walter meloncamp

Last weekend was a holiday and the weather was nice enough for me to finally get some cosplay painting stuff done. While waiting between coats to dry I ended up sketching on accident more Citrusella and Walter. It’s very unfinished as I was not sure how to make Walter appear ‘ghostlike’ nor did I know if I should put glitch marks on him instead. It will probably remain unfinished and just left as is.

The Ghost Racer

Citrusella sighed. Why did Gene have to kill her? And why couldn’t she leave her dead body’s side? She recounted who she’d seen today.

First had been Nougetsia while her mun had been carrying her through Sugar Rush. Nugget had run up to the two–one… and been worried. Citrusella had thought they couldn’t be friends anytime soon, that Nougetsia had wanted to distance herself from her. That feeling even came as a nagging thought when they were talking about having a sleepover together. But she was so worried that she had started shaking Citrusella’s body begging her to regenerate.

And then there had been Bill. He had seemed scared and concerned, and he’d wanted to know what had happened. He hadn’t said much, but she could only guess what he was feeling.

And Gene. Gene had KILLED her. But he was still more than a little upset. He had done to her what Nougetsia had done, begging her to wake up. But she couldn’t. She had cried when everyone had gotten to that point of begging her to wake up, to regenerate. She just couldn’t, and she wasn’t sure why. And for some reason, she was positive she hadn’t died outside her game.

She sat next to her body, crying a little. Suddenly, she heard a voice behind her, and she knew it was speaking to her and not her body.


Citrusella's First Cup

((The year is 1998. This is before KC.

Inspired by this.))

It was January 25. For the first time in over a month, Citrusella sat at the starting line. Several of the other racers had cheered at her return.

She patted her kart, good old Blue Blazes II. She had wanted to love her original, programmed Blue Blazes, but it just caused her too much trouble. It almost hurt to look back on those beginning weeks: the …okay first race, the “meh” second one. And then it started. The glitching; horrible red glitches shooting through her body, each one bringing intense itching and pain as if some invisible rash was creeping over her skin. And with the glitching came the lightheadedness and stomach pain, her head filling with cotton candy clouds as Peeps pecked their sharp beaks into her abdomen.

After a month of dealing with that day after day, she just couldn’t take it anymore. She and Walter had gone to Dr. Mario, figured out exactly why she was getting sick.

And her kart had been part of the equation.

So she and Walter had worked for a month, trying to fix up her old kart before finally just cooking a new one with a recipe Citrus had just learned, giving the rest of the slices of the giant pie to homeless characters in Game Central. It had taken many tries, but they’d managed to get the new kart up and running, learning much more than any of the other racers cared to know at the time about the inner workings of a kart.

And so here she was at the starting line. She looked down at the floor of her kart, where she and Walter had carved their names into the vehicle before petrifying it to keep its form solid. When she looked up, the marshmallow had come to count down. She could feel the excitement as the race began.

Having had a month to convalesce, and plenty of rather difficult practice getting her new kart to work right, she wove easily through the falling gumballs at the beginning of the race that threatened to take out anyone too unskilled. She hit the boost and shot off the ramp, staying within the top 8 of the race. As they sped up the cake, cherry bombs exploded, sending Taffyta and Gloyd off the track. Candlehead accidentally managed to light Jubileena’s hat on fire as well, resulting in the cherry racer stopping in her tracks and ripping the hat off, screaming as if she were having a tantrum or wetting her pants or something. Candlehead, feeling bad and forgetting it was a race, stopped her kart as well, sweetly and innocently apologizing to the girl.

And so Citrusella slid into third. Before her were Rancis and Vanellope. As they shot out the tunnel on the cake, they lost Rancis, who had come out at an odd angle and fallen off the narrow pathway on the opposite side of the cupcake-filled gorge.

And so she was in a race with the ruler.

They sped down the rainbow road, shooting through the tunnels of the cave. They were neck and neck as they came to the fork in the road, a stalactite and stalagmite connected to form a column splitting the path. They glanced at each other with just seconds before they would be forced to make a decision.

Vanellope in her smart racing suit winked, swerving to the right to try to maneuver through the more difficult side of the path, failing due to the angle she’d come in at.

That left Citrus on the left, which she drove through easily.

…Her eyes widened. She’d passed Vanellope. The very princess herself! She stole a glance back to see the girl out of her kart, trying to get it in the right direction to get back into the race.

And as she looked back forward, she realized she was just feet from the starting line.

And then the unexpected happened: her kart began to slow. She’d forgotten make sure the tank had enough gas! But she was so close! She floored it, encroaching on the finish line ever so slowly, her kart running on spurts of cream. Suddenly, there was a scream behind her.

“INCOMING!” the princess’s voice came loud and frantic, but at the same time, it had an air of mischief in it.

She looked behind her just in time to see the ruler’s kart collide with the back of hers, pushing it the final few feet over the finish line.

For a second, Citrusella was in shock from the crash… until she saw Vanellope giving her a knowing smile. And that was when she realized.

She had won! She hadn’t just finished the race, she hadn’t just gotten on the roster, she had gotten first! And on her first day back, too! She looked up, seeing herself posing right in the center of the roster grid as the rest of the racers finished the race and congratulated her.

Sure, the back of her kart would need some body work… but that didn’t matter right now! She had finished the race, gotten first, gotten on the roster for the first time in two months! Her face wore an unbridled smile as she accepted her first Sugar Rush Cup.

And she knew it most certainly wouldn’t be her last.

Grief: Acceptance

((Happy 3000! I probably won’t comemorate my 4000th, but I’m sure doing this one!))

Citrusella walked through a not-oft-traveled part of Sugar Rush. She was heading for one place and one place only.

She came up to what had been a watermelon patch. It was largely empty now. The only indications that anything had ever been planted there were dead and unhealthy vines with a few rotting watermelons dispersed throughout them. There was one healthy, almost ripe watermelon at the center of the garden next to a healthy empty vine where another one had been pulled off.

Beyond the garden was a house decked in green and pinkish-red hues. This was, of course, the house that had belonged to Walter. Next to the house was a piece of shortbread with an inscription on it. This was Walter’s tombstone. She bent down and placed a single blueberry on his grave, a tear falling from her eye. After that, she walked to the house, reaching out and turning the knob to open the door.

Much of the inside was covered in crystalline sugar dust. The house hadn’t been touched in years. She walked into the darkened living room quietly, turning on the light as she entered.

She stepped cautiously toward his desk, which had a large drawer that she knew he kept seeds in. Once there, she opened the drawer.

Inside was the scrapbook they had kept for all of a week and a half in late 1997. She smiled as she saw it. Next to that was a small stack of seed packets, and next to that was a stack of paper. The paper on top was fresh and new, with writing on it.

Addressed to her.

…In icing.

“Dear Citrusella,

I know we thought I couldn’t touch any objects while I was a ghost, but I found out I could manipulate a few things in my house. That’s why this is written in frosting. I couldn’t hold a pencil.

I’m writing this because I hope that even if I can’t tell you in person you’ll get this somehow.

I really am okay with dying again. I know I didn’t have a lot of time to be afraid to die before. But I’ve already died and I’m okay with it happening again. And I want you to be okay with it too.

I know you’ll be sad. I’m sad that I’ll have to lose you, too. But you don’t need to be sad. I’ll always be with you, even if you can’t see me. I’ll be alive in your heart. I think if I can, once I can’t be with you anymore, I’ll go and live with the ghost racers. Maybe you’ll even see me again on the back of your ghost’s kart! Of course, you’re a good racer, so I bet you’ll race circles around your ghost and never get to see her.

Also, before I died, I wanted to tell you that I had a crush on you. But I couldn’t find the right way to do it. I tried writing you letters and thinking of things to say, but nothing ever seemed to be right. I don’t know if you feel the same way, but I needed to tell you.

Basically, I want to tell you that I don’t want you to be sad and I want you to know that I love you. I hope that you can move on without me. I really hope you can live a happy life.


She stared at it for a few seconds, tears welling in her eyes and a smile growing on her face, before she placed the letter back in its place in the drawer, right on top of a bunch of love letters dated December 1997 and January 1998. She promised herself she’d look at them later.

She pulled a packet of seeds from the drawer and closed it, tossing the packet between her hands as she sat on his chair and thought for a few minutes.

She stayed in the house a good long while after that, making sure it and everything in it was cleaned up, before she ventured outside, ready to begin his garden anew.

A message.

((I specifically waited to write this until I was as unangry as I could get.

This is my OC, Walter.

He says hi.

But he and I want you to know about something that makes us really upset.

When people take things, never credit ANYTHING, and then twist the stuff they use to no end! :D

You know, I really do like when people like my art! :)

Walter likes that too. It’s nice for art to get out there and there to be credit.

It’s also cool for there to be fanart.

(Source: So help me gob if someone steals this (even though it’s not mine) I will find where you live and come to you in the dead of night to hit you with a wet Swedish fish!)

It’s kinda a load of crepe when there’s no credit or source, though.

Yeah. That makes Walter surprised. He doesn’t like it when people steal art of him (or steal art of anyone. or steal in general.). Credit is good and it’s not that hard. Even if you’re on mobile, unless your browser is completely incapable of rendering websites.

Now, lack of credit in and of itself is not a horrible problem much for me (unless you do it over and over, which makes me mad). This next thing makes me unspeakably angry when I see it happen, though.

I get LIVID! when I see that someone has taken my art, my OC, and his entire backstory… then portrays him as wrongly as possible (so wrong it CANNOT be accidental). It is not funny. It is not cute. It is not “people take stuff all the time get over it.” It is mean and it makes me very upset!

(^New edit, yay!)

Yeah. Walter is frightened. Of my current state and of you. He doesn’t like seeing me angry because I do stupid things when I’m angry sometimes (like this could backfire and make people hate me, and he knows that). He also doesn’t like seeing who he is twisted into something he’s not. It makes him sad.

(Now, I could actually get behind an RPer having my Walter with a different personality, if they were AU/weren’t purporting themselves as if they were the totally correctly portrayed Walter or something.)

I want to stress that this was not anyone on Tumblr. It totally totally wasn’t. I just had the misfortune of going to a place with the knowledge that it would very likely make me upset like this. And it made me more upset than I thought it would. Which does not help since I am SUPER stressed in real life due to drama on my personal blog (which I am actually gearing up to take a break from) as well as being super busy preparing to return to college.

I’m really sorry, but I felt I HAD to make this post.

(All of my Walter art in this post (with the exception of the first) taken from screenshots of Gloyd posted by lauraxie.)

(EDIT: I do want to stress that I do not mind people posting about my art or OCs *with credit.* I do not mind people making art of my OC. I don’t even mind people RPing as him (as long as they don’t claim they came up with him). Just for you to not screw him up is all I ask.)))

Walter's death in vivid detail

((Because I am bored and wanna write. Also, sorry for the writing of the villain. His identity isn’t quite decided yet, and I just don’t really write villains well.))

January 1998:

Walter and Citrusella had left Sugar Rush in the morning hours. It was a holiday, and Litwak had closed the arcade for the day. Usually he kept the arcade open on holidays, hoping to get some extra customers, but today he had closed it. Something about needing a break or something.

So Walter and Citrusella had come into the station, itching to try out some new restaurant at Game Central Mall and hoping that there would be options for Citrus. It was a pizza place, and upon learning that, Citrus reluctantly ordered a salad. She didn’t really eat anything on it except the cherry tomatoes, but nonetheless, she was still happy; spending time with Walter was always a happy activity for her.

After their meal, they exited Game Central Mall together and decided to take a little walk around Game Central Station. The two strolled at a leisurely pace down the power strip, looking at the variety of games that inhabited the arcade.

That’s when they heard it.

“Get outta my way, loser! I don’t understand why they even let you little vagabond characters hang around this place.”

The stick-up-for-others part of Walter’s code started to run as they observed the fight unfold. After awhile, he couldn’t take just sitting back anymore.

He looked at Citrusella for a long while before speaking.

“I’ll deal with this,” he said.


“I’ll be fine, Citrus. I’ll be right back.”

“But he’s too big and strong for you! I don’t want you to get hurt!” she spoke, but he was too far away to hear her at that point.

Looking back, the character wasn’t actually much bigger than Walter or Citrus, but anybody who might have threatened her best friend, her rock, seemed like Godzilla to Citrusella. In hindsight, his actual size made Walter’s next line that much more serious.

“Hey, big head! Why don’t you leave that guy alone and pick on someone your own size!” he yelled.

The character pulled out a weapon that obviously didn’t match his theme: a giant sledgehammer. He swung it at Walter and slammed him into a wall before he could react.

“No!” Citrusella screamed, dashing forward.

The character tried his hardest to run away and disappear (and actually managed to do so), but Citrusella didn’t care. She dashed toward Walter as a large crowd began to form around him.

“No, no, no, no,” she cried, looking him over for signs of life but finding none. Surge was trying to get her to move away, but he couldn’t do anything to budge her from the spot. Eventually, a large pair of hands gently wrapped around her and forced her to leave his side. When her memories of the event were restored, she would realize that the hands belonged to Wreck-It Ralph, who was being uncharacteristically (for the time) nice and helpful.

After it was ascertained that Walter was indeed dead, he was carried back to Sugar Rush by a large character from a shooting game. His death was promptly mourned that evening in a large gathering in Sugar Rush, but Citrusella wasn’t there. She had gone home.

Over the next day, she slowly lost it. By the time she was brought to Surge for questioning, she no longer remembered Walter’s death and refused to speak unless disputing that very point. Surge, being able to pull no information from the girl, sent her back to Sugar Rush, where she lived unaware of her friend’s death for the next 15 years.

I Dreamed a Dream

((^Because Les Miserables songs are depressing, and it’s oddly relevant. XP

Also, most of this is a dream sequence, so if you decide to RP through this post, don’t RP with the dream? :-/ ))

Citrusella’s mommy had gone to the store to buy some more ingredients for pie. With her mun watching over her, Citrusella took this as an opportunity to try to catch up on her sleep. Amazingly, she was out almost as soon as she had hit her pillow.


Citrusella stood forlornly in Game Central Station. She looked up…

…and saw none other than…




They ran toward each other, meeting in the middle of Game Central.

“I feel like I haven’t seen you in 15 years!” he said.

“You haven’t! Where have you been?! I’ve missed you so much!” Happy tears were streaming down her face as she held Walter in an embrace that he gladly returned.

…Then they heard it.

That fight.

The one between the big, strong, evil man and the vulnerable character he was bullying.

Walter broke from the embrace, just as he had done every time she had dreamed this exact same event. “I’ll deal with this,” he said quietly and seriously, with a tone that assured her that he’d be right back.

“Hey, big head! Why don’t you leave that guy alone and pick on someone your own size!” he yelled.

“Wait! I can stop him this time!” she yelled desperately, reaching down to her holster to pull her gun out.

But there was no gun.

She looked down at her holster in disbelief, and she looked back up just in time to see her best friend be crushed.


Citrusella arose with a start, bolting into an upright postion in her bed. Her mun, who had previously been in the room with her, was nowhere to be seen, but that didn’t even cross Citrusella’s mind as she let out a long, inhuman scream.