#twd script

[gl4ssw1ngp1xy]

2012, May 3rd (Day 618)

As Negan gives his speech to the kneeling group, his eyes land on Amaya, her appearance catching him off guard and paralysing him for a moment. The young woman fiercely reminds him of his late wife, Lucille but when she dares to look up at him from her position, it takes his breath away. The woman forced to kneel in front of him is the spitting image of Lucille, the only thing that’s different, is her eyes. They were his own, staring right back at him.

Negan snickers quietly at the thought, before quickly recomposing himself. "This is Lucille," he shows off the bat. "And she is awesome." He reveals that the entire set up, including the roadblocks, was simply to decide "who gets the honor" of dying. He eyes up the group and seems impressed when Abraham squares up to him. When Negan threatens Maggie, Amaya tries to shield her and Glenn screams and lunges at Negan, but is pulled back in line. After more taunting, Negan claims to have an idea of who to pick to be killed.

[realityfordummies]

Chill tf out. You'll shift. You'll manifest your desires. You'll get everything you want. Just chill. No need to stress about things that are inevitable.

Now read it again.

[fawnontheweb]

“ Who’s the main character in your DR? “

[venusiandollz]

Shifters in their DR

[jadeshifting]

— THINGS I’M LOOKING FORWARD TO. ( IN MY WALKING DEAD DR, a VERY condensed list )

　　.   　　˚　　 　　*　　 　　✦　　　.　　.　　　✦　˚ 　　　　 ˚　.˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　 　　 　　　　

ib @ dreamyshifts, and also that anon who asked me to post about my twd dr more (i have stuff lined up just for you mwah)

⋆˙⟡ every building and tall structure and house is suddenly abandoned and begging to be explored. the creepy depths of creaking boards and overgrown vines reclaiming the windows and the very foundations. personally, it never stops being fun for me to explore all these brand-new-old places

⋆˙⟡ the braided hair, being a little covered in dirt, lucky to have even a touch of chapstick. it’s hot and exhilarating to find little ways to hold onto femininity and self-identity in a filthy world

⋆˙⟡ nature, without anyone to damage it. the light pollution is long gone, you can see every single star twinkling above your head at night. the trees are unfettered, twisting branches are easy to climb. the fields of grass and weeds and wildflowers are completely unchecked—beautiful

⋆˙⟡ gratitude in the small things. after the world ends, every last sunset, bubbling stream, and bird chirping and whistling overhead is like liquid gold. it opens your eyes—realizing that you took every last thing for granted when society was still standing, but not anymore! now it’s laughable how little it takes to make me gleefully happy

⋆˙⟡ forced minimalism. sure, everybody only has maybe one backpack of belongings because they have to, but still. i’m happy to be freed of countless material possessions, to be mindful of the things i choose to hold onto ( a gun, a pack of cherry tic-tacs. it’s all the same )

⋆˙⟡ the kinds of hopes and dreams we discuss around a campfire. passing around a jar of some disgusting redneck alcohol and humming about ideas of farms, of growing gardens and starting the closest thing to a family. it fuels people in a way that didn’t happen before

[gothcowgrrl]

𝑽𝑰𝑬𝑵𝑵𝑨’𝑺 𝑾𝑨𝑳𝑲𝑰𝑵𝑮 𝑫𝑬𝑨𝑫 𝑫𝑹

“𝙞 𝙠𝙣𝙤𝙬 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙡𝙤𝙤𝙠 𝙖𝙩 𝙢𝙚 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙟𝙪𝙨𝙩 𝙨𝙚𝙚 𝙖𝙣𝙤𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙧 𝙙𝙚𝙖𝙙 𝙜𝙞𝙧𝙡.”

THE BEGINNING.

before everything fell apart, I was a medical student. training to be a paramedic — fast, focused, and good under pressure. i never finished. the world ended before i got the chance.

i survived the first wave of the outbreak on my own. i couldn’t stay anywhere near my college or my dorm, it was a death trap, so i moved on. i ended up living out of a tent, stitching myself up with with a cracked mirror and fishing line. that’s where negan found me — deep in the woods, half-starved but alive. he took me in. said i had potential. said i was too stubborn to die.

he taught me everything i needed to know to survive — how to move quietly, how to kill cleanly, how to read people before they became a threat. with him, survival wasn’t just instinct; it was strategy. he made me sharper, harder, more focused. the world didn’t have room for hesitation anymore — mercy would get me killed faster than any walker.

it wasn’t really a choice to become a savior, it was that or death, that’s negan’s rules. i worked mostly as a medic, sometimes joined in on raids. i never liked the way things worked — the punishments, the fear — but i understood it. this was survival, not civilization. and sometimes surviving means becoming the thing you swore you wouldn’t.

negan and i didn’t happen right away. it built over time. quiet moments. looks that lasted too long. eventually it turned into something real. physical. emotional. secret. i was never one of his wives — those came later. i like to think it’s because he missed what we had.

some people didn’t like how close i was with him. said i got “special treatment.” maybe i did. either way, it made me a target.

on a run with five others, they turned on me. left me for dead in an abandoned parking lot full of walkers. i never knew why exactly — jealousy, maybe. or just the excuse they needed. what i didn’t know at the time was that negan found out. and he killed every single one of them for it.

but i didn’t go back. i didn’t trust it. part of me even thought maybe negan had set it up — that maybe i’d became too much of a distraction for him. either way, i decided i was better off on my own.

the next day, i found carl — or he found me. we crossed paths in a half-looted town, and i saved him from a walker. old instincts, i guess. he insisted i come with him. said i didn’t deserve to be alone. rick wasn’t sure, but i saved his son. so he let me in.

(WO)MAN’S BEST FRIEND.

the sun beat down hard as we walked, the three of us — rick, carl, and me — moving quietly along the railway tracks toward what we hoped was a sanctuary: terminus. rick had that sharp, wary look in his eyes that never really left, but carl seemed happy for me to be there, getting to know me and giving me that cheeky grin whenever we’d play around. rick didn’t say much, but he’d smile at us getting along from time to time.

it was late afternoon when we spotted her. a skinny, mud-caked saint bernard crouched beside the trees on the side of the tracks, ribs showing through her coat, eyes sharp and cautious. rick raised his hand, and we froze. i stepped forward, slowly, speaking low, trying to soothe her. she didn’t bark, didn’t run. just watched me, tail between her legs. i reached into my pack and tossed her a bit of dried jerky. that was all it took — she followed us after that, keeping a few feet of distance at first, like she was testing us. by the next morning, she was curled up next to my sleeping bag.

i named her bennie, after “bennie and the jets.” it was on one of the five cds i carried, tucked safely in my backpack next to a scratched-up walkman which i found in the attic of an abandoned house at the beginning of it all. it was collecting dust way before the outbreak. i barely used it anymore — except on nights i couldn’t sleep, or when i felt alone. bennie took to the name fast, her ears perking up every time i called. she wasn’t just a dog — she was a force. fiercely loyal, she’d growl low at anything that got too close, and more than once she chased off a walker before any of us even noticed it. but she had this gentler side too — nudging my hand for scratches or standing guard while i rested. it was like she’d been waiting her whole life to belong to someone, and i was it.

OLD FRIENDS.

we went to hilltop with jesus, and that’s when i heard the name again — the saviors.

it hit me like a buried landmine. i didn’t react. didn’t flinch. just nodded along while they talked about strategy, about defense, about raiding an outpost. no one here knew. not rick. not daryl. not even glenn. i had made sure of that.

i stayed silent. i didn’t warn them. didn’t tell them i used to be one of them.

the group moved forward with the plan, thinking they were striking first. taking out a threat before it grew. i told myself maybe it would work. maybe negan wouldn’t find out. maybe the people i cared about wouldn’t have to pay for what i once was.

but that’s not how things go in this world.

later, i went out on a run with daryl and denise. edison’s was supposed to be the target, a shop we figured would be stocked with medicine. just another supply run, nothing out of the ordinary.

until we hit the tracks.

one second, denise was talking. the next, she dropped. arrow through the eye. no warning. no goodbye.

and then i saw them, some of my old friends, and a blonde one (dwight) at the front i didn’t recognise with a terrified eugene next to him.

“if it ain’t negan’s princess,” one said, shock evident on his voice, but a smirk still spreading across his face.

daryl looked at me. really looked. and in that split second, the lie I’d been living unraveled in his eyes.

but after eugene bites dwight in the crotch, and abraham opens fire. with an injured eugene, somehow we made it out.

later, daryl asked. quietly, like he already knew.

i told him the truth — about negan, about who i’d been, what i’d done to survive. how i left. how i tried to become someone new.

he didn’t judge me. didn’t tell the others. just nodded and said, “you’re here now. that’s what matters.”

REUNITED.

we went after dwight — me, daryl, glenn, michonne. we wanted justice. instead, we got captured. thrown into a van like cargo.

at the same time, rick’s group was trying to get maggie to hilltop due to a sudden unknown illness. they never made it. the saviors were waiting.

they were all brought together, made to kneel in the dirt. hands empty. surrounded by guns. and then the van doors opened.

they dragged us out — me, glenn, daryl, michonne — and threw us on our knees beside the others.

it felt strange — unreal, almost. i was so used to watching this kind of thing unfold from the outside. always on the sidelines, half-numb to the screams, the blood, the begging. detached. but now, on my knees in the dirt, center stage in someone else’s nightmare, i felt every second of it. the fear. the weight.

i looked around. faces i knew stared back — some with guilt in their eyes, others with something colder, like they thought I had this coming. and maybe i did. either way, i wasn’t invisible anymore.

then he stepped out.

he looked the same. like time hadn’t touched him. same cocky grin, same leather jacket. same barbed wire bat resting on his shoulder like it was nothing more than a fashion accessory.

“are we pissin’ our pants yet? oh boy… do i have a feeling we’re gettin’ close”

he scanned the group, then saw me.

“oh my… and look at who we have here,” he said, grinning. “lookin’ pretty as ever, vi.”

i didn’t move. didn’t answer. my heart was hammering, but i kept my face blank.

“damn,” he said, amused. “after all this, you’re givin’ me the silent treatment?”

i said nothing.

he moved on, turning his attention to rick. gave his speech about punishment, about the new world order. about taking what was his — including us.

then, he looked at me once again. “now don’t you worry, honey. you just gotta sit and look pretty. actually, get your ass up here. c’mon. don’t be shy now.”

i stood. walked when he told me to. knelt again where he placed me — right in the middle of the circle, facing my friends. “only the best seat in the house for you,” he muttered into my ear, before getting up, patting my head and pacing once more.

he started playing his sick little game — picking someone to kill. toying with us like we were just names on a list, like none of this mattered. he threatened maggie, mocked carl. glenn lost it, screaming, lunging — couldn’t help himself.

negan didn’t care. just smiled. had his men shove glenn back in line.

then came the eeny-meeny-miny-moe.

i held my breath. everyone did.

and then… he picked abraham.

the sound was like a watermelon cracking open. i flinched, but didn’t look away. i owed him that — to see it. to remember it.

then daryl snapped. jumped up, punched negan square in the jaw. it was instinct — grief, rage, all of it spilling out.

negan didn’t even yell. just turned, calm as ever, and brought the bat down again. this time, on glenn.

it was worse. he didn’t die right away. tried to speak. his last look was to maggie — not fear, not pain. just love.

and then he was gone too.

the screams around me blurred into a low, hollow ringing. i couldn’t hear myself think. couldn’t feel anything but the dirt beneath my knees and the blood splattered on my cheek. i didn’t even know whose it was.

rick was dragged into the rv. negan wanted to break him. and when that didn’t work, he came back out with rick's axe and made carl lie on the ground. said if he didn’t cut off his son’s arm, everyone else would die.

that’s when i lost it. started sobbing, couldn't help it.

he turned to me slowly, grin lazy. "why so sad? Is this your prince charming?” he looked at rick.

i didn’t answer. just stared at rick, tears running down my face. i’d never seen him like that — broken, helpless.

negan leaned down to me, his voice low. “well i'll be damned. you’ve got a front row seat seein’ him chop his own son’s arm off.”

rick was shaking. hands barely gripping the axe. he raised it — just enough. it was real. it was going to happen.

then negan stopped him. “there it is,” he muttered. “that look. that’s what i wanted.”

satisfied, he turned to me again. crouched, close enough to smell the blood on his collar.

“how pathetic was that, huh?” he whispered, smiling.

i didn’t say anything, just spat in his face.

he paused, wiped it off with the back of his glove, then laughed. “still got fire. i like that.”

then he stood, declared his terms — one week, half of everything alexandria had. resistance meant death.

as a final cruelty, he took daryl with him. and me.

“this one’s coming home,” he said, grabbing my arm. “a souvenir.”

daryl and i were tossed into a van, and took to the sanctuary without a word.

FAMILIARITY.

they dragged daryl away first — kicking, yelling, refusing to go quietly. i could still hear him as they pulled me in the opposite direction. i wanted to fight too, but i didn’t. not because i was afraid of pain, but because i knew negan wanted a reaction. i wasn’t giving him what he wanted — not yet.

they didn’t throw me in a cell like daryl. no, he got that special kind of punishment. the kind where they stripped you of everything — your clothes, your name, your humanity. they blasted music until your mind frayed, fed you like a dog, tried to break you until there was nothing left.

me? I was chained to a damn bed.

negan’s room. his sanctuary. i was his trophy now — a reminder of his power, of what i used to be, and what he thought i still belonged to. he never laid a hand on me in that way, but every moment felt like something sacred was being scraped away. he didn’t need violence to break you — just time. words. familiarity. he was patient, like a wolf that already knew you’d limp eventually.

and i did.

not all at once. not loudly. just… little things. like how i started answering him when he talked. how i started listening when he told his stories. how i didn’t flinch when he laughed.

“you look good,” he said once, his voice low and easy like none of this was what it was. “still got that little edge to you. didn’t think i’d ever see it again.”

i looked at him then, as i sat on the same side of the bed i had been on for days. really looked. and for the first time, i didn’t just see the monster who swung that bat. i saw the man i once followed without question. the one who could talk circles around a lie. the one who, for a long time, made me feel safe.

“you thought i was dead,” i said flatly. it wasn’t a question.

his face shifted. just a little. “yeah. i did.” he stood up from his chair and walked across the room, slow like he was figuring out if he wanted to say more.

“five of them left with me,” i said. “you remember?”

he turned, and for a second — just one — there was something sharp behind his eyes. not rage. not sadness. something different but familiar at the same time. “yeah,” he said. “i remember.”

there was a beat. then another.

“i killed them,” he added, taking a sip from his whiskey like he was telling me what the weather was like outside. “when they came back without you. figured if you really left me, they helped. if you didn’t… well. they still failed.”

i nodded, not saying another word.

and just like that, the line between fear and familiarity blurred. between loyalty and love and something far darker than both. that was always the thing about negan — he made you feel wanted in a way that twisted the knife deeper.

( updates as i watch the show last update: 17.07.25 )

dramatised for entertainment purposes

[zaddizu]

what’s in my bag? — my TWD dr

── is this possibly excessive? maybe. or maybe i just pack for the right occasions.

a knife, obviously.

a silent way of fending off walkers. gone with a quick swing. or a stab, if that’s how you like it. there's uninteligable engravings in the blade.

a worn pistol.

a way of killing walkers in a panic. it's not ideal, seeming the loud bang it gives off attracts walkers from all corners of the earth.

tangled earbuds.

stolen from the back of a car. zayda covey, being oh so the second guessing person she is, decided music was better than her life and risked it all for frank ocean. not that it wasn't worth it.

my phone. its pink. of course it is.

a phone in a zombie apocalypse? completely useless, right? thank god for solar powered chargers and pre downloaded music. its also there for when i want to reminisce the days pre apocalypse, dramatically scrolling through my camera roll.

a lighter.

im not the biggest smoker. i might have my moments, but i tend to carry it for luke. not like i'd admit it's for him.

a claw clip hanging onto the strap of my bag.

i don't like tying my hair, it never looks correct on me. i like to carry it for beth or the others. a sense of fulfilment comes over me whenever someone asks for it.

perfume.

sol de janerio specifically. i must smell nice at the end of the world. if not me, who will? its contents are slowly dwindling with time.

a tattered leather wallet. its once black leather peels at the corners.

its impractical, it takes up space, but it feels wrong removing it. as if finally letting go of the last part of my old life. accepting this new one which felt so unfamiliar at first. a blurry polaroid is slotted inside a closed pocket.

chapstick.

its peach flavoured. luke likes it.

loose rings.

they're chunky, silver, and probably lived a million lives before i ever got a hold of them. now they rest in the bottom of my bag, waiting to be remembered.

pens.

they come in many forms: glitter gel pens, bullet point pens, those kind of pens you get after going somewhere as a freebie. anything your think of, they’re probably in there. somewhere.

a stuffed racoon.

its tattered. it’s eye looks the wrong way. it certainly went through a rough life, but he lives a calm life in the right pocket of my bag. i occasionally give him to juddith to calm her.

a half filled sketch book.

i occasionally still draw when i have free time and remember i actually have hobbies other than taking peoples heads off. there’s a few doodles of luke, i refuse to show anyone them out of pure shame.

. . .

[realityrain]

ᓚ₍⑅^..^₎building a new DR script╭ ?! ‧₊˚ ↺┊

posted on my tt (@/probablylucid). anyway i haven’t had a new DR in like a year so i thought id might as well make a post while making the new script!!

[eatuniverse]

love interest typology . the survivor

interpersonal connection is one of the most pertinent reasons we shift & apocalypse centered desired realities are no exception. in a world plagued and ravaged by blight, love can be the sole spot of brightness. thoughtfully, using this list of these compiled traits, you can design a lover not-canon to the media you're shifting to. tropes include:

the preppers && survivalists . the ex-cops . the punks . the dreamers

ib this post by @deerdoegone !

personality . . . a balance of quirks and flaws.

aloof. spunky. cynical. cunning. high-octane. cocky. brash. witty. brilliant. spiteful. grizzled. charming. reckless. level-headed. blunt. closed-off. slick. distrustful. forgiving. efficient. civil. polished. edgy. neurotic. uptight. dishonest. stubborn. impatient. well-spoken. charismatic. amiable.

ideals . . . core values define a person.

charity. responsibility. humanity. ambition. optimism. stoicism. balance. conformity. independence. justice. righteousness. community. order. loyalty. logic. freedom. change.

specialties . . . survival necessitates skill.

tracker. scout. scavenger. trapper. marksman (sniper, archer, etc). medic. hunter. mechanic. entertainer / performer. farmer. priest. historian. scientist. teacher. tradesman (masonry, carpentry, plumbing, etc). blacksmith. engineer. barber.

visuals . . . aesthetic

face claims . . . in no way comprehensive!

devon bostick. cara lavigne. logan lerman. dominic fike. lamar johnson. kyle gallner. anastasia tjhong. dylan o'brien. taylor russel. hoyeon jung. matthew lillard. steven yeun. booboo stewart. pedro pascal. sophie thatcher. courtney eaton. robert sheehan. keke palmer. vanessa morgan. tom cruise.

[rhee-2]

My Script

Hi everyone, personally I like to be quite meticulous when it comes to writing my script and sometimes searching for exactly what I wanted didn’t always land me with the results I was looking for. I just wanted to share what sections / information I have laid out in my script in case people were looking for more stuff to add, like me. Just want to add the disclaimer, that you do not need a script in order to shift nor do you need all these items in your script, I just like to plan lol. 

Section One: Safety 

What my safeword is. 

DR time compared to CR time.

Where I first shift to, I also put a disclaimer at the bottom of this part that the next time I shifted over was the same place I was that I had shifted back.

Just a list of safety features that I have (i.e. I cannot die (apart from old age) and I cannot get bitten, walkers smell like wet dogs, etc).

Things that are different in the DR (Lori has a difficult birth but lives, Dale makes it off the farm but dies at the hand of the Governor instead of Hershel etc).

Section Two: All About Me

General details (full name, any nicknames, birthday, star sign, the age that I am when I first shift, the fact that I age at a normal process etc).

My Backstory (What was my life was like before, any friends from before that I want to remember, my family and their dynamics, and specific memories from before that I want to remember etc).

My Appearance (face, hair, eyes, mouth / teeth / lips, ears, nose, eyebrows, distinct features, skin, chin, shoulders, back, hands etc. Basically I just described everything about me in grave detail). Also in this section I added about any tattoos or piercings I had, my vision and I also added that I cannot gain or lose an unhealthy amount of weight as sometimes there’s quite a bit of food shortage. 

My voice / accent.

My personality traits (good, bad and neutral)

My skills, and how they develop overtime. I also included that I was a fast learner. 

What makes me happy (i.e. light rain, my S/O, clean sheets)

What irks me (i.e. hate hate getting dirty just after I have managed to get clean).

What habits do I have? (i.e. I tend to grind my teeth and set my jaw when I’m trying not to say something ‘bitchy’).

My Health (Can I get ill? What happens when I get ill? What does pain feel like? How do I respond to pain? My hygiene (i.e. it smells odorless to myself and others unless it smells good, also scripted that I can’t smell when others stink cos there’s times where no one gets a wash and LORD) Blood type, can I scar? Periods etc).

The clothing that I have when I first shift (what am I wearing the moment I have first shifted? What clothes do I wear on a daily basis? Any spares? What do I sleep in? Can I lose clothes or do I want to keep these forever? Also, it is a good idea to script that when you come across new clothes and shoes that they will always either fit you perfectly or be slightly bigger but in a good way). 

The items that I have when I first shift (what does my bag look like? What’s in it? Are there any items I specifically don’t want to lose? What weapons do I first have? Also smart to script in that they are always sharp and you always have at least enough ammo and that you know how to use them correctly, is there anything in my pockets?)

Do I have my own vehicle when I first shift? (Is there a backstory for the vehicle (mine is my car from before, got it for my 18th birthday), what brand and colour is the vehicle? Do you keep it forever or do you lose it? (I keep my car until the prison falls), how many people can it fit? Anyone that always travels with you in the vehicle? What does it smell like? Any distinct characteristics?)

How can I develop overtime? (my skills become refined etc)

My closest friends (when / how did we become friends, why / how do we become close, any specific memories? etc)

Different dynamics (i.e. Rick turns into kind of a father figure to me, I state how that changes over time and the jokes he makes about it etc)

My dog (I scripted that I have my dog with me too, I talk about how she is obedient, like she is good off lead and just listens and sticks with us, how the walkers don’t detect her and I also scripted that she lives way longer than normal for a dog and literally no one questions it. I also said how she never goes hungry or thirsty, never gets ‘lost’ (we get separated at the farm, Glenn has her and at the prison, Bob saves her my king) etc). 

Section Three: My S/O

General details (name, birthday, star sign, age when I first shift etc).

Their backstory (what was their life like before? How did they become a part of the group? What was it like when you first interacted? etc).

Their personality traits (good, bad and neutral).

What makes them happy?

What irks them?

Their habits

Their health (I scripted that he doesn’t and cannot die (apart from old age), he cannot get bitten or lose limbs, or lose a lot of blood, do they contract the illness at the prison? How does that go down? I also said that he has good stamina etc)

Their closest friends (when / how do they become friends? Why / how do they become close etc).

Their different relationship dynamics (do they have anyone that is more like a father figure or like a brother to them? etc)

How do they develop over time?

How did we get together?

Any mutual habits that you share? (i.e. do you always look at each other during group settings and can tell what you’re thinking by exchanging looks etc).

How does the relationship change over time?

Any nicknames for each other?

Section Four: Individual profiles

There’s no such thing as ‘main characters’ or ‘background characters'; everyone is a real life person here. There are some people that I am closer to than others and I state that and basically order that. I will know of other people that I have not written about, I can learn information about them just like everyone else. 

Their name, their birthday (or roundabout age if we haven’t discussed their birthday), how / when I met them, our relationship dynamic / how it changes over time, their main characteristics, their dynamic with the rest of the group / within the group, their main friends etc, I also try to add an image for each of them).

Rick, Lori, Carl, Judith, Shane, Morgan, T-Dog, Jacqui, Jim, Dale, Carol, Sophia, Ed, Amy, Andrea, The Morales Family, Daryl, Merle, Hershel, Maggie, Beth, Oscar, Axel, Michonne, Tyreese, Sasha, Bob, Lizzie, Mika, Tara, Rosita, Eugene, Abraham, Gabriel, Noah, Aaron, Eric, Jesus, Gracie, Deanna, Spencer, Reg, Aidan, Nicholas, Heath, Enid, Jessie, Sam, Ron, Pete, Olivia, Denise, Francine, R.J, Coco, Siddiq, Tobin, Alden, Laura, Ezekiel, Dianne, Jerry and his family, Henry, Lydia, Luke, Yumiko, Magna, Connie, Kelly, Princess, Maxxine, Michael, Dog etc (this is just who I could find that I had written about so far).

Section Five: Enemies

What enemies do I encounter? How do we deal with them as a group? Any specific moments worth noting? 

Are there any enemies that we don’t encounter or things happen differently (I’ve scripted out the whisperers entirely, and I’ve changed the saviours to be dealt with way quicker, basically we take Negan out, some try to fight and we kill them, others run and some join us).

The prisoners when we first get to the prison, woodbury, terminus, the saviours, the whisperers, the commonwealth, any big herds etc.

Section Six: Eras

Locations, what happened there? How did we find it? When did we find it? Do we lose it? How? What was life like there? What ‘occupations’ do we have whilst we are there (I split Alexandria into two, one: when we first get there and Deanna gives us all jobs, two: after when we rebuild the community). What groups were we in (the groups I have written down are: On the way to the CDC / out of the CDC, when we’re getting off of the farm, when the prison falls / on the way to terminus, when we deal with the big herd) 

Am I changing the length of the timeline? (Yeah, I extend it because the whole thing is like in three years and ain’t no way) Give rough timeframes (don’t even know the exact date there, it’s hard to keep track)

Pre meeting the group, Atlanta camp, The CDC, The farm, The road, The prison, Terminus, The Church, Alexandria, Hilltop, Oceanside etc

Section Seven: Music

I saw someone script in that there was background music and that is a delish idea. I scripted that it’s kind of like my ADHD music except everyone can hear it (idk if anyone will know what I mean by that, but like one thing that I have with my ADHD is a constant stream of different thoughts and usually one of them is some kind of music. I just want the background music to add ‘vibe’ but also not be weird and out of place?

What’s on my walkman / MP3 player, albums that I have / want to find (anything created after August 2010 does not exist), mixtapes that I find etc. 

[lishifts]

i just saw something on tiktok.. i forgot the original one who said so if you know please comment it. anyways so it was something like, if you’re struggling shifting why not treat your cr as if it were one of your drs like make a name for it such as what you want to be (example; if you wanna be a writer in this reality call this reality your writer dr) and if you don’t know what you wanna be yet call this reality your shifting journey dr. at night or whenever you’re going to shifting saying you’re shifting to said dr and when you wake up here you’ve shifted here of your own intent like you’re in your dr, you actually shifted and it’ll also show your mind just how simple shifting is plus you’d be in the mindset of already shifting which could help you.

(i found the original video)

@/neon.starsprout ok tt

[sugarswrites]

me deciding that stranger things was the best first place to ever shift to

me also being traumatized after seeing some shit

me then deciding that shifting to the walking dead would be different and then being traumatized once again

idk if i learned my lesson cause im getting the urge to shift to breaking bad 😩

[realityfordummies]

Having the same s/o in most of your drs>

(blirred my face out)

[fawnontheweb]

I’ll say “I miss my man” like he’s not in a whole other reality

but if he knew my consciousness wasn’t there yet i bet he’d miss me too

[marumarielle]

do you guys ever just... read what you wrote last night and just embarrass yourself T^T NO BC I REALLY NEED TO PICK UP WRITING LESSONS WTHHHHH

[jadeshifting]

— ♰  ༻ THE WALKING DEAD DR

⋅───⊱༺ ♰ ༻⊰───⋅

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JADE THE SPADE . don’t laugh. i didn’t come up with it. before, because of my green thumb. now, because i’m a fucking menace with a shovel in my hand, and really no greater aspirations than seeing tomorrow—which may seem bleak, but i assure you it’s a fine way to live.

after the world ends, what’s left for someone like you? someone like me? when it’s really, truly, good and over.

it’s safe to say that humans have finally joined the circle—eating and being eaten. are we even still at the top of the food chain? i don’t particularly care, actually.

the end of the world ripped through the glitter and gloss of girlish dreams like a pack of ravenous wolves. a bunny in a den of foxes—it’s a balancing act between sugar and steel. the world’s gone grim, but i cling to whatever i can, hands reeking of blood and sweat and painted with silver polish. innocence not lost, just sharpened; a lamb draped in wolfskin, still soft enough to see beauty in the decay but clever enough to keep it from swallowing me whole. i stitch my identity from scraps, a patchwork of lace and leather, refusing to let the apocalypse strip me of the one thing i refuse to lose—myself

˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　 . ✦　　　 　˚　　　　 . ★⋆. ࿐࿔

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WHERE WERE YOU WHEN THE WORLD ENDED? (i know where i was)

★⋆. — the outbreak crashed my military academy camping trip like a bad joke with no punchline. one moment, it was knot tying and firestarting; the next, it was screaming, blood, and cadets turning into chew toys. survival instincts kicked in fast—me and a handful of others bolted while the rest of the group got torn apart like a horror movie cliché. i stuck to the shadows, scavenging supplies and dodging the undead like a ghost, my survival training doing overtime

★⋆. — when my small group’s numbers thinned thanks to panic and bad decisions, i was left solo. determined not to join the buffet or find my end along with the rest of the world, i continued alone, hopping fences, raiding cabins, and staying two steps ahead of death. by the time i stumbled into Rick Grimes and his happy-go-lucky group, i was half-feral, sharp as a switchblade, and carrying the weight of too many brushes with death to count

˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　 . ✦　　　 　˚　　　　 . ★⋆. ࿐࿔

— life was a glittering future on the horizon, and a brain full of ambitions too big for my boots. now?

the crisp order of my days is long gone, swapped for the jagged rhythm of scavenger life. ambition? boiled down to staying one step ahead of death. the pristine fawn i once was has learned to grow antlers—equal parts hunted and hunter, wide-eyed but feral, forever caught between innocence and savagery

who would’ve thought the apocalypse would feel like my second act? strange, huh? the world ends, and suddenly i’m not just surviving—i’m thriving. no crisp uniforms or barking instructors, no stupid ranks to fight for. just me, my dog, and a chaotic, gnarly world that somehow fits me like a glove. there’s something about the rawness of it all that feels honest—more honest than anything i had before. i can call my own shots without anyone telling me i’m too loud, too sharp, or too much.

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and the little things? they’re different… better, now. a decent meal, a sunrise, Pistol wagging his tail after a long run—they’re brighter, louder, sharper than they ever were back when the world was still spinning right. sure, there are days that gut me, losses that burn so bad i swear i’ll never come back from them, but there’s this gnarly kind of beauty in the fight, in clawing my way through it all and coming out the other side. i was built for this world, and for the first time, it feels like it was built for me, too

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˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　 . ✦　　　 　˚　　　　 . ★⋆. ࿐࿔

SKILLS KEEP YOU ALIVE (if you’re willing to use them)

♰  ༻ SHARPSHOOTING . i’ve got an eagle eye and a steady hand—i’ll peg a walker (or a squirrel) from fifty yards out, no sweat

TRAP-SETTING . whether it’s walkers, wildlife, or unwanted guests, my snares are creative and borderline evil

♰  ༻ PICKPOCKETING . need a weapon, food, or a little “borrowed” lighter? i’ve got you covered

FIRST AID . i’m not a doc, but i can stitch, splint, and bandage with whatever’s lying around—duct tape included

♰  ༻ BARTERING . my haggling game is ruthless; i can trade a paperclip for a can of peaches and make you feel like you got the better deal

INSTINCT (WOLFISH?) . i’ve got a sixth sense for danger, reading people and places like a book with a big red DANGER stamp on the cove

˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　 . ✦　　　 　˚　　　　 . ★⋆. ࿐࿔

♰ “perfect traps, clean kills, no wasted movement. whoever did this is good. too good.”

HOW IS EVERY DAY THE EXACT SAME, ALWAYS DIFFERENTLY? (what day is it?)

♰  ༻ like a magpie with more orderly priorities, i scavenge all day, every day for food, trinkets, and anything remotely useful

diner dreams—i play short-order chef with whatever’s edible, whipping up “meals” that are 80% apocalypse creativity, 20% actual food (not sure what percentage edible, but it ain’t high)

♰  ༻ i braid my hair and clean my gear (even in the apocalypse, you can’t let yourself look like a total wreck. who do you think i am?)

keep my blades razor-sharp, practicing flips and spins to quiet my busy brain. i throw them and i hit my target

♰  ༻ my nightly routine includes gazing at the stars, wondering if there’s still a future worth fighting for. glamorous

˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　 . ✦　　　 　˚　　　　 . ★⋆. ࿐࿔

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FOUND FAMILY? (first family. there was nothing before, either.)

finding a family after the world ended felt like stumbling onto an oasis in the middle of a desert—alien, overwhelming, and so damn beautiful it hurt. solo for so long, first by circumstance, then by necessity, the idea of belonging hit like a sucker punch. Rick’s quiet strength and Daryl’s rugged loyalty made them paternally carved out of grit and steel, grounding me in ways i didn’t know i needed. Carol, with her no-nonsense care and hidden softness, gave me a taste of the motherly warmth i’d long since buried as a pipe dream. and Beth—bright-eyed, gentle Beth—became the sister i’d never had, someone who made me believe in sweetness again, even in a world like one big sour gummy worm

♰  ༻ then there was Carl, all sharp edges and soft vulnerability. falling in love with him was like being cut by a blade i didn’t wanna dodge… like stepping into a fire i couldn’t put out—a blaze i’d protect with my last breath. the rest of the group—Glenn’s humor, Maggie’s resolve, Michonne’s quiet strength, Judith’s innocence—each thread wove into a tapestry i couldn’t live without

♰  ༻ raw, intense, and terrifyingly unfamiliar. this new family wasn’t bound by blood but by choice and survival, and protecting them becomes my creed, my compass. every scavenged meal, every walker killed, every sleepless night on watch—all for them—my salvation in a world that had tried to strip me of everything human. for that, i’d give them everything i had

ib : @/solanasreality & @/hrrtshape

⋅───⊱༺ ♰ ༻⊰───⋅

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