversation?”, “how am I supposed to react to this?” and so on. And it’s so frustrating because I have so much to say and I know it’s fun to talk to them.

I don’t know how well I articulated myself there, but I just wanted to express my frustration and hopefully prompt other people to discuss this. I don’t want to feel alone in this.

#actually autistic #autism #autistic #autistic experiences #autistic community

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bijouxcarys · 4 months

Text

Allure (Brian May x fem!Reader)

Masterlist

This has been on my Ao3 since June, but I thought I’d put it on here properly. This is probably the filthiest Bri fic I’ve ever written… I’m proud of it🥲

NSFW, minors dni

Summary: You slip up at work. Luckily for you, Brian May can get anyone out of anything…

Tags: @whothefuckisanja @celestial-dragoness you don’t have to read this, but I thought I’d tag you just in case 🥹

It started off as any other day. Up at 7am, shower by 7:30am, breakfast by 8am, out the door by 8:30am.

Except, this wasn't an ordinary day. Not by a long shot.

I guess I should have been more prepared for the fact that my job as a journalist meant I'd have to speak to some pretty well-known folk here and there. Granted, I was only an apprentice journalist, but I should have known it wouldn't be so easy.

There I was, stood by my front door, at 8:31, debating whether or not I was right for this career. And I was tempted to turn, disrobe, and bury myself in the covers of my bed until the apocalypse came.

My mentor, Candice, had thirty years on me, and twenty years of experience in the field, so I trusted that she would be blunt and honest with me about what I should expect when interviewing somebody of high status. She just didn't warn me about how important this experience would be for me.

But then again, I'm not sure anybody could have prepared me for what was to come.

I managed to make it to the car park, however, of where Candice and I had set to meet, just shy of ten o'clock. I still wasn't 100% sure where abouts in London we were heading that day, as I was just told to bring an overnight bag due to the possibility of having to stay at a hotel, depending on how long we would be. Turns out, we were going to Germany by the Eurotunnel.

But, man, did I know who I'd be in the presence of that day. I'd thought about nothing else for weeks.

It was June 14th, 1998 – Brian May had just released his second solo album 'Another World' two weeks earlier, and it was my job to assist on the interview he was set to do with Isabelle Brinkman. She wasn't that much older than me, but definitely had more experience. I wasn't at that point in my career yet where I could conduct interviews myself. I just had to sit on the side and naively watch as somebody who could do the job better did it instead. To top it all off, I was merely there to take notes from a translator, as I did not understand a single word of German. That made it all the more terrifying for me. Perhaps they just wanted to see how I would adapt to a foreign setting.

As Candice and I stepped foot into the studio in which TMF conducted their interviews, a sense of anticipation permeated the air. Our rendezvous with Isabelle awaited us, serving as a prelude to the highly anticipated interview. While the interview itself was schedules for later that afternoon, the studio surroundings provided me with ample opportunity to acclimate myself to the dynamic atmosphere that awaited me. It was a chance to familiarise myself with the intricacies of the environment I was about to enter—a world where words held immense power and where every question had the potential to unravel hidden truths.

As the minutes ticked away, my mind oscillated between nervous excitement and a profound realisation. I would soon find myself in the presence of none other than Brian May himself—a legendary figure whose musical contributions had resonated with generations. The magnitude of this encounter began to sink in, and with it came a mix of awe and trepidation. Thoughts swirled in my mind as I pondered the upcoming exchange—how would I react in his presence? Would I have able to articulate myself with the clarity and precision they deserved? Hopefully I wouldn't have to actually speak to him... Just being in his presence was privilege in itself.

Yet, amidst these swirling thoughts, a flicker of determination emerged. I reminded myself that this was an extraordinary opportunity—an invitation to engage with a living legend, to witness him delve into the depths of his creative process, and to extract insights that would captivate audiences around the world. With each passing moment, I sought solace in the knowledge that, despite any apprehension, this experience was a testament to the trust placed in me by my more-established peers. I was being given a chance to contribute, even if it was from the side, to the legacy of Brian May—and artist who, I believed, had shaped the very fabric of music.

As the hours stretched before me, I endeavoured to channel my nervous energy into thorough preparation. I immersed myself in research, diving into Brian May's two albums, and reading through archived interviews he had done before, mostly so I could strike out any repetitious questions Isabelle may have had prepared for him. But I also was just intrigued by him, and I wanted to know what I was going to be in the presence of. Through my research, every lyric, every note, every word, became a mosaic of inspiration.

The late 80s proved to be quite a tumultuous period for him regarding his relationship with the media, and his relationships in general. An intricate dance between his public persona and the unyielding scrutiny of the media.

I wasn't totally naïve. I was acutely aware of the parasitic nature that permeated our realm—a cesspool of opportunistic souls who revelled in tearing down the very individuals they claimed to admire. Yet, I steadfastly refused to succumb to that dark allure. My fascination lay in unravelling the enigmatic tapestry of these extraordinary beings, basking in the brilliance of their craft, rather than dismantling their lives for the mere pleasure of it.

To me, celebrities were not objects to be consumed, but multifaceted individuals with their own joys, struggles, and insecurities. Their private lives, as tempestuous or serene as they might be, had no bearing on the rest of the world. Behind the glamour of their fame, they were simply human beings, not so dissimilar from you and me, navigating the labyrinthine paths of existence.

I approached my work with an unwavering respect, seeking to bridge the gap between the public and these luminaries, offering glimpses into their creative realms rather than prying open their vulnerabilities. I yearned to understand the essence of their artistry, to unearth the inspiration that fuelled their endeavours, and to convey their stories with the reverence they deserved. It was a mission guided by empathy, driven by an insatiable hunger to celebrate and preserve the legacies these individuals were shaping. Not destroy them.

While others revelled in salacious scandals and gossip-laden headlines, I found solace in the sacredness of their artistic endeavours. I revelled in the melodies that stirred souls, the words that painted vivid landscapes, and the performances that transported audiences to ethereal realms. It was this inherent love for the craft, this yearning to explore the inner workings of these extraordinary talents, that propelled me forward amidst the chaos.

So, the public image of Brian May that derived from the late 80s and the scandal involving his affair with his current partner, Anita Dobson—the scandal that whipped the media landscape into a frenzy wasn't of interest to me. I clung to my convictions, navigating the treacherous terrain with a blend of naivety and determination. I understood that the world I inhabited was stained by the shadows of exploitation, but I remained resolute in my pursuit of genuine connection—the kind that transcended gossip and scandal, diving deep into the heart of creativity, and fostering a genuine appreciation for the luminous souls who graced our stages and screens.

However, that changed slightly once I actually saw the man.

As I found myself standing in the formidable presence of Brian May, a wave of energy cascaded over me, leaving me utterly entranced. It was as if the very air crackled with a magnetic force that defied description. In that moment, any semblance of composure or rational thought disintegrated before my eyes. Within the first fifteen minutes of his arrival at TMF, Brian May effortlessly shattered my preconceived notions, transforming into an awe-inspiring figure who commanded attention and reverence.

The sight of him was nothing short of breathtaking—an embodiment of perfection that seemed plucked from the realms of mythology. His chiselled features bore the unmistakable mark of divinity, as if the gods themselves had sculpted his visage with meticulous care. The symphony of his presence reverberated through the room, overpowering every other sensory experience. It was impossible to avert my gaze as he greeted everyone on set; I witnessed the personification of physical beauty in its purest form.

I didn't approach the welcome committee. I stood as far away from them as I could, trying to act inconspicuous and making myself as invisible as possible as I observed.

A cascade of dark curls framed his face and sat, slightly draping, over his shoulders, their lustrous strands captivating the light and casting an ethereal glow around him. His eyes, a mesmerising kaleidoscope of celestial depth and hazel intensity, even from this distance, seemed to hold the wisdom of ages. They were windows into the realm of profound emotion, reflecting a captivating blend of passion, intellect, and sensitivity.

Every contour of his face, every sculpted angle, exuded an aura of strength and grace—a testament to the artistic precision with which he was formed. His strong jawline bespoke of resilience and determination, while his lips, seemingly touched by the same gods that created his being, were etched with a subtle hint of enigmatic allure. And when he smiled, it was as if the sun had emerged from behind the clouds, illuminating the room with an effervescent radiance.

I instinctively lowered my head, trying to blend into the background as he navigated his way through the crowd in the studio, a sea of eager faces vying for his attention. Perched on a small stood, clutching a notebook and pen tightly in my hands, I silently prayed that I would go unnoticed. The last thing I wanted was to embarrass myself in front of him. It was safer to keep my distance and retreat into the safe haven of my own fantasies.

"Didn't fancy joining the rest of them?"

His voice, soft and melodious, pierced through the clamour of the room, sending a shiver down my spine. My heart plummeted to the pit of my stomach, leaving me momentarily breathless. Summoning every ounce of courage, I swallowed hard and took a deep, steadying breath, lifting my gaze to meet the man who had taken my breath away mere moments ago. From my seated position, his commanding presence loomed above me, radiating an aura of undeniable power. I had to tilt my head upwards, straining my neck to meet his piercing gaze.

"I'm Brian," he introduced himself, extending his hand towards me. My throat felt dry and raspy, a nervous rasp that I quickly cleared before attempting to speak. I timidly reached out, expecting a perfunctory handshake, but instead, my smaller hand was enveloped firmly within his, a testament to his unyielding determination.

"I know who you are, Mr. May," I managed to murmur, hoping he would perceive my passive greeting, one that he had received from everyone else, as a signal to proceed with the scheduled interview alongside Isabelle, who was comfortably seated on the cream-coloured sofa amidst the orangey décor of the set.

"Don't you have a name?" His low chuckle reverberated through the air, adding an unexpected layer of complexity to the encounter. I could feel his gaze penetrating through me, raising an inferno of sensations within. It was both exhilarating an unnerving.

"What?" I stammered, my voice betraying my awe, caught off guard by his presence.

"What's your name, love?" he inquired, his words laced with a mixture of warmth and intrigue.

"Y/N," I replied, my voice barely audible, resembling a small squeak that escaped from my lips.

He didn't respond immediately, but a final squeeze of my hand conveyed more than words ever could. A smile graced his lips, a smile that could rival the radiance of the sun before he turned to continue his path towards Isabelle.

I quickly realised that resistance was futile. The power he held over me was undeniable, a force that stripped away my inhibitions and left me vulnerable, willingly surrendering to his captivating energy. The sheer magnetism and allure he emanated transcended mortal boundaries, weaving a spell that ensnared me completely. Every facet of his being—the physical, the intellectual, the artistic—melded seamlessly, forging an embodiment of perfection that surpassed the realm of ordinary mortals.

From that moment on, I understood that my perception of beauty had irrevocably changed. Before me stood a true titan, a modern-day manifestation of the gods themselves.

During the course of the interview, Brian effortlessly settled to the plushness of the sofa, exuding an air of both confidence and ease. His body language commanded attention, with one arm casually draped across the backrest, and his other leg bent upon the cushions, positioning himself towards Isabelle with captivating allure. However, my attempts to absorb the content of their conversation proved futile as my gaze became entranced by his mesmerising presence.

From my vantage point, I relished the opportunity to observe him from a distance, allowing my eyes to linger appreciatively on his impeccable attire. A navy-blue two-piece suit enveloped his frame with sartorial perfection, accentuating his refined taste and sense of style. Beneath the well-tailored blazer, a crisp white shirt peeked through, its top buttons undone, revealing a tantalising glimpse of his sun-kissed upper chest. The subtle contrast of his slightly tanned skin against the pure white fabric was a testament to his natural allure and radiance.

Adorning his neck were two carefully chosen necklaces, their delicate details harmonising flawlessly with his complexion. Each pendant seemed to dance in unison, subtly emphasising his features and drawing attention to his undeniable charm. The interplay between these intricate accessories and the warm tones of his skin created a symphony of visual aesthetics, highlighting his magnetic presence.

Amidst the flurry of the interview, my eyes were irresistibly drawn to his captivating appearance. Every intricate detail of his attire beckoned for closer inspection, each aspect a testament to his impeccable style and timeless elegance. The room faded into the background as my gaze became fixated on the contours of his form, the way his clothing accentuated his stature, and the natural grace with which he carried himself. It was a visual feast, an opportunity to savour the beauty that surrounded him, and I couldn't help but be captivated by his magnetic charm.

Fortuitously, a small earpiece nestled in my ear, providing a direct channel to the translation of Isabelle's introduction and any other German dialogue that followed. But more significantly, it granted me an intimate connection to the melodic cadence of Brian May's voice. The mere thought of his voice coursing through that earpiece ignited a surge of anticipation within me. Little did I know that the experience that awaited me would transcend all expectations.

As Isabelle initiated the conversation, a symphony of words flowed through the airwaves and gently caressed my eardrums. And then, there it was—Brian May's voice, like warm butter gliding smoothly across my senses. The velvety timbre carried a magnetic quality that effortlessly captivated the listener. Each word resonated with a seductive charm, a richness that wove a tapestry of emotions within me.

The power of his voice was unparalleled, evoking a multitude of sensations that transcended the realm of rationality. It wrapped around my consciousness, enveloping me in a cocoon of warmth and enchantment. Every syllable held a certain allure, drawing me deeper into his world, where time seemed to stand still.

The boundaries of reason crumbled, leaving only the ethereal essence of his voice, a sonic embrace that caressed the very core of my being. It was a voice that defied age, carrying the wisdom and maturity of a man who had traversed five decades of life. Each information exuded a richness and depth, a testament to a life well-lived and experiences etched into the fibres of his being.

As his words reached my ears, I found myself spellbound, unable to resist the intoxicating allure that emanated from his every utterance. It was as though his voice held the power to awaken desires and emotions that lay dormant until that very moment. The experience was nothing short of transformative.

In that fleeting moment, I could have sworn that Brian's hazel eyes, though perhaps coincidental, locked onto mine from a distance. It could have been a passing thought, a random gaze that happened to intersect with mine, but the impact was undeniable. The weight of his attention, even if momentary, unleashed a surge of emotions within me.

Under the piercing intensity of his hazel gaze, a tempest of sensations coursed through my body, sparking an unfamiliar and overwhelming response. A wave of desire washed over me, as if an invisible force had taken hold of my very core. Unbeknownst to him, his mere presence had ignited a primal longing that rendered me powerless, leaving me trembling in its wake.

In that profound instant, my purpose became blurred, and the world around me faded into insignificance. The boundaries of my job seemed trivial, overshadowed by an insatiable craving to bask in Brian May's dominance and surrender myself to his every whim. The realisation struck me with an intensity that was as terrifying as it was intoxicating.

The clenching of my thighs, an involuntary response to the overwhelming desire that surged within me, was a physical manifestation of the inner turmoil I grappled with. It was a battle between reason and raw passion, where reason ultimately stood no chance against the allure of Brian's commanding presence.

Throughout the unfolding interview, a subtle dance of power and desire materialised between Brian and I. With each passing moment, I became increasingly aware that that gaze that I had noticed before was in fact for me.

It was a captivating display of dominance, a silent declaration that sent a shiver down my spine.

As the questions flowed, Brian's eyes kept meeting mine with a compelling force, even with myself being well-hidden behind the camera set-up. His presence enveloped me, it was a game of seduction, a battle for control, as his penetrating eyes sought to unravel the depths of my desires.

With each subtle shift of his body, a wave of power emanated from him, asserting his dominance over the room. His confident posture and deliberate movements spoke volumes, conveying an unspoken command that ignited a fire within me. I found myself willingly succumbing to his overwhelming presence, yearning to explore the unspoken desires that lingered in the air.

Through the veil of professionalism, his eyes whispered secrets that stirred a primal response within me. In their depths, I glimpsed a hunger, a hunger that mirrored my own, as if he were daring me to embrace the intoxicating allure of submission. It was a dance of power and surrender, an unspoken invitation to explore the depths of passion under his watchful gaze.

He spoke with Isabelle, showing her the album cover, his fingers grazing over parts that he detailed. But the electricity that crackled between us grew more potent with each passing second. His dominant presence commanded my attention, drawing me further into a world where his desires and mine entwined. In the recesses of his eyes, I discovered a realm where control was relinquished, and the boundaries of pleasure were pushed to their limits.

But as the interview continued, I was left with a lingering uncertainty. Was it merely a game of dominance, a tantalising tease to stoke the flames of desire? Or did his eyes convey a deeper truth, an unspoken invitation to submit to his commanding presence? Or, perhaps, I had been utterly spellbound by that man's presence that every little thing he did translated as sexual and intoxicating seduction. The questions lingered, suspended in the air, as the energy between us remained tantalisingly unresolved.

As the interview drew to a close, a lingering sense of anticipation remained. He had created uncharted territory, without him even knowing—unless he did know... I'm still not sure.

Suddenly, the world around me seemed to fade into the background as Brian's presence intensified. Time slowed to a crawl, and every detail of his captivating demeanour etched itself into my memory. Isabelle's closing remarks echoes in the room, yet my attention remained fixated on the enigmatic figure before me.

A mischievous smirk played upon Brian's lips, radiating confidence and a hint of playful intrigue. His eyes, like pools of intensity, surveyed the room with a subtle air of dominance. A glass of water rested in his hands, his long, slender fingers tracing a mesmerising path along the rim, leaving a trail of anticipation in their wake.

It was then that a startling realisation washed over me. Throughout the entire interview, my hand had unconsciously clung tightly to the pencil, rendering it immobile. As I reluctantly tore my gaze away from Brian's captivating presence, I glanced down at my neglected notebook, only to discover its pristine pages untouched by a single word.

A mix of awe and bewilderment coursed through my veins. How had I become so utterly transfixed by his presence that I had neglected my professional duties? It was as if time had suspended itself, and my sole purpose had shifted from capturing his words to capturing the essence of his being.

The blank pages of my notebook served as a stark reminder of the power he had over me, and in that moment, I understood the depth of his allure and the undeniable impact he had on those in his orbit. As the weight of the realisation settled upon me, a mixture of embarrassment and fascination flooded my senses.

An overwhelming wave of panic washed over me as I sat there, paralysed by the realisation of my negligence. The enchantment that had held me captive for the past twenty minutes shattered, leaving me vulnerable to the harsh reality that awaited. Candice, my ever-watchful colleague, would undoubtedly discover my failure, and her disapproval would be swift and scathing.

My heart pounded against my ribcage like a drum, its frantic beats mirroring the chaotic thoughts racing through my mind. How could I have allowed this to happen? The dream of advancing my career, of one day becoming a renowned journalist, now seemed like an elusive mirage, fading away before my very eyes.

Self-recrimination echoes through my thoughts like a relentless chorus. The weight of my own stupidity bore down upon me, squeezing the air from my lungs. I berated myself for succumbing to the allure of Brian's presence, for allowing it to eclipse my responsibilities. The consequences of my foolishness loomed over me, casting a shadow of doubt and regret.

The sound of Candice's voice calling my name snapped me back to the present. Her stern tone pierced through the haze of my thoughts, jolting me to action. It was time to face the consequences, to confront my failure head-on, and accept the repercussions of my actions.

I watched as Candice approached with an expectant expression. Dread coiled in the pit of my stomach, knowing all too well what awaited me. With every step she took, my heart sank deeper into the depths of remorse.

Candice's sharp eyes scanned the notebook in front of me, her gaze narrowing in disbelief. The realisation hit her like a tidal wave as she noticed the pages, void of any lead reflections from the interview. A mix of disappointment and fury twisted her features, and I braced myself for the inevitable scolding.

The room seemed to hush, the air thick with uncomfortable tension, as Candice's voice boomed through an angry whisper. "What on Earth is this, Y/N?" A collective murmur rippled through the small bunches of people that surrounded us as curious eyes turned toward our direction.

Heat rushed to my cheeks, my gaze dropping to the floor, unable to meet the accusing eyes of my colleagues. Shame wrapped around me like a suffocating shroud, tightening with every word that spilled from Candice's lips. Her reprimand echoed in the silence, a blistering reminder of my failure, and I swallowed hard, my throat constricted by a mixture of guilt and embarrassment.

"I-I'm sorry, Candice. I got caught up in the moment, and I just... completely forgot to write anything down, I promise it won't happen agai—"

"You were given a responsibility, and you let it slip away because you were too mesmerised by the answers? This is not acceptable, do you understand how poorly this reflects on our team?" Her eyes narrowed, and her voice was laced with irritation.

"I know, I'm truly sorry. It was a lapse of judgement."

Candice's scolding continued, her words filled with a mixture of reprimand and concern for my professional growth. The weight of her disappointment pressed upon me, intensifying my remorse.

A peculiar sensation tingled at the back of my neck whilst my supervisor continued to reprimand me in the corner of this studio, drawing my gaze elsewhere and hoping she would stop soon so I could just go home and bury myself in the covers of my bed. I met the intense gaze of Brian May, who hadn't left yet, much to my demise, and watched the scene unfold from a distance. His eyes held a mix of curiosity and intrigue, remaining an observer, captivated by the drama playing out before him.

It was a moment of profound humiliation, and yet, there was something strangely captivating about the way Brian watched. His silent presence added an extra layer of tension to the already charged atmosphere. It was as if he recognised the vulnerability within me, the weight of my mistake, and found a fascination in the spectacle.

As Candice walked away, her words lingered in the air, mingling with a mix of determination and self-reflection. I felt the stinging of tears in my eyes from the sheer embarrassment of my lack of competence. I rested my elbows on my knees, bringing the notebook up to my face and burying my head in it in shame.

I stayed there for as long as I could, not wanting to meet the judgemental gazes from those around me, and it had cleared out somewhat by the time I decided to actually stand up and gather my things. The bottle of water I had with me had been completely dried out from the constant sips I had to take whilst watching Brian's interview. My mouth was dry from Candice's scolding, and I whined under my breath just from the thought of anything else going wrong today.

It can't have been that far after four in the afternoon when I was collecting myself in the hallway of the studio, preparing to get a taxi back to the Euro so I could fuck off home and never emerge from my bed ever again. But before I could make my hasty exit, a soft voice called out, interrupting my thoughts.

"Excuse me?" the voice said, drawing my attention. I looked up, my eyes still slightly watery from the threats of tears, only to lock gazes with the very person who had inadvertently disrupted my responsibilities. It was none other than Brian himself, standing a few paces away, holding out the empty notebook towards me. "Sorry to disturb you, but, uh, you left this in the studio."

Confusion mingled with surprise as I furrowed my eyebrows, my emotions still raw from the earlier events. Taking a deep breath, I cautiously reached out, accepting the notebook from him. My voice quivered slightly as I murmured my thanks, unable to meet his gaze for more than a fleeting moment.

Concern etched across his face, Brian leaned against the wall, hands tucked casually in his pockets. The audacity of his next words caught me off guard, a mixture of bluntness and subtle insult towards Candice.

"Are you alright?" he inquired, his tone laced with genuine curiosity. "I couldn't help but notice you being lectured by an old sow earlier."

My surprise turned into astonishment, my eyes widening at his audacious remark. The unexpected camaraderie in his words momentarily eased the weight on my shoulders, and I met his gaze, finding solace in his directness.

"I... I'll be fine," I replied, my voice steadier now. "Just one of those days, you know?"

Brian's expression softened, a knowing smile tugging at the corner of his lips. The air between us crackled with a silent understanding, as if he knew the struggled that came with navigating the industry.

"May I ask what happened?" Brian inquired, his gaze fixed on me. The mere sound of his voice sent a shiver down my spine, leaving me at a loss for words. How was I supposed to hold a conversation with him when his presence alone had already rendered me speechless? I felt the weight of inadequacy pressing on me, threatening to unravel any semblance of coherence I had left.

It's nothing," I managed to squeak out, my eyes involuntarily darting downwards to take in the details of his attire illuminated by the strip lights in the hallway. "Just some... technical issues," I lied, my voice betraying the fabricated story. I couldn't let him know that I had been so foolish as to let his allure overpower my ability to do my job.

"Oh," he responded, briefly averting his gaze. "So, why were you being told off? That's what it seemed like, anyway." He shrugged, shifting his weight on his feet.

A blush crept across my face, and I found myself unable to meet his eyes, instead fixating on the flawlessly polished surface of his shoes. "I... I never wrote down the notes I needed to..." I mumbled, embarrassment washing over me once more. "By this time tomorrow, I'll probably be back in assistant mode, fetching coffee for everyone..." My voice trailed off, the reality of my prediction causing it to waver with distress. I felt the sting of tears welling up again, and I averted my gaze, desperately seeking solace in a different direction.

The internal self-deprecating thoughts echoes within me. How unprofessional, crying in front of Brian May. I couldn't help but feel the weight of my own perceived inadequacy crushing my spirit.

"Hey... I'm sure that won't happen," he smoothly assured me, his voice like velvet. In that moment, I felt a gentle tap on my shoulder, sending a thrilling shockwave through my entire being. Turning my head, I found myself face to face with Brian, his hand extending toward me, offering a pristine handkerchief. His warm, non-judgemental eyes conveyed a silent reassurance as he lightly waved the handkerchief, inviting me to accept it. With a shaky hand, I reached out and took it from him, mustering a feeble thank you. Although my mind should have been consumed with thoughts of potential demotion, I couldn't help but feel a surge of excitement at the thought of using Brian May's handkerchief, to dry the tears over something he had inadvertently caused.

A rueful laugh escaped my lips. "No, it probably will happen," I nodded, my gaze fixed straight ahead. "It's a joke."

Brian let out a slight huff, as if in agreement, clicking his tongue and crossing his arms. He allowed a pause to hang in the air before speaking again. "Where are you staying? You can't be that old, I don't want you to be wandering about on your own."

"I am twenty-two, thank you very much," I chuckled. "I was supposed to be at the hotel down the street, but... after everything that's happened today, I think it's best if I just get on the Euro and head home," I replied with a somewhat wistful smile. "I don't really want to be around everyone right now. I can already imagine the judgemental looks they'll be throwing my way all night." I let out a sigh of resignation.

"Is it really that bad?" Brian raised an eyebrow inquisitively.

"You have no idea..." I trailed off, my voice tinged with a mix of frustration and vulnerability.

"I don't know about that," he smiled, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "I toured the world with three other drama queens and had to spend nights in hotels with them," he said, giving me a pointed look.

I met his gaze with a shy yet genuine expression, a smile slowly spreading across my face. "You've got me there."

"What was it that you were supposed to take notes of, if you don't mind me asking?" he inquired curiously.

"My job was to note down your answers in shorthand," I replied, a hint of disappointment still lingering in my expression as I recalled the embarrassment of my failure. "For the British papers," I shrugged.

He hummed, his gaze shifting as he pondered for a moment. I couldn't help but feel a flicker of hope as his eyes seemed to briefly sweep over me, but I dismissed it as mere wishful thinking.

"Well..." he began, his voice dropping slightly lower, his eyes still locked with mine, a mischievous glimmer dancing in their depths. "I have an idea that might just solve your predicament."

My heart skipped a beat as I waited, captivated by his words and the magnetic pull of his presence. There was an unmistakable air of authority and confidence about him, and allure that made it impossible to resist.

"Why don't you come back to my hotel with me?" he suggested, his voice laced with an irresistible charm. "We can sit down, go through the interview together, and you can take your notes directly from me. That way, you won't have to worry about losing your job over a simple technical glitch."

His proposition hung in the air, tantalising and daring. The thought of being alone with him, in the intimate setting of his hotel room, sent a shiver of anticipation down my spine, despite the lingering knowledge of the committed relationship that was awaiting him back in London. It was an offer I couldn't refuse, despite the lingering doubts and fears that swirled in my mind.

His gaze held mine, an unspoken challenge conveyed through the subtle arch of his eyebrow. He exuded a domineering aura, a man who was accustomed to taking charge and getting what he desired, when he desired. And in that moment, I couldn't deny the thrilling temptation of surrendering to his authority, even if it meant stepping into the unprofessional, and the unknown.

I took a deep breath, my voice barely a whisper as I mustered the courage to respond. "Alright," I acquiesced, my heart pounding in my chest. "I'll come with you."

A slow, knowing smile curved his lips, a silent victory that revealed his satisfaction at having ensnared me in his web. With a gesture of his hand, he beckoned me to follow, his subtle dominance asserting itself even in this small act.

The ride to his hotel was a tense affair, filled with a mix of anticipation and self-doubt. I settled into the plush leather seat of the car, my palms slightly clammy as I clasped my notebook tightly, its empty pages a stark reminder of my shortcomings.

Brian sat beside me, radiating an air of casual elegance as he reclined comfortably, his gaze occasionally flickering towards me. The silence hung heavily in the air, pregnant with unspoken desires and uncharted territories. It was as if the car itself had transformed into a cocoon, isolating us from the outside world and intensifying the connection between us.

He broke the silence, his voice low and velvety, filled with a hint of weariness. "You know, these press dates can become quite tiresome after a while," he confessed, his tone tinged with a touch of frustration. "Having to repeat the same anecdotes, answer the same questions—it can feel like a never-ending cycle."

I listened intently, my heart aching with a mixture of sympathy and guilt. His dedication to his craft was evident, yet here he was, taking the time to accommodate my incompetence, going above and beyond to salvage my position.

The weight of his sacrifice settled on my shoulders, and I couldn't help but feel a sense of responsibility for the burden he had shouldered on my behalf. A subtle pang of remorse washed over me, mingling with the lingering excitement that coursed through my veins.

"You didn't have to do this," I murmured softly, my voice tinged with gratitude and regret. "I'm sorry for the trouble I've caused."

He turned his gaze towards me, his eyes filled with understanding and something deeper, something that hinted at a hidden power dynamic between us. "Sometimes, we all need a little help," he replied, his voice carrying a hint of command. "And besides, it gives me an opportunity to spend some time with someone who appreciates the nuances of my work."

His words hung in the air, charged with unspoken implications. The car journey continued, each passing moment bringing us closer to his hotel, to an encounter that held the potential to blur the boundaries between professional obligations and personal desires.

As the city lights streaked past us in a mesmerising blur, a wave of apprehension washed over me. The weight of potential consequences bore down heavily, my mind conjuring images of disapproving glares and lectures from Candice. The thought of her disapproval and the potential damage to my professional reputation loomed like a dark cloud over this impulsive decision. But also... there was something in the back of mind that found that danger enticing.

I glanced at Brian, his profile illuminated by the passing lights, a captivating blend of charisma and enigma. The subtle shift of his features hinted at the complexities that lay beneath the surface. Yes, he was a renowned musician, an idol to many, but he was also a man with his own commitments and responsibilities.

My thoughts veered towards Candice's hypothetical reprimands, reminding me of the line I was treading. I wrestled with the inner turmoil, questioning my judgement, and yet, the allure of this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, the chance to glean insights from the man himself, called to me like a siren's song. The boundaries of reason blurred, and the forbidden fruit of possibility dangled temptingly before me.

I couldn't deny the excitement that coursed through my veins, even if we were simply going to talk about the interview. But something told me that he wouldn't have invited me to his hotel room if he only wanted to repeat what he'd told Isabelle. But reality, too, had its grip on my conscience. Brian's relationship status, thought not conventional in the traditional sense, added another layer of complexity.

The conflict within me intensified, the battle between reason and desire waged in my mind. And as the car whisked us closer to the hotel, I knew that a pivotal moment awaited me on the other side of those doors. A moment that would test the limits of my self-control and challenge the very fabric of my professional identity.

As the car pulled up in front of the grand hotel entrance, I couldn't help but be awestruck by its opulence. Towering pillars adorned with intricate carvings framed the entrance, while a cascading waterfall nearby added a touch of serenity to the bustling city surroundings. The lobby, with its marble floors and sparkling chandeliers, exuded an air of sophistication and exclusivity.

Brian stepped to get out of the car, his presence commanding attention as he glanced back at me, his eyes inviting me to join him on this adventure. I took a deep breath, my heart fluttering in anticipation, and followed suit.

The moment our eyes met, a magnetic connection sparked between us. A subtle exchange of glances spoke volumes, conveying unspoken desires and hidden depths. It was in those stolen moments that the tension between us grew, the unspoken understanding that something powerful was unfolding.

As we stepped into the lavish lobby, the plush furnishings and hushed atmosphere enveloped us. Brian's hand brushed lightly against my lower back, a simple gesture that sent shivers down my spine. The touch was fleeting yet deliberate, a tantalising hint of the electricity crackling in the air.

We made our way to the elevator, managing to be inconspicuous to the very few people who were actually in the lobby, the soft chime signalled its arrival. The enclosed space became our private sanctuary, the air thick with anticipation. The mirrored walls reflected our proximity, capturing the unspoken intensity that hung in the air.

In the confined space, Brian's scent enveloped me, a heady combination of musky cologne and a hint of adventure. Every moment felt deliberate, every breath carried a weight of anticipation. Our eyes locked in the reflection, mirroring a depth of connection that defied words.

As the elevator ascended, our proximity grew, the space between us closing with each passing floor. Brian's voice, laced with a husky undertone, broke the silence. "I must say, the view from my room is quite breathtaking," he remarked, his voice a seductive whisper that sent shivers down my spine.

I leaned in slightly, my voice barely above a whisper. "I can only imagine," I replied, the innuendo hanging in the air, adding a subtle layer of flirtation to our conversation.

A playful smile tugged at the corners of Brian's lips, his eyes holding that same mischievous glint as earlier. His hand casually brushed against mine as the elevator came to a halt, the touch electrifying and tantalisingly brief. The doors slid open, revealing a corridor bathed in soft, warm lighting.

We walked side by side, the click of our footsteps echoing in the hushed ambiance. The anticipation between us was palpable, a dance of desire and restraint. The subtle glances exchanged spoke volumes, carrying a shared secret that only we understood.

Arriving at his room, Brian fumbled for the key, his hand brushing against mine once again as he unlocked the door. The room's interior exuded luxury, with plush furnishings and a panoramic view of the city skyline. The atmosphere was charged with an undeniable energy, as if the room itself held its breath in anticipation of what was to come.

Brian motioned for me to take a seat on the plush sofa, while he made his way to a side table adorned with crystal glasses and a sparkling bottle of water. His movements were controlled, each action carrying a subtle authority that commanded attention.

He poured a glass of water, the liquid cascading effortlessly into the glass. With an almost calculated grace, he handed it to me, his fingers grazing mine ever so slightly. The touch sent a jolt of electricity through me, and I found myself captivated by his commanding presence.

Settling into a nearby armchair, Brian's gaze fixed upon me with an intensity that made my heart race. He picked up my notebook, his fingers tracing the empty pages as he glanced back at me, his eyes filled with a mix of curiosity and dominance.

"Let's go over the interview, shall we?" he suggested, his voice laced with authority. I nodded, my voice momentarily escaping me in the face of his dominant aura.

As we delved into the conversation, his proximity grew, our arms occasionally brushing against each other's as we gestured or reached for the notebook. Each touch was a subtle reminder of his control and my vulnerability.

His gaze never wavered, his eyes piercing into mine with a sense of ownership. He dissected each question and response with precision, his tone firm yet enticing. The atmosphere crackled with an undeniable tension.

Brian's hand occasionally found its way to the small of my back, a subtle gesture of possession that left me breathless and wanting more.

As we concluded our review of the interview, an unspoken understanding passed between us. Brian's gaze held a hint of satisfaction, as if pleased with my progress under his guidance. I couldn't deny the thrilling allure of his dominance, the way he effortlessly took charge and led me down a path of unexplored sensuality, purely in the way he spoke and answered the questions.

Once we'd finished, a sense of relief washed over me. I placed my pencil down on the coffee table, grateful for the notes I now had to present to Candice. But little did I know that the night was far from over, and the dynamics between Brian and I were about to take a new turn.

As I sat back on the sofa, taking a sip of water from the glass Brian had graciously given me, he caught me off guard with an unexpected question.

"Why don't you ask me about my relationship?" His words hung in the air, laden with a mix of curiosity and challenge.

I nearly choked on my water, my eyes widening in surprise. His question was so sudden and unexpected that I struggled to find the right response. "W... What?" I stammered, my voice betraying my confusion as I carefully set the glass back on the coffee table.

"Everyone else does. Why don't you?" Brian rose from his seat, striding over to the armchair across the room. He reached up, gracefully removing his navy-blue blazer and draping it over the back of the chair. His movements were confident and self-assured, his hands casually returning to his pockets.

I watched him in awe, captivated by his every gesture. The way he carried himself, the slight tilt of his head, the way he rolled up his sleeves to reveal his forearms—each detail seemed to heighten his allure. His hair, with its enchanting allure, seemed to beckon to me, and I couldn't help but feel a magnetic pull toward him, yet again.

Feeling a heat rise in my cheeks, I cleared my throat, crossing my legs in an attempt to steady myself. I hoped he wouldn't notice the effect he had on me, even though the atmosphere had been charged with flirtation throughout our time together thus far. Deep down, a small voice whispered that it was all in my head, that Brian was simply being accommodating.

"I, uh..." I began, my voice slightly shaky as I took another sip of water, hoping to steady my nerves. "Well, I don't see why I should ask about your relationship," I replied, attempting to sound nonchalant but failing to hide the perplexed undertone in my voice. "It's really nobody's business, right?" I added, my brows furrowing.

Brian's lips curled into a partly playful, partly impressed, smile, and he moved closer to me, now stood right in front of me, like he was when we first met eyes earlier that afternoon. His eyes locked steadily onto mine. The air once again crackled with anticipation and unspoken feelings.

"That's true," he said, his voice dropping to a husky whisper. "But sometimes, it's intriguing to delve into the depths of someone's personal life, don't you think? To understand their desires, their secrets..."

His words hung in the air, charged with an undeniable seductive energy.

"So, I'm going to ask you, Y/N..." Brian's voice drew me in, his words laced with a magnetic allure. He moved away slightly, only to settle beside me on the sofa, his body angled toward mine. I couldn't help but feel a surge of prospect as I realised that he had remembered my name, speaking it for the first time since he'd met me.

"What about you?" his voice was a seductive whisper, gently coaxing me to reveal the depths of my own desires. My breath caught in my throat, the intensity of his presence almost overwhelming.

"What about me?" I managed to whisper, my voice betraying a mix of nervousness and curiosity.

Brian let out a low chuckle, a sound that sent a rush of heat coursing through me. As he shifted his position, resting his arm casually across the back of the sofa, he mirrored the way he had sat with Isabelle during the interview. But this time, his proximity to me was closer, his energy more focused. It was as if the space between us had become charged with an unspoken understanding.

His hand reached out, deliberately smoothing over the slight ruffle in my black skirt. The touch was gentle, but its intention was unmistakable. I couldn't help but feel the electricity that surged through me as his fingertips lingered on my knee. A wave of desire washed over me, causing my thighs to clench and a quiver to run through the depths of my being. I briefly closed my eyes, my senses overwhelmed by the intoxicating tension that enveloped us.

But my eyes snapped back open, meeting his gaze when he finally responded. The air seemed to crackle with anticipation, and I hung onto his every word, eager to unravel the depths of this enigmatic man before me.

Brian's eyes sparkled with a mischievous glint as he locked his gaze with mine. He had seen through my feeble attempt to divert the conversation and now he was toying with me, like a skilled predator playing with its prey.

"You know, Y/N," he began, his voice dripping with subtle amusement, "I can't help but wonder if those technical difficulties were just an excuse. Perhaps there's something else that prevented you from taking those notes." His words hung in the air, laden with implication.

I felt a blush creep up my cheeks, a mixture of embarrassment and fascination. How did he manage to see through my façade so effortlessly? It was as if he possessed an uncanny ability to unravel the truths hidden beneath the layers of my carefully constructed lies.

"You're quite perceptive," I admitted, my voice carrying a hint of vulnerability. "There might have been... other distractions that prevented me from fulfilling my duties."

Brian's lips curled into a knowing smile, his eyes narrowing ever so slightly. His hand, still resting on my knee, exerted a subtle pressure, a silent reminder of the power dynamics at play. It was a gesture that sent a jolt coursing through me, making me acutely aware of his commanding presence.

"Well, Y/N," he murmured, his voice lowering again, "if you were indeed distracted, perhaps its time we address that distraction head-on."

I swallowed hard, my heart once again pounding in my chest. It was as if the world around us had faded into the background, leaving the two of us locked in this exhilarating dance of desire and power. I was drawn to him, unable to resist him, and he knew it.

"What do you suggest, Brian?" I exhaled, my voice a velvet whisper that teased the air. I teetered on the precipice of desire, my every fibre ready to succumb to his captivating dominance, yearning to explore the uncharted depths of passion that enticed us both.

His piercing gaze intensified, a searing ember of authority glowing in his eyes, beckoning me further into his world. "Y/N," he purred, his voice a sultry blend of command and invitation, "Perhaps it's time we plunge into the depths of these tantalising distractions. It would be such a waste to let them slip through our fingers, wouldn't it?"

He meticulously grazed his teeth against his plump lower lip, his predatory eyes descending upon my body with a swift hunger. "Are you seeing somebody?"

I took a deep breath, my eyes locked on his hand resting on my knee. It felt like an anchor, grounding me in the midst of the swirling emotions that Brian had effortlessly stirred within me. I shook my head slightly, my voice barely above a whisper. "No..."

His grip on my knee tightened ever so slightly, a subtle display of dominance that that sent a jolt of excitement coursing through me. Tense, the weight of his question hanging in the silence. Brian's gaze continued to bore into mine, his eyes filled with an intensity that made it hard to look away.

"But I'm assuming you have," he prodded gently, his voice laced with a mix of curiosity and desire. As he spoke, his hand shifted, his fingers tracing a path of electrifying warmth up my thigh. Every inch of my skin burned under his touch, igniting a fire deep within me that I struggled to contain.

My thoughts became hazy, a cocktail of longing and forbidden fantasies swirling in my mind. The allure of Brian's commanding presence was overwhelming, captivating me in ways I couldn't resist. Rationality wavered as I found myself yearning for his dominance, for him to physically take control and guide me into uncharted territory.

I mustered the strength to respond, my voice trembling with a potent mixture of apprehension and desire. "Yes," I finally confessed, my admission punctuated by a shuddering breath. The confession hung in the air, a tangible invitation for Brian to delve deeper into the depths of my past and desires.

"Of course, that was a silly question for me to ask you." Brian's laughter, a melodic symphony, echoed in the room, mingling with the charged atmosphere that enveloped us. That mischievous glint in his eyes danced with a hint of desire as he playfully taunted me.

"A pretty thing like you... No way a man hasn't approached you. No way you can't have experienced such things that come with it." His words, dripping with seductive confidence, sent shivers down my spine, awakening a dormant fire within me. As he continued, his hand embarked on a daring expedition, traversing the landscape of my thigh with deliberate intent. The tantalising proximity of his touch ignited a flame of exhilaration, intensifying his charm.

"Is this okay?"

Caught in the magnetic field of his presence, my breath hitched. His audacity, his audacious exploration of my boundaries, both thrilled and unnerved me. His question, whispered like a forbidden secret, hung in the air, enticing and provocative.

My gaze met his, locked in a fierce battle of desire and restraint. His head tilted ever so slightly, offering a glimpse into a world of untamed passion that lay just beyond my peripheral vision. It was a challenge, a temptation I couldn't ignore.

"Yes..." I gasped, a delicate confession of my yearning. The room seemed to pulse with the rhythm of our shared anticipation, each heartbeat echoing the unspoken desire that had been crackling above us since he asked me if I had a name back at the studio.

With every fibre of my being attuned to his touch, I met his piercing gaze, a hunger ignited within myself. The anticipation hung thick and heady in the air, as my body responded to his unspoken desires, yearning for the raw intensity that lay just beyond our fingertips.

His hand, once resting on the back of the sofa, now ventured into the depths of my hair, fingers dancing through the strands with an almost possessive tenderness. My breath hitched, a mixture of excitement and anxiety coursing through me veins.

His voice, a velvety caress, laced with his characteristic authority, penetrated the atmosphere. "You said you were twenty-two?" he asked, his touch a sensory symphony that sent shivers cascading down my spine to the fullest. I nodded, my lips instinctively finding refuge between my teeth, an unconscious response to the mounting tension that enveloped us.

"So young and full of life," he mused, his words a tantalising invitation into a world of hidden desires. The weight of his statement settled upon us, passing through us like a current. "You do understand what I'm trying to do right now, don't you?"

I knew exactly what he was attempting to do, and the thought alone could have caused me to climax on his sofa right then and there.

A barely contained breath escaped my lips, as I chuckled and shifted my body to face him fully as an answer. The crossing of my legs changed, creating an open pathway to explore our proximity. As if attuned to my movements, Brian's hand left my leg momentarily, only to reclaim its rightful place on my thigh, a possessive declaration of his intent.

Curiosity burned within me, emboldened by his unabashed dominance. "Do you do this a lot?" I ventured, resting my arm on the back of the sofa, a subtle invitation for him to delve deeper into the intricacies of his world. The revelation of his true intentions liberated me, allowing me to respond in kind, the allure of the forbidden dance consuming my thoughts.

Brian seemed a little taken aback by my question, but his initial surprise quickly dissolved into a low chuckle, a hint of intrigue glinting in his eyes. His gaze momentarily shifted to his hand, which had settled on the back of my thigh, his thumb tracing tantalising circles against the soft skin, exerting a gentle tug.

"I wouldn't say a lot... but every now and then, I stumble upon someone I really, really like," he confessed, his voice descending to a husky whisper as his eyes flickered up to meet mine. "Someone I simply can't resist," he added, his words resonating with an intensity that left no room for doubt. "And you, my dear, are the most captivating creature I've encountered thus far."

His compliments reverberated within me, causing me to sink deeper into the plush embrace of the sofa, my face suffused with a bright crimson blush. "Am I?" A small smirk danced on my lips as I raised an eyebrow, my inquiry carrying a weight that went beyond the surface. Unintentionally, I had invoked the presence of Anita, his partner, and now the unspoken tension lingered between us.

His eyes narrowed, the spark of recognition igniting in his gaze. But instead of letting the unspoken words bloom, he chuckled once again, his grip on my thigh tightening with a tantalising force. In one swift motion, he pulled me forward, until I found myself ensconced upon his lap. The unexpectedness of the action electrified the air, sending waves of desire coursing through me, my core pulsating in eager anticipation, yearning for the layers of clothing to vanish, to feel the raw heat of his skin against mine.

"You're asking too many questions, darling," he mused, his voice laced with a mixture of amusement and desire. His hands boldly found their place at my hips, sliding beneath the thin fabric of my blazer, their touch sending a jolt of electricity through my entire being.

A mischievous smirk tugged at the corner of my lips as I playfully retorted, "I thought that was my job," my lashes fluttering in a seductive display. Yet, my attempt at teasing seemed to have an unexpected effect on Brian. His hands clamped around me with a vice-like grip, the sensation of his fingers pressing through the fabric of my skirt sending a thrilling jolt through my body.

A low, almost predatory growl rumbled from his throat as he spoke, his voice a dangerous blend of desire and authority. "You're a bit mouthy, aren't you?" he murmured, his words laced with a hint of reprimand. "Just as I thought you were so innocent... sitting there on that stool with this little skirt almost exposing you to the whole world, not knowing a thing about it..." With each word, he pulled me down onto him, the force of his action making it clear that he was taking control. "Thinking I didn't notice that you were staring at me the whole time," he clicked his tongue disapprovingly. "And here you are, now sat on my lap, all shaky and needy."

His gaze roamed over my face, observing my every reaction to his sudden shift in demeanour. This was precisely the dynamic I had been seeking, a captivating dance between dominance and submission. The air hummed with an electrifying tension as I found myself entranced by him, surrendering to the intoxicating mix of vulnerability and desire that pulsed between us.

Brian's subtle manoeuvre in his lap caused me to instinctively cling onto his shoulders, seeking stability in the midst of escalating desire. His self-satisfied smirk revealed his pleasure at my reaction, fuelling the fire that raged between us. "There's a few things I want to go through with you before we go any further, sweetheart," he hummed, his hand firmly grasping the back of my neck, drawing me tantalisingly close to his face, our lips hovering inches apart. The anticipation was palpable, my breath hitching in anticipating of his next words. "Have you every been with anyone older before?"

I exhaled softly against his mouth, my eyes half-lidded with a mixture of nervousness and longing. I shook my head slightly, my hands finding solace in the firmness of his shoulders. "Maybe, like, a thirty-year-old, but..." My voice trailed off, the unspoken admission hanging in the air.

"Nobody as old as I am?" he finished my sentence with a knowing smile, fully aware of my unspoken answer. I nodded, my teeth earnestly biting down on my bottom lip, a nervous habit that betrayed my inner turmoil.

"Well, Y/N, I should warn you," he began, his hips abruptly surging against mine, stealing the air from my lungs. The intensity of his touch sent chills coursing through my body. "As an almost-fifty-one-year-old who knows what he's doing, I can guarantee that you will cum at least five times tonight," he purred, his fingers encircling my throat in a gentle yet possessive grip. "And with any luck, you'll struggle to walk out of that door in the morning."

With a swift, decisive movement, our lips finally connected, a torrent of pent-up desire exploding within me. The metaphorical fireworks ignited, their radiant bursts cascading through my body, kindling a symphony of tingles and shivers that coursed from my stomach to my throbbing core. The long-awaited contact between our lips unleashed a tempestuous passion that left me yearning for more.

"Stand up for Daddy," he murmured, his voice filled with a mix of desire and possessiveness. The unexpected pet name he bestowed upon himself sent a surge of excitement through me. It was a name I had imagined slipping from my own lips, and now that he had uttered it, I felt an intoxicating thrill. His eyes fluttered open, meeting mine for a brief moment. "You don't mind that, do you?" he asked, his grip on my throat loosening. Even in the midst of our escalating passion, Brian remained considerate and a gentleman.

"I'm more than okay with it," I replied, my voice laced with eagerness. I nodded, a spark of anticipation igniting within me. A smile tugged at the corners of his lips as he bit down on the lower one, an expression that hinted at the wild desires swirling in his mind.

"I knew you would be perfect for me, you naughty little thing..." he growled, his words laced with a primal hunger. He pressed his lips against mine one last time, a fierce and demanding kiss that left me breathless. With deliberate yet cautious movements, he guided me to stand in front of him. His legs were spread out, and his hands firmly settled on my waist, grounding me in his commanding presence.

"Let's get those clothes off of you," he breathed, his voice husky with anticipation. Sitting up, he leaned back slightly, creating a space for me to step between his legs. His hands roamed my waist, teasing an exploring, as he revelled in the sight before him. "I bet you look mesmerising, you sweet thing," he murmured, his words stirring a fire deep within me.

With Brian's guidance, I slipped off my blazer, letting it fall carelessly beside him on the sofa. My attire consisted of a form-fitting long-sleeved t-shirt, neatly tucked into a sleek black skirt. The fabric of the shirt clung to my body, accentuating every curve and contour, and I could sense Brian's gaze lingering on the enticing view before him.

"Keep going, love," he smoothly instructed, his voice laced with command. With his arm casually draped over the back of the sofa and his other hand resting suggestively over his own clothed arousal, he watched intently as I continued to undress, gradually revealing more of myself.

I slowly unbuttoned the top few buttons of my shirt, exposing a teasing glimpse of the soft skin nestled between my breasts. The fabric parted, revealing a tantalising V-neckline that halted just at the beginning of my cleavage, leaving much to the imagination. Brian's eyes darkened with desire, his focus fixed on the seductive reveal.

Encouraged by his unwavering gaze, I continued to undress, peeling the shirt from my body with deliberate grace. Each movement involved in unzipping and shimmying down my skirt was accompanied a subtle sway of my hips, a deliberate invitation to indulge in the forbidden desires that simmered between us. The shirt slipped off of my shoulders, pooling at my feet, leaving me standing before him in nothing but my underwear, vulnerable and exposed.

Brian's hungry eyes drank in the sight, savouring the contours of my body outlined by the delicate lingerie that adorned it. His breath hitched, and a primal hunger flashed across his face.

"My, my, my..." he mused, his voice a low, throaty rumble. Leaning forward, he focused his gaze on my chest, his eyes lingering on the delicate white lace bra that adorned me, before trailing down to the matching pair of underwear that concealed the very essence of my being—a part of me yearning to be devoured by Brian's primal desire.

A subtle flush of embarrassment tinged my skin, blending with a tingling sense of prospect as I stood before Brian, acutely aware of his gaze that stripped me with its intensity. It was a an undeniable turn-on, this vulnerable exposure, yet I couldn't help but wonder if he desired something more from me.

"Turn around," he commanded, his tone blunt, his finger tracing an authoritative arc in the air. Without hesitation, I obeyed, pivoting silently on my heel until my back was completely exposed to him. And then, in a split second, a fierce sting erupted across my backside, the resounding slap from Brian's hand reverberating through the room. A gasp escaped my lips, mingling with a mixture of surprise, excitement, and a hint of pain.

Brian rose from the sofa, his presence expanding behind me like a towering shadow, and with a firm grip on the band of my underwear, he yanked me back against him. I could feel the undeniable evidence of his arousal pressing forcefully against my backside, the bulge in his trousers growing with each passing moment. Lowering his head, he released a low growl that sent a shiver up through my core, while his other hand firmly grasped my head, tilting it to the side, exposing my vulnerability.

"Good little girls answer their Daddy," he whispered, his voice a seductive blend of dominance of desire. His hand slid around my lower stomach, applying pressure that coerced me to press my backside more firmly into him. "Don't they?"

A gasp hitched in my throat, a mixture of shock and exhilaration coursing through my veins as Brian spoke to me in such a degrading yet intoxicating manner. "Y-yes..."

"Yes, what?" he demanded, his fingers intertwining with my hair, his fists closing with a possessive grip as his lips brushed against the sensitive shell of my ear. "If you want even the slightest taste of the sweet release you crave, you must address me accordingly, little one."

A quivering smile danced upon my lips, an eagerness to comply swirling within me. "Yes, Daddy."

"Good girl," he praised, his words hot against my ear, his breath fanning the flames of my desire. Resting the side of his head against mine, he directed his gaze downward, his hand venturing lower, ghosting over my core, teasing and tantalising. "I can't wait to feel your cunt wrap around my cock... I bet you're so tight and warm for me," he murmured, a promise that elicited a suppressed whimper from my lips. "Oh, the thought of that excites you, doesn't it?" he tested, his voice wicked.

"Yes, Daddy," I replied, my voice trembling with a potent mixture of obedience and unquenchable longing.

He chuckled, a sound tinged with satisfaction and amusement at my swift adaptation to our dynamic. "That's a good girl," he breathed against the sensitive skin of my neck, his lips claiming me with a fervent, sloppy kiss before abruptly releasing me, leaving me yearning for his touch and craving more.

"Stand back a little," Brian's voice commanded, an authoritative tone that brooked no resistance. I complied, taking a step back, my anticipation mounting as he took control. With a swift movement, he spun me around, his hands asserting their presence on my body, yet withholding any intimate touch. The air crackled with an electric charge, heavy with unspoken desire.

"No touching until I say," he declared, his voice laced with a mixture of authority and anticipation. Stepping back himself, he lowered his hands to his belt, his gaze never wavering from mine as he skilfully unbuckled and unzipped his trousers. The sound of the metal against metal reverberated in the room, heightening the intensity of the moment. His trousers cascaded down to his knees, revealing a tantalizing glimpse of his bare flesh, while his shirt billowed around him, hinting at the hidden secrets it concealed. He stepped out of the confines of his restrictive clothes, gracefully kicking them aside, leaving him standing before me in only his partially unbuttoned shirt.

My eyes couldn't help but be drawn downward, magnetically pulled to the sight of his own underwear. His bulge, sizable and still growing, strained against the fabric, a visual testament to the desire that consumed him. Heat flushed through my veins, a mixture of nervous anticipation and a primal hunger to taste him.

"I'm assuming you've given somebody a blowjob before, yes?" Brian's voice cut through the charged silence, his head tilted in a patronizing yet knowing manner. His words hung in the air, a challenge and an invitation entwined. He awaited my response, his eyes burning with a mixture of curiosity and desire, never once breaking our unyielding eye contact.

A tremor of excitement coursed through me, mingling with a tinge of apprehension. I nodded, my voice momentarily stolen by the intensity of the moment, my desire to please him amplifying with each passing second.

"Yes, Daddy," I finally managed to respond, the breathless admission hanging in the air, a testament to the intimate encounters of my past.

A predatory smile tugged at the corners of Brian's lips, a gleam of satisfaction illuminating his gaze. The flicker of dominance danced in his eyes as he took a deliberate step forward, closing the distance between us. The bulge in his underwear pressed against my senses, a physical manifestation of his hunger and anticipation.

"Good," he murmured, his voice husky and thick with desire.

I could feel the excitement bubbling up inside me, and I couldn't help but shuffle side to side to deal with the intense desire to get my hands or my mouth on Brian's arousal, especially when he moved to sit back against the sofa.

"Please can I taste you, Daddy?" I whispered, glancing up at him with an innocent expression.

He hummed, his hand coming down to move some of my hair out of my face. "So good, asking for permission," he praised, lowering his head and biting a little into my shoulder before turning his head and growling back into my ear. "I want you on all-fours, looking up at me with those pretty fucking eyes."

"Yes, Daddy," I moaned just at his response, but was quick to do as I was told, moving back to give myself space to do as I was told, whilst he got to work in removing his underwear from his body. I arched my back, showing off the round of my curves for him like I noticed he enjoyed so much. He took his length his hand, giving it a few strokes before shuffling forward a few inches. I couldn't stop staring at its appearance, pulsating, red, veiny, and everything I dreamed it would be. I took the hint and propped myself up on one hand, using the other to move my hair from my face, before finally leaning forward and licking from the base, right up the pronounced vain on his shaft, and up to the tip. I teased him, glancing up at him as I slowly flicked my tongue over the redness. I could taste the saltiness of his pre-cum already, which only encouraged me to keep going. But apparently, the teasing wasn't enough.

"Oh, you don't want to tease Daddy, little one," he drawled, one hand coming behind my head to tangle his fingers once again in my hair. "I have to feel your mouth all over my cock, alright?" His natural dominance was toned back, and I could tell that he was testing where my comfort level was. But I was too far in my comfort zone here. So, I pushed him.

With a mischievous smirk, I only wrapped my lips around his tip, sucking ever so slightly.

"You really want to play games?" He asked with an amused tinge to his voice. He chuckled, right before he pushed my head further down, causing his cock to slide into my mouth and to my throat as far as it could go, a gag automatically sounding from my throat. It made my core throb yet again.

His grip loosened briefly, in order to breathily ask me if this was okay. I hummed around his cock in confirmation, my eyes peering up at him the best they could. Just like that, he knew where my head was at, and his grip resumed, and his hips drew back, just to thrust back again. He showed me – demonstrated – the pace he wanted, and I was obliged to deliver.

Once I had my head bobbing along his shaft how he wanted, my hand wrapped firmly around the base, my gag reflex had been temporarily diverted, but not completely eradicated. Brian, however, smacked my hand away from him, making me keep my hands down on my knees and allow him to force himself however far into my mouth as he wanted.

As my mouth encased the warm length, my own arousal picked back up, feeling myself clenching around nothing and wishing his cock was balls deep inside me. But that only encouraged me to do a better job on him. I found myself moaning as his taste, the way he grunted and breathed above me. I'd never heard anyone sound so fucking beautiful.

"That's it, baby... Fuck," he groaned, his jaw clenched in sheer ecstasy. "Let me see that pretty face, Y/N." His request fuelled my desperation and desire to please him. With a whimper, I adjusted my position slightly, ensuring that my movements on his cock remained relentless, my lips tightly sealed around him.

As I complied with his command, my eyes flicked up to meet his gaze, aware of the redness that had undoubtedly consumed them. My lips, swollen from our passionate kisses and the way they enveloped him, added to the visual proof of our intense connection. Tears welled up at the corners of my eyes, a mix of pleasure, vulnerability, and overwhelming sensations.

However, what truly pushed me to the brink of desperation was the sight of him. He looked like a god, an ethereal being of pleasure and dominance. His hair fell forward, framing his face as he gazed down at me. His mouth was slightly open, allowing soft moans and growls to escape. His chest rose and fell with each ragged breath, a testament to his state of euphoria. His heavy-lidded eyes exuded a mix of desire and satisfaction, capturing me in a moment of profound intensity.

"Such a beautiful little slut, aren't you?" He sighed, running his hand back through my hair to bunch it up at the back, helping me through my pace. "Yeah... such a good girl for Daddy..." He mumbled, mostly to himself as his eyes looked back at my backside. His free hand reached forward and felt over my curves until he reached his destination, grabbing a handful before lifting and landing his palm against the skin with a forceful smack. It sent me moaning and whimpering yet again, the small sting sending shocks to my arousal and shivers to my skin. He did it again, this time a lot harder. He must have been testing the waters beforehand. I flinched this time, my back arching more.

I whined, the hand that was propping me up gripping into the bedsheets as I tried my very best not to rub my thighs together for friction I so desperately needed. Brian took notice and let go of my hair, pulling his cock from my mouth. A string of saliva still connected us, and my face was completely fucked out.

"Look at you, darling," he purred, taking a hold of my face with one hand and pressing my cheeks together. "You enjoyed having my cock in your mouth, didn't you?" With a deliberate slowness, he traced his thumb over my swollen lower lip, savouring the aftermath of our intimate encounter. It was a silent question, a rhetorical inquiry that required no verbal response. Instead, I responded with a breathless nod, my eyes locked on his, conveying my pleasure and desire.

But in an unexpected twist, his hand swiftly left my lip, and a sharp, stinging sensation erupted on the side of my face. A decent slap, delivered with purpose, but cautiously landed, not giving his all in the event that I wasn't into that kind of treatment. Of course, I would let this man do anything to me.

The impact took me by surprise, integrating with the haze of pleasure. Yet, as quickly as the pain registered, he seized me once again, his grip possessive and firm. His actions were a reminder of his control, a reminder that I existed in this moment solely for his pleasure. It was a moment of sharp contrast, the pain mingling with desire, further fuelling the intensity of our connection. "What did I say about answering Daddy?"

"Yes, Daddy—sorry, Daddy," I breathed out, looking up at him with watery eyes. "Can I have more, Daddy?" I batted my eyelashes.

Releasing his hold on me, he sat forward, his shirt clinging to his body, evidence of the sweat that adorned his skin. With a purposeful motion, he discarded the garment, revealing the glistening contours of his middle-aged physique. Rising to his feet, he positioned himself near the edge of the sofa, his foot resting upon the plush surface for support. His hand encircled his throbbing cock, exerting a firm grip as he glided his fist along its length, eliciting a deep groan of pleasure.

"What are you waiting for? Show me what you're capable of," he commanded, his voice laced with a potent mixture of authority and desire. His invitation beckoned me forward, and without hesitation, I eagerly reattached my mouth to him, my lips enveloping his engorged length. Balancing myself on the edge of the sofa so I could reach him, I rested my hands on the sofa, surrendering to the primal rhythm that coursed through us.

Brian's hand gathered a handful of my hair at the back of my head, ensuring a firm grip as he began to thrust into my mouth with abandon. He paid no mind to the reddened hue of my eyes, nor the cascades of saliva that spilled from my lips, consumed by the raw pleasure that surged between us. Each forceful thrust of his hips sent a jolt of ecstasy through my being, a delicious combination of pleasure and submission. The intensity of our connection intensified, the boundaries of control blurring as we surrendered to our most primal desires.

"Do a good job, and then Daddy will make you cum all over his tongue, okay?" He moaned down at me, making me nod, and whine a muffled "Yes, Daddy," with his cock still shoved in my mouth.

I maintained my position, allowing him to forcefully thrust into my throat, my head held firmly in place by his unyielding grip. I looked up at him through teary eyes, my face glistening with a mixture of saliva and tears, a testament to the depths of pleasure and submission I was experiencing.

The sound of his hissing voice filled the air, blending with his deep groans of satisfaction. "Yes... So perfect," he gasped, overcome by the intense sensation of my mouth enveloping him. The mixture of pain and pleasure, dominance and surrender, fuelled the fiery connection between us, heightening the raw, primal energy of the moment.

I felt his thigh shake beside my head, and he pulled my head all the way down onto his cock, my nose pushing into the mass of pubic hair at the base of his arousal. I let out a heavy breath, closing my eyes and relaxing my throat to allow him to slide down it with ease. Then, without warning, he yanked me back, his cock completely slipping out of my mouth. It was glistening with a mixture of my thickening saliva and his pre-cum, matching with the way my lips sparkled with the same kind of adventure.

Gasping for breath, I found myself being pulled up to my feet by the firm grip of Brian's hand, entwined in my hair. The forceful manner in which he yanked me upright only heightened the intensity of our encounter. Our lips crashed together once again, igniting a wild and insatiable passion that consumed us both.

The kiss was anything but gentle. It was a raw display of desire, marked by urgency and need. Our mouths melded together in a feverish dance, tongues clashing and intertwining in a desperate battle for dominance. It was as if Brian couldn't get enough of the taste, eagerly seeking to reclaim a trace of himself on my lips.

Every swipe and flick of his tongue against mine sent electric jolts of pleasure surging through my body. The hunger in his kiss matched the fiery desire coursing through my veins, building an intoxicating tension that threatened to consume us both. Our lips and tongues moved in a frenzy, an unspoken declaration of our insatiable lust. It made me wonder what his lips and his tongue would feel like on my aching core.

With one hand wrapped around my throat, he pulled me back enough to speak to me. "Get on the bed for me, love," he demanded softly, letting me go and pushing me slightly in the direction of the bed.

"Yes, Daddy," I obeyed, swiftly turning and heading for the large king-sized bed. I lowered myself onto the sleek silk, my heart pounding in raging lust as my core continued to flutter and tighten at the pure thought of being devoured by Brian. "You sucked Daddy's cock so well, little one," he praised with a patronising flare, as he slowly made his way towards me, closing in on me like I was some sort of prey for the taking. He stopped right in front of me, leaning down so both of his hands were placed flat on the surface of the bed, and his face was mere inches from mine. "Do you think you deserve to have my face buried between your legs, baby?"

His question stirred a whirlwind of sensations within me, causing my entire body to tremble with a mixture of pleasure and anticipation. My thighs involuntarily clenched, and a breathy sigh escaped my quivering lips. Brian had a way of rendering me speechless, making it nearly impossible to form coherent words as I struggled to catch my breath against his intoxicating lips.

"So precious. I get you this hot, you can't even speak," he hummed, amusement dancing in his voice. One hand found its way back to my throat, asserting his dominance over me. His thumb grazed over my lower lip, teasing it down and allowing it to spring back against my teeth. Leaning closer, he guided me down onto my back, his presence looming over me like a commanding giant.

Once he fully hovered above me, his aura radiating power and desire, he whispered with a menacing grunt that sent shivers down my spine. His words held a primal hunger, a promise of untamed pleasure.

"Would you like Daddy to taste your sweet pussy, darling?"

The question enough made me writhe a little under him, and I whined a small "Yes please, Daddy" up at him, making him chuckle and shoot me that sexy smile of his.

"Stay there," he whispered, his voice laced with a commanding edge. With a swift motion, he pulled himself up to his feet, his strong hands gripping my ankles firmly. I felt myself being effortlessly dragged to the edge of the bed, my legs hanging over the edge. The anticipation prickled across my skin as he took a moment to appraise me, his eyes roaming hungrily over my half-naked form.

His fingers hooked into the band of my underwear, and in one fluid motion, he tugged them down my legs, leaving me completely bare from the waist down. The sudden exposure left me feeling vulnerable, every inch of my body open and ready for his intimate exploration. I could feel the cool air caress my heated skin, heightening my senses and intensifying the anticipation that pulsed through me.

His touch ignited a fiery sensation across my skin as he parted my legs, positioning my knees closer to my chest. The intimate vulnerability of my exposed core made my heart race. The throbbing of my clit intensified, yearning for the exquisite sensation of his lips wrapping around it, ready to be devoured by the force of his desire.

His fingertips trailed a tantalising path down the back of my thighs, leaving a trail of electric sparks in their wake. The pressure he applied against my legs urged me to instinctively open up for him, surrendering myself to his skilled ministrations.

As he lowered himself to his knees, his breath caressed my most sensitive flesh, sending shivers cascading through my body. The warmth of his breath teased and enveloped me, igniting a primal desire that caused my breathing to quicken in sync with the mounting tension.

The realisation struck me with a jolt. Few men I had been with had truly taken the time to explore the depths of my pleasure. But Brian was different. He possessed an insatiable hunger to please me, to delve into the realm of my desires. To show me he was capable, at his age, of making a young thing writhe and arch at his talents. This was not a mere obligation but a ravenous craving that consumed him, a thirst that he longed to quench with my pleasure as his ultimate reward.

I felt a surge of gratitude for Brian's genuine desire to please me. It was a rarity, a precious gift that I would savour with every fibre of my being. The weight of his intention settled over me, heightening the anticipation that coursed through my veins.

His hands moved with purpose, exploring the contours of my thighs, tracing delicate patterned that elicited soft moans from my lips. I felt my body responding to his touch, arching instinctively, seeking more of his caress. The intensity of his focus ignited a fire within me, fuelling the craving for his skilled tongue to explore me.

With a deliberate yet tender touch, Brian's fingers found their way to my most intimate core. His fingertips danced along the wetness that coated my folds, teasing and tantalising, as if he were an artist painting strokes of desire upon my canvas. Each stroke of his touch sent ripples of pleasure cascading through me, building the intensity with each passing second.

The room was filled with an intoxicating mix of our shared breaths and the sound of my own heart pounding in my ears. Every nerve in my body stood at attention, poised for the exquisite release that awaited me. I closed my eyes, surrendering myself to the sensations that enveloped me, allowing the anticipation to swell and consume me.

And then, with a flicker of his tongue, Brian made contact with my swollen, throbbing clit. The jolt of pleasure shot through me, causing my back to arch and a gasp of pleasure to escape my lips. His skilful tongue explored every crevice, every delicate fold, igniting an inferno of sensation that spiralled within me.

I lost myself in the maelstrom of pleasure, my fingers grasping the sheets beneath me as waves of ecstasy crashed over my body. Brian's rhythmic movements, a symphony of pleasure orchestrated by his expert tongue, bringing me closer to the brink of oblivion.

Brian, ever the master of control, sensed the depths of my pleasure and revelled in his power over me. He intensified his assault on my sensitive nub, his tongue swirling and flicking with unrelenting precision. Each stroke, each caress, pushed me closer to the edge of ecstasy.

As the intensity mounted, I could feel the coil of desire winding tighter within me. My body trembled with anticipation, my moans growing louder and louder, more and more urgent. Brian's grip on my thighs tightened, a silent command to surrender completely to the overwhelming pleasure he was orchestrating.

I was teetering on the precipice, my entire being consumed by the need for release. But just when I thought I couldn't bear it any longer, Brian pulled back, denying me that final plunge into ecstasy. The absence of his touch left me achingly empty, my body pulsating with unfulfilled desire.

With a predatory glint in his eyes, Brian rose to his full height, his dominance radiating from every pore. He seized my wrists and effortlessly pinned them above my head, his strength asserting his control over my quivering body. I was at his mercy, my desire reaching a fever pitch as I yearned for his next move.

He leaned in, his lips brushing against my ear, his voice a low, commanding growl. "You think I'm going to let you cum that easily, my little plaything?" he whispered, the words igniting a fierce ache deep within me. "No, my sweet, I'm going to make you beg for it."

His words sent a shockwave down my spine, my breath catching in my throat. I wanted to plead, to beg for release, but he silenced me with his dominance. He relished in the power he held over me, revelling in my desperation.

With a deliberate slowness that bordered on torturous, Brian trailed his fingers along the length of my body, tantalisingly close to where I craved his touch the most. Every nerve in my body screamed for his contact, my hips instinctively arching toward him, begging for his release.

But Brian was in control, and he dictated the pace. He continued his maddening exploration, his touch teasingly light as he traced circles on my inner thighs. The anticipation grew unbearable, my need for release becoming an all-consuming ache that threatened to overwhelm me.

Finally, just when I thought I could take no more, Brian yielded to my pleading body. His fingers found their way to my throbbing core, delving deep into my wetness. The penetration was swift and intense, a primal connection that shattered any remnants of self-control.

He moved with an effortless rhythm, his fingers expertly stroking every sensitive spot within me. "How tight you are, sweetheart... definitely need to warm you up a bit before I stretch you out," he moaned down at me, the pleasure coursing through my veins and my body convulsing beneath his touch. I writhed against his unyielding grip, lost in the sea of sensations that consumed me.

"D-Daddy..." I whined, my head pressing back into the silk sheets. "Feels so good..." Was all I could whimper out as his two fingers sloppily stroked inside me, generating the lewdest of noises. I was no longer an individual, but a vessel of desire, completely surrendered to his command. "Yes..." I hissed, my back arching.

"You almost there, angel?" He looked down at me, moving his head to meet my gaze and mirroring my whimpering breaths. "You gonna cum on my fingers like a good girl for Daddy?"

I nodded feverishly at him. "Yes, Daddy, I'm gonna cum so hard... Please, c-can I cum, Daddy?" I plead, looking up at him with innocent eyes. He bit on his lip hard, his gaze averting down to where his fingers connected with my body, enjoying the sight.

"I did promise you at lease five orgasms, didn't I?" He started, each question rhetorical. "I would be a pretty lousy daddy if I let you go without fulfilling those promises, wouldn't I?" He looked back up at me, his eyes as black as anything. "Cum around my fingers, sweetheart."

With a commanding nod from Brian, a surge of desire shot through my veins, compelling me to yield his dominance. My jaw slackened, and my back arched painfully as an intense pleasure coursed through my core, tightening, and pulsating around his lengthy middle fingers.

"God, you feel so good," Brian growled, his voice laced with satisfaction. "Squeeze around me, baby. Show Daddy how much you enjoy it."

A whimper escaped my lips as I obediently clenched around his fingers, my body quivering with mounting pleasure. My thighs instinctively clenched around Brian's wrist, attempting to hold on to the overwhelming sensations that threatened to consume me.

"Relax those pretty thighs, darling," Brian commanded, his voice dripping with authority. "I want you completely open for me. I want to see every tremor of pleasure."

I fought against the instinct to resist, forcing my thighs to loosen their grip, granting him unrestricted access to my pleasure. Waves of numbing ecstasy washed over me, rendering me breathless and lost in a state of euphoria.

I could hear the wet sounds of his fingers moving inside me, the slick friction only adding to the intensity of the moment. Each deliberate stroke pushed me closer to the edge, my body teetering on the precipice of release.

Brian's husky voice filled the air. "Cum for me, baby. Let yourself go."

The words echoed in my ears, igniting a surge of desire and surrender within me. The coil of tension within me tightened to its breaking point, until finally, I couldn't hold back any longer. My entire being convulsed with pleasure as a powerful climax consumed me, leaving me breathless and trembling in the wake of the intensity.

Brian forcefully withdrew his fingers from my throbbing core, causing me to gasp in both pleasure and loss. He didn't waste a second before shoving those glistening digits into my mouth, filling me up and silencing any protest with his dominance.

I moaned around his fingers, my eyes watering with a mix of desire and submission. The taste of my own arousal mingled with the salty tang of his skin, creating a sinful concoction that fuelled my insatiable hunger.

"Open wide, my obedient little slut," Brian growled. "Taste yourself. Show me how much you crave me."

I obediently parted my lips wider, taking my fingers deeper, feeling them brush against the back of my throat. The overwhelming sensations threatened me, my senses heightened by the knowledge that I was at his mercy.

I clung desperately to his wrist, my nails digging into his flesh, seeking an anchor in the midst of this dizzying pleasure. The taste, the submission, the raw power he exerted over me, it all blended into an intoxicating cocktail that pushed me further into the depths of desire.

Brian's eyes bore into mine, their intensity burning like a searing flame. He relished in the sight of my vulnerability, the surrender etched across my face. I could see the hunger in his gaze, the hunger to possess me completely, to claim me as his own.

As my body trembled with the aftershocks of my release, Brian's grip on me tightened, his dominance unwavering. He knew we were far from done, that the fire between us still raged, demanding to me stoked.

"You're mine tonight, and I'm not done with you," Brian growled, his voice laced with a primal hunger. "You belong to me, body and soul." He took his fingers from my mouth, moving some hair out my sweat-sheened face. "I need to be inside you, pretty thing," he breathed, kissing me sloppily before pulling himself up onto his knees. "Hands and knees," he once again did that thing with his finger, spinning it in a silent command that I acquiesced to without question. I weakly held myself up in an all-fours position, Brian stalking behind me.

Unable to see him, I could only imagine his gaze raking over my exposed form, his hunger growing with each passing moment. A low, primal grunt escaped his lips, a telltale sign of the torturous pleasure he was inflicting upon himself, stroking his hand along his length, relishing in the decadent excitement.

The air crackled with tension as he closed the distance, the bed shaking with his movements. I could sense his presence behind me, his heated breath caressing the nape of my neck as he leaned over me. The promise of his possession hung in the air, electrifying and intoxicating.

"You're so eager, my little temptress," he growled in a seductive rumble against my ear. "You've been aching for me, haven't you? Since you knew how to... They all ache for me like this, but you're so lucky to have me behind you, about to stretch all of you out with my cock."

My body trembled in response, craving the euphoria only he could provide. "Are you on the pill?" I promptly nodded back at him, just needing him to be inside of me already.

And then, without warning, I felt the tantalising pressure of his length at my entrance. He teased me, brushing against my slick folds, denying me the fullness I craved. It was a torment that pushed me to the edge of madness, but I knew it was all part of his exquisite control.

"Please, Daddy... I need to feel you," I practically cried out, my hips wiggling a little.

The moment stretched out, time suspended in a haze of desire. And then, in one swift, powerful thrust, he claimed me as his own. Pleasure and pain collided within me, a symphony of sensations that left me gasping for breath. The world dissolved into a symphony of moans and carnal pleasure as we became entwined for the first time.

"Jesus Christ..." he exhaled. "You surpass every fantasy, darling," he praised, his hands firmly gripping my hips, guiding me backwards to meet his initial thrust. "Does it hurt, love?"

A strained whimper escaped my lips as I lowered my head, my senses overwhelmed by the intense sensation of his cock filling me, stretching me with its commanding presence. "Just a bit..." I confessed, my words barely audible in a whisper. "But... I-I like it."

"Of course you do," he chuckled darkly, savouring the power he held over me. He withdrew, creating a fleeting void within me, only to reclaim it with a forceful thrust that elicited a gasp of pleasure. His movements grew rougher, a deliberate test to gauge my response. "You're such a dirty, naughty little girl, aren't you?"

He continued with a relentless rhythm, each thrust penetrating deeper, igniting a primal fire within me. My body quivered under his command, surrendering to the pleasure he bestowed upon me. The room filled with the sounds of our joining, a symphony of moans and the wet, rhythmic slapping of our bodies colliding.

Brian's grip on my hips tightened, his fingers digging into my flesh, marking me as his. With each forceful thrust, I could feel his power and dominance asserting itself, claiming me completely. I was his vessel, a conduit for his pleasure and my own.

"You were made for this, my sweet." He placed a hand between my shoulder blades and pushed me down, causing me to collapse onto my upper body, my back arching deliciously, and making Brian's thrusts hit me deeper than ever, which made me practically scream out in ecstasy. "There you go... I was waiting for you to scream for me," he breathed through a smug grin. "Now, lets see if I can get you to cum like this, then..."

With an insatiable hunger, Brian embarked on a relentless rampage of lust, thrusting into me with an unbridled force that left me breathless. The sound of our bodies colliding echoed through the room, mingling with the symphony of my moans and the lewd expletives that escaped my lips.

My senses were overwhelmed as pleasure surged through every fibre of my being. I surrendered completely to the symphony of sensations, losing myself in the wild rhythm of Brian's hips. As the pleasure built within me, I could feel the familiar stirrings of my second release. The excitement swelled, my breathing grew heavy and shallow, and I instinctively laid my head to the side on the cool pillows. My entire body moved and jolted forward with every powerful thrust that Brian delivered. I clung to the sheets, my fingers gripping them tightly.

"Yes, yes... Fuck, right there, Daddy," I moaned, my mouth hanging open as he hit every right spot within me. "Fuck, I'm gonna cum again, Daddy, please—“

"That's right, baby, let me feel you cum on my cock," he encouraged with a breathless exalt. He sent a sharp slap to the side of my arse, which edged me even closure. "Come on," he coaxed me, railing into me with a more viscous vigour, his hands pulling me against him with each thrust.

With each passing moment, the intensity escalated, pushing me closer to the edge of another mind-shattering climax. Brian's expertise and unrelenting passion drove me closer and closer, his actions meticulously calculated to elicit the most profound response from my quivering body.

The world around us faded into insignificance as I teetered on the brink. I was lost in a whirlwind of sensation, my mind consumed by pleasure, and all that mattered was the overwhelming connection between us.

And then it happened. The dam within me burst, unleashing a torrent of ecstasy that washed over me like a tidal wave. I cried out, my voice a symphony of raw desire and fulfilment. My body convulsed in rapture, every nerve ending ignited in a frenzy of pleasure.

Brian's thrusts continued, prolonging the ecstasy, each movement pushing me further into the depths of euphoria.

However, he didn't allow me a moment to catch my breath. With an almost frantic urgency, Brian swiftly positioned himself beneath me, his face now nestled between my legs. His hands gripped onto me, pulling me upwards until I was straddling his face, fully exposed to his hungry mouth. His lips claimed me once more, his skilled tongue lapping at my folds, delving deep into my entrance.

I couldn't help but run my fingers through my hair, my head falling back as the overwhelming stimulation consumed me. Brian was relentless in his pursuit of my pleasure, determined to extract another orgasm from my quivering body. He disregarded the fact that I hadn't fully recovered from the last climax, his singular focus on pushing me to new heights of ecstasy.

There was no room for hesitations or reservations. It was a raw and primal exchange, a symphony of desire and surrender. Brian's hunger for my pleasure was insatiable, his actions an unspoken command for me to abandon myself completely to the sensations coursing through me.

As I shifted my hips, I felt the firm contour of his nose glide teasingly over my sensitive clit. A surge of pleasure shot through me, and I seized the opportunity to use it to my advantage. Brian recognised my intentions and eagerly encouraged my movements. His hands gripped my backside, guiding me to grind against his face, his nose and tongue working in perfect harmony to ignite the most exquisite sensations within me.

Every glide and stroke over my swollen and aroused nub sent waves of pleasure crashing through me. I surrendered to the primal rhythm, my hips undulating in sync with Brian's skilful ministrations. His tongue ventured deeper, exploring the depths of my core with a fervour that matched my own mounting desire.

The air was thick with the heady scent of arousal, mingling with the sounds of our shared passion. Moans and gasps filled the room, a testament to the intensity of the connection we shared. In this moment, there was no room for pretence or inhibition. It was an unadulterated celebration of pleasure.

Time lost all meaning as the sensations intensified. I was on the precipice once more, teetering on the edge of an impending release. The world narrowed down to the overwhelming pleasure radiating from my core, the delicious torment building within me.

"O-Oh, shit... Br—Daddy," I mewled, looking down and seeing Brian's eyes glaring up at me, with a knowing look. He growled against me, now moving his head against me to intensify the feeling of his nose against my clit. And just like that, another climax ripped through me like a stampede of hormones. But he didn't stop, like I thought he might have. He flipped us over, so that I was now laid with my head on the pillows, looking up at the ceiling with his head still firmly shoved between my legs.

"Oh, God..." I weakly stuttered, the pain from the sensitivity unfolding into another type of pleasure altogether. The baby hairs on my head clung to my forehead, my skin flushed light pink and starting to glimmer ever so slightly with a light sheen of sweat.

Brian grunted with determination, continuing his movements on me, his fingers slipping inside me and continuing with a heavy ministration. The free hand that wasn't holding me firmly in place, yanking me even closer to him, now travelled up to my chest, using every ounce of his strength to pull down my bra, not bothering with unhooking it beforehand. He seemed to hold onto it for leverage. My whines and moans were totally unfiltered by this point, but I didn't give a single fuck.

The small glance I made down at him showed his head moving along with the motions of his tongue, completely in a world of his own as he went down on me. It made me feel better knowing he enjoyed it seemingly as much as I did.

My thighs were starting to shake uncontrollably as well as the rest of my legs, the combination of the sensitivity and the brief visual I just got of him was edging me closer and closer to another release. Already.

"Holy fuck, Daddy, I'm gonna cum again..." I groaned out one of my arms laying out on the bed beside me. My eyes shut as I revelled in this feeling. Most of my body went completely numb, but I was able to feel my forbidden, scandalous, older lover's free hand slide into mine, intertwining our fingers together. It was such a small, subtle action, but it made my heart flutter and my core clench deliciously. I squeezed onto his hand, my nails digging into the back of his as I started to grind my hips against his face.

I didn't even anticipate my second release; it happened so fast and sudden.

My voice broke and cracked as I whined out, this climax much more intense than the last one. My back was not the only part of my body that arched off the bed this time; this time, my hips rose off the bed, seemingly having a mind of their own as Brian stayed attached to me. He let me ride out the cluster of orgasms he'd just given me before eventually lifting his head up from between my legs. I was still recovering, my head buzzing and my body still tingling. I didn't even realise that Brian was crawling up and over me, watching me try to recover from that mind-altering experience.

He granted me a brief respite, allowing me to descend from the dizzying heights of pleasure. But just as I began to regain a semblance of control, he swiftly reclaimed it, his grip tightening around the back of my neck. With a commanding tone, he ordered, "Open up, love..."

My body trembled with a mixture of anticipation and vulnerability as I obediently parted my lips, ready to receive his intimate offering. Brian provocatively gathered saliva in his mouth, savouring the lewd act before releasing a single droplet into my waiting mouth. The taste of him mingled with my own essence, an intoxicating blend that sent shivers down my spine

"Do you have any idea how amazing you taste, sweetheart?" he purred, his voice laced with a breathless whine. The audaciousness of the act ignited a forbidden desire within me, a thrill that I had never experienced before. In this moment, with Brian, I revelled in the taboo nature of our encounter, embracing the depths of my desires without reservation.

His unyielding gaze never faltered, and as his hand descended to his throbbing shaft, a wicket smile played upon his lips. He dragged his slick length over my sensitive core, causing me to tremble with the onslaught of pleasure. The delicate touch against my clit sent electric shocks surging through my body, amplifying the intensity of the moment.

Without delay, Brian pressed forward, his cock sliding effortlessly into my eager depths. A guttural moan escaped my lips, merging with his deep growl of satisfaction. "One more, my perfect little thing," he whispered, his voice thick with desire and dominance. He increased the tempo of his thrusts, each one driving us closer to the edge of oblivion. Our bodies collided with a symphony of flesh, a crescendo of passion that echoed through the room, fuelling his insatiable hunger for release.

I locked eyes with him, our gazes merging in a dance of primal desire. His sculpted form glistened with a sheen of perspiration, his dishevelled hair framing his face in a wild halo, and his jaw clenched with unrelenting determination. He embodied raw masculinity, and untamed force that overwhelmed my senses.

As our bodies moved in perfect synchrony, the tension grew with each passing second. The room became a sanctuary of pleasure, filled with the cacophony of our moans and the intoxicating scent of our arousal. Every thrust brought us closer to the precipice, our shared climax shimmering on the horizon, a tantalising promise that held us captive.

"Oh God, Brian," I gasped, losing the pet name, the closer I got to what would be an other-worldly release.

He met my subtle plea with a wicked grin, his thrusts growing more forceful, driving us to the brink. "Hold on tight, darling," he rasped, his voice dripping with carnal hunger.

With each primal thrust, the crescendo rose, pleasure and ecstasy threatening to consume us. I clung to him, my nails digging into his flesh.

"Cum for me, one last time, baby, I know you can do it for Daddy," he reaffirmed one last time. And in the final crescendo, time stood still. Our bodies moved as one, a frenzy of need and desire. The air crackled with electricity, the room filled with the sound of our moans mingling, our rhythm reaching a fevered pitch.

And then, with a primal roar, we shattered. A surge of ecstasy coursed through me, radiating from the depths of my core to every sinch of my being. It was an earth-shattering climax, an explosion of pleasure that consumed us both, obliterating any thought or sense of self.

As waves washed over us, our bodies convulsed in tandem, locked in a euphoric embrace. My mouth hung open, and broken cries fell from it, as I experienced the most intense, harsh orgasm of my life.

"Fuuuck!" Brian's animalistic growl rang in the air, as he stilled inside me, shooting his thick load deep within me. Brian May's release. Inside of me. He clung to me, dropping his head down to bury his face in my neck as he slowed his thrusts. He let out whimpers of his come down, his arms wrapped tightly around me.

As our laboured breaths mingled in the air, a moment of surprise interrupted the post-coital haze. Sensing a different sensation, I glanced down, my tired eyes widening in disbelief. A pool of wetness glistened beneath me, evidence of an uncharted territory of pleasure.

"Oh, God..." I gasped, my face flushing with a mix of embarrassment and astonishment. I instinctively covered my face, overwhelmed by the unexpected release. Brian, still catching his breath, followed my gaze, his expression shifting from confusion to a knowing smile.

Chuckling softly, he gently removed my hands from my blushing face, his eyes filled with a mixture of admiration and amusement. With tender reassurance, he pressed a loving peck on my nose before capturing my lips in a lingering kiss.

"Darling," he murmured, his voice laced with affectionate amusement. "You've been with the wrong people if they've never made you squirt before."

With a smug smirk at his accomplishment, he swiftly stood up from the bed, momentarily disappearing into the bathroom and then returning a short while after with a small face cloth. He kneeled in front of me, placing one hand on my knee and gently guiding it to the side so he could have access to me. He was clearly experienced in this, and it made me blush as he cleaned me up; he did it as slow as ever, his eyes feasting upon my worn-out state. After all, he had just given me five mind-altering orgasms. Just as promised.

"There we go," he sighed, throwing the cloth to the side and leaning down above me. "All perfect," he gave me another heated kiss, his tongue rolling into my mouth sensually, making my eyes flutter shut. He broke the kiss and smirked down at me. "Happy you didn't get on the Euro?"

"Definitely," I breathed out with an airy laugh. "I have to say, I wasn't expecting this to happen today..." I bit my lip, for some reason finding it difficult to look him in the eyes.

"I'll be honest, I didn't either," he chuckled, moving beside me and pulling me into his side.

The only thing now was figuring out how to leave. Surely, there'd have to be that conversation. And surely, he didn't want me staying there. After all, he was a renowned rock star, in a committed relationship with someone much closer to his own age, on a press tour, eyes on him 24/7.

"What's going on up there, love?" He propped himself up on his elbow, looking down at me. "I'm not throwing you out, if that's what you're wondering."

I looked at him, shocked. "Really?"

He laughed down at me smoothly, admiring my innocent state. "Of course not. Why would I get rid of something so perfect?" He purred down at me. My perplexity stayed, but I lacked the energy to question him further.

"We'll talk in the morning, sweet thing," he stroked over my hair. "Now, I think we should sleep."

Like a train conductor, he commanded our every act, and we did exactly that. Sleeping next to Brian May in a luxury hotel in Germany, after being pummelled into the mattress of his king-size bed, was so much better of an alternative to staying in a three-star hotel with colleagues that would reprimand me non-stop for my slip up at the studio. I hadn't even received a call from Candice to check up on me, or ask where I was, since I did disappear without notifying anybody.

I must have overslept, since by the time morning rolled around, the bed felt ominously cold and void of any other human presence. I fluttered my eyes open, stretching my arm out instinctively to find that Brian was no longer beside me. But as I came round, I noticed a piece of paper sat delicately on the bedside table. I tiredly sat up, crawling over to it and picking it up, letting my eyes gaze over the pristine cursive that adorned its surface.

Y/N,

Last night was incredible, and I found myself sat awake in the early hours of this morning, whilst you slept beside me. You looked so perfect and at ease. Anyway, I had to run out and get some stuff done this morning, but don't worry, my perfect Y/N, you stay right where you are, and I shall be back before midday. In the meantime, order room service, take a shower, do whatever you need to do. And maybe call that old sow from the studio and tell her you quit. I needed a new PR person, anyway. And you? You're perfect for me.

See you later, sweet girl.

Bri x

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voltstone · 4 months

Text

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

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

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

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

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

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

[Why Comic?]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

This Clementine comic has just left a bitter taste.

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

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

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

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

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

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

[What…is This? (Brief Rant)]

Alright. Now we get into rant time.

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

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

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

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

So let’s shift again:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Clementine is bitten, however.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And outside Clementine’s story?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Then we have the school.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But not with Clementine leaving.

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

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

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

What.

The ever-loving.

Fuck is that??

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

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

It should.

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

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

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

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

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

And.

For the love of a writer’s competency.

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

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

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

And the comic.

Does not.

Do that.

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

But no.

We got this.

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

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

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

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

Like the road was for Clementine.

Until she got to the school.

So are you. Fucking. Kidding me?!

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

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

Violet.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Actually, no, I don’t need to ask.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[Tangled Web of TWDG]

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

Because…it’s a great series. :D

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

So yeah.

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

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

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

…anyway.

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

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

TWDG = niche of a niche. Okay, cool.

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

Or, Clementine has a cult following. Lol.

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

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

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

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

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

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

And what does this mean for the comic?

Well.

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

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

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

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

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

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

So yeah. Convoluted. Lol.

Either way, then we get to the question:

Would Clementine abandon A.J at the school?

The short, simple answer is no.

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

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

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

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

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

[What is Canon Actually?]

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

The concept of canon versus fandom is bizarre.

It is.

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

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

And then.

The stories become ingrained, and the cycle continues on.

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

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

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

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

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

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

United States Constitution, Article I, Section 8

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

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

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

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

So how do TWDG fit into this?

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

Here's a few:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And. Of course. Video games.

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

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

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

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

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

Iterations.

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

Iterations bring individual perspective.

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

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

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

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

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

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

And here’s how:

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

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

Which, like, no shit. Lol.

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

Interpretation.

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

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

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

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

Which, honestly, brings us to interpretation in practice.

And how it’s a skill.

[Writing Fanfiction is a Skill]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But there is a balance at play here.

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

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

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

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

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

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

And you know what else is a collaboration?

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

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

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

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

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

In any case.

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

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

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

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

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

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

[Walden Conundrum]

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

deep inhale

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

Anyway. Look.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

All to make room for color.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Which.

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

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

Ah well.

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

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

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

So…yeah. That is yet another point.

And now we get into characters and plot.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Here’s the thing.

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

In regards to the comic, this is an issue.

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

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

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

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

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

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

With that, here is the second question:

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

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

Ah.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yikes.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

However.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[End]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Clementine Comic: Chapter One | Chapter Two

Walden Interview (with commentary) | DomTheBomb Channel

Tillie Walden: Website | ON A SUNBEAM Webcomic

Kent Mudle: Twitter | Tumblr | Website

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

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

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