#lori build kits

[dorkousloris]

tfw i was finally get to start on my zoid kit only to realize i have to buy model glue (and in the process, realized i should've got that bad boy for my older gunpla kits that were often broke apart i-)

[ashtheketchum]

Do you have a tag list for your Daryl story? If you do, could you add me please?

This is like the perfect story bc I’ve been looking for one like it for a while.

A new family Part 6

A/N: Here's the sixth part! I'm very happy that you want more and more of this story, but I don't have such good news for you all- This story will only be about the first season! (Pic from Pinterest!)

Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4 / Part 5

Warnings: Injuries, alcohol, needles (at least it is mentioned that blood will be drawn)

Taglist: @b0p-itt @twisteduniverse5

Masterlist!

__________________________________

PoV (Y/N):

We all stayed hidden until the walkers left. However, (D/N)'s wound was still bleeding and she was crying quietly into my shoulder. She must have been in incredible pain. When the walkers were finally gone, we climbed out again and I picked (D/N) up. Lori, Rick and Shane ran towards us while (D/N) pressed her face into my shoulder. "What happened?" Shane asked me. "She cut herself on a piece of rust…" I explained quickly before carrying her to Daryl's truck. He also came out of his hiding place and looked at (D/N) briefly. When he saw her tears and blood, he immediately ran towards us.

"Wha´ happened?" He asked, a little more excited. Daryl stood next to me as I gently pressed on her wound so no more blood would come out. Daryl immediately ran to the back and grabbed a first aid kit. Shane walked towards him and stopped him before he could get to me and (D/N). "We need this first aid kit for emergencies!" Shane simply said with a stern look. He briefly looked at (D/N) and me, I had a horrified and angry look. "(D/N)'s wound is not big and not that deep either. All we need to do is wrap a little cloth around this wound.” Shane then said in a calm voice. "Fuck off, Walsh! This is a kid!" Daryl just growled.

He pushed Shane away with force and then came to us. From the first aid kit he pulled out a huge plaster and a bandage. We poured some water on the wound. While I hugged (D/N) tightly, Daryl carefully applied the bandage to her wound and then wrapped the bandage around her leg. Shane just watched us quietly as (D/N) slowly calmed down. “We have to go to the CDC quickly…” Lori then said. Carl walked towards us and squeezed (D/N)'s hand gently to show her that everything was okay. She wiped away her tears and then climbed back into the truck. "Yes, we should move on." And so we continued on our way to the CDC.

We arrived in the big city, in front of a huge building. Rick said this was the CDC and we headed outside. Since (D/N) was limping badly, I picked her up and we ran towards the building. "Hold your breath, honey…" I said to (D/N) when I noticed the smell of the walker. My daughter immediately nods and holds her breath. Daryl, Shane and Rick shot a few walkers so we could penetrate further. I stayed between Rick and Daryl so that no one could get to (D/N).

When we finally got to the building, Rick and Shane banged on the doors to get them to open. However, since there was no answer, we all assumed that there was no one left in there. I also ran to the door and looked pleadingly into a camera I spotted. "Please! My daughter is seriously injured and her wound needs stitches!” I shouted loudly up to the camera. There was still no response and for a moment I also thought that no one was in there anymore. But before we could even turn around, the door suddenly opened and a bright light came from inside.

I didn't think before I ran in with (D/N) in my arms and looked around. The others immediately followed me and also looked around, the doors behind us closed again. "Don' go so far forwar´, woman!" Daryl then snapped at me and pulled me behind him. (D/N) looked around curiously with her eyes. We hadn't seen such a clean place in a long time.

However, we couldn't look around for long because a man came around the corner. He had a gun in his hand and was wearing a white coat. He just looked at us searchingly, suspiciously to be more precise. "Is someone infected?" He then asked loudly. We looked at each other briefly before Rick spoke up. "It was one… he didn't make it." "Where is the injured child?" The man then asked again. We didn't move for a moment before Daryl grabbed my arm and pulled me forward with (D/N). The man looked at (D/N)'s leg for a moment before looking at both of us.

"Are you her parents?" Daryl and I stayed quiet for a moment. This question took me a bit by surprise; I didn't want to tell him my whole life story. But suddenly Daryl shook his head. "Nah, I'm no´ her old man…" He then murmured quietly. I felt (D/N) grip my top tighter and look down slightly. It made me sad for a moment, but she had to live with the fact that Daryl didn't seem to want to be her father. "Okay, sorry…" The man apologized. "But I'm her mother…" I then spoke quickly.

The scientist looked at me briefly before nodding slightly. It seemed difficult for him to take care of us now, but he allowed it. Maybe he wasn't as bad as one might think. "Okay… but I want you all to take a blood test! I’ll take care of the wound afterwards…” He then murmured quietly. Relieved, I smiled broadly and we all followed him. Andrea complained briefly, but I didn't listen to her. We should be grateful that we were allowed in here at all.

We all did the blood test and after that was done, Dr. Jenner took care of (D/N)'s wound. He said we were lucky and the wound hadn't become infected. He quickly attended to her wound, stitching it up and then giving her small crutches. "Thank you!" I then said. Dr. Jenner just gave me a quick nod before looking at (D/N). He smiled at her briefly before we moved on to the others.

Dr. Jenner showed us around and explained everything to us. We were supposed to sort out the room layout between ourselves, but otherwise we had to pay attention to his rules somehow. We shouldn´t use electronic devices, i.e. no TV or video games, and we should take a quick shower so that we don't use up the warm water. But we liked everything. Soft beds, fresh air and showers with warm water. (D/N) and I took a room with a small bed and a couch. I would sleep on the couch and then (D/N) would sleep on the bed.

In the evening we moved to a huge room where everyone had gathered. I could already smell the delicious food and I could already hear my stomach growling. "It smells good here, Mom!" (D/N) simply said and limped towards the others. The others looked at us and even made room for us. (D/N) sat down and I slowly approached the group. There was hot food, something to drink and even some alcohol. "Enjoy it, little one." Glenn said simply as he drank from his wine glass.

I sat down too and we all ate together. I also drank a few glasses of wine, but not too much, so I could still look after (D/N). Carl even tried some alcohol, but found it so disgusting that he almost spit it out. We all laughed, even Daryl had fun. He kept teasing Glenn that if he didn't stop drinking he would soon turn red and that he would definitely want to see it. "Daryl, leave Glenn alone!" I then called out to the two of them, laughing. Glenn laughed a bit again before continuing to eat. Daryl just hissed in amusement and grinned at me. "I tease whoever I wan´, woman." His answer made me giggle before I then looked at (D/N).

She looked at Daryl with some excitement and amusement. I was a little confused by her look, but before I could ask, Dale said that we should thank Dr. Jenner for letting us here. We all clinked glasses before we had another quick chat. But Shane had to kick the mood and ask some questions. We all fell silent, some staring at the scientist, others looking down at their food. "Shane, you're a party pooper." Glenn then complained, with a slight pout. Glenn's reaction made me smile briefly, but the mood remained tense.

After a while, I saw (D/N) yawning loudly and rubbing her eyes. I smiled at her and gently stroked her head. “Are you tired?” She only answered my question with a nod. Giggling, I then stood up and I gently stroked her back. "I'll just put (D/N) to bed." I then said to the group. They all agreed while Lori, Carl, Carol and Sophia also stood up. They probably wanted to put their children to bed too.

"I'm comin with yah…!" Someone suddenly shouted. And that someone was Daryl.

Next Chapter ->

[allisie]

Dating Rick Grimes includes (pt2):

Warning: I loosely follow cannon character personalities.

Part 1, Part 2

You helping to take care of Rick's injuries, no matter the size or severity. This has led to a game of Rick trying to duck you when he gains injuries that he determines to be 'not worth wasting time on'. The game doesn't last too long cause Rick never misses a shared family meal with you, Carl, and Judith, it is right as those meals end, you wrap your legs around Rick's waist to prevent an escape while you take care of him.

Rick is a healthy man, so it is only natural he pulls you to the side for as many quickiess as humanly possible. However, if there is an opportunity where Rick can take his God-given time to re enact all the filthy things he thinks about, Rick will take it. Remember, he is a healthy man in his prime.

Separating from the group and, to a greater extent, Rick is a major, NO in your relationship. The apocalypse is too unpredictable for him in right consciousness to have you alone unprotected. If you fall pregnant, expect to not know peace and quiet at any point. You will NOT be alone. During the last few weeks of your pregnancy, Rick is paranoid. Lori died giving birth to Judith. What if that happens again? What if it's a situation where if a c-section is necessary? What if he has to raise another baby, but this time without your help?

When travelling, Rick makes frequent checks for you, Carl, and Judith. If the group gets separated due to a hoard and Rick loses sight of you three.... It's like he is in overdrive. Everything seems to be pointing him in your direction, but some hoe when he follows them, he gets further away from you. Rick refuses to believe that there is even the smallest of chances that you got bit and might be a walker now.

If you are with Rick and the group when they get ambushed, Rick is brutal and relentless when he fights back. You're attractive, and anyone can see that, so you are commonly the first to get separated from the group. But that isn't what truly sets Rick off. It's the sexual comments they make about you, that is what triggers him the most. No one is to talk about you like that.

You get constant training, as much as Rick doesn't want you in a position where you have to use that training. He would rather you be prepared and not have to use it that be in a life and death situation and need someone else to save you. People are selfish and would save themselves before they save someone else.

Rick always gives you the best quality clothes he can find, often leaving himself with damaged items. So when you find a sewing kit, you try and patch up his clothes because Rick would never accept a clothing item someone else might need more than him.

Rick doing constant perimeter checks cause he is scared a walker will get in and ruin everything.

Rick creating a miniature food and medicine pile for your family, ad much as he loves and trusts the group he understands that if they get over run its everyone for themselves and he NEEDS his family to have the greatest chance of survival. He even teaches you how to grow and care for certain crops, as well as teach you how to deduce which buildings probably have food.

A tearful reconnection if you ever get separated. Rick would be fighting back the tears while checking to make sure you okay. When he gets u back to camp, no one sees you for a while as you and Rick reconnect. For a few days after that, Rick is attached to your hip.

Masterlist

[wigster07]

i finally read the last chapter, it's so good Wigs. my english is not good enough and i can't describe how amazing this story is.

This was my face during reading how Kit will never be able to visit Wildwood and see Lori and Scorpia -> ☹️. And this was my face when Jade told Kit that she waited 20 moons -> 🫢. I will reread it again when I have time.

Thank you for this story.

This was my face when writing it 🥲

Kit will miss the Wildwood but she’s alive and Jade is with her and they’re building themselves a home.

[blakeboldt-blog]

Best Albums of 2018

Highest honors:

"May Your Kindness Remain," Courtney Marie Andrews.

"Negro Swan," Blood Orange.

"boygenius," boygenius.

"Good Thing," Leon Bridges.

"Port Saint Joe," Brothers Osborne.

"By the Way, I Forgive You," Brandi Carlile.

"Hell-On," Neko Case.

"Chris," Christine and the Queens.

"Freedom," Amen Dunes.

"Double Negative," Low.

"Be the Cowboy," Mitski.

"Dirty Computer," Janelle Monae.

"Sparrow," Ashley Monroe & "Interstate Gospel," Pistol Annies.

"Golden Hour," Kacey Musgraves.

"Ventriloquism," Meshell Ndegeocello.

"SASSAFRASS!" Tami Nielson.

"Hope Downs," Rolling Blackouts Coastal Fever.

"Soil," serpentwithfeet.

"Clean," Soccer Mommy.

"What a Time to Be Alive," Superchunk.

High honors:

"Invasion of Privacy," Cardi B.

"Head Over Heels," Chromeo.

"Last Building Burning," Cloud Nothings.

"Look Now," Elvis Costello & the Imposters.

"Passwords," Dawes.

"God's Favorite Customer," Father John Misty.

"Sweetener," Ariana Grande.

"See You Around," I'm with Her.

"Dying Star," Ruston Kelly.

"Vide Noir," Lord Huron.

"Dirty Pictures (Part 2)," Low Cut Connie.

"Girl Going Nowhere," Ashley McBryde.

"Room 25," Noname.

"Wide Awake!" Parquet Courts.

"Honey," Robyn.

"Young Romance," Roosevelt.

"The Window," Cecile McLorin Salvant.

"Devotion," Tirzah.

"Isolation," Kali Uchis.

Honors:

"A Brief Inquiry into Online Relationships," The 1975.

"Tranquility Base Hotel & Casino," Arctic Monkeys.

"Tell Me How You Really Feel," Courtney Barnett.

"Hollywood Africans," Jon Batiste.

"7," Beach House.

"The Mountain," Dierks Bentley.

"Find a Light," Blackberry Smoke.

"Sex & Cigarettes," Toni Braxton.

"Black Velvet," Charles Bradley.

"All Nerve," The Breeders.

"Camila," Camila Cabello.

"The Thread That Keeps Us," Calexico.

"Caution," Mariah Carey.

"Twin Fantasy," Car Seat Headrest.

"Everything Is Love," The Carters.

"She Remembers Everything," Rosanne Cash.

"Wanderer," Cat Power.

"Desperate Man," Eric Church.

"Providence Canyon," Brent Cobb.

"Historian," Lucy Dacus.

"Cactus," Elise Davis.

"Scorpion," Drake.

"Encore," Anderson East.

"The Crossing," Alejandro Escovedo.

"Ruins," First Aid Kit.

"High As Hope," Florence & the Machine.

"Nearer My God," Foxing.

"The Now Now," Gorillaz.

"Anthem of the Peaceful Army," Greta Van Fleet.

"Mr. Jukebox," Joshua Hedley.

"My American Dream," Will Hoge.

"Hive Mind," The Internet.

"Primal Heart," Kimbra.

"Go to School," The Lemon Twigs.

"I'm All Ears," Let's Eat Grandma.

"Wouldn't It Be Great," Loretta Lynn.

"Among the Ghosts," Lucero.

"One Stone," Trixie Mattel.

"The Tree," Lori McKenna.

"All the Things That I Did and All the Things That I Didn’t Do,” The Milk Carton Kids.

"Other Arrangements," Parker Millsap.

"Golden," Kylie Minogue.

"Kin," Mogwai.

"Tearing at the Seams," Nathaniel Rateliff & the Night Sweats.

"Last Man Standing," Willie Nelson.

"Volunteer," Old Crow Medicine Show.

"Liberty," Lindi Ortega.

"Oxnard," Anderson .Paak.

"C'est La Vie," Phosphorescent.

"The Tree of Forgiveness," John Prine.

"All Aboard," Punch Brothers."Daytona," Pusha T.

"Loner," Caroline Rose."Care for Me," Saba.

"Sunset," Amanda Shires.

"Years," Sarah Shook & the Disarmers.

"Route One," Sigur Ros.

"E.G.O.," Lucie Silvas.

"Bloom," Troy Sivan.

"Lush," Snail Mail.

"FM!" Vince Staples.

"Karma for Cheap," Aaron Lee Tasjan.

"13 Rivers," Richard Thompson.

"Record," Tracey Thorn.

"Life Is Good on the Open Road," Trampled by Turtles.

"Western Movies," Traveller.

"WARM," Jeff Tweedy."Offerings," Typhoon.

"In a Poem Unlimited," U.S. Girls.

"Restoration: Reimagining the Songs of Elton John and Bernie Taupin," Various.

"Bottle It In," Kurt Vile.

"Healing Tide," The War and Treaty.

"Heaven and Earth," Kamasi Washington.

"My Dear Melancholy," The Weeknd.

"Greetings from the Wild Frontier," Wild Feathers.

"Yolk in the Fur," Wild Pink.

"One Drop of Truth," The Wood Brothers.

"The Louder I Call, the Faster It Runs," Wye Oak.

"There's a Riot Going On," Yo La Tengo.

"Suspiria," Thom Yorke.

[thewalkingdead-fan101]

In This Hell Daryl Dixon x Reader part 8/??

Hey guys!  I’m so excited to post part 8!  I’m sorry about such a large gap in between parts, I'm currently trying to figure out a schedule for posting parts. I hope you're all safe and well. Thank you for being patient and so lovely!

Warnings- Slow burn, Light smut?, General Walking Dead stuff, Blood, Gore, Swearing, Shane being sus.

The drive home seemed shorter than the drive there, passing the familiar mailboxes and other run down buildings.

The minute we arrived back, Shane left to speak with Rick, furthering their search for Sophia.

I started grabbing the Medical supplies that we had found scattered throughout the houses and took them into the farm house.

I knocked on the wooden doorframe, waiting for someone to answer, Patricia’s head popping around the corner.

“Good morning (Y/n).” “Morning, I just thought that since we’re all low on supplies that I would bring you some stuff. Shane and I went out this morning and came across all of this medical stuff, even found a full first aid kit.” I chuckled as she opened the door, stepping aside for me.

“Oh thank you, just sit it all on the dining table.” She smiled, grabbing one of the bags from me, leading the way through the house into the dining room.

“Did you guys find much?” “We found some things, a bunch of medical stuff as you can see, some food, which is in that green bad, and some gardening stuff that ill take out to the barn now.” I smiled.

“No!” She paused, my head turning to look at her. She cleared her throat before continuing. 

“Don’t take them to the barn.”

I opened my mouth to speak, but not before she cut me off again.

“It’s too far from the house, not to mention the barn needs some repairs. I’d feel absolutely horrible if I let you go up there and get hurt. We have a little garden shed out back I can put them in.” She stated, walking with me to the car, grabbing the equipment out, briefly making eye contact and sharing a soft smile. 

“Are you sure? I honestly don’t mind.”

“I’m sure, now it’s best if you go sit down for a bit.”

“Pat-“

“Go on, get away.” She swatted softly.

 I shook my head as I backed away.

“It’s hardly fair that you guys do everything around here.” I try to argue.

“If you doing nothing around here protects gods little miracle, I do not mind. Now, go sit down and relax for a couple of hours.” She gave me a warning glare that had reminded me of my 5th grade teacher Ms. Gabel.

“Yes Ma’am.” I nodded, turning away from her and made my way towards the RV.

As the majority of the group were discussing the upcoming gun practice at the rear of the RV, I noticed Carl and Shane talking.

Shane looked Carl up and down, as if questioning him, and nodded his head.

I noticed the small movement and my breath stopped.

He had slightly raised his shirt, Shane’s eyes doubling in size. 

And that’s when it hit me.

This is a new world we live in.

A world in which to survive we have to fight.

Fight for yourself, your friends, your family, your people.

Shane barely even blinked. 

I picked up speed, my legs carrying me as fast as they could to the RV.

“Give me that now.” Shane firmly stated.

Once the gun was handed to Shane, he stormed off to the others, no doubt taking it to Rick.

Carl stood, staring at the ground.

“Hey, Carl..” I spoke softly, placing my hand on his shoulder.

“Let’s sit down, you can talk to me.” 

He nodded his head as he walked with me to where the camping chairs were set out.

I took the seat next to him, slightly turning to face him. “What was that about?” “What?” “Carl.. why did you have a gun.” “I just wanted to help..” “I understand, but guns are dangerous.. You shouldn’t have had it.” “I know.” “You do know that your parents are going to flip?.”

He nodded his head and resumed staring at the dirt beneath his feet.

I looked up to see Shane, Dale and Rick staring at Carl, making their way to the boy.

“(Y/n), can you get Lori for me? We need to speak to Carl.” Rick asked, nodding in my direction.

“Yeah.. of course.” I nodded, turning and starting the search for Lori.

The first place I had checked, the fire pit where she and Glenn were earlier showed no results.

I made my way to where the chicken coop was, to be met with the clucking of the hens, but again no Lori.

I checked her tent, to see her sitting on the mattress, head in her hands.

“Hey.” I spoke, moving the door to the side.

“Oh, Hey Honey.” She smiled. “Are you okay?” “Yeah, Im fine, just a little tired. Whats up?” 

“It’s Carl.”

She stood quickly, worry present in her eyes.

“What? What’s wrong? Where is my boy?”

“He is okay, he isn’t hurt.. Rick asked me to come get you..” “What? Rick asked you to get me? Whats going on?” “Carl had a gun.”

Her eyes widened, her left hand going to her mouth.

“Oh God… im going to be sick.” She shook her head

She paused briefly. 

“Where are they?” 

“”They’re at the RV.” 

“Let’s go.” She stated, grabbing my wrist and dragging me behind her.

She cleared the distance between the tents and the RV in no time.

Letting my wrist go when she got within earshot of everyone, walking straight over to Carl, taking the gun from Shane and showing it to Carl.

“Where did you get this?” She asked sternly as she kneeled in front of the boy.

She waited for an answer.

“Carl Grimes. You answer me.” 

She stood up, turning to us.

“How the hell did this happen?” She asked, tucking the gun into the back of her jeans.

“Well, It's my fault.” Dale began, slightly pausing as Lori’s attention snapped to the older man. 

“I let him into the RV. He said he wanted a walkie, that you sent him for one.” Dale continued.

“So on top of everything else, he lied.” She began. 

“What was he thinking?”

“He wants to learn how to shoot. He asked me to teach him.” Shane started, earning an ice filled glare from Lori.

“Now It's none of my business, but I'm happy to do it. It's your call.” He nodded, sensing the tension.

“I'm not comfortable with it.” Lori looked towards Rick, who tried to avert his gaze.

“Oh, don't make me out to be the unreasonable one here. Rick?”

“I know. I have my concerns too, but-“

“There's no but. He was just shot. He's just back on his feet and he wants a gun?”

“Better than him being afraid of 'em. There are guns in camp for a reason. He should learn to handle them safely.” Rick responded to his wife’s worries.

“I don't want my kid walking around with a gun.” She shook her head.

“But how can you defend that? You can't let him go around without protection.” 

“He is as safe as he'll ever be right now.” She started.

“Look, everything you're saying makes perfect sense. It feels wrong. I mean I didn't feel good about him following you out into the woods. And I wish I'd said something. I should've gone with my gut.” She argued.

“He's growing up, thank god. We've got to start treating him more like an adult.” Rick tried to reason. 

“Then he needs to act like one. He's not mature enough to handle a gun.”

“I'm not gonna play with it, mom. It's not a toy. I'm sorry I disappointed you, but I want to look for Sophia and I want to defend our camp. I can't do that without a gun.” Carl stood and walked toward us.

“Shane's the best instructor I know. I've seen him teach kids younger than Carl.” 

“He will be with Shane. He loves that boy and wouldn’t let him get hurt.” 

Lori looked at me and I could tell that even though the thought of Carl having this gun terrifies her, but him not having one in this world terrifies her even more.

She waited a few moments and walked to Carl, resting her hand under his chin, making him look up at her.

“You will take this seriously and you will behave responsibly. And if I hear from anyone in this camp that you're not living up to our expectations-“

“He won't let you down.” Rick stated clearly behind her.

Carl nodded at Rick and answered with a “yeah.”

The sound of the old blue truck pulled up next to us, Beth, Patricia and Jimmy all inside.

“Now if you're gonna do this, you listen to Shane.”

“Okay, dad.” 

“All right? You two be careful.” Rick pointed at Shane and Carl.

“You coming?” Shane asked Glenn.

Glenn shook his head.

“I gotta help Dale clean the spark plugs on the RV. He said he's gonna teach me mechanics. I should probably go look for him.”

“You found me.” Dale called out from two metres behind him, startling Glenn. 

Shane nodded and got in the car, starting it.

“He's a good learner.” Dale called out.

I moved towards the car, getting in with Shane, watching as Lori, Rick, Carol, Carl and Andrea piled into the Cherokee. 

T-dog jumping in wi†h Shane and I, as we made our way to a neighbouring farm’s paddock, distancing the gunshots from the Greene farm.

The sound of breaking glass, and the metallic ricochet of bullets hitting the tins and bottles that were sitting in a perfect row on the boundary fence line.

The loud echoes of the gunshots leaving my ears ringing, the slight scent of gunpowder present in the air.

Rick and Shane pacing behind us all, ensuring that we were all practicing gun safety.

T-dog, partnered with Jimmy, who needs as much help as he can get.

Jimmy was holding his gun as if he had just come from a bad adaption of a 90’s gangsta movie.

“Hey, come on, man. Don't give me that gangsta shit.” T-dog stated.

Jimmy, stood up, straightening his posture, moving his free hand to help support the gun, shooting and finally hitting his target.

His face lighting up as if he had just won an award, a participation award, but an award none the less.

 Shane gave him a pat on the back as he passed him.

“Did you see that? I hit it!” He exclaimed turning to T.

I watched as my brother zoned in on Andrea, stopping next to her and looking to where she was shooting, through his binoculars.

Helping her change her posture before letting her shoot again, which she hit the target perfectly.

Shane and Rick shared a laugh, and some small talk before continuing the pacing.

Lori was planted a metre behind Carl, watching him shoot, hitting the tin off the fence.

“Got it.” Carl smiled widely.

“That's a great shot!” Rick smiled back at him.

I look over to where Beth was aiming at her target, slightly missing it.

“Hey.” “Oh hey.” “Would you like some help?” “Um, I think im not doing it right.” “Oh, no, it’s fine, here.”

I moved to where she was and helped position her arms.

“Dont be scared, of the gun. You’re in control.” I paused.

“Just breathe, take your time. There’s nothing to be nervous about.”

She visibly relaxed and pulled the trigger, the glass bottle exploding.

I looked over to see her eyes closed.

“Beth. You did it. You hit the bottle.” “What? I did?” She asked opening her eyes and looking to where the bottle once sat.

“I hit it! I actually hit it!” She beamed.

“Thank you!” She jumped on me, hugging me tightly.

“You’re welcome.” I laughed.

“What about you (Y/n)? You a good shot?” Rick asked.

“I was once.” I nodded.

“She had the best teacher.” Shane smiled.

“Yeah. Grandma.” I jeered.

“Oh really? Mind showing us?” Lori laughed. “No-“ “She wasn’t the strongest shooter, she probably forgot.” Shane shook his head laughing.

I grabbed the gun from Shane’s holster and shot three targets in a row, the sound of shattering glass echoing beyond the gun.

“Where’d that come from?” Shane asked as I handed him the gun back. “I told you. Grandma.” I smiled as Lori held in a small chuckle.

“Yeah, Yeah. Let’s go then.” Shane shook his head.

“Sure showed him.” Lori chuckled.

“Shane needs to be put in his place. I never had a strong shooting arm when I was a kid. Shane never tried to teach me after he realised. Grandma took it upon herself to teach me. Always said that a woman should always know how to defend herself.” “Well, your grandma was a smart woman.” Rick smiled, leading his wife and son to the car. 

Everyone following in pursuit, getting into the same vehicles that had transported them from the Greene farm.

I got in the car, and looked at Shane.

“Is there any other things that Grandma showed you?”

“The secret recipe of her butternut squash pie.”

“Is that all?” He laughed.

“Yeah.. yeah I think thats pretty much it.”

“That pie sounds good right about now.” T-dog chuckled.

“Maybe Hershel might let me commandeer the kitchen.”

Shane had pulled the car over.

T-dog, jumping straight out in search for Dale and Glenn.

“Get out.” “What?” “Get out. Andrea and I are going for some more target practice.” “Oh is that what we’re calling it now? Target practice?” “Shut it. Now get out.”

“Alright. But please please please make sure that you wrap it before you tap it.” “(Y/n)-“

“No glove, no love.” “Seriously-“

“Plug your funnel then enter the tunnel.” “What does that one even mean?”

“If im being honest I don’t even know. But It’s on the same line as the others.”

“Seriously get out now.”

“Alright, alright. Calm down.” I raised my hands and opened the door, sliding out and closing it, putting my head through the open window. “Shane.” “What?”

“Love is cleaner with a packaged Weiner.” I laughed.

“Goodbye.” He muttered through his teeth.

I took a step back from the car, watching as he moved to where Andrea was waiting, letting her hop in and then taking off down the dirt road towards the gate again.

I laughed to myself as I made my way towards the RV and the others.

“Whats so funny?” Carol asked smiling.

“Nothing, just thought of a joke. Do you need a hand?” I chuckled.

“Sure, sit down and I’ll show you how.” She smiled.

I knelt next to her, watching as she continued patching holes in clothes for us.

Her work perfect.

“How did you get it to look so good?” “Years of practice. Ed used to come home after going to the bar in a mess, clothes torn and bloody from fighting earlier in the night.”

She paused, taking a breath.

“He used to say that it was my job to fix the mess and clean it.”

“Carol-“ “Oh no honey, im fine.” She smiled once more.

I nodded.

Carol and I sat for an hour and a half, her teaching me different stitches and when the best use for each one.

“Alright guys, foods ready.” Dale called out.

I stood up, and walked over to Dale, who had two plates set aside, handing them to me.

“I figured that you’d be hungry, Daryl would be too.” “Thank you Dale.” “Go on, go eat. Make sure He eats too or we will all be insufferable.”

I nodded my head and chuckled, turning around and heading towards the farm house.

“Hey (Y/n).” Maggie smiled as she walked down the front steps.

“Hey.” “Glenn and I are going for a supply run, im going to keep an eye out for any pre-natal vitamins for you. Is there anything you’re after?” “Oh thank you, not that I can think of.” “Okay, well, Daryls upstairs, I think he might be asleep, but head on up.” She smiled.

“Thank you.” I smiled as she continued past me.

I made my way up and into the Greene family home, and up those familiar steps that lead me to Daryls room.

I softly pushed the door open and walked in, smiling as I see Daryl sit himself up.

“Where have ya’ been all day?” He asked

“I, have been everywhere today it seems, Shane and I went on a supply run this morning.”

“Ya’ did what?”

“Daryl-“ “I don’t want ya’ out there. Why would he take ya’ out?” “He didn’t take me, I took him. Technically. But it was smooth, no near death experiences to report.” I smiled softly.

“Dale cooked whatever, this is for us. It smells good though.” I chuckled handing him a plate.

He took the plate and picked up the food, biting away at it.

“Quit ya’ starin’.” He spoke through a mouthful.

“Or what?” I challenged, taking a bite from the food.

He shook his head as a light pink blush rose on his cheeks.

“Are you blushing?” I grinned, watching as he finished eating.

He grabbed his plate and moved it to the side, grabbing mine from my hand and placing it on his own.

“Hey! I wasn’t finished- “ 

“C’mere.” He muttered, reaching over, pulling me onto his lap.

“Daryl.. what are you trying to do?” “I’m tryin’ to finish what ya’ started.” “Oh, what I started?” I grinned, my hands resting on his shoulders.

“Mhmm” he nodded.

“If I remember correctly, it was you, that initiated this.” “Was it?” He smirked.

I nodded my head.

“Guess im gonna finish it too.” He stated, bringing his hand to the back of my neck, pulling me in for a kiss.

I smiled into the kiss, both of my hands made their way to the sides of his face, cupping his stubbled cheeks.

His hands moving down to my thighs, picking me up and laying me back.

I pulled away from his lips and smiled up at him.

“What?” He muttered.

“Nothing.” I shook my head softly, bringing his face back down to mine.

Daryl’s hands roamed freely over my body, sending shivers coursing down my spine.

I shivered against Daryl, earning a low chuckle from him.

Once Daryl had fallen asleep, I got dressed and took the plates downstairs for cleaning.

I left the farm house, making my way to our little camp.

Washing up the two plates in the tub we had set aside I left the two to air dry.

“I was wondering where you’d run off to.” Lori spoke up as she exited her tent.

“I just gave Daryl his lunch.” I smiled, getting off the ground.

“Thats not all you gave him.” I could hear the smirk in her voice without even turning to look at her.

I smiled and turned to face her.

“I don’t know what it is you’re implying Lori.” 

“Sure you don’t.” She grinned.

“How else would your shirt be inside out.” 

I looked down and laughed, quickly stripping my shirt off and flipping it the right way in.

“Lucky it was only me.” She laughed, patting my back.

“Ill give you a hand.” I smiled motioning to the laundry that needed folding.

We laughed and joked for about 15 minutes as we folded, the clothes.

The creak of the side paddock gate gained the attention of both Lori and I.

We looked up to see Maggie storming through, Glenn hot on her heels.

“Hey! We got your stuff.” Maggie called out.

“Maggie, hang on, please.” Glenn called after her.

Lori looked around, seeing who else was out.

Then she looked at me.

“Come on in here.” Lori tried softly, gesturing to her tent.

“Why? Nothing to hide. We got your special delivery right here.” Maggie started.

“We got your lotion, got your conditioner, your soap opera digest.” She named each item before throwing it to the floor.

“Maggie..” Lori tried.

“Hey, Maggie, calm down. What-“ I tried to reason.

“Next time you want something, get it your damn self. We're not your errand boys.” 

“Honey, I-“

“And here's your abortion pills.” She threw a small blue box at Lori, storming off, Glenn and Lori sharing a look before he followed Maggie.

“Lori?” I asked softly as she stood there in silence.

“Honey, I can explain.” “You don’t need to explain anything to me.” I stated bringing her in for a hug.

“I just wish you’d have told me.. we could’ve talked about it.” I rubbed her back. 

“I just don’t know what to do. I haven’t told Rick yet. I’m not going to until I know what I’m going to do.” She paused.

“Does that make me a bad wife?” She asked.

“No. It makes you a cautious one, and thats not a bad thing considering what’s happened in the last few months.”

“You have no idea how good it feels now that you know.” She softly laughed.

“I’d say it’d be a whole lot less stressful.” I laughed with her as we sat on the small stools near the table in the tent. 

The little blue box holding the attention of both Lori and myself.

“Whatever you decide to, I’m here to support you.” I whispered placing my hand on her own.

She grabbed my hand and looked over to me, a thankful smile on her face.

A slight movement from the corner of my eye caught my attention, to see Glenn appear at the tents doorway.

“I’ll leave you guys to it.. just come get me if you need anything.” 

“Thank you honey.” She hugged me.

“I’ll see you later Glenn.” I smiled, softly patting him on the back.

“Yeah, see you.” He nodded as I made my way through the tents door.

The familiar green car came into view and pulled up by the RV.

I couldn’t help but chuckle as I noticed the light flush on Andrea’s face as she climbed out of the car.

I made eye contact with Shane, him rolling his eyes as he noticed the small smirk on my face, continuing his walk to Carol and Dale.

“Anything?” Carol was the first to speak.

“Not today.” Shane shook his head.

“I’m so sorry. We'll cover more ground tomorrow.” Andrea sympathised with her at least.

Andrea was covered in more grime and dirt than what she had left in, signalling that they’d run into some sort of trouble whilst out.

“What happened out there?” Dale asked looking her up and down.

“Um, I-“ Andrea was cut off before she could even finish her sentence.

“The place was overrun.” Shane said far too quickly.

“Yeah.” Andrea agreed, sharing a look with my brother.

“Let's go get you clean up.” Carol motioned towards Andrea, pulling me along with them.

“(Y/n), you coming?” “Yeah, i’ll catch up, just got to grab Andrea a towel.” I smiled running into the small share tent, grabbing one of the towels.

I turned to leave, but overheard Dale call out to Shane.

“Shane.” “Shane, I was thinking, you've got that nice new ride of yours, plenty of fuel, more than enough for you to get far from here.” Dale began.

I furrowed my brows, not understanding where Dale is coming from.

“What, you telling me to leave?” Shane asked, annoyance clear in his voice.

“I know you've been planning to. Maybe now is a good time.” Dale responded.

Shane scoffed before laughing.

“Is this about Andrea?” He asked.

“I’m looking out for the group.”

“You think the group would be better off without me, Dale? My sister would be better off? Why don't you tell that to Rick or Lori? Their boy would be dead if I hadn't put my ass on the line.” Shane argued.

“And Otis's. You've been vague about that night, about what happened.”

“Otis died a hero.” Shane stated smugly.

“So you've said.”

“A little boy lived because of what went down that night. I think you ought to show some gratitude.” Shane sneered

“I wasn't there.” Dale responded.

“No, man, you weren’t.” Shane agreed, clearly angry.

“But I was the time that you raised your gun on Rick.” My hand instantly covered my mouth as I had heard what Dale had said.

“Come on. Jesus.”

“You had him in your sights and you held him there. I know what kind of man you are.” Dale continued.

I heard a sigh, the same one that I’ve heard my entire life, the one that Shane used to use when he was caught in something.

Shane stayed silent for a moment before speaking once more.

“You think I'd shoot Rick? That is my best friend. That's the man that I love. I love him like he's my brother. You think that's the kind of man I am?”

“That's right.” Dale answered.

“Well, maybe we ought to just think that through. Say I'm the kind of man who'd gun down his own best friend. What do you think I'd do to some guy that I don't even like when he starts throwing accusations my way? What do you think?” Shane threatened before retreating.

My stomach was in knots, knowing that my brother isn’t the man I knew.

I heard the footsteps retreat and decided to give myself a moment.

I took a deep breath, and shook my head softly.

As I took a step out of the tent, gasping when someone spoke.

“How much of that did you hear?”

Series Masterlist Next Part

[dorkousloris]

Some of my gunpla builds I still am proud of! (they’re all currently secured, package’d and storage’d away through, so these are months old photos) 

[sylvain-writes]

Scarlet Letters (TMNT Raphael x Reader)

Chapter 2/8: Patient X

After bringing Raphael in from the cold, you treat his wounds and hypothermia.

(Ch 1, Ch 2, Ch 3, Ch 4, Ch 5, Ch 6, Ch 7, Ao3)

You listen to the hitch of the stranger’s breath as you turn the key.  You expect your logic and reason to speak up, to ring warning bells about inviting strangers into your home, but as you usher your companion into the apartment, you find yourself more relieved by their company than concerned.  

They’ve accepted your help.   They’ll soon be in from the cold.  Under your care, they’ll suffer no further harm.  You stare at the characters painted on their shell as they pass and wonder why this person’s safety is so important.  You wonder why it’s so important to you. 

As they lean awkwardly against the wall, awaiting direction, you know they’re trying desperately to hide their vulnerability.  Though it goes against the desire of your compassionate heart, you stop yourself from reaching out in aid. You think a person like them, a  warrior , must draw some sense of comfort from feeling in control.  They are most at ease when they’re the strongest one in the room.  You’ll let them hold onto that belief for a little while more. But they’ve lost a lot of blood.  It’s likely they’ve been alone, braving sub-freezing temperatures, for hours. They sway where they stand.  And when their eyes meet yours - unfocused and bloodshot - your breath catches in your chest.  

You hold their gaze longer than you intended.   It’s impossible to resist the pull it has on you.  You get lost in the pain and confusion broadcasted through the green irises.  An indeterminate stretch of time passes, where the stranger seems to speak to you only through their eyes.  

Their eyes say:  Run.   They say:  You should have stayed away.    They say:  I’m not worthy of this kindness.   They say:  Please don’t leave send me back out there to die.

It’s not until you break eye contact to lock the door behind you that find the words to say.  “The kitchen’s past the living room.” You’re surprised to hear a tremor in your voice as you transfer your phone into your pants pocket.  But the itch of fear under your skin is not borne out of worry over your own safety. It’s worry over theirs. Seeing the turtle’s unsteady gait and the way they take silent inventory of the room, you think they are more frightened than you are.

It feels foolish to hang your bloodsoaked jacket on the hook by the door, instead of tossing it directly into the small washing machine next to your bedroom, but you do it anyway out of habit.  You’ll get to it later. Now, there are more important matters to which you must attend.

In the kitchen, you find the oversized turtle seated on a stool, fighting for long, even breaths.  It appears to be an attempt at meditation. You take note that their choice of stool is far from the fully-stocked butcher’s block of knives.  Perhaps their their position on the opposite side of the island counter is a deliberate show that they don’t mean you any harm. Or, perhaps they’re too weak to think through that far.

You let your entry into the kitchen be known by softly clearing your throat.  With everything you do, you try to make it apparent that you mean your guest no harm.  You know it’s dangerous to expose a person with hypothermia to direct heat, so a hot bath is out of the question - for now.  You start with an offer of tea and leave the kettle steaming on the stove to lend moisture to the air.

The turtle accepts the drink with hands that shake and eyes that radiate trust.  So much trust.  You wonder if you’ve earned it.  A fighter such as them doesn’t seem like one to trust easily, yet, even as you move behind their back, to retrieve the medical kit from the cabinet, they don’t show any concern at having you move in and out of their personal space. But they’re quiet, so you gently fill the silence.

“May I touch you?” You ask before setting the first aid box on the counter and pulling up a stool for yourself.  Your companion gives a slow nod. Now that you are positioned in front of them, their eyes never stray from your hands.  

Donning a pair of latex-free gloves, you tell them, “I’ll have a better idea of what we’re dealing with once I get you cleaned up.  Looks like you may need stitches.” Although this can’t be good news for the turtle, you receive a nod of understanding in reply. “This is going to hurt,” you warn, like they aren’t gritting their teeth against excruciating pain already.

The peroxide bubbles over the wounds to their soft side and then the laceration on their thigh.  Though their resolve hadn’t faltered while you cleaned the injury to their side, their response to their thigh injury is not so unreactive.  The turtle clenches one of their fists atop the counter and their green eyes disappear behind tightly closed lids. Your patient releases a low hiss through their teeth.  

To ease the peroxide’s sting, you blow on the cut along the adductor muscles.  Under different circumstances, bringing your mouth so close to the inside of a person’s thigh could be considered fun, foreplay even. But as your hands frame the wound, catching excess antiseptic and wiping away blood, the intimacy is anything but sexy.  

The lesion isn’t deep, but every move and flex of the muscle opens the wound.  A good bandage will suffice. Same with the injuries to the side of your patient’s body.  The only area that looks in need of stitches so far is a split lip.

You dab analgesic on the cuts to their face and mirror the turtle’s frown.  It takes a moment for you to realize that your companion’s attention has shifted from your hands to the needles and string you’ve laid on the counter.  

“I can be quick,” you say to ease their concern.  Stitches aren’t part of your job description, but thanks to a rise in gang-related crime, the clinic has been overbooked and overrun with emergency walk-ins often enough that stitching up small wounds is old hat.

You hold the stranger’s face in your hands.  As if of their own mind, your fingers stroke their cheeks along the underside of the threadbare mask you have yet to ask about and they have yet to remove.  Their eyes flit from the floor to meet your gaze and drop again. Tracing the bottom edge of the red bandana with a caress, you decide now isn’t the time to discuss it.

“You’re going to be OK,” you start to say, but even as the words escape your lips, you worry.  Their skin is clammy and pale. Cold-blooded animals need external sources of warmth. You let the press of your palms linger on their emerald skin, lending their warmth for a minute, for two.  You could be imagining things, but you think that your companion sighs in relief, that they lean into your touch.

There’s no time to waste on wonder.  Your patient isn’t only weak from blood loss and the fatigue of a fight, it’s possible their hypothermia is advancing.  

Your fingers stitch faster than you thought you could manage; but, then again, your patients have never sat this still before.  They’ve never demonstrated such patience and fortitude while under duress.  

When you’re done, you cradle their face in your hands once more as if to admire your handiwork.  Their cheeks are even colder than before. You force your voice to be steady as you say, “Let’s get you into a warm bath.”  It’s more an order than a suggestion.

Using the countertop as support, the man-sized turtle pushes themself to stand.  Still, they haven’t said a word.

You’re under their arm in an instant to offer what support you can, but a knock on the door jars your attention.  The turtle squares off their shoulders at the interruption. Despite injury and fatigue, they’re taking on a fighting stance and staggering toward the wall.   Years of self-defense training inform you of the obvious; this stranger fully intends to defend your home from whomever has come.

Their caution has alarms sounding off in your head.  Seeing them ready to attack reminds you that their wounds aren’t the result of an accident.   There had been a fight on Purple Dragon terf, and it is as likely for the person at your door to be a member of the gang looking for retribution as it is to be a friend.

A large green hand reaches for you, but a lack of coordination is another symptom of hypothermia.  It takes a second try for the hand to land on your forearm. The grip is delicate, trembling.  

“I’ll get rid of them,” you say reassuringly, before gently removing yourself from their hold.  You signal for your companion to wait as you check the peephole. You won’t let them expose themself, especially not in their current state.

Seeing your landlord’s daughter on the other side of the door fills you with the anxiety brought on by the risk of being found harboring an unexpected, highly unusual, guest; but the relief of seeing her instead of a Dragon is enough to ease the tension in your shoulders.  You whisper to the hulking figure in the shadow of the hall, “It’s OK.”

Leaning heavily against a closet door, your companion gives a nod.  Their breaths come in harsh gasps, though they are trying to hide their struggle.  You’ll do a more thorough exam and listen to their lungs after they’ve warmed up.

You’ll make things with Lori quick.

Pulling open the door just enough to make conversation, you’re hit by a blast of cold air and sleet.  "Hey, Lor. Everything good?“ you greet the young woman at your doorstep.

“Ma sent me down to bring you this,” Lori says, nudging the space heater at her feet. “She knows it gets colder here than the other units.  Though I dunno how useful it would be if any more ice builds up on the power lines.”

To bring an end to the conversation, you accept the heater without argument.  “Thanks. Tell her, thanks.”

“If you wanna ride out the storm with us upstairs, you’re more than welcome-”  Lori’s invitation is cut short when her gaze lands upon the fresh bloodstain on the thigh of your scrubs.

“Crazy night at the Urgent Care,” you explain, forcing a stiff chuckle.  “You should get home. I’m good here.” You drag in the space heater and wrap your arms around yourself to emphasize the fact that every second at the door is a second Lori is forcing you to face the cold without a jacket.  (And it’s not like you can put on the blood stained coat without drawing additional concern and/or suspicion.)

“Yeah, well,” Lori raises her hand in farewell, “stay safe.”

You spare a glance over your shoulder but find the corridor empty of your red banded companion.  To Lori, you offer a tight smile and a hurried, “You too,” before closing the door.

“Where did you go?” You ask the empty hallway as you drag the wheeled space heater behind you.  

Hunched over the back of the couch, your companion shivers where they stand.  You abandon the space heater in an instant.

When you take the turtle by the arm, they don’t flinch.  In fact, you experience a touch of deja vous. They’re leaning into you - you’re almost positive - but you can’t waste time reading into it.  They’re only seeking your warmth, you tell yourself. Their temperature needs regulation ASAP.  And turtles, you think, have an affinity for water.

“You.  Bath. Now.”

By the time your patient is standing beside the tub, they look so pale and shaky and weak you are sure they’re about to faint.  Quickly, you adjust the water at the faucet and help them in.

Although their mouth is drawn in an unreadable line, a sound like a purr rolls from the turtle’s throat as they sink into the deep bathtub.  You’re glad you decided to spring for the deluxe remodel and double-wide tub. Anything smaller, you think, would be too tight a fit for the turtle’s giant shell.  

You don’t dare turn on the harsh overhead lights, opting instead for the softer lamp of the vanity across from the bath.  It’s the least you can do when stripping your companion of their privacy, but they haven’t voiced a wish for you to leave the room.   They haven’t made any indication that they’re made uncomfortable by your company.

Water sloshes in gentle waves as you soak a washcloth.  Using it, you try to warm your patient’s forehead and cheeks with slow presses of the wet cloth.  You try to ease their unspoken concerns with hushed words of hope and encouragement for their recovery.  

Once it seems like they’re regaining some color in their cheeks, the turtle sits forward.  There’s enough room for you to wash their back, but only just.  

You dip the washcloth into the bath.  It’s properly soaked when you raise it again, but you pause.  Your stomach flips. It seems silly that after helping the turtle clean the rest of their body you’d be hesitant to bring the cloth to their shell, but this feels different.  Though a part of you wonders if the carapace is sensitive to touch at all, your heart races at the thought of feeling its bumps and edges under your palm.

Holding your breath, you squeeze warm water over the hard scales and watch it run in rivulets through the patterns of the shell - some natural and others caused by old scars and new wounds.  It’s mesmerizing. The water passes over the kanji and the paint dissolves into the water, red, but thin compared to the blood that continues to seep through the turtle’s bandages. You bring your hand down against the shell to rub at the writing and your patient tenses before you both release a long breath.

“Can you feel this?” you ask in a whisper.

“Yeah,” they say and you’re shocked by the deep tone of their voice and the heavy accent on their tongue.  

“Does it hurt?“ You lay your tingling palm on their shell to marvel at its texture.

“No,” they say shortly.  “…it’s…” Your companion exhales another shaky breath.  “It don’t hurt.”

You take up washing their back again and listen to the turtle’s slow and shallow breathing.

“Ya always take in strangers?” they ask gruffly.

In response to the accusation, you introduce yourself with the hope they’ll answer in kind.  

“Raphael,” they say with a huff, turning to catch your eye.  Their gaze is soft despite the hard edges the turtle insists on maintaining.  

You offer a warm smile as you swipe the washcloth over your patient’s wide shoulders and neck.  Their pulse is getting weaker, and slower. Their eyes are starting to spend more time closed than open.  You’re surprised that they have been able to stay awake this long.  

With a halting reach, you bring your hands to their mask.  The weight of their hand on yours stops you from untying the knot behind their head.  But the need for pause is brief. You receive a nod of consent before Raphael slowly brings their hand down to the water again.

The knot is tight, but your nimble fingers have no trouble untangling the long tails of the mask.  Setting the bandana to soak in the sink with the other bands and wraps you’ve removed from the warrior’s arms, hands, and feet, you take a peek at the mirror.  You have a view of the turtle’s full face for the first time. Your heart clenches as what was for so long a hardened expression droops into a sleepy frown.

You wonder if the change in Raphael’s expression has anything to do with being unmasked, or if it’s all a result of the need to recover from the night’s events.  Returning to the side of the tub, you offer another smile. You bring the washcloth to Raphael’s cheek again to wipe at the clear line where the bandana had protected the top half of the turtle’s head from the elements.  Raphael’s breath hitches at the attention you give.

Your voice breaks despite your resolve.  "Not so much a stranger anymore, now, are ya Raphael?“

A hint of amusement flashes through their bleary eyes as their upper lip curls in what could have been the beginnings of a smile, had the movement not pulled the fresh stitches and turned the expression into a grimace of pain.  

⁂

Raphael’s not a person of many words, but you learn that he was separated from his brothers during a rooftop fight before he fell.  By your professional assessment, and from what he’s told you, it was the stun of the fall that kept him immobile long enough for the cold to wrack his system.

You’re almost through rinsing the last of the soap and grime from his shell when the slur of his words takes a turn for the worse.  Raphael’s eyes blink heavily, though they try to hold your gaze. He slumps against the back of the tub. “…don’ think… I’m gun’…”  

Following his retreat. you rise up on your knees and grab his shoulder in the hope you can keep him awake long enough to get him to a bed or the couch - somewhere he can have a proper rest.   Nonetheless, his head lolls forward, and no matter how insistent you are as you squeeze his arm or pat his cheek or speak his name, you can’t keep him from slipping into unconsciousness.

[writemarcus]

Watch This Space: Playwrights Train for All Media

As dramatists begin to write for all media, the nation’s playwriting programs are starting to teach beyond the stage.

BY MARCUS SCOTT

In 2018, a record 495 original scripted series were released across cable, online, and broadcast platforms, according to a report by FX Networks. And with the growing popularity of streaming services such as Netflix, Hulu, and Amazon (not to mention new players like Disney and Apple), a whopping 146 more shows are up and running on various platforms now than were on air in 2013. So how does peak TV relate to theatre?

Once a way for financially strapped playwrights to land stable income and adequate health insurance, television has since emerged as a rewarding venue for ambitious dramatists looking to forge lifetime careers as working writers. Playwright Tanya Saracho is the current showrunner for “Vida” on Starz. Roberto Aguirre-Sacasa is the series developer of “Riverdale” and “Chilling Adventures of Sabrina.” Sheila Callaghan is executive producer of the long-running black comedy “Shameless.” Sarah Treem, co-creator and showrunner of “The Affair,” recently concluded the Rashomon-esque psychological drama in November.

To satiate demand for more content, showrunners have sought to recruit emerging playwrights to fill their writers’ rooms. It’s now common practice for them to read plays or spec scripts penned prior to a writer’s graduation.

Many aspiring playwrights have caught on, enrolling in drama school intent on flirting with virtually every medium under the umbrella of the performing arts. Several institutions around the country have become gatekeepers for the hopeful—post-graduate MFA boot camps bestowing scribes with the Aristotelian wisdom of plot, character, thought, diction, and spectacle before they’re dropped into the school of hard knocks that is the modern American writers’ room. Indeed, since our culture has emerged from the chrysalis of peak TV, playwriting programs have begun training students for a career that includes not only the stage but multiple mediums, including the screen.

Playwright Zayd Dohrn, who has served as both chair of Northwestern University’s radio/TV/film department and director of the MFA in writing for screen and stage since 2016, said versatility is the strongest tool in the kit of the program’s students.

“We offer classes in playwriting, screenwriting and TV writing, as well as podcasts, video games, interactive media, stand-up, improv, and much more,” he explained. “There’s no one way to approach the craft, and we offer world-class faculty with diverse backgrounds, professional experiences, and perspectives, so students can be exposed to the full range of professional and artistic practice.”

Dominic Taylor, vice chair of graduate studies at UCLA School of Theater, Film and Television in California, also agrees that multiplicity is the key to the survival of a working writer. “In the industries today, whether one is breaking a story in a writers’ room or writing coverage as an assistant, the ability to recognize and manipulate structure is paramount,” Taylor said. “The primary skill, aside from honing excellent social skills, would be to continue to study the forms as they emerge. Read scripts and note differences and strengths of form to the individual’s skill set. For example, the multi-cam network comedy is very different from the single-cam comedy—‘The Conners’ versus ‘Modern Family,’ let’s say. It’s not just the technology; it is the pace of the comedy.”

Taylor, a distinguished multi-hyphenate theatre artist working on both coasts, said that schools like UCLA offer a lot more than classes, including one with Phyllis Nagy (screenwriter of Carol). UCLA’s program also partners with its film school, and hires professional directors to work with playwrights to develop graduate student plays for productions at UCLA’s one-act festival, ONES, or its New Play Festival. Taylor also teaches four separate classes on Black theatre, giving students the opportunity to study the likes of Alice Childress, Marita Bonner, and Angelina Weld Grimké in a university setting (a rarity outside of historically Black colleges and universities).

Dohrn, a prominent playwright who is currently developing a feature film for Netflix and has TV shows in development at Showtime, BBC America, and NBC/Universal, said that television, like theatre, needs people who can create interesting characters and tell compelling stories, who have singular, unique voices—all of which are emphasized in playwriting training.

“Playwrights are not just good at writing dialogue—they are world creators who bring a unique vision to the stories they tell,” Dohrn emphasized. “More than anything else, a writer needs to develop his/her/their unique voice. Craft can be taught, but talent and creativity are the most important thing for a young writer.”

For playwright David Henry Hwang, who joined the faculty at Columbia University School of the Arts as head of the playwriting MFA program in 2014, success should be a byproduct, not a destination. “As a playwright, I don’t believe it’s possible to ‘game’ the system—i.e., to try and figure out how to write something ‘successful,’” he said. “The finished play is your reward for taking that journey. The thing that makes you different, and uniquely you, is your superpower as a dramatist, because it is the key to writing the play only you can write. Ironically, by focusing not on success but on what you really care about, you are more likely to find success.”

Since arriving at Columbia, one of Hwang’s top priorities was to expand the range of TV writing classes. This led to the creation of separate TV sub-department “concentrations,” housed in both the theatre and film programs. All playwriting students are required to take some television classes.

“We are at a rather anomalous moment in playwriting history, where the ability to write plays is actually a monetizable skill,” said Hwang, whose TV credits include Treem’s “The Affair.” “Playwrights have become increasingly valuable to TV because it has traditionally been a dialogue-driven medium (though shows like ‘Game of Thrones’ push into more cinematic storytelling language), and playwrights are comfortable being in production (unlike screenwriters, some of whom never go to set). Once TV discovered playwrights, we became more valuable for feature films as well.”

Playwrights aren’t the only generative theatremakers moving to the screen. Masi Asare is an assistant professor at Northwestern’s School of Communication, which teaches music theatre history, music theatre writing and composition, and vocal performance. The award-winning composer-lyricist, who recently saw her one-act Mirror of Most Value: A Ms. Marvel Play published by Marvel/Samuel French, said that the world of musical theatre is not all that different either; it’s experiencing a resurgence in both cinema and the small screen: Lin-Manuel Miranda, Kristen Anderson-Lopez and Robert Lopez, Justin Hurwitz, and Benj Pasek and Justin Paul have all written songs that were nominated for or won Oscars. The growth of YouTube, Instagram, and Twitter have offered new ways for musical theatre graduates to market and monetize their songs and build an audience.

“The feeling that a song has to ‘work’ behind a microphone in order to be a good song is really having an impact on young writers,” said Asare. “The song must sound and look good in this encapsulated video that will be posted on the songwriters’ website and circulated via social media.” She noted that in this case, the medium of video is also changing the medium of musical theatre itself. “Certainly it may lead to different kinds of musicals—who knows? New experimentation can be exciting, but I think there is a perception that all you have to have is a series of good video clips to be a songwriter for the musical theatre, a musical storyteller. I think that does something of a disservice to rising composers and lyricists.”

Some playwriting students, of course, are not interested in learning about how to write for television. But many who spoke for this story agreed that learning about the different ways of storytelling can be beneficial. One program in particular that has its eyes on the multiplicity of storytelling mediums is the Writing for Performance program at the California Institute of the Arts. Founded by playwright Suzan-Lori Parks in 2001 as a synergy of immersive environments, visual art installation, screenplay, and the traditional stage play, the program has helped students and visiting artists alike transcend theatrical conventions. Though Parks is no longer on the CalArts faculty, her spirit still infuses the program. As Amanda Shank, assistant dean of the CalArts School of Theater, puts it, “Every time she came to the page, there was a real fidelity to the impulse of what she was trying to communicate with the play, and the form followed that. It’s not her trying to write a ‘correct’ kind of play or to lay things bare in a certain prescribed way.”

That instinct is in the life fiber of CalArts’s Special Topics in Writing, a peer-to-peer incubator for the development of new projects that grants students from across various departments the opportunity to develop and produce writing-based projects. Shank defines the vaguely titled yearlong class, which she began, as a “hybrid of a writing workshop and a dramaturgical project development space.” A playwright and dramaturg, Shank said her class was born of her experience as an MFA candidate; she attended the program between 2010 and 2013, and then noticed her fellow students’ lack of ability to fully shepherd their projects.

“I was finding a lot of students that would have an idea, bring in a few pages or even bring in a full draft, but then they would kind of abandon it,” said Shank. “I wanted a space [that would] marry generative creativity, a place of accountability, but also a place that was working that muscle of really developing a project. Because I think often as artists we look to other institutions, other people to usher our work along. Yes, you need collaborators, yes, you need organizations of supporters—but you have to some degree know how to do those things yourself.”

Program alum Virginia Grise agrees. Grise has been a working artist since her play blu won the 2010 Yale Drama Series Award. She conceived her latest play, rasgos asiaticos, while still attending CalArts. Inspired by her Chicana-Chinese family, the play has evolved into a walk-around theatrical experience with some dialogue pressed into phonograph records that accompany her great uncle’s 1920s-era Chinese opera records. After developing the production over a period of years, with the help of CalArts Center for New Performance (CNP), Grise will premiere rasgos asiaticos in downtown Los Angeles in March 2020, boasting a predominantly female cast, a Black female director, and a design team entirely composed of women of color. Her multidisciplinary work is emblematic of the direction CalArts is hoping to steer the field, with training that is responsive to a growingly diverse body of students who may not want to create theatre in the Western European tradition.

“You cannot recruit students of color into a training program and continue to train actors, writers, and directors in the same way you have trained them prior to recruiting them,” said Grise. “I feel like training programs should look at the diversity of aesthetics, the diversity of storytelling—what are the different ways in which we make performance, and how is that indicative of who we are, and where we are coming from, and who we are speaking to?”

As an educator whose work deals with Asian American identity, including the play M. Butterfly and the high-concept musical Soft Power, Hwang said that one of his goals as an educator is to train a diverse body of students and teach them how to write from a perspective that is uniquely theirs.

“If we assume that people like to see themselves onstage, this requires a range of diverse bodies as well as diverse stories in our theatres,” Hwang said. “Institutions like Columbia have a huge responsibility to address this issue, since we are helping to produce artists of the future. Our program takes diversity as our first core value—not only in terms of aesthetics, but also by trying to cultivate artists and stories which encompass the fullest range of communities, nationalities, races, genders, sexualities, differences, and identities.”

The film business could use similar cultivation. In March 2019, the Think Tank for Inclusion and Equity (TTIE), a self-organized syndicate of working television writers, published “Behind the Scenes: The State of Inclusion and Equity in TV Writing,” a research-driven survey funded by the Pop Culture Collaborative. Data from that report observed hiring, writer advancement, workplace harassment, and bias among diverse writers, examining 282 working Hollywood writers who identify as women or nonbinary, LGBTQ, people of color, and/or people with disabilities, analyzing how they fare within the writers’ room. In positions that range from staff writer to executive story editor, a nearly two thirds majority of this surveyed group reported troubling instances of bias, discrimination, and/or harassment by members of their individual writing staff. Also, 58 percent of them said they experienced pushback when pitching a non-stereotypical diverse character or storyline; 58 percent later experienced micro-aggressions in-house. The biggest slap in the face: When it comes to in-house pitches, 53 percent of this group’s ideas were rejected, only to have white writers pitch exactly the same idea a few minutes later and get accepted. Other key findings from the report: 58 percent say their agents pitch them to shows by highlighting their “otherness,” and 15 percent reported they took a demotion just to get a staff job.

But there was more: 65 percent of people of color in the survey reported being the only one in their writers’ room, and 34 percent of the women and nonbinary writers reported being the only woman or nonbinary member of their writing staff; 38 percent of writers with disabilities reported being the only one, and 68 percent of LGBTQ writers reported being the only one.

For Dominic Taylor, the lack of diversity and inclusion in TV writers’ rooms can be fought in part by opening up the curriculum on college campuses, which he has expanded since joining the faculty at UCLA. “Students need a comprehensive education,” Taylor pointed out. He noted the importance of prospective playwrights being as familiar with Migdalia Cruz, Maria Irene Fornés, James Yoshimura, Julia Cho, and William Yellow Robe as they are with William Shakespeare, and looking at traditions as vast as the Gelede Festival, the Egungun Festival, Shang theatre of China, as well as the Passion Plays of Ancient Egypt.

“All of these modes of performance predate the Greek theatre, which is the starting point for much of theatre history,” explained Taylor. “It is part of my mandate as an educator to complete the education of my students. Inclusion is crucial to that education.”

After all, with the growing variety of platforms for story and expression, why shouldn’t there also be diversity of forms and voices? Whatever the medium of delivery, these are trends worth keeping an eye on.

Marcus Scott is a New York City-based playwright, musical writer, and journalist. He’s written for Elle, Essence, Out, and Playbill, among other publications.

[crossbowking]

The Road Ahead : Chapter 13

Chapter Index HERE

Summary : (Set in the beginning of season 1) Anna Brooks lost everything after the world ended — the last remaining part of herself being her older brother, who she lost contact with after communications dropped. While en route towards Atlanta to find him, Anna’s truck breaks down, leaving her at the mercy of the cruel new world. Now, Anna must face her fears head on as she struggles to deal with devastating loss, constant danger, and finding her way in a land that now belongs to the dead. But sometimes, a glimmer of hope can be found disguised as a short-tempered, hard-headed redneck who may just save her life in more ways than one.

Pairings : Daryl x Original Female Character

Warnings : Slow-Burn, Language/Violence/typical Walking Dead themes

Author’s Note : OKAY, Y’ALL. THIS CHAPPIE’S A LONG ONE SO STRAP IN. We learn a lot in this one and are making way for some awesome stuff coming soon...

xx crossbowking

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

Previously…

Glenn and Anna shared an apprehensive look before scooting out from behind the table, Jacqui hurrying to join them from the back room. Anna crouched down, staring through the windshield at the massive building in front of them — the Center for Disease Control.

It was colossal and mighty and most importantly…still standing.

Maybe there was hope here after all.

But for some reason, Anna couldn’t shake the feeling in her gut that told her things were only going to get worse from here on out.

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

Now…

The Center for Disease Control.

There had been a brief, heartbreaking moment where everyone feared the CDC had been abandoned — it’s main entrance sealed up tight with an impenetrable steel door, unbreakable windows, and not a single soul in sight besides the dead that roamed the grounds. But much to everyone’s surprise, after a desperate plea from Rick begging for whoever was controlling the cameras to show mercy, the steel door slid open and enveloped the group in a beacon of light.

And there they met Dr. Edwin Jenner.

He was apparently the last man standing. All of the doctors, all of the military, all of the scientists — gone. He was all that was left. And that was a tough fucking pill to swallow.

After seeing the state of the group, a group filled with children especially, Jenner had decided to go against his better judgment and allow the distressed group inside — the only rule being that everyone was to get a blood test done to ensure no one had been unknowingly infected.

Which led Anna to this moment, watching Jenner pierce the soft flesh of her skin with a needle, her blood slipping from her veins and filling up a small tube to be taken away for analysis.

She was tired — no, she was exhausted. She’d been running on empty for days now, physically and emotionally drained from everything she’d gone through. All Anna wanted to do was curl up somewhere and process what her next move would be since the CDC was apparently chopping up to be a dead end. And if this supposed ‘safe haven’ wasn’t what it was promised to be, could the same be said about Fort Benning?

“What’s this?” Jenner suddenly asked, his fingers wrapping around her bandaged hand.

Anna sat up straighter, turning her hand over for inspection. “Oh, uh, that’s nothing. I just cut my palm on a rock the other day,” she shrugged, watching as Jenner began to unwrap the wound.

“I cleaned it up already,” Lori spoke from where she sat, Rick propped up behind her, squeezing her shoulder gently, his expression deep in thought.

“Better safe than sorry, wouldn’t you agree?” Jenner directed his attention towards Anna, waiting until she gave him a short nod before continuing to unwrap the bandage. The cut didn’t look infected — just an angry red slash mark with dried blood caked onto the frayed ends of her skin. Anna watched as Jenner grabbed a cotton swab, dipping it in some sort of liquid before turning back to her. “Saline solution,” he murmured before she had a chance to ask what it was.

He began prodding at the wound, collecting a sample of the dried tissue for further examination, eliciting a quiet hiss from Anna as he pressed the swab a little too deep.

“All set,” he voiced once he was satisfied, slipping the cotton swab into a separate vile before reaching to grab a small first aid kit. He swiftly wrapped Anna’s hand in a clean bandage, removed the needle from her arm and motioned for Andrea to come forward for her turn.

Anna pulled down her sleeve, rubbing her sore arm as she stood, the floor tilting beneath her for a moment before she regained her balance. Black spots danced in her vision as she eased herself down onto another chair near the rest of the group, a soft sigh escaping her lips as she pinched the bridge of her nose.

She had so many questions — what happened here? Where was everyone? What was this outbreak? Was there a cure? What did Jenner know? She had a weird feeling that the man was keeping some important information from them, but she was too tired and too overwhelmed to find the energy to ask. There would come a time for that — and the time sure as hell wasn’t now.

Anna nearly wept with relief when Jenner offered the group all the food they could stomach, ushering them into the CDC’s cafeteria for dinner. There was a nearly tangible electric buzz coursing through the group as they spread out amongst one of the long tables, waiting eagerly for the first decent meal they’d eat in weeks.

Anna took a seat at the far end of the table, putting a little distance between herself and most of the group. But the isolation didn’t last long when Glenn spotted her, furrowed his brow, got up from his seat at the opposite end and made his way towards her instead. “Do you think he’ll have Twinkies? Man, I hope he has Twinkies,” he grinned as he approached, rubbing his hands together, plopping down in the seat next to her.

Anna felt a small smile creep across her face — she liked Glenn. He seemed like a truly decent guy with an incredible warmth to him. He made her feel welcome — like she’d always been a part of the group and not some random newcomer. A soft laugh bubbled out of her. “Twinkies? Really?” she teased.

Glenn nodded his head quickly, scooting his chair closer to the table. “Are you kidding? Twinkies are the best. I practically lived off them in college,” he beamed, drumming his fingers along the table top as he eagerly scanned the cafeteria for Jenner’s reappearance.

Anna just shook her head as another laugh slipped through her lips. Glenn shot her a kind smile before he turned the other way to say something to T-Dog, giving Anna a moment to assess the current situation without distraction.

The group was splayed out around the table — most busy chatting with one another, everyone looking more relaxed than Anna had ever seen them. All except for Andrea, who sat quietly, hands folded in her lap, eyes glazed over as she stared off into space. She was thinking about her sister — Anna wasn’t a mind reader, but she also wasn’t stupid. The poor woman had just lost her sister — there was no possible way she could be thinking of anything else.

A sudden pain tugged at her heart and Anna forced her eyes away, unable to watch the grief crashing through Andrea’s eyes any longer. She found her gaze suddenly traveling towards Shane, who also wasn’t participating in conversation — he sat upright in his chair, elbows on the table, chin resting atop his clasped hands, eyes trained on Rick and his family. There was something about his stare, something about the sharpness in his eyes, the coldness, that sent a chill through Anna before she pulled her gaze away.

And then, Anna found herself studying the archer.

She hadn’t spoken to him since the RV broke down — hell, she hadn’t even looked at him. The last thing she needed was more drama and that was all this guy seemed to bring to the table. She wasn’t one to play games and she, quite frankly, didn’t give a shit whether he liked her or not. There was enough turmoil in the world without his projected issues added on top. She hadn’t meant to get involved with the group, she hadn’t meant to run into Merle that day on the road, but it happened. There was no going back. And Daryl could huff and puff, he could be cold and aloof, he could do whatever the hell he wanted — it wasn’t Anna’s problem.

But…as Anna stared at him, watching his usual scowled expression relax for the first time since she’d met him, the infectious positive energy clearly affecting him as well, she couldn’t help but feel a pinprick of hurt.

Why did he hate her so much? She didn’t understand. She hadn’t done anything to him — at least, she didn’t think so. What could’ve possibly happened to warrant all the hostility from him?

Anna’s thoughts were halted when the cafeteria doors swung open and Jenner appeared, hefting a large crate into the room. The group perked up, eyeing the crate hungrily as he approached, placing it down onto the table with a huff.

“Tomorrow is never guaranteed,” Jenner suddenly announced, his gaze sweeping across the faces of his new guests before he reached into the crate and pulled out two bottles of wine. “So tonight we feast.”

A collective murmur spread across the group as they nodded their heads, some clapping, others cheering in agreement. Anna felt a smile spread across her face as she glanced over at Glenn who proceeded to tip his worn baseball hat in Jenner’s direction.

And then they feasted.

Spaghetti and meatballs, rice, baked beans, string beans, canned corn, canned pears, peanut butter, olives, cheese, crackers, and all the bottled water and wine they could stomach. It was as if the entire world around them wasn’t what it was — there were no walkers, no decimated cities, no bleak future. It was just a group of people, enjoying a nice meal and delicious wine, partaking in pleasant conversation — it was a glimpse of how life was before.

Jenner urged everyone to eat their fill, given the fact that most of the food wouldn’t last much longer and would end up going to waste.

No one needed to be told twice.

Anna scarfed down the meal in front of her, reveling in the lukewarm spaghetti, the nearly expired cheese, the canned meatballs. It was the best damn meal she’d had in her entire life and by the practically giddy expressions around her, it was safe to say she wasn’t the only one thinking that. She ate until her stomach rounded, finally filling up her loose jeans, the seemingly permanent rumble in her tummy ceasing.

“Sure you don’t want a drink?” Glenn offered later on, holding out the now almost empty bottle of wine towards her, his words slurred and cheeks flushed from the alcohol he’d been consuming throughout the night.

Anna had declined earlier, choosing instead to stick with water, unsure when it’d be so readily available again. “I’m sure,” she reiterated her answer, sighing contently, leaning back in her chair as she scanned the rest of the table, the room buzzing with laughter, flowing with booze.

“— not you, Glenn,” Daryl’s gruff voice suddenly interjected, drawing Anna’s attention.

“What?” Glenn sounded, caught off guard as a lazy smile tugged at his lips.

“Keep drinkin’, lil’ man. I wanna see how red your face can get,” the archer jeered, pouring himself another heaping glass of wine. Anna had never seen Daryl so relaxed, so playful, so… normal. It was a weird moment to observe, especially from a sober point of view, but she found a bewildered smile slipping across her features.

Daryl must’ve felt eyes on him because his gaze swiveled over towards Anna, the grin on his face faltering as he took in her bemused expression. A moment passed between them before a sudden clinking had them turning their attention towards Rick, the room instantly quieting.

“It seems ta’ me we haven’t thanked our host properly,” he announced, pulling himself to his feet as he raised his glass.

“He is more than jus’ our host,” T-Dog added with an incredulous chuckle, following suit as he toasted Jenner who sat silently at a separate table.

A collective murmur of cheers and thanks sounded throughout the room as everyone began to show their gratitude and appreciation for the man who had saved them all. Anna tipped her bottle of water towards the man, studying his pensive features, wondering what he was thinking about that had him so solemn all of the sudden.

But before she could ponder any further, another voice rang throughout the room. “So, Anna,” Dale suddenly declared, her head snapping towards him. “Why don’t you tell us a little bit about yourself?”

Anna felt the room instantly shift around her, all eyes trained her way, waiting for her response. She slowly tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, glancing over at Glenn for support, but he merely shrugged and took a long swig of wine straight from the bottle. “Uh,” she mumbled, feeling her cheeks redden at the sudden attention. “Not much to tell, really,” she brushed off, scanning the faces of those around her uneasily.

“Oh, come on,” Dale laughed good-naturedly, leaning forward to rest his forearms on the table, seeming genuinely intrigued. “There’s gotta be something worth sharing, right?” he looked around the table for agreement, some members of the group nodding in response, before Dale turned back to study her from under his bushy brows. “Why don’t you tell us where you’re from?” he offered, his kind eyes showing nothing but encouragement.

Anna clasped her hands tightly in her lap, digging her thumbnail into the bandage wrapped around her injured palm. “I’m, uh, I’m originally from up North,” she offered quietly, shrugging a shoulder.

“Was wonderin’ why I couldn’t hear an accent,” Rick quipped, smiling supportively in her direction. “So what brought ya down South?” he asked curiously, taking a sip of wine from his glass, staring at Anna from over the rim.

Anna felt her stomach flip and worried for a moment that her meal would reappear on the table in front of her. “My family had to relocate about ten years ago — moved down to Virginia. It was more affordable,” she explained, wringing her hands together in her lap as she addressed the sheriff, wondering if this was how he acted during interrogations.

“Did you go to college? Study anything in school?” Dale pressed, clearly intrigued.

Anna scoffed lightly, shaking her head. “I actually didn’t go to college. Couldn’t afford it.”

“Dale, enough with the twenty questions,” Andrea suddenly snapped, speaking for the first time since they sat down. She looked thoroughly annoyed, rolling her eyes at the old man as she gulped down the rest of her wine.

“What?” Dale laughed, holding his hands out innocently. “Just making friendly conversation, that’s all.”

“It’s fine,” Anna interjected quickly, not wanting to start any drama between the two. If Dale wanted answers, well then damn it, she’d give him some. “I just worked after high school mostly — waitressing, bartending, whatever I could do to make a little cash. My brother worked at an auto shop, so between the two of us, the bills got paid,” she shrugged, answering what was bound to be Dale’s next question.

He nodded thoughtfully, resting his chin atop his clasped hands. “And what did your parents do?”

Anna clenched her jaw, pushing away the inkling of frustration she was beginning to feel, Dale’s inquisition bringing up all of the negative feelings she’d been trying to ignore, all of the pain and grief she’d worked so hard to push away. “My dad was an electrician. Lost his job a couple years back. My mom didn’t work. Spent most of her life in a hospital. We picked Virginia because there were doctor’s down here who could take care of her.”

The room stilled. Anna glanced around, the intensity of everyone’s gaze burning a hole into her flesh, so she trained her eyes down on her clasped hands instead. After a long moment of silence, Dale spoke once more. “Cancer?” he murmured.

Anna’s head jerked up, her gaze boring into his. “How —”

“My wife,” he cut her off before she could ask any further, leaning back in his chair with a heavy sigh. “My wife passed not too long ago from it. You’ve got that look in your eyes — I’ve got it, too. Devastating illness, I’ll say. Nothing you can do but sit and wait, watching the person you love just…just disappear,” he whispered that final word, looking as though he was reliving some kind of painful memory. Anna felt her eyes suddenly water and forced her gaze downward once more. “I’m sorry you had to go through that,” he finished earnestly, waiting until Anna looked back up to give her a compassionate nod.

“She survived the cancer,” Anna finally muttered, clenching her jaw. “It was the bite that got her.”

The room quieted further, so much so that a pin could drop and Anna would hear it. Her face felt hot under the group’s stare and she hated the pity she could sense in their gazes. She knew Dale meant well, that he was just trying to get to know her, but Anna wasn’t trying to relay her pathetic life story to a group of strangers. She cleared her throat quickly as everyone began breaking off into separate, quiet conversations, a tangible awkwardness that wasn’t there before masking the room.

“Glenn?” Anna murmured once the group’s attention left her, turning to face her newfound friend. “I think I’ll take that drink now.”

Glenn didn’t say anything in return. He simply shot her a sympathetic look and poured her a heaping glass of wine. Anna grabbed the glass with her trembling fingers, exhaling shakily as she chugged the contents in one, long swig. When she pulled the glass away from her lips, her eyes caught sight of Daryl sitting across the table — he was leaning back in his chair, arms crossed against his chest, pensive eyes boring into hers.

The archer was the only person still staring at her, the rest of the group having broken off into side conversations. Anna slowly wiped the moisture from her lips with the back of her hand, leveling his stare, wondering what he could possibly be thinking about in that moment. Her thoughts were interrupted when Glenn nudged her, offering her another glass of wine which she gratefully accepted, pulling her gaze from Daryl’s.

“So when ya gonna tell us what the hell happened here, Doc?” Shane suddenly inquired, his voice drowning out the rest as everyone quieted uncomfortably. “All the, uh, the other doctors that were supposed ta’ be figurin’ out what happened. Where are they?” he asked, glancing around the table as he grabbed his glass, ignoring the pointed stares he was receiving from the rest of the group.

“We’re celebratin’, Shane,” Rick immediately interjected, shooting his friend a look. “Don't need ta’ do this now.”

“Whoa, wait a second,” Shane held up his hand incredulously. “This is why we’re here, right? This was your move,” he continued, directing his words towards Rick. “Supposed ta’, ya know, find all the answers an’ instead we, uh, —“ he broke off, a disbelieving laugh slipping through his lips. “— we found him,” Shane jerked his thumb in Jenner’s direction, his expression turning serious. “We found one man. Why?” he demanded, turning his attention onto Jenner, waiting for him to answer.

A heavy silence settled over the room and Anna took another long drink, relishing in the burning sensation it brought in the pit of her stomach, the effects of the alcohol already warming her body. Maybe if she drank enough, this horribly, uncomfortable tension would disappear — so she took another hearty swig as Jenner suddenly spoke.

“Well, when things got bad, a lot of people just…left,” he began slowly. “Went off to be with their families. And when things got worse — when the military cordon got overrun — the rest bolted,” he murmured, eyes distant as he stared down at the table.

“Every last one?” Shane fired back, his expression smug like he didn’t believe a word Jenner was saying.

“No,” Jenner’s head snapped up, his fiery gaze boring into Shane’s. “Many couldn’t face walking out the door. They…opted out,” he managed, shooting Shane an aggravated look. “There was a rash of suicides,” he explained softly, the group around the table shifting awkwardly, some choosing to drink, others lowering their gazes. “That was a bad time,” he murmured, mostly to himself.

“You didn’t leave,” Andrea suddenly pointed out, genuinely interested. “Why?”

“I just kept working — hoping to do some good,” he finally replied, his tormented eyes locking with Andrea’s.

Another long moment of silence settled over the cafeteria, everyone trapped in their own thoughts, mulling over Jenner’s confession.

From the corner of her eye, Anna saw Glenn stand up and push away from the table. “Dude, you are such a buzzkill, man,” he mumbled in Shane’s direction, clearly annoyed with the reminder of the depressing reality they lived in.

The brief moment of peace had been nice while it lasted.

Everyone seemed ready to head their separate ways for the night, the lighthearted-dinner-turned-heavy having exhausted what little energy they had left. Jenner had brought the group down a long hallway lined with bedrooms, allowing everyone to pick a space to sleep in that night. The mood amongst the group perked up at the mention of something they never thought they’d experience again — a hot shower.

Anna made herself at home in a small, closet-sized bedroom at the end of the hall. There wasn’t much inside — just a rickety cot, a pillow and blanket, and a trunk at the end of the bed — but it was more than enough for her. She was most excited about the tiny bathroom attached to the room — she couldn’t even remember the last time she’d showered properly, her natural stench and those around her something she’d become accustomed to over the past few weeks.

But as she stood below the shower head, letting the scalding water wash over her bruised, tired body, cleansing her flesh of all the dirt and grime it had accumulated over the past few weeks, she felt rush of emotion clog her throat. It may have been the wine coursing through her veins, those two hearty glasses having taken advantage of her demolished tolerance, but for some reason, tears sprung to her eyes.

The CDC was a dead end. There was no one left. There was no cure. There was nothing. Anna wondered if Fort Benning would’ve held the same fate for her.

She sniffled softly, scrubbing her skin raw in the attempt to clean the filth from her body. She shampooed and conditioned her hair twice, a small, disbelieving laugh slipping through her lips as she finally washed the grease from her strands. Once she was done with the washing, she merely stood beneath the shower head, eyes closed, relishing in the moment, unsure when this small miracle would happen again.

The water began to chill and Anna quickly turned the faucet off, her lips frowning as a shiver wracked through her. “Nice while it lasted,” she murmured aloud, her words slightly slurred as she stumbled out of the shower. “Lightweight,” she muttered to herself, rolling her eyes as she grabbed a spare towel and wrapped it around her body.

She wasn’t a big drinker growing up — she spent most of her time working after she turned twenty-one, so she never went through that ‘party faze’ most people her age endured. She and Ben would have a beer after especially tough days at home, but other than that, her experience with alcohol was limited. She had to admit though — it felt pretty damn nice. Everything felt heavy and warm and foggy, like the world had muted around her — the brevity of calm was alluring.

In the midst of serenity, a sudden memory seeped through Anna’s mind.

Anna pushed open the creaking screen door that led outside, spotting Ben sitting on the crumbling front steps. “Hey,” she greeted softly, closing the door shut behind her.

Ben glanced at her from over his shoulder, giving her a short nod and patting the empty space next to him. “How was work?” he murmured as Anna took a seat.

Anna sighed heavily, resting her elbows on her knees. “It was fine. Pretty slow, so made shit tips,” she grumbled, staring at the deteriorating house across the street. It looked incredibly similar to her own — broken shutters, crumbling siding, the interior even worse. But it was cheap. It was affordable. And even though she and Ben were forced to share a tiny, closet-sized bedroom, they had a roof over their heads. That was all they could ask for.

“It’ll pick up,” Ben nodded, his ever-present positivity something Anna envied — although as she peeked a glance at him, she couldn't help but feel that something was off, that something was bothering him.

She nudged his side gently. “What’s up with you?”

Ben exhaled, rubbing a hand over his haggard face, his fingers still stained with grease from his shift at the auto shop earlier that day. He reached for something near his feet, picking up a half-empty beer bottle and taking a long swig before offering it over to Anna. She took a sip, swishing the lukewarm liquid around in her mouth, her stomach unsettled by Ben’s lack of response.

She nudged him again. “Come on, talk to me,” she murmured, locking her fingers around the bottle.

Ben dug the heel of his boot onto the concrete steps, absently brushing his fingertips over the growing stubble on his chin. “Anna, I’m moving out,” he finally mustered.

Anna studied his features for a long moment before turning her eyes downward, studying the beer bottle’s label. She wasn’t surprised. She knew eventually this was going to happen and she’d been preparing for it. “When?” she mumbled.

Ben sighed again. “Couple of days.”

Anna scoffed softly. Now, that she wasn’t expecting. “Where?”

Her brother fidgeted for a moment beside her and she knew by that short pause, she wouldn’t like his answer. “Atlanta.”

Anna’s head snapped up, her fiery gaze boring into his guilty one. “Atlanta?” she shot back incredulously. “You’re moving out of state?”

“It’s not that far,” he defended, rolling his eyes.

“It’s like fourteen hours away, Ben,” she protested, trying to mask how hurt she felt.

Ben shook his head slightly, training his eyes on the house across the street. “It’s nine hours and thirteen minutes, actually.”

Anna scoffed once more, feeling a swell of tears cloud her vision, but she quickly pushed them away. “Well, it might as well be on the other side of the country.”

“Anna, I’m twenty-eight years old. How many twenty-eight-year-olds do you know still live at home?” Ben snapped, huffing in annoyance.

“Our situation is different and you know that,” she shot back pointedly.

“Bullshit!” Ben cussed, standing abruptly, beginning to pace the small portion of sidewalk in front of the steps. “Mom and Dad need to start taking care of themselves — it shouldn’t be on us. We’re their kids, for Christ’s sake! Not the other way around!”

Anna’s brow furrowed, this rare outburst from her brother something she wasn’t used to seeing. “Ben —”

“I mean, at some point we’ve gotta start living for ourselves, right?” he continued, bulldozing over her attempt to calm him. “Right?” he pressed, waiting for Anna’s reply. 

She took a deep breath, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Right,” she finally murmured, squeezing her eyes shut. Her brother was right. He was always right.

When she opened her eyes, Ben was standing in front of her, his expression troubled as he moved to sit beside her once more. “I want you to come with me.”

“I can’t,” Anna retorted before she could even mull over his offer.

Ben shot her an exasperated look. “Well, you can’t stay here.”

“I have to,” Anna shrugged helplessly. “We can’t both leave, Ben.”

“Well, I’m not leaving you alone in this shit-hole neighborhood, in a house that’s about three seconds from caving in on itself,” he fired back, gritting his teeth together in frustration. “You’re twenty-two now and — Jesus, Anna, these are supposed to be the best years of your life. And all you do is work and take care of Mom,” he sighed, his tone soft, expression tense. “What the fuck kinda life is that?”

“Ben, I’m okay,” Anna murmured, nodding her head, trying her best to appear convincing. “Look, it’s not like I’ll be here forever. It’s temporary. And when Dad finds a job, or when Mom’s feeling better, maybe — maybe then I can go.”

A long moment of silence passed where neither of them spoke. “Okay,” Ben suddenly voice, nodding his head. “Okay, we’ll wait until then.”

A look of confusion flashed across Anna’s face. “What’d you —”

“I’m not leaving you. It’s not happening. I’m not gonna go off and leave you to deal with all this shit by yourself,” he stated, steadfast in his change of heart. “Fuck that.”

“Ben, no. I promise I’m fine. You need to do this and —”

“Not without you, Annie. I’m not going anywhere without you.”

Anna felt a pang of guilt shoot through her. “C’mon, Ben. I’m not a little kid anymore. I can take care of myself.”

“Anna —”

“No, listen to me for a second,” Anna interjected firmly, waiting until Ben nodded for her to continue. “Ben, you’ve taken care of me my entire life. Ever since I was four years old and afraid to sleep by myself during thunderstorms,” a quiet laugh bubbled out of Anna as Ben’s eyes softened. “You’ve done more for me than anyone else ever has. So please…please just do this one thing for yourself.”

Ben shook his head slowly, expression torn. “But —”

“No,” Anna snapped, cutting him off. “No, I don’t wanna hear it. I will be just fine. I promise,” she pronounced each word clearly, hoping she’d get through to her brother. “It’s temporary, remember?”

Ben sighed after a lingering moment, long and heavy, shaking his head slightly. “You’ve gotta stop putting everyone else’s needs before your own.”

Anna quirked a smile, ignoring the lump forming in her throat. “I blame you, big brother. You’re the one that raised me, after all,” she teased, but somehow, her words came out heavier than intended.

Ben just shook his head once more, shoulder slumped in defeat. “You’re really not gonna come with me?” he murmured, glancing at Anna from the corner of his eye.

Anna gnawed on her bottom lip for a moment before quirking her brow. “No guy wants their little sister crashing at their bachelor pad — total buzzkill,” she smirked.

Ben nudged her with his elbow. “I don’t mind. You can be my wing woman — help me pick up chicks,” he waggled his eyebrows at her and Anna felt a laugh push its way out from deep in her gut.

“Maybe when I come to visit,” she grinned, taking a swig from the beer bottle before passing it back to her brother.

Ben brought the bottle to his lips, finishing its contents, before slinging an arm around Anna’s shoulders and pressing a kiss to the side of her head. “Whenever you’re ready to leave, you’ve got a place with me. You know that, right?”

A soft smile spread across Anna’s features despite the growing pain in her heart. Still, she sighed, resting her head on Ben’s shoulder. “Right.”

Anna snapped back to reality as another chill coursed through her.

That had been five years ago — five years ago that she and Ben had sat on those steps and had that conversation. She’d had every intention of picking up and moving to Atlanta, but for some reason, it’d never happened. Her dad had never found a job with steady income, her mom’s health had only deteriorated, and she herself had never found the courage to make that final step.

Anna had visited Ben a handful of times once he’d moved — she’d drive to the city and stay the weekend, he’d show her around and introduce her to his new friends, and they’d talk about what her life would look like once she made the move herself. But over the years, time and distance ran its natural course and Anna found herself seeing less and less of her big brother…

Anna quickly pushed away the painful memory and toweled off before she wiped the steam from the bathroom mirror, getting a good look at herself clean for the first time in God knows how long. Although she was much bonier now, her face worn and tired, she was beginning to see a semblance of who she used to be — maybe there was hope in this place after all.

She grabbed a clean comb from one of the sink drawers and went to work untangling the mess of knots her hair had become. It took her a solid twenty minutes to undo the damage done, but in the end, her hair was clean, combed and looking healthy. 

Anna found some spare clothes in the trunk at the foot of the bed and slipped into them — she tried to ignore the nagging thoughts of who these clothes used to belong to. They were a bit loose on her, the sweatpants hanging off her hips and the t-shirt baggy, but they were clean. This was turning out to be one of the best nights of her life.

After getting all settled, feeling fresh and like herself again, Anna felt the sudden urge to explore. When would this opportunity ever come again? The CDC was a fortress. There were no hidden dangers lurking, no untended to threats waiting to strike. And it wasn’t like she was going to sleep much — her mind was a constant ticking time bomb, her dreams plagued with nightmares. She wanted to explore.

Anna crept out of her room, the hallway quiet, the rest of the group having either turned in for the night or off doing something else. She meandered down hall after hall, peeking into the rooms with open doors — she checked out the recreational room where she ran into Carol and the kids, she found the library, the walls covered with hundreds of dusty books — before she decided to try upstairs.

She found the elevator Jenner had brought them to when they’d first arrived and made her way up to the main floor. The lobby was eerily quiet, vast and vacant, concealed in darkness as she walked out of the elevator. But as soon as she entered the space, the main lights automatically turned on, sensing her presence.

She spotted the main doors that her group had arrived at earlier that night, the steel door returned firmly in place. Tilting her head up, she breathed in awe at that cascading glass windows that lined the broad ceiling. But just as she turned to make her way back towards the elevator, she spotted someone slouched on the staircase near the front window.

“Glenn?” Anna murmured softly, recognizing his trademark baseball cap first.

His head snapped in her direction, a lazy smile slipping across his features. “Anna!” he grinned, holding his arms out, one hand clasped firmly around the neck of a wine bottle.

Anna snorted a laugh. “What the hell are you doing up here? Sitting in the dark, might I add?” she pointed out as she approached the stairs.

“Oh, the, uh…” Glenn fumbled for the right words, scratching the side of his head. “The lights! Yeah, the — the lights turned off an’ I, uh, didn’t really kinda know how to sorta turn them on,” he shrugged, words slurred and incoherent. “Oh...well, m’ drunk,” he hiccuped, resting his elbows on the stair behind him.

Anna rolled her eyes, sighing as she took a seat beside Glenn on the stairway. “They’re motion sensors, I think,” she murmured, glancing out the window that gave sight to the outdoors. In the distance, she could spot the RV, but in front of that was a graveyard full of the dead. She shivered when she realized that she could’ve very well been one of them had Jenner not allowed them inside.

“Here,” Glenn mumbled, passing her the bottle of wine, which she happily accepted, taking a long swig.

“So, are you originally from around here?” Anna inquired, taking one more sip before passing it back to Glenn.

He shook his head. “Michigan. Moved — uh, moved to Atlanta after college. Got a job —” he hiccuped, “— deliverin’ pizzas. It was awesome. Was livin’ the dream,” he sang the last couple of words, using the wine bottle as a microphone before swaying from where he sat, his skin losing its color all of the sudden.

“Oh, boy, you really are drunk,” Anna laughed, grabbing his shoulder to stop his swaying.

Glenn groaned, dropping his head down to his chest and rubbing his eyes. “S’ Daryl’s fault,” he grumbled incoherently. “He — he wanted this and — and now,” hiccup, “now he got it.”

Anna felt the corner’s of her mouth quirk up as she patted Glenn’s back understandingly. She sighed softly, resting her elbows on her knees, her chin in her hand. Thoughts of the archer suddenly invaded her mind and although she’d promised herself she wasn’t going to bother with Daryl anymore, something was nagging at her. It could’ve been the booze, ‘liquid courage' as Ben used to say, but Anna found herself speaking before she could stop herself. “Hey, can I ask you something?”

“Mhm?” Glenn hummed, forcing his gaze towards her.

Anna paused, tucking a strand of her still-wet hair behind her ear, carefully formulating her next words. “What’s the deal with Daryl?” she spoke slowly, cautiously, part of her chastising herself for breaking her ‘no more Dixon drama’ rule. 

But she couldn't help herself — it was now or never. She was intoxicated and Glenn probably wouldn’t remember any of this in the morning anyway.

So it was time to get some fucking answers.

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

A/N : Oh man, I can’t wait until y’all see what I’ve got in store for you in the next chapter...

Lots happened in this chapter!

Thanks to Dale’s interrogation, we got to learn a bit about Anna.

Shoutout to @jodiereedus22 for inspiring that little flashback moment! Ugh, I just love Anna and Ben’s relationship - even though he left, but can you blame the man?!

Also, loving the budding friendship between Anna and Glenn/drunk Glenn.

And next chapter...we’re finally getting some answers involving the mystery that is Daryl Dixon! Stay tuned!

QUESTION OF THE WEEK: Why do you think Daryl’s got such an especially large chip on his shoulder when it comes to Anna? From her understanding, it’s unwarranted...but there may be more that’s happened than she realizes. Any ideas?

Feedback is INCREDIBLY important. I write for my own happiness, but I also write for YOU. So don’t be afraid to shoot me an ask or message or leave a comment with your thoughts! It truly motivates me and helps move along the writing process. Let’s discuss and be friends!

If you want to be notified when I post again, let me know and I’ll add you to my tag list!

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

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[cowboyjen68]

Hey Jen, I didn't know there were woman only music festivals anymore! I think my goal for 2019 will be to find one and go to it, you make it sound so warm and welcoming, plus meeting all those awesome women?? Besides that, have you seen any cool wildlife lately?

There are lots of women only festivals all over America and the world. They range from rustic camping, to hotels and conference centers. Some focus on music, others on healing or yoga or spiritual growth.  Some are just quiet gatherings around a camp fire to share stories and make friends. Many fly under the radar a bit so as not the attract the attention of the right wing in certain areas.  If you private message me your location, I can probably tell you about a few near you.  My retired friends travel to many of them and tell me about their adventures. I try to attend at least two ever summer and take Lori with me. She loves them.. she pretty much runs wild and I love giving her that freedom. She always makes friends. Some festival are lesbian-centric, others are less so. All of the festivals I have attended are open to any orientation, but the largest population are lesbians. Do you have any idea how cool it is to be in a group of 1500, sometimes 5000 women, and know that the MAJORITY are lesbian or bi?  It is amazing and the energy is so powerful you can feel it in your whole body. Like taking a breath of cool morning air after sleeping in a blazing hot tent. It always takes a day to realize that you are with only women, and when you do it is a complete shift in feeling, thought and emotions.  I promise, worth the ticket price, worth the hassle of packing all the gear, worth the drive and worth loosing sleep everyday because you just want to stay up and BE with your people.

As far a wildlife...besides the naked women dancing around a huge fire every night at the festival to the drumming of women with strong arms and huge grins, I did see some.  When we were dropping my friend Emma at home after our 10 hour drive, running through our headlight and the end of her lane was a young fox kit.  He was startled so he did this little jump, twist thing and ran off.  THEN 10 more feet and the local deer herd ran across my high beams AND one half the herd is albino, pure white deer slowing walking past our car in the light fog. It was magical.

I have one more story if you will indulge me.  The first night before we reached the festival, we stayed in a secluded interstate hotel.  It was late and we thought a good night’s rest and hot shower in the morning would be good. Everyone else was inside and I was locking up the van, checking the camper tires etc.  I was carrying my backpack to the backdoor and saw movement down and to my right. It was the FLUFFIEST shrew I have ever seen. It was brown and so furry he looked like he had been blown out by a hair dryer. It the broad light of the hotel lamp I could see his tiny pink feet. AND he was BOOKING it with purpose. He passed me and ran to the back door and then sat on a rock and watched me. I thought, “what is he doing?”.  When I opened the door, he started to run IN the hotel, like he had just forgotten his room key and needed me to open it for him.  I scooted him out with my foot.  He ran around to the the decorative gravel and sat back on his haunches and looked up to me. I am sure his look said “RUDE!”.  Then he ran to the corner of the building and scurried into the drain pipe.  That little fella was fat because he knew the secret. He was going in and out, with the help of humans who didn’t look down and helping himself to hotel scraps. Probably every night. I hope he lives a long, fat, fluffy life!

[azzandra]

Modern GG AU, please?

(in response to this meme)

I complained about this one on the GG server, but I am still down to moan about it!

So basically, it was the fic that kicked off every other fic in my GG future AU. I was working on this when I decided to expand a throw-away line into a full fic, and that fic became ‘interbellum’. And then I decided I wanted to expand on something from interbellum, and then ‘encore’ happened. And now I am working on yet another fic in this series, but I still have not been making progress on this one that started it all. (It’s actually a hilarious situation.)

Am I ever going to finish it? No clue!

Have the first couple of scenes under the cut:

Six out of seven popes agree,It's the twenty-first century!

--ad jingle for Pipkin Pocket Watches (2001)***

Lori Scripcar's teachers all had a problem, and that problem was Lori Scripcar.The one who had to deal with this issue, then, was Lori Scripcar's mother, who had a full-time job already, and had not factored in the possibility that any of her children would be Sparks when she and Mr. Scripcar decided to have themselves a few. 

That day, at least, Mrs. Scripcar had had a call from Lori's homeroom teacher to prepare her for when Lori arrived home with a medium-sized plastic storage box and a sheepish look on her face. 

"So," Mrs. Scripcar said, meeting her daughter at the door, "what was it that you were supposed to be doing in Biology today?"

"Animal dissection," Lori said, giving the contents of her box a dejected look.

"And what is it that you did in Biology today?" Mrs. Scripcar continued.

"The exact opposite," Lori mumbled.

Mrs. Scripcar tried not to sigh too audibly. The bottom of the box had been filled with fresh wood shavings, perhaps courtesy of the school's workshop. A white rat, its eyes filmy and blind, was snuffling through the shavings. When it raised itself up on its back paws to sniff the air above, it exposed a long, stitched scar down its belly. It also had two tiny neck bolts, apparently made from re-purposed screws. Mrs. Scripcar dearly hoped no desk had been taken apart yet again in the middle of a Spark surge.

"Lori, we talked about performing revivifications on school property," Mrs. Scripcar said.

"Not without a teacher's permission, I know," Lori said, before continuing in a breathless burst: "But Alex was really upset about the dead rat! She was almost crying, and the teacher was going to make her cut it up and she didn't want to."

And sure enough, Mrs. Scripcar knew she was the one Lori had inherited her bleeding heart from, because she couldn't stay upset at the girl.

"I suppose," Mrs. Scripcar sighed, "it's a good thing we kept the weasel enclosure."

Lori's face split into a grin. 

The weasel enclosure had been taking up a quarter of her room ever since their old pet died, three years prior. It was before Lori'd broken through, so no unfortunate revivification incident then, but they'd only taken down the tubes from around the house, and kept the cage. It had been large enough for a weasel, so it would undoubtedly be enough for an undead rat.

"Just remember to go to the petshop and pick up anything you'll need," Mrs. Scripcar added, as Lori skipped to her room.

***Lori knew her mother had a point about going to the petshop. She knew that the basic things, like food and enrichment toys, could be acquired at the one just down the street. But for the fancy stuff, such as safety locks and a Construct Sapience Test Kit, she'd have to go into the Old Town. 

The next day was a Friday, so it was still a school day, and since her classes started at one, she had to make the trip in the morning. It was a pleasant spring day, so tourist traffic would be insufferable, but the quicker she got this over with, the quicker she could get back home and then to school.

She took one of the public tarambulas, staking a seat next to the window. In the outer parts of Mechanicsburg, buses and trams did the job well. But in the old town center, where the more touristy parts were, the tarambulas were the best way to get where you were going quick. Their long, almost delicate-seeming metal stilts could carry an entire carriage of travelers far above the streets and the wheeled vehicles below, rendering them completely impervious to traffic jams.

The tarambula system had been gifted to Mechanicsburg a couple of generations ago, by one of the Sturmvorauses, for the occasion of a Heterodyne's birthday. Eventually Sturmhalten had moved on from the tarambula system, as each sparky Sturmvoraus heir kept tinkering with and improving their public transit system. 

But in Mechanicsburg, the tarambulas were still held in high regard, mostly because they appealed to the Mechanicsburger sense of aesthetic more strongly than the alternatives.  Once in a while, a Heterodyne or one of their friends would tinker and upgrade, bringing the tarambulas in line with new technological breakthroughs, but they'd become such a familiar part of the Mechanicsburg skyline, that no one would do away with them permanently at this point. 

Tourists, as a rule, seemed to regard them as some sort of local eccentricity rather than a valid mode of transport.

But they offered one hell of a view for the passengers. Mechanicsburg was built a bit like a bowl. The outer rings of the city were more recent, and so the buildings were not only newer, but taller and shinier as the city extended outward. What Mechanicsburgers called the city center was not a center, so much as the outspill of skyscrapers at the mouth of the valley. 

The Old Town, though, had remained generally intact over a century of shifting architectural trends. It was what had once been the entirety of Mechanicsburg before the Diesel Wars, surrounded by its old walls and still under the full influence and control of Castle Heterodyne. None of the Heterodynes so far had thought to extend the Castle's influence beyond the Old Town walls and into the new parts of Mechanicsburg. Probably for good reasons, from what Lori knew about the Castle.

As the tarambula scuttled along, Lori checked her watch. She fiddled with the touchscreen, idly sending the wheel of icons spinning once or twice, but as it stopped, she checked on her notifications. The Minions Monthly! app showed updates. Back in the day, when it was still in print, Minions Monthly! was the premiere science tabloid, sharing the hot gossip on the continent's most popular Sparks. 

Nowadays, it and its main competitor, MAD Magazine, were entirely digital, and their output consisted mostly of science memes, listicles, and quizzes. Lori liked their pop culture nostalgia pieces; she'd been a quiz junkie for a while, but had stopped cold turkey when she took the "Which Character from The Heterodyne Boys (1992) TV Series Are You?" quiz and it told her she was Barry. This result offended her deeply in the part of her soul where she was convinced she was Lucrezia, and she never recovered.

She barely got to thumb all the way through a listicle about top five disastrous Spark projects that somehow turned out okay before the tarambula skittered to a halt at Lori's station. She disembarked and cleared away, and the tarambula rose again on its stilt legs and disappeared around a building.

[newstfionline]

This City’s Overdose Deaths Have Plunged. Can Others Learn From It?

By Abby Goodnough, NY Times, Nov. 25, 2018

DAYTON, Ohio--Dr. Randy Marriott clicked open the daily report he gets on drug overdoses in the county. Only one in the last 24 hours--stunningly low compared to the long lists he used to scroll through last year in a grim morning routine.

“They just began to abruptly drop off,” said Dr. Marriott, who oversees the handoff of patients from local rescue squads to Premier Health, the region’s biggest hospital system.

Overdose deaths in Montgomery County, anchored by Dayton, have plunged this year, after a stretch so bad that the coroner’s office kept running out of space and having to rent refrigerated trailers. The county had 548 overdose deaths by Nov. 30 last year; so far this year there have been 250, a 54 percent decline.

Dayton, a hollowed-out manufacturing center at the juncture of two major interstates, had one of the highest opioid overdose death rates in the nation in 2017 and the worst in Ohio. Now, it may be at the leading edge of a waning phase of an epidemic that has killed hundreds of thousands of people in the United States over the last decade, including nearly 50,000 last year.

For the first time in years, the number of opioid deaths nationwide has begun to dip, according to preliminary data from the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention--with totals for the preceding 12 months falling slightly but steadily between December 2017 and April 2018. The flattening curve--along with declining opioid prescription rates and survey data suggesting far fewer Americans tried heroin last year and more got addiction treatment--is the first encouraging news in a while.

While it’s too soon to know if the improvement is part of a long-term trend, it is clear there are some lessons to be learned from Dayton. The New York Times spent several days here interviewing police and public health officials; doctors, nurses and other treatment providers; people recovering from opioid addiction and people who are still using heroin and other drugs.

They point to a variety of factors they believe have contributed to the sharp drop in mortality.

Mayor Nan Whaley thinks nothing has had as big an impact on overdose deaths as Gov. John Kasich’s decision to expand Medicaid in 2015, a move that gave nearly 700,000 low-income adults access to free addiction and mental health treatment.

In Dayton, that’s drawn more than a dozen new treatment providers in the last year alone, including residential programs and outpatient clinics that dispense methadone, buprenorphine and naltrexone, the three medications approved by the F.D.A. to treat opioid addiction.

“It’s the basis--the basis--for everything we’ve built regarding treatment,” Ms. Whaley said in an interview at City Hall. “If you’re a state that does not have Medicaid expansion, you can’t build a system for addressing this disease.”

It’s entirely possible that the biggest factor in Dayton has been the dwindling presence on the streets of carfentanil--an analog of the synthetic opioid fentanyl that the C.D.C. describes as 10,000 times more powerful than morphine. Ohio was particularly hammered by carfentanil in recent years; according to the C.D.C., the state had 1,106 carfentanil-related deaths from July 2016 through June 2017, compared with only 130 in nine other hard-hit states combined.

During that period, carfentanil was showing up regularly in Dayton’s street drugs, including methamphetamine, cocaine and fentanyl. Nobody has figured out why Ohio saw more of it than anywhere else, but there’s no question it played a huge role in the explosion of deaths in Dayton early last year.

By mid-2017 carfentanil’s presence was fading--maybe in part because traffickers realized how much of their customer base it was killing, said Timothy Plancon, the Drug Enforcement Administration special agent in charge of Ohio.

The news is not all good. Cocaine and particularly meth use is rising fast in the Dayton area, as it is nationwide. And they’re often mixed with fentanyl; 77 percent of the overdose deaths in Montgomery County from January through April involved fentanyl, roughly the same as during the same period last year. The national data also suggests overdoses involving fentanyl continue to rise, along with those involving cocaine and meth, while deaths involving heroin and prescription drugs are falling slightly.

Since late summer, deaths in Montgomery County have come closer to matching the same period last year--a reminder that the battle is far from over.

“I still go to more wakes than I care to tell you about,” said Lori Erion, the founding president of Families of Addicts, a local support group. “Have we got this beat or licked? Absolutely not, on any level.”

By now, most Americans have heard of naloxone--also known by the brand name Narcan--the medication that reverses opioid overdoses if administered quickly enough, by injection or nasal spray. But few Americans cities have blanketed their neighborhoods with naloxone like Dayton has.

Montgomery County agencies distributed 3,300 naloxone kits last year, and are on course to more than double that number this year, holding trainings at treatment centers and 12-step meetings as well as at local businesses and schools.

Starting in 2014, Richard Biehl, the Dayton police chief, directed all his officers to carry naloxone--going against some of his peers in other Ohio cities, including a sheriff in a neighboring county who outright refused to equip his deputies with it. Some in Ohio and elsewhere continue to oppose so-called harm reduction tools like naloxone, saying they enable drug use, but the evidence is overwhelming that they save lives.

A recent study from Stanford estimated that wider availability of naloxone could prevent 21,000 deaths over the next decade--more than expanding access to medications for addiction or reducing painkiller prescriptions could.

Even though there are many more treatment options here now, that doesn’t mean people stay in treatment as long as they should. But the city has an unusually large network of recovery support groups, including neighborhood clubs that provide space for Narcotics Anonymous meetings to Ms. Erion’s group, which has thousands of members in Montgomery and four surrounding counties.

Dayton is also investing heavily in peer support--training people who are far enough along in their recovery to work as coaches or mentors for others who are trying to stop using, including in emergency rooms.

One example is an initiative called G.R.O.W.--Getting Recovery Options Working--that dispatches teams of social workers, medics, police officers and people in recovery to homes of people who have recently overdosed. The teams offer to help them get into treatment and to drive them to a program. They also supply them and their families with naloxone to have on hand in case it’s needed.

“I just stop and plant a little seed,” said Darcy Shepherd, a peer supporter who went through treatment for opioid addiction almost five years ago. “I will pull up to them, ask how they are doing and if they are ready for treatment, and when they are, to give me a call.”

Joshua Lewis, 37, is among those who have managed to stay alive long enough to benefit from recovery supports. He overdosed repeatedly last year on heroin and fentanyl, while also using meth. His girlfriend found him a bed at a local treatment center, after which he spent three months at Joshua Recovery Ministries, a religious program that provides housing for men recovering from addiction. He learned how to read there, he said, and is now training to become a peer supporter. He doesn’t use medications for addiction but said he would not discourage others from doing so.

“There are more addicts coming out of the shadows,” he said. “The stigma’s being broke.”

[tabloidtoc]

Star, January 25

You can now buy a copy of this issue for your very own at my eBay store: https://www.ebay.com/str/bradentonbooks

Cover: Meghan Markle’s life is a lie 

Page 1: Emma Stone’s baby joy -- after months of speculation thrilled mom-to-be Emma debuts her baby bump during a hike with a pal 

Page 2: Contents, Sutton Foster and Nico Tortorella and Debi Mazar filmed a scene for Younger’s final season 

Page 4: Candace Cameron Bure came out swinging again against commenters on a holiday pic she posted on Instagram of her and her husband Valeri Bure and kids Natasha and Lev and Maksim and she got a load of snark for the heavily retouched pic 

Page 5: Karlie Kloss usually steers clear of dishing on her sister- and brother-in-law Ivanka Trump and Jared Kushner but on January 6 Karlie broke her silence after Ivanka tweeted and quickly deleted a post calling a pro-Trump mob storming the U.S. Capitol building American patriots and Karlie begged to differ tweeting that accepting the results of a legitimate democratic election is patriotic and when one Twitter user urged her to tell her brother-in-law and sister-in-law she lamented I’ve tried 

* Olivia Jade Giannulli posted a clip of herself dancing maskless at a beach-house party and the New Year’s Day Insta came days after her mom Lori Loughlin was sprung from prison and the clip which featured her toasting with a glass of vino came less than a month after she aired her regrets in an interview -- the party girl feels she’s suffered too from the scandal and she was just letting off steam 

* Rege-Jean Page has sent pulses racing with his groundbreaking role as the rakish Duke of Hastings in Bridgerton but it was his reference to James Bond’s legendary martini preference in a tweet that had fans speculating he’s in line to take over from Daniel Craig as the next 007 -- the biracial actor has been vocal about the importance of inclusive casting 

Page 6: Jessica Simpson whose own father once bragged about her double Ds is enjoying a very particular benefit of her recent 100-lb slimdown which is she’s gone down two cup sizes and she says she feels more athletic and her body is more in proportion -- in addition to easing back pain she feels a different sort of weight has lifted because all that talk about her breasts made her feel they overshadowed her as a person 

* Drew Barrymore is nursing a private pain as her ex-husband Will Kopelman went public with his new love Vogue staffer Alexandra Michler and the two are serious while Drew is still single and she is alone and feeling like the odd man out -- there are times when Drew absolutely regrets divorcing Will especially now that he’s dating again and Drew was holding out hope for a reunion but when she discovered Will was seeing someone new she knew there was a good chance it may not happen and even worse her own attempts at finding romance have fallen flat as she’s tried online dating a few times but had no luck 

* Star Spots the Stars -- Jimmy Fallon and wife Nancy Juvonen, Jennifer Lopez, Eva Longoria, Ryan Seacrest, Jenna Dewan, Aubrey Plaza, JD Martinez 

Page 8: Star Shots -- John Legend gave his son Miles a zip around the water on a jet ski during a vacation in St. Barths, Ellen DeGeneres on a bike after lunch with friends in Santa Barbara, Brooke Burke dressed in wintry workout gear sipped a hot drink 

Page 10: Leslie Jones on Celebrity Wheel of Fortune, Christina Aguilera playing video games with her son Max 

Page 12: Kit Harington takes his dog for a walk in London, Sean “Diddy” Combs passed out gift cards and gift bags to those in need in Miami, Mindy Kaling online shopping 

Page 13: Gabrielle Union and her husband Dwyane Wade on a hike, Jenny McCarthy maneuvered her trash bins to the curb in Chicago 

Page 14: Coach Tom Jones on The Voice UK, EJ Johnson at the beach in Miami, Margaret Qualley and boyfriend Shia LaBeouf on a hike in L.A., Dua Lipa eating during a getaway in Tulum, Mexico 

Page 16: Normal or Not? Tori Spelling out in Los Angeles with her dogs and husband Dean McDermott -- normal, Nicole Kidman and an alpaca -- not normal 

Page 17: Jennifer Garner playing the drinking game from The Crown in which participants who can’t repeat a phrase correctly must smudge their faces -- not normal, Kate Bosworth celebrated her birthday with husband Michael Polish and some bubbly in Beverly Hills -- normal 

Page 18: Fashion -- stars stun in Pantone colors of the year Illuminating Yellow and Ultimate Gray -- Mindy Kaling, Thandie Newton, Jorja Smith 

Page 19: Ariana Grande, Zoey Deutch 

Page 24: Olivia Wilde made news stepping out as Harry Styles’ plus-one to his agent’s wedding in Montecito and he introduced her as his girlfriend as the two mingled and held hands -- the next day Harry and Olivia who hit it off on the set of her upcoming psychological thriller Don’t Worry Darling in which he stars were spotted heading into his L.A. home -- wedding guests weren’t the only ones surprised by the new couple as Olivia’s ex Jason Sudeikis dad to her kids Otis and Daisy has been nurturing hope of a reunion since their split in late 2020 and he was surprised she’d go for one of the actors in her movie -- now Olivia is conflicted because she’s having fun with Harry but there’s no denying her feelings for Jason continue to linger and some are betting her romance with Harry will flame out in no time and no one would be surprised if Olivia and Jason ended up getting back together 

Page 25: Florence Pugh and Zach Braff had Hollywood abuzz after a pal wished her a happy birthday on social media and cryptically referred to her as FPB -- that extra B caused many to surmise that Florence has quietly exchanged vows with Zach and taken his last name and Florence hasn’t done much to shut down speculation by strategically hiding her ring finger in photos shared on Instagram 

* Zoe Kravitz filed for divorce from Karl Glusman after 18 months of marriage because she was fed up with having an MIA husband -- things between the two hit a breaking point after Karl failed to check in with his wife while filming Please Baby Please in Butte, Montana -- Zoe couldn’t take being ignored and when she and Karl finally spoke they had a big fight and she pulled the plug shortly afterwards 

* They called it quits in October after two years together but Bethenny Frankel and Paul Bernon are now giving their relationship another shot -- they split up because their long-distance romance proved too difficult but Bethenny really missed him and it turns out Paul missed her too and it seems second time’s a charm because a loved-up Bethenny and Paul indulged in PDA at a Miami studio as they watched her daughter paint with the artist

Page 26: Cover Story -- Meghan Markle exposed -- Meghan’s older half-sister is dishing some major dirt about the former actress’ rise to royalty in her new bombshell book 

Page 30: Inside Kim Kardashian’s escape -- Kim reached her breaking point with Kanye West months ago but took many steps before she finally left him 

Page 32: It Ain’t Over Till It’s Over -- these celebs more than made up after breaking up and they made it all the way down the aisle -- Justin Timberlake and Jessica Biel, Kelly Ripa and Mark Consuelos, Adam Levine and Behati Prinsloo 

Page 33: Kristen Bell and Dax Shepard, Chrissy Teigen and John Legend, Prince William and Kate Middleton 

Page 36: Beauty -- sweet dreams -- get better ZZZs and wake up looking gorgeous with products that nourish 

Page 38: Entertainment 

Page 48: Parting Shot -- Splashing out on a romantic getaway in Tulum, Mexico Bella Thorne and boyfriend Benjamin Mascolo made time to keep it tight on the sand 

[dorkousloris]

guess who got their early xmas giftttttttttttt