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@apocalyps.

𝐟𝐞𝐰 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐬𝐩𝐨𝐤𝐞𝐧 𝐛𝐞𝐭𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮,   the silence becoming wonted between you both.      you both the love in your vulnerose bodies only to revolutionize into strangers.      the end of a love story,   the nectar of doting coming to an arrant empty.      you do not know her anymore  /  nor does she know you.      the only remaining features are those invisible to all the other human eyes,   only visible to your cobalt irises  :  the myriad of dead bodies with the cardinal blood on your soot - reeking hands,      the forest fires of years ago remain burning in your lungs.   the flames only continue to agrestal,   consuming everything in its feral path.   the pain  &  tribulation is left cascading throughout your bones,   incandescent phalanges digging deep into your shoulder blades.      they try to propel you to the ground  &  allow the flames to engulf you.      the growls of starvation rumble in your ears,   the voices of those of your past in the stygian corners of your mind.      they are saccharine to the ear,   lachrymose to the heart.      you,   a child made soldier,   earned no vacation   /   you took your own leave with a hardened spine.      it would be easy to let go  &  let the flames burn you to a direful crisp  /  it would be easy to drown under your own wreckage to see their faces again.      you don’t,   though.          𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐜𝐚𝐧’𝐭.

a warm colored bed of leaves crunch under your foot,   the bite of the air prickling at porcelain flesh.      dirt is moulded under charcoal boots  &  your heartbeat stretches beyond the limit.      you know you aren’t welcomed here.      [   you besmirched the grimes last name.      would your father be proud?      𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐦𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫?   ]      met with the frigid atmosphere of the medical center,   you saunter in  /  antithesis to what your gut is screaming.       your cerulean optic is greeted with her flaxen hair  &  for a moment,   incarnadine lips are curved into a gentle smile.       the moment only lasts for seconds until her head turns around.   blue meets hazel  &  you are flung back into the world of receiving silence.      ❝   you still giving me the silent treatment?   ❞

𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠  𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞  𝐢𝐬  𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞  𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠  𝐚𝐭  𝐭𝐡𝐞  𝐬𝐜𝐞𝐧𝐞  𝐨𝐟  𝐚  𝐜𝐫𝐢𝐦𝐞  :    leering over where someone once died,     peeking beyond the caution tape at white lines on concrete.     but there was never a body,     was there?     no rotting corpse to weep over.     yet his presence is still something like an apparition ---     some ghost of your youth come back to haunt you,     to pick this stitched wound bloody  &  you’re torn:     between wishing it were just a dream  &  hoping you won’t wake from it.

𝚈𝙾𝚄   𝚂𝚃𝙸𝙻𝙻   𝙶𝙸𝚅𝙸𝙽𝙶   𝙼𝙴   𝚃𝙷𝙴   𝚂𝙸𝙻𝙴𝙽𝚃   𝚃𝚁𝙴𝙰𝚃𝙼𝙴𝙽𝚃  ?          [   where the hell could you even start?   ]     so many questions left unanswered:     years of wondering  &  hoping  &  loose ends never tied.     you loved him,     &  he left you.     so you buried him,     along with your grief in an unmarked grave between your ribs.     but it’s empty now,     empty  &  gaping  &  aching,     &  he’s here,     with everything you’ve spent all this time trying to forget laid out on the floor at your feet  &  you haven’t the faintest idea what to do with it.

head shakes softly with a shrug of your shoulders,     hazel hues struggling to hold his gaze.     [   i don’t know what you want me to say.   ]     it’s caught in your throat,     cherry colored crescents parted for speech ...     nothing surfaces.     it can’t be about what he wants.     you swallow thickly.     this silence between you is suffocating.     

𝐩𝐮𝐩𝐢𝐥𝐬  𝐝𝐢𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞  𝐢𝐧  𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬  𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐨𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧  :       trying to drink up the light,     but there is none.     only the absence of.     you have no way of knowing how close he is;     or how close anyone else is.     [   his tone is soft,     yet you can still make out the words.     that’s something.   ]          arms outstretch in the blackness,     slowly,     carefully  searching with flat palms for ---     anything,     but there is nothing.     only the absence of.  

you swallow thickly.     footsteps ahead befall your ears  &  your heart beats in your throat,     bumps pinpricked along your arms  &  legs.     you take an instinctive step back,     &  ---     WHACK,     BANG!     something heavy hits the floor with a deafening thud,     something like a judge’s gavel:     the verdict is a death sentence.     own teeth sink into your bottom lip  &  your mouth fills with copper,     lower back aching with the ghost of what you’d struck,     but you ignore the pain,     shuffling as swiftly  &  as silently as possibility allows,     trying to put distance between yourself  &  the evidence where it lay damning.     

enid LOVES to read. she always has. it’s one of the only things she holds onto from her life before the apocalypse. at ages sixteen-seventeen, she’s mostly interested in comic books. as she gets older, she’s more into poetry collections, mysteries, etc. she’s always on the lookout for new books, and has quite a few in small piles in her bedroom. she only ever passes them on to people she's really, really fond of.

enid is a fantastic shot. sasha briefly showed her around her long range rifle, and since then her aim has improved tenfold. don’t get me wrong: she’s good with her knife, and is useful in a fight with her pistol, but her sniping skills are what truly makes her an asset in combat.

she has an incredibly realistic outlook on life. her tolerance for bullshit is.. nonexistent.

!!  she absolutely hates being lied to  !!

“i have trust issues and fear of abandonment” is her middle name; emotionally, she holds things very close to the vest because she’s afraid of getting attached to people, truly believing that everyone will leave her eventually (and.. tbh she’s proved right a lot of the time!! see: maggie, carl... she’s bitter abt it really ://). the only thing that rivals this is her survivor’s guilt, which stems from the fact that she hasn’t gotten to say goodbye to literally.. anyone in her life that she cared about that has died. she’s deprived of closure, and blames herself for a lot of the tragedies that’ve befallen her loved ones (see: jesus, glenn, sasha)..

about a year ago, she started looking for people to train medically, hoping that hilltop will eventually become less dependent on her as a result. why? because she’s fully aware that any day she wakes up can be her last, whether she be by killed a bullet or a walker. aside from that, she wants to be able to leave on runs, to visit alexandria (primarily in her main verse.. to visit nick....), etc.. without fear of being too terribly needed while she’s away. 

          “  –  but  you  think  he’ll  be  alright  ??  ”  she  would  say  she  wasn’t  afraid  of  losing  him  that  it  was  just  how  things  were  now.  she  could  deal  with  it.  and  in  a  way,  ever  since  Matthew  she  had  been  preparing  for  it.  whether  by  a  bullet  or  a  tooth  SOMETHING  would  take  him.  not  to  mention  he  had  nearly  killed  himself  trying  to  get  them  to  safety  and  all  but  collapsed  in  their  new  shelter.  she  had  been  used  to  keeping  a  watch  even  if  he  tried  to  do  it  all  himself;  she  told  him  she’d  be  safe,  and  smart.  but  –  he  didn’t  wake  up  in  the  morning.  “  what’s  wrong  with  him  ??  ”

@apocalyps  ,  sc.

𝐡𝐚𝐳𝐞𝐥  𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐞𝐬  𝐝𝐫𝐢𝐟𝐭  𝐭𝐨  𝐡𝐞𝐫  ,     paying a kind of homage to the younger girl with your attention wholly devoted to the question:     a slight nod,     posture wrought with a visible desire to reassure.     [   you’re all too familiar with what it’s like to worry like she does now.   ]          ❝     i  know  he will.     ❞          &  you mean it.     this wasn’t anything a couple days of rest,     proper nutrition  &  plenty of fluids couldn’t fix.     no bites,     temperature reads normal.     nevertheless,     you’ll monitor him until he starts doing better.          ❝     he’s ...     dehydrated,     to start with.     ❞          you do your best to gauge her expression.          ❝     &  i’d guess it’s been at least a few days since he had something decent to eat ---     you guys been on the road for  a while,     huh?     ❞

𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠 𝐠𝐮𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐬.     before i get to the cool stuff,  please take the time to read the following blurbs.

[ one ] :  my name is molly.  i’m 22,  a full time college student and part time retail worker.  needless to say,  this blog isn’t my first priority.  allow 72 hours for me to check out new followers and decide if i’ll follow back or soft block instead.  if we’re not mutuals, do not like my starter calls,  send inbox prompts,  etc.

[ two ] :  my portrayal is my own,  and extremely canon divergent.  for your sake and mine,  refer to the canon divergency section of this post before interacting with me.  i write all in character posts in second person.

[ three ] :  replies will be slow.  if it’s been longer than two weeks and you’re wondering if i’ve dropped something,  ask me.

[ four ] :  do not steal from me.  psd credit goes to @babypsds​.

[ five ] :  sensitive material will be tagged as *trigger.  if i miss something,  let me know,  but please be aware before following me:  the walking dead is for mature audiences,  this blog should be regarded the same.  i don’t write smut,  so don’t ask.  fade to black is fine.  i do,  however,  love to ship;  just don’t try to force something.  platonic relationships are just as interesting.

❝     𝐢  𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭  𝐢𝐭  𝐭𝐨  𝐛𝐞  𝐲𝐨𝐮.     ❞          words spill from your lips uninvited,     unannounced,     morbidity staining your tongue crimson.     you’ve been shouldering this for a while now,     searching for the right way to say it.     [   you’re still searching now.   ]          ❝     if i ever ...  ---     ❞          something stops you.     tone trails off into a sullen silence.     maybe you’re afraid of speaking it into existence.     but he needs to know:     𝚒𝚝  𝚜𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍  𝚋𝚎  𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚘𝚗𝚎  𝚢𝚘𝚞  𝚕𝚘𝚟𝚎.          ❝     it can’t be anyone else,     nick.     it has to be you.     ❞