| Not All of Me Shall Die / In the Fire of Lethe |

( well i'm pretty much fucked.

my laptop (which holds about four years worth of my data/photos) just fucking crashed and, according to a tech rep, is beyond repair.

all of my files (including schoolwork and replies i had saved and drafted!) are gone and i have the inability to do anything about it. so, needless to say, i’m a little bit pissed.

won’t have my laptop = lack of replies on my end. 

Today I got a very special email from the Tumblr staff, informing me that (on my personal) I have been a member on Tumblr for 1 whole year. Now, this blog has only been around for a lil’ over two months, but I have been on this website for a whole year, and that’s a pretty damn long time if you ask me. I created my first ever RP account possibly a few months after creating my first ever account, which, I don’t know if anyone remembers, the URL was peletierwithninelives.  I was a total noob, and I had absolutely no idea what I was doing. I would reblog things into links, and I had no idea what a mun or a muse meant. After that account, I created an OC (shatteredxinnocence) and I was a lot more experienced in what I was doing. I soon lost my muse for that account and I created this one (i recreated my OC yesterday though). 

In the course of over two months i have managed to hit 540 followers, and that’s insane. I honestly have no idea why any of you even follow me. This has, by far, been my most successful account and I don’t plan on leaving anytime soon. I have made a sufficient amount of friends on here and I hold every single one of them dearly. But I thank all of you for sticking with me in all of this— I really appreciate it.

I am going to list a few people that have stuck with me since my first ever account and some that I met on here but we’ve spoken enough for me to call you one of my besties, but if you’re not on this list, do not fret! It just means we haven’t spoken much OOC. And I would love to make more friends <3

Again, thank you! I love every single one of you!

"We may not have it all together, but we have e v e r y t h i n g that we need to patch it back."

⤏ Independent Lori Grimes roleplay account

⤏ Multi verse and multi ship

⤏ AU’s always welcome

⤏ No out of character drama

⤏ Six+ years writing experience (three here on Tumblr)

⤏ Very, very friendly mod

and I’ll generate a number for you. 

It was the thought of never having Carol that bothered him. Daryl had her— he did, but at any moment he could lose her just as quickly and the mere thought frightened him than never having her at all could ever instill in him.

But he had lived through all that tried tearing him from her. Wouldn’t loose himself from the talons she’d dug deep in his skin.

Daryl had survived. Fought his way out like a feral animal, lip curled back with his teeth bared.

Pulled himself out from beneath the piles of dirt toppled above him, starving him of air. Burn of his lungs yearning for those precious breaths of musty copper-tinged air. Yankees having planted sticks of dynamite beneath their feet. The ensuing explosion having killed most of his company. Somehow clawed his way out from the mass of bodies in the chasm of chaos with muzzle flash and tempered screams echoing loud in his ears. Shot a man clean in the face. A man who was trying to kill him all because he wore the colors of the South. Fighting in a cause he didn’t even believe in.

He was a damned fool and Carol had known that. Called him out on it, but he had simply shrugged it off like none of it mattered. That what he was doing was simply fulfilling his civic duties as a man.

Daryl would try his best to get back to her. He certainly would. Ticking down the seconds until he hatched his plan and opened that window. As he lay in bed, staring up at that unfamiliar ceiling like all the others he had found himself beneath a time or two before, he wondered where this drive came from. This fervor in his mind and this fever in his heart that spurred him to dare leave. Dare make his way back to those familiar mountains.

Outlier. Deserter. Fugitive. Treasonous dog.

Labels he would soon find on his head, but Daryl didn’t care. He’d been called worse in his time. Traded haymakers trying to protect his name even if it wasn’t worth all that much. It was the only thing he had besides the stigmatized reputation that came along with it. A burdensome attachment that he only wished would leave him. It wouldn’t leave him and so he’d learned to live with it over time.

A distant echo of a chime muffled through the thick door. Midnight. That was it. Throwing off the blankets, carefully slipping his gunnysack over his shoulder, wincing at the pain coursing the gamut of his jaw to the tips of his right hand. Roughened fingers came to gently press at the bullet wound to stifle the pressure. Clenching his teeth, Daryl would have to tamp it all down as he waited a moment for one of the patrolmen to hurry on by. The muzzle of his rifle visible from the flicker of lamplight outside.

It was now or never.

Sucking in a shallow breath, gnashing at his teeth from the sharp pain settling in his throat, he threw open the window quietly peeking over the frame. Climbing out and shutting everything just as it had been, Daryl made a break for it through the dim light of a nearby lamp. Leaving everything as it was or ever had been, as if he had never set foot outside the barrier of being considered an enlisted soldier. Without those confining walls, he was now a man on the run.

There was no turning back. Daryl didn’t bother to turn around and see if anyone was following after. Didn’t care to. Didn’t dare to. Ducking low beneath the fringe of branches, he set his hat atop his head, thumbing down its brim. His hand was damn near clamped at his hip ready to draw his .36 Gunnison, fingers brushing along its handle with each step he took. Ears keened at each sudden sound that wasn’t his own.

When his feet finally hit the soft sand of the Virginia coast line, throw off the scent of him if Home Guard were sent after him, Daryl only had one thought in mind. Only one goal. He simply hoped the letter he had sent that day after he had spoken with the blind man would get to her in time.

     This 'Ruby' makes herself at home and walks up to Carol's porch, not bothering to ask for permission. Though, with the current desparity that rings throughout the entirety of her land, there's no choice but to allow a helping hand.

     And so it works.

     Carol, since her and Ruby's first meeting, has been shunned from having the luxury of sleeping in, not having to milk cows, working in the fields...it's a turning point in her life to say the least. She's learned to do things that only servants speak of. A farm had never been on the top of her priority list but it's all that she has to sustain her ability to live and, therefore, no complaints are made.

     Each day with the live-in has opened the doors to a budding friendship and for that Carol is thankful. She hadn't realized how lonely it really can be to be in constant solitude. Or, without Daryl — to be more specific. Ruby is a pretty decent confidant, a resourceful helper, a loud mouthed amusement, and a pretty good person to pass the time with. She cracks some odd jokes and makes Carol flinch with her unabashed bluntness once in a while, but her positives make it even in the end.     It's just so...odd without him there. 

   Sure, their interactions had been stiff at first — awkward, she and Daryl's; but the tension began to melt, just as Carol would do the same in his strong arms when he wasn't away in the war. They had seen each other quite a lot and that was a big deal for the rather solitary Carol; he had brought out something new in her. To the point where she actually came to him with a novel and a photo of herself in hand one day, offering the small items to the man. He had taken them and she had blushed furiously in response, forcing herself to walk away for the shortest of moments so she could regather herself. He then called her back to him and pulled her in for an eager kiss to the lips — something she has yet to forget the feeling of.

     At a time like this, as she helps Ruby prepare some chicken for dinner, Carol looks back in time and chuckles to herself as the memories begin to flood her mind, cheeks unintentionally turning color. How she hopes the damned war will end soon.

     The next few days pass just as usual and without a hitch. Regular duties on the farm ensue but the mailman comes just a few hours after dawn and that sends a ping of sparks throughout Carol's tired body. She walks down the beaten path and grabs the small stack, fingers carding through each envelope until they reach a familiar print. Her breath involuntarily hitches and she brings one free hand to cup her mouth in excitement, body automatically speed walking back to the front porch of her and Ruby's small home.

     Once she reaches the porch, Carol takes a seat on a wooden chair and, before opening the envelope, holds the worn item close to her chest. A barely audible inhale follows the motion and she swiftly brings the thing back to her lap so that she can open it. Not two seconds pass and she has a small piece of paper between two frail hands.

     "I— I'm comin' home," she reads aloud just above a whisper, the swell in her words uncovering the coming salty liquid that begins to fill the brim of her eyes. "Ruby! Ruby!" The help rushes over to Carol, thinking the woman was hurt or something, and has a baffled expression on her features.

     "Watcha got there, Carul?"