#its so funny when people complain about not being allowed to be rude to strangers

[backinmypjs]

Re: what happened to the culture of criticism

I've been involved in fandom a long time (though not as long as the fantastic Mrs. Duane!) as a reader and occasional fic writer, and with several decades of experience I can say with some certainty: the culture you refer to never existed. Again, Ye Good Olde Days when you could leave random unsolicited criticism on people's works was not a welcome or large part of fan culture. There were absolutely people who did it, but it was by no means the majority, and they were rightfully called trolls and banned/blacklisted from forums.

Much like the way US Republicans remember the good old days of business but conveniently forget the existence of unions, people who espouse the days of fic critique forget this: it was never unsolicited. Instead, there were specific terms that indicated an author was open to critique from random readers. A typical one in the early 00s might look something like "R&R! Concrit welcome, no flames pls".

R&R = read and review. The author is open to your thoughts! This was similar to today's ao3 commenting system, but generally had lengthier responses. Considered genuine feedback.

Concrit = constructive criticism. Your feedback is welcome, and should adhere to constructive improvement guidelines.

Flame = leaving a nasty comment, picking on a specific trope/pairing/thing in the story, etc. or leaving multiple negative comments. Pure criticism. Most authors seem to have transitioned to using 'don't like? don't read.' instead.

Note that constructive criticism is not the same thing as a critique. A critique would come from beta readers, a mod or zine publishers. Notably, it was something that the author requested from specific people. Constructive criticism could come from any readers, but was focused on technical improvement in writing and an author would actively indicate that they were open to it. If the author did not include this, your critical commentary is not welcome!

That is what the 'culture of recieving criticism' actually looked like. Fewer people do it today because fandom has changed. When I started out, the majority of reviewers were older than me, and I generally trusted them to know more about structure and grammar than I did. That still didn't mean I was open to it on everything I shared. Perhaps unsolicited concrit made you a stronger author, and you continue to ask for it from every random fan that might see your work regardless of their expertise. That's up to you as a creator.

That's the point everyone here is making: it is the author's decision, NOT the reader's, that makes concrit okay. If an author wants it they will ask for it, whether from specific trusted people or from readers as a whole.

As a reader, if you don't see a clear indication that this work is open for active review, you should treat it like a booth at an art fair. 1. You could go up to an artist and start telling them what they did wrong, but the people around you are going to think you don't know the difference between a fair and a class. No one will think you're helping improve their craft, nor will they know if you are even qualified to comment. Your feedback will be treated as a bad opinion if the creator cares to think about it at all, and you will be referred to as that jerk from the art fair. 2. You could tell an artist all the reasons you prefer yellow even though they used blue, and they may offer to make you something yellow - but its going to cost money, because that is a commission. More likely they'll tell you to take a hike around the art fair and go back to having fun with other people who like blue. 3. You could say that you like a piece, especially how they did the leaves and the unique shading. Maybe at the next fair they'll bring more, and the practice made them even better, and they try out new colors with their shading technique. Either way, you got to see a bunch of art for free!

Be cool. Enjoy the free art.

Hey, if you don't have something nice to say about other people's creations (gifsets, art, fic etc)

then

don't say anything at all.

[nitr0glycer1ne]

Ducktober/Duckvember Day 14 - Alternate Universe

Hi! Well, I love AUs, so I had a blast trying to come up with one here! The AU part isn't obvious at first, but you'll see quickly what it's about. Be warned that this chapter mentions a main character's death, and its tone is far heavier than previous entries. With that being said, I hope you enjoy!

-------

It’s 9 pm when Donald gives a kiss on each of the triplets’ foreheads. It’s a bit late for them, he knows it, but he had to work overtime today to fill in for a coworker who had called in sick (when Donald knew said coworker actually went for an extended weekend vacation in Florida). The triplets are sharing the same bed, tucked under two blankets, so they can keep each other warm. The winter is particularly cruel this year, and the boat’s walls aren’t enough to prevent its freezing bite from reaching the Duck family. But the ducklings will be alright: they have each other and a comfortable, pleasantly warm bed their uncle made sure to heat before bedtime, thanks to bottles filled with hot water.

Huey gets his kiss first, and he gives Donald a small hug before holding his favorite stuffed toy closer. Dewey is next, grumbling a bit – but Donald knows it’s just for show. The triplets are only six, but Dewey insists that he’s “almost an adult” and “doesn’t want to do baby stuff anymore”. Donald isn’t very worried about that; a few months ago, it was Huey who acted that way, and it lasted an impressive three weeks.   Finally, Donald makes sure to give Louie an extra kiss as well as a comforting hug. Louie has had trouble sleeping lately, since his brothers have decided to get rid of the night light. He doesn’t show it, or at least tries not to, but Donald knows how to decipher the slightest change in his boys’ behavior. Which is why he never complains when the youngest triplet timidly slips into his room and asks to sleep with him after a nightmare, even if Donald has been working thirteen hours that day and doesn’t really need to be woken up in the middle of the night.

“Good night, boys. I love you.” “Good night uncle Donald.” Huey and Louie yawn in unison, Dewey having already fallen asleep.

Donald turns the bedside table’s light off and leaves the room, making sure the door stays slightly open so a tiny ray of light can reach the room and bring Louie some comfort.

It’s his turn to yawn when he steps inside the living room. He does the dishes and briefly considers watching some TV before deciding against it – he just wants to go to sleep as soon as possible, his weary body yearning to find the comfort of his bed and to fall into blissful sleep. Donald grabs his pajamas from his room and heads to the bathroom, taking an express shower and brushing his teeth before the final step of his nighttime ritual. He tiptoes to the triplets’ room and, making sure not to make the tiniest noise, opens the door just enough to check they’re asleep. Thankfully, they are: Huey is on his back, arms tightly hugging his stuffed dinosaur, Dewey is sprawled over his brothers, and Louie is in fetal position, seemingly calm and not having a nightmare.

Satisfied and relieved, Donald smiles and heads to his room. He lies down and sighs in contentment, happy to enjoy the comfort of his bed after a day spent in the assembly line of a factory.

But his satisfaction is short-lived: he’s barely had time to slip under the blanket when a loud noise resonates nearby, and the boat is suddenly rocking, although the sea is calm. There’s a groan of pain, and then someone loudly knocks at the door.

Donald’s heart races in fear and confusion; he’s not behind any payments, he doesn’t own anyone money, and he doesn’t know anyone who could have decided to pay him an impromptu visit. The knocking continues, growing more insistent; panic rising in his throat, choking him and tasting like bile, Donald dashes outside his room and towards the entrance of his boat, hoping the commotion hasn’t woken his kids.

He doesn’t even check through the peephole, his priority being to make the banging on his door stop. Donald brutally opens the door, and his eyes widen when he finds out who exactly has been disturbing him so rudely.

There’s a very tall and large bird standing right in front of him. He can only make out his basic features thanks to the obscurity of the winter night, but it’s enough to see the stranger is ripped – because, for some reason that probably defies nature’s law, a faint light is radiating from said stranger. Curiously, even though the biting cold is making Donald shiver seconds only after opening the door, the curious bird is only wearing what looks like a short and thin tunic. The stranger also has a large pair of fluffy white wings fluttering behind him, and long blonde hair frames his face like a halo. The muted light the unknown bird is emitting allows Donald to see the basic features of his visage: large, shining honey eyes, a long beak, and a jovial smile.

There’s an instant of silence during which Donald blinks in confusion, wondering if he’s suffering from a sleep deprivation-induced hallucination, and during which the stranger beams at him like he’s looking at the eighth wonder of the world. After Donald closes his eyes, pinches his arm, grimaces in pain, and opens his eyes, the stranger is still there. He’s about to ask him what he wants, when the tall bird beats him to the punch:

“Ah, Donald Duck!” he booms, his voice elegant yet loud, far too loud for Donald’s poor, tired ears to stand it past 10 pm after spending a tiring day at work. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, after all this time I’ve heard about you!”

There’s a lot of questions rising in Donald’s chest from that sentence alone, but they’re pushed back to the back of his mind compared to a more urgent matter:

“Would you keep it down? I have three kids sleeping in there.” he sighs, pointing his index at the boat behind him. Donald’s teeth start chattering as the cold penetrates his body further and further, in spite of his thick pajamas. “Oh, of course, I apologize!” his visitor lowers his voice, although it retains its bombastic tone. “Hubert, Dewford and Llewellyn! Oh, I can’t wait to meet them as well!”

Donald’s eyes squint, and he can feel his fists tingling with a very familiar feeling. It’s one thing for a complete stranger to visit him at indecent hours, it’s another entirely for said stranger to know his nephew’s names.

“What do you want?” the duck hisses, paternal instincts kicking in and overriding everything else, like the freezing air surrounding his body. “Who are you?” “Ah, sorry for not introducing myself earlier!” the stranger apologizes, looking sincerely regretful, his voice still low. “I am Storkules, and I am your guardian angel!”

An awkward silence follows. The stranger – Storkules, apparently – has managed to completely take Donald by surprise, making him blink several times before he looks particularly suspicious and takes a step backwards.

“Look, I don’t know if you find this funny, but it’s far too late for you to be playing pranks on people. Good night.”

Donald turns around, but just before he steps inside his boat, a hand grabs his wrist. The duck immediately spins around; he hates physical contact with people he isn’t familiar with. Thankfully, Storkules’ hold isn’t brutal in the slightest, feeling like a warm cuff around his shivering feathers.

“I promise you I am, Donald. I was sent by my father, Zeus, to look after you.”

Donald sighs. Apparently, the colossus is being serious – well, maybe Donald would rather say delusional – so the duck decides to humor him in an attempt to get him to finally leave.

“Okay, let’s admit you’re right and you’re my… guardian angel.” He sighs, pinching the skin right above his beak. “Then where were you when I was raising three infants on my own? When Huey had a peritonitis and he almost…” Donald chokes up on the last word, unable to finish his sentence. “Or when Della…” another sentence left incomplete.

Storkules lets go of his wrist, looking particularly pained at the tears budding in the corner of Donald’s eyes. Donald catches his soft gaze and wipes his eyes angrily, not wanting pity from anyone.

“I am sorry about all of that.” Storkules apologizes, and Donald is surprised at the sincerity of his words. It’s not the empty, premade apologizes people give him when they learn of the death of his twin sister in a disastrous plane crash; it’s genuine concern and empathy. “I watched you taking care of the fiery, brave and unstoppable Della Duck’s three beautiful children all on your own, I saw all the sacrifices you did for them. I wanted to help you sooner, but…” Storkules sighed, “my father can be very obtuse, sadly. He rarely gives angels the permission to help humans, and I’ve been trying to convince him for the past six years – thankfully, he has finally given in to my dearest wish.”

Donald takes a moment to process the information, his throat aching and a tight knot forming in his stomach. It’s been so, so long since he’s talked about Della; he hasn’t even said her name out loud since the boys were four, when Dewey had asked why they didn’t have a mom.

“How… how do you know about Della?” he finally manages to get out, almost choking on his twin’s name. “She had a guardian angel of her own.” Storkules explains, a faint smile growing back on his beak. “My beloved sister, Selene. She had been watching over Della ever since your sister was nine, one night she prayed to the stars after-” “After Mom and Dad’s death.” Donald finishes for him, his breath short, memories that have been buried long ago rushing to the surface of his mind, flashes that warm his heart as they shatter it. “Yes.” Storkules nods. “Selene was deeply touched by Della’s pain, and she begged my father to let him help her and serve as her guardian angel. She implored for years before she was finally granted permission to watch over your sister and help her in any way she could, from the day you both turned thirteen.”

Donald thinks back to that time of their lives – a complicated period. Scrooge was having trouble dealing with two teenagers, Donald was going through a particularly difficult time and channeled all his anger and bitterness at the world into his music, and Della… Della had issues too, especially obvious with the way she insisted on taking care of Donald when he didn’t need or want it. But she always kept going, and every night she went to sleep with a smile on her face. Sometimes, on full moons, she would sneak out of their room – it was a common occurrence on regular nights, to be fair, and Donald himself was guilty of the same infraction, but on the nights the moon shone bright in the sky, Della only returned right before dawn. Della would also sometimes smile for apparently no reason or speak alone when she thought no one was watching.

If Storkules is right, then her having a guardian angel, probably invisible to the rest of the world, explains Della’s behavior back then. But it also has another implication, one that has Donald suddenly feeling like raw anger is taking over him, one that has him raising his voice:

“Then why didn’t Selene protect her from- from- when-”

His fists curl into Storkules’s tunic; but the large bird doesn’t flinch, remaining calm, which only feeds the duck’s ire.

“Guardian angels have rules they’re bound to, lest they be destroyed.” he explains as bitter tears roll down Donald’s beak. “Selene couldn’t save Della from her terrible fate. She tried, putting her very life on the line- but father stopped her attempts, not wanting to lose her. To this day, my cherished sister regrets not having been able to save her beloved Della.”

Donald lowers his head, the situation making far too much repressed emotions and forgotten memories flood his whole being. Before he knows it, he’s kneeling on the floor, openly crying, his members feeling drained, his hands letting go of Storkules’ tunic and sluggishly falling to his sides. Storkules envelops him into a tight hug, his embrace almost too tight, but he’s radiating warmth and comfort, and Donald lets himself be surrounded by the light soothing his heart and his body.

“I am deeply sorry about Della.” Storkules says, petting Donald’s back. “I wish there was something, anything I could have done to help her and Selene. I wish I could have been there to help you raise your treasured nephews. And now that I’m finally allowed to be by your side, I swear on my life that I shall do my best to provide you and your family all the support, the help, the protection, the safety you need.”

Donald weakly nods. It’s been six years since he last allowed himself to be so vulnerable, always putting a strong front on for the three boys he loves so much. Letting go of all his sorrow, his rage, letting himself be comforted and soothed is more liberating than he could have expected. He only flinches when he hears a noise behind him, and Storkules lets him go, allowing Donald to spin around and find himself face to face with three ducklings, looking sleepy but mainly worried. Huey is holding Louie’s hand, and Dewey is in front of them.

“Uncle Donald? What are you doing here?” the triplet clad in blue pajamas asks, puzzled. “Why are you crying? Did someone hurt you?” Louie worries, his grip on Huey’s hand tightening. “And what are you doing here all alone?” Huey finishes.

Donald quickly looks over his shoulder: Storkules is still here, looking at the triplets, basically hopping in his spot, sheer happiness and a childlike excitement on his face, no doubt internally cooing at how precious they are. The duck can’t help it; the angel’s smile is contagious, and he smiles at his nephews, hugging the three of them as tight as he can, basking in their presence and the pure joy having the ducklings in his life brings him.

“Nothing, boys. Let’s go inside, okay? You’ll catch a cold. You can have some warm milk before going back to bed.”

Donald lets the hug linger for a little while, before letting the kids go. Dewey grins at him and rushes to the kitchen, excited at the perspective of a late-night treat; Louie gives his uncle a last, small hug before following his brother, and Huey looks attentively at Donald, taking his uncle’s hand in his:

“Are you okay now, uncle Donald?” “Yeah, Huey.” Donald nods, affectionately ruffling the boy’s head. “I’m okay.”

--------

Guardian Angel AUs are a weakness of mine... The reason Della sneaked out on full moons is because it's the only time when Selene can take a full corporeal form, allowing Della to physically interact with her. It's important to her, because I feel like Della is a very physical person with her loved one. Also I'm mad at myself for putting Donald through so much angst... him and Goofy are tied for best Disney dads!!! I love Donald! I also wanted to write the nephews being younger that what I'm used to. I hope they weren't too corny. Also this AU could maybe end up in Dorkules because it's a cute wholesome underrated pairing!!!

[scullyy]

To The Ends Of The Earth

Title: To The Ends of The Earth

Pairing: Clementine x Louis

Word Count: 2717

Summary: Clementine, Louis and AJ scope out the nearby Shopping Centre, disappointed in their findings, until someone finds them.

A/N: I started writing this like two months ago but I kept putting it off since I didn’t know how to end it. Also, Mitch is alive fuck you telltale

-

Clementine shredded down the open road, the wind keeping the loose hairs out of her face. Driving always brought her peace, it reminded her of Kenny and the chats they would have behind the wheel.

“You know I hate being a backseat driver, but could you slow down? I’d like to get there in one piece.” Louis chirped in from the backseat. Giving into Clementines wishes to drive the car was becoming an instant regret.

“And I’d like to get there quickly, we’ll be fine.”

Louis found it difficult to believe her as she skidded over a cracked roundabout. “Thank god for seat belts.”

“Are we almost there Clem?” That was the second time AJ had asked her, the annoyance in his voice clear as the sky ahead.

“We’re so close, it’s right at the end of the street.” Clementine briefly glanced at the map sitting on her lap, scanning over the red line Aasim drew out for them.

AJ’s question was properly answered when he spotted the towering grey building in the distance. It looked like a beast, never had he seen anything so vast. It kicked in his curiosity, giving his annoyance the boot.

Louis whistled in amazement. “I haven’t been to this place in years. Forgot how big it was.”

Clementine sloppily parked the car in the ground floor parking, running over a walker in the process. Her eyes scanned the area as she slowly exited the car. “We’re good for now. You still got that list AJ?”

AJ dug around in his pocket and pulled out a crumpled piece of paper, bringing out a confident smile from Clem.

“It’s your job to keep ahold of that, it’s got all the stuff we need on it.” Clementine passed Louis Chairles from the boot and hoisted her new baseball bat over her shoulder, closing the boot as quietly as possible.

Javi would be proud.

Louis took a sneaky peek at the paper. “What are we looking for again? I wanna get in and get out like my grandma used to say. ”

AJ squinted his eyes in an attempt to understand Clem's rushed handwriting. “Tape, bandages and fem..i..nine products.” He considered his pronunciation a win. His vocabulary had improved vastly thanks to Aasim’s teachings.

Louis playfully glanced at Clementine, wiggling his sharp eyebrows. “Does that include contraceptives?”

“Alright AJ, stay close.” Clementine marched inside the building, blatantly ignoring Louis. They snuck through the gaping hole in the glass, not questioning the pool of blood nearby. There were a few dead bodies scattered around the floor, all had bullet holes in their head. Clementine held AJ close to her, shielding his eyes from the massacre.

The centre was poorly lit beside the unevenly placed lights on the ceiling. Many of the stores had been ransacked in the early days of the apocalypse, leaving behind a ghostly shell.

“I really don't like our odds,” Clementine whispered into the stale space. “Keep your eyes peeled for the things we're looking for and anything else that could be useful.”

“Imagine if people could peel their eyes, that would be so fucking funny. And gross.” Louis could feel Clementine's stare on the back of his head, enjoying the attention he sought out, even with a joke that blatantly bad.

They crept down the hall the quickest they could, taking down all the monsters AJ pointed at. Eventually, they found the old food court, Louis's stomach rumbling on instinct.

“God I miss eating greasy food.”

“My parents never really allowed it, only if we were coming home from a trip or if it was my birthday,” She ran her finger over the layer of dust on a table, wondering how long it’s been since the building had seen people. “We don’t have time to waste, come on. Check everywhere.”

“Hopefully Lady Luck is on our side,” Louis swung Chairles back and forth, finding simple pleasure in the ‘whoosh’ noise. “So little dude, you know what a shopping mall is?”

“No,” AJ was mesmerized by what he was seeing, even if it wasn’t much. There were so many little rooms inside this one big building, but there were no medical bays, places to keep weapons, nothing. Just a lot of broken glass and ripped posters. “What were they like?”

“Well, people would come far and wide to great buildings like these. Some wanted to trade and barter for goods and services, others would scope out a hot meal FULL of preservatives,” Louis could tell his story was working by the light that appeared in AJ’s young eyes. “And sometimes, if you were very lucky, people would perform to earn a wage. They’d have instruments and sing for strangers. ”

“Like you with the piano?”

“Yeah, unfortunately, I don’t get paid for that.”

Clementine easily took out a walker hiding beneath a table, appreciating the late notice from Louis.

“Hey, Clem there’s a walker.”

What a great team.

“Maybe you can help and actually put Chairles to use,” Clementine poked the nail-stricken chair leg with her bat. “I don’t think the food court is going to help, come on. There should be a hardware store towards the back.”

“Wait a second there Clem,” Louis marched off into a store next to the sushi bar, a mattress store? “AJ check this out.” There was still a single mattress in the corner of the room. Time had eaten it up, with holes in the side and large tears running down its spine. Louis placed Chairles against the frame, climbed onto the bed and...started...jumping...fuck.

Clementine sighed, of course now is the time for him to start playing games. “What the hell are you doing?”

“Having fun, that is our team name after all. Come on AJ, I would do this when I was your age,” He extended his arm to AJ, who hesitantly grabbed his hands and was hoisted onto the bed. “My dad made me stop doing it after I hurt myself.”

“Oh my god, is that how you lost the tooth?”

Louis shrugged. “Maybe, maybe not, let’s not focus on such trivial tales.”

Seeing AJ laugh at how high he was made Clementine forgive Louis for derailing their plan. She sat on the ground near the door, flicking back and forth between the food court and her two favourite people.

Louis eventually stopped and leaned against the wall, letting AJ bounce to his heart's content. “You would have been real swell at High Jump! Could have been an Olympian.”

AJ jumped off after a couple minutes, complaining about how his feet were hurting.

“Given the state of the bed, can’t blame you. Did you have fun?” Clementine asked as AJ fixed up his shoelaces.

“Yeah, but now we need to check the hardware store.”

“Always a diligent little worker,” Louis hoisted Chairles over his shoulder, feeling a sense of pride at giving AJ some fun. The kid deserves it after all he’s been through. “Holy shit.”

Louis was like a child in a toy store, getting distracted by every little thing. Across from the mattress store was a music store, a few stray CD's could be seen on the shelves.

“Louis we don't have time to look at old music.”

He ignored Clementine as he ran to the store, immediately grabbing the first CD he saw. “I haven't seen a CD in years. My mom used to collect them and whenever her and dad got into a fight she’d haul my ass into the car and play some songs.” Louis ran a sleeve over the CD, removing the dust and revealing the band.

Now Clementine was excited. “Oh my god-”

“-Roy Orbison!”

AJ didn't understand why Louis was so hyped up by a bunch of plastic cases. The faces of people who were long gone scared him with their heavy makeup and shiny hair. “What are these?”

Louis kneeled down to AJ, flashing the CD. “This, my little friend, is how people listened to music. This disc holds songs and when put into a player, magic happens.” He passed it down to AJ, who read over the tracks.

“My dad loved Roy Orbison. Always had his Greatest Hits CD in the car.” Clementine glanced at some of the other CD’s, surprised at how many were actually left behind. Then again, CD’s wouldn’t have much use.

Louis gave Clem a cheeky smirk, giving into his temptations. “Pretty woman...walking down the street,”

The way he whispered sent shivers down Clementine's spine as her eyes grew in astonishment.

“Pretty woman...the kind I’d like to meet, pretty woman,” His singing started to grow a little louder and more dramatic, typical Louis fashion. “I don’t believe you, you’re not the truth.” He pointed at Clementine, motioning for her to keep going.

“No one could look as good as you,” She sang softly, looking at the ground in embarrassment. She never thought her voice was as good as Louis, yet he seemed to enjoy it by the beaming smile that replaced his smirk.

“Didn't take you for a Roy Orbison fan,” He started to question what kind of music Clem would actually be into.

“There's a lot you still don't know about me,” Clementine took a step out of her comfort zone and winked at Louis this time. The rosy tint that painted the tips of his ears was so worth it. “Come on AJ, let's go now. No more distractions.”

It was lucky of the group that Aasim remembered the layout of the old place. It had been heavily ransacked during the first few weeks of the breakout. Mitch had heard rumours from other survivors that people were living there, “fucking freaks they are, haven’t seen sane people in ages,” He says.

The hardware store was massive and a little too quiet. The grey shelves seemed to only hold dust and crumbs, a rude wake-up call to Team Fun.

Louis ran his fingers over a dead sunflower, crunching the leaf in his palm. “I’m going to bet my money on no supplies. Any takers?”

Clementine knew he was right, if people had been staying here they certainly didn’t leave much behind. I’ll try and find some tools, maybe we’ll get lucky.”

“Alrighty, I’ll check out the fishing gear. Violet could use some proper traps. If anything happens-”

“-Run like the wind,” Clementine gave Louis a reassuring smile, knowing how much he hated splitting up. It was dangerous but necessary if they wanted to keep the trip short. They walked off in their separate directions, AJ close to Clem’s side, his hand firmly holding onto his gun. “Keep an eye out kiddo, we don’t know who could be hiding here.”

He took her words to heart, looking in every direction. Twice. The tools were located in Aisle 3, empty boxes hid beneath the steel shelves, all ripped apart by hands desperate to survive. All that was left was a screwdriver and three nails lying innocently on the bottom shelf. “Thank you,” Clementine whispered, not sure of who she was actually thanking. “It may not look like much, but a Screwdriver has saved my life before.”

AJ picked it up and wiped the dust onto his pants. “Screwdriver. It’s small.”

“But it works.”

The sound of heavy boots on the wooden floor sent Clementine into immediate attack mode. They didn’t sound anything like Louis’s shoes did, his tended to squeak. AJ saw the slight panic in her eyes, going into his own attack stance. Clementine placed a finger over her lips, something AJ learned at a very young age what it meant.

Why did Mitch have to be right?

Clementine began to push AJ away from the oncoming stranger, eager to get Louis and run.

“Oi! What are you doing?”

Fucking hell.

“AJ run!” Clementine shouted, pushing him in the direction of the fishing aisle. The little kid bolted like there was no tomorrow, kicking up dust behind his feet. A broken shriek escaped from Clementine when she felt a sweaty hand grab at her own. She was slammed against the shelves, her head hitting the edge.

“You think you can come here and take my shit!” It was an old man, his tobacco stained fingers digging into Clementine’s wrists.

The man had her wrists pinned above her head. He stared into her eyes, trying to figure out if she was hiding something. “Do you have anyone else here or is it just you?

“Just me, I don’t have anyone else,” Clementine hoped with every fibre of her being that AJ and Louis were both safe. “Let me go and I won’t come back I promise.”

He seemed reluctant to let her go, gripping her wrists tighter. “How can I be so sure of that? That last time I trusted someone they came back with a group, took the last of my shit and killed my son,” He didn't break eye contact with Clementine, somehow dominating the small space. “I let you go, you'll come back. I know it.”

“I won't! I swear.”

The man let go of Clementine's wrists briefly, the pain instantly fleeting. But his hands moved down to her neck, the air around her growing thin.

The strength he was exhibiting was inhuman, her sight fading as the man blended with her surroundings. She clawed at his sweaty hands, wondering at how they got so calloused. She didn’t have long to wonder before she heard a loud yell, the man being tackled down by a blurry figure.

Clementine fell to the floor, her palms stinging from the impact. She looked over and saw Louis on top of the man, pinning his chest down with Chairles. The spikes were digging into his skin, blood oozing through his clothes. Clementine tried to stand on her legs but they crumbled under her weight.

AJ ran up to the man and shot him right in the knee without even blinking.

“Guys....stop.” Clementine croaked. Hurting this guy would do more harm than good.

“You said you had no one else!” The man shouted, hands frantically swiping at Louis.

“This kid is a good shot,” Louis pushed himself off the cowering man, standing tall against him, aiming Chairles at his face. “You come after us and he’ll aim higher.”

Never had he spoken with such a demeaning tone, it came from somewhere deep in his gut where he locked away all his fears. Louis looped her arm over his shoulder, helping to guide her feet, AJ didn’t put the gun away till they were out of the store, keeping himself alert.

They slowly walked back to the carpark, not mentioning the ordeal that fell upon them. AJ sat patiently in the car, playing with the screwdriver. Louis took Clementine’s bat from her and threw it into the boot alongside a bloodied Chairles.

“I’ve never seen you so angry before, are you okay?” Louis never handled Chairles with such blatant disregard. That and he wasn’t even making eye contact with her.

“No, I’m not, how can I be? One minute I’m looking at fishing nets, the next I see this shithead strangling you. You could have died.”

“Stop thinking that, worse things have happened to me.” Getting bit by a dog, getting shot in the chest, losing a finger. They all definitely make her list of ‘worst injuries’.

“It’s still a bad thing Clem,” Louis carefully closed the boot. He wasn’t one to start slamming and breaking things when he was frustrated. Not like his dad. “It was just scary, that’s all.”

It couldn’t have been said any simpler. The man who held her had nothing to lose, not anymore. To have such a blatant disregard....it’s a state of humanity that few people survive from. “We should have stayed together, you were right.”

Louis didn’t say anything, nothing needed to be said. He quickly walked over to Clem and held her in his arms, thankful that he still has that luxury of holding her this close, thankful that she was alive.

She buried her face in the fluffy lining of his coat, clenching the fabric between her hands. “Thank you for helping.”

“You say that as if I wouldn’t,” Louis couldn’t help but eye down the door, searching for anyone else who dared pose a threat. “I’d never leave you, Clementine.”