still building bridges

better on my ownindie daryl dixon || mun & muse 25+

[renthony]

Social media self-care includes blocking people who post negative comments about your favorite fictional characters. It’s not petty, it’s not uncalled for, it’s called “I engage with this content to feel better about myself and it makes me feel bad to see this character I identify with called all sorts of bad names.”

You really don’t have to have a reason to block people beyond “seeing their content makes me feel bad and I’m not here to feel bad, I am here to have fun.”

The biggest thing we get wrong about the internet is this idea that blocking someone is a sign of weakness or irrationality.

Sometimes you just don’t like someone’s content and don’t want to interact with them, and that’s fine.

[saltiestgempearl]

I would put one cautionary caveot to this: treat blocking like you would avoiding a person in real life. If you don’t know them well and what they are saying or doing is making you upset? Definitely walk away, do not engage.

But if the someone is a long time friend and RP partner who made a post or two that made you uncomf, maybe consider talking to them first? I know first hand that some people just seem to…forget ther are people on the other end sometimes, having been the one ghosted without explanation.

Blocking is a great feature, but it shouldn’t be used as a tool to avoid interpersonal dialogue and conflict management skills. If you wouldn’t suddenly ghost someone IRL, don’t do it online.

[onceuponamusing]

   OBEDIENCE is not loyalty.    SERVITUDE is not loyalty.    OBLIGATION is not loyalty.

                  S A C R I F I C E                                         is loyalty.

[boltsandashes]

@victimplagued

[boltsandashes]

victimplagued​:

How the tables had turned. He thought it was going to be more difficult to get Daryl to do anything for him. He’s pleasantly surprised it’s just a threat or two to the ones he loves that has him rearing back and behaving quite nicely. Figures. Daryl was the type of person to care about nothing but the people he loved. Negan almost pities him. Was gonna be a bitch to watch them all die sooner or later.

Negan listens to the other, watches the small movements that give Daryl away, and his smile widens. This poor fucker. If only Rick hadn’t gotten his claws into him first. He would make one good damn savior. Knew how to take orders, do what needed to be done, quite fierce from what he had seen - burdened by his own damn emotions. So easily manipulated. 

Watching the other trying to sell his skills was interesting. He already knew what Daryl was capable of. A survivor, through and through. An useful asset to his collection of people.

“I am sure there is a job here and there for you to do around here.” He says with a small chuckle, “But Daryl - just to get this out of the fucking way - if you try to screw me over the deaths you’ve seen so far will look like a child’s game. I’ll feed your friends to the dead and hang them on my fence. I don’t fucking play around and I hope you are not keen to find out what I am capable of. Am I understood?”

It’s brutal and honest, like everything about Negan, and like every other shitty monstrous thing about Negan, Daryl doesn’t doubt it for a second.

He nods, slow and even, ‘cause he’s fucking understood, yeah. And maybe someone with sense would leave it there. But there’s a shiver building up inside Daryl, tingling out from the frigid space of shoulder Negan’d touched. And call it anger, call it stupid, call it being stuck in this cage too damn long or... hell, just call it defiant Dixon genes screaming through him. But before he’s got half a notion to stop himself, Daryl’s stepping forward.

He’s close enough to taste Negan’s breath when he stops, his head tilted up, meeting those smirking eyes squarely.

“And long as we’re clearin’ shit up? When I kill you, you’ll see it comin’. It’ll be face to face, and you’ll know it’s me doin’ it. I don’t screw people over, and I don’t play games, neither. So for now? Give me a job, ‘n I’ll do it.”

[boltsandashes]

we-will-begin-again​:

Lori nodded in understanding to what he said. The year she’d spent living with this group made her learn a lot about this people and if she knew something about Daryl, that was that he didn’t have an easy life, not even a decent life, at any point in his life. She’d love to say that he had a better life now with them, but truth was that they were a long way from being able to call life at the prison a good life. There was still a lot of work to do and with how things were with that governor guy, Lori was certain even more problems were on the way unless they did something about it.

“You two were really close,” Lori noted about Daryl and Merle, even back at the quarry they were barely seen with anyone else.

The only time they were not around each other that Lori could remember was back when Daryl went out hunting alone and then Merle left with a group for a run in Atlanta and didn’t come back. It was partly why no one had bothered to see past their assumptions of Daryl until after Merle was gone.

“He must have been good in some way,” Lori said, wanting to say something positive about the man because she knew that they had more than enough negative opinions of Merle and Daryl didn’t need that. “Must have done something right somehow, because you’re a good man, and that has to come from somewhere.”

Once the blood was off Daryl’s hands, Lori handed him a towel to dry them, giving his still soaked in blood shirt a thoughtful look. “You’re gonna have to change your shirt,” she pointed. “Want me to bring you one from your cell?”

She wished she could offer him some comfort, but Lori wasn’t sure how Daryl would react to a hug. Deciding to test just how much comfort he’d allow for himself, she rested her hand on his back, rubbing small circles.

Daryl’s head shook, quick and thoughtless, at the question. That same panic he’d felt at the notion of washing Merle’s blood down the drain hitting again like a blade twisting. He couldn’t. Changing meant moving on, moving forward, and... Daryl’d spent his whole life moving forward. One foot after the other, right? ‘Cause what the hell else was there to do? But Merle... Merle was different. Was the ground under his feet. There was no walking forward if he wasn’t there.

And thought of stripping off these ruined clothes, tossing them out, sloughing off the memory of Merle like he’d never even existed...

Her hand touched his back, just a small, slight warm pressure, and he felt his breath hitch unsteady.

There was so much of him that just felt like... stopping. Slinking off to the woods like some wounded animal and letting the rest of the world fade.

But her hand was here, warm on his back. Holding him. Connecting him. Keeping him from...

Well, keeping him, anyway.

He swallowed, dry, and sank his eyes shut. Leaned back into the pressure.

“F’I clean up, can I... can I hold her when she wakes up?”

[mymanreedus]

“She went to go help some people she met.  Who needed her.  I didn’t want to tell you.”

“Why’s that?”

“Because maybe you’d leave too.”

[boltsandashes]

memoryhallowed​:

He flinches at the touch to his face, eyes flaring open in alarm before fixing on Daryl and he - he recognizes him. It was Daryl, he knew it was Daryl but it still it takes a second, but he does, the dazed fog from the medicine lifting to leave behind painful clarity. Fuck, it hurts. He bites back a whine. “Please,” he forces out through his teeth, and he hates himself, hates the desperation he can feel in every inch of him as he begs. “I need - I need it, please just a little, just a little to take off the edge until morning,” he says. It’s been forever since he’s felt the stabbing pain of withdrawal - even longer since he’s been clear headed enough to vow never to beg for it again but he can’t - it hurts and he wants it to stop. Daryl had been kind to him earlier.

Maybe he’ll be kind to him now?

A shiver wracks through him and he just wants the quiet and the calm. This is his life and he’s…..he’s alright with that, now. It beats being outside the walls, but he’d rather not face it anything approaching sober.

In another kind of moment those begging words, that needy whine, would be pulling all kinds of responses from Daryl. Ben’s tempting by nature, every line and restless shift of his body a call for Daryl to... but it’s all warped now, tainted by the pain edging through it. He’s not begging for Daryl now, no. Not any bit more than he had been last night.

Daryl bites his teeth together, eyes flitting from the man to the door. No help would be waiting out there. Not any the guy really needs. But... fuck. None of this is Daryl’s problem. And it’s a hell of a lot more trouble than it’s worth, getting invested. If he’s got any kind of sense he’ll walk away now. Shove the guy out, or just leave him here writhing. Wait out the rest of the night on Rick’s floor.

The whimpering drags his unwilling eyes back.

“...S’alright.” He hates himself, just a little, the second the word slips out. He’s seen this spiral before. Seen too well where it can end. Knows it’s not close to alright. And... even with all that, in spite of all Daryl’s better instincts, he finds himself dragging fingers through those sweat-damp curls. “I’ll help, ‘right? I’ll make it better. You just...” He huffs a sigh. Lie there. Like he could do anything else at this point.

He leans back, eyes scanning out across the wide room. There’s no water, right, not except bath water. And bath might not be a bad notion now. The water’s cold, unused, but Ben’s quaking and feverish, so Daryl drags another slow breath and leans back over him, starting to pull the gauzy clothes he’s in off his shoulders.

“C’mon, this’ll help. You help me get these off, alright?”

[boltsandashes]

smokinmirrors​:

There it was again, that impenetrable, ominous barrier that popped up as soon as the words had left Mason’s lips. Nothing about this was normal. Her own thoughts were skipping from one unexplainable memory to the other, trying to see if they connected. It was difficult, with over half a dozen factors currently at play. The cogs in her mind were turning, and the half-blood’s gaze drifted from Daryl’s face over to the kitchen.

She hardly even blinked when he pulled back from her. If this… block on his mind was getting in the way of him even tackling the notion that there was one present in the first place? 

Breath hitching in her throat, Mason stepped back from Daryl, hands falling down to her sides. Her eyes darted back and forth as she tried to calm the ricocheting ideas and instincts that were warring behind her eyes. Spotting something near the garbage can in the kitchen, an idea sprung into the half-blood’s head. She swiftly moved around Daryl and headed to the kitchen, retrieving a broken-down cardboard box that she’d meant to throw away.

There was so much to consider, Mason felt like she couldn’t focus on one clue long enough to see how it connected to the others. She needed to be able to see it all in front of her at once. Tearing off a large piece of cardboard, she started rummaging through the kitchen drawers, searching for a marker when Daryl spoke up. The fact that he was already moving on from being told that his memories were hidden was suspicious. 

As was his palm returning to his neck again.

“I think… we need to sort through what we’ve got already,” she counter offered in a hushed tone. Gaze dropping back to the drawers, Mason finally located a large, black permanent marker in the back of one. Taking a seat at the kitchen island, she hunched over the scrap of cardboard and started scribbling furiously.

A breath snarled out between grit teeth, rough and angrier than Daryl had any right being over a bit of cardboard and a few minutes sitting around scribbling on it. He was calmer than he’d been when he walked in here by a long way, less jittery and less lost in spiraling thoughts, but his nerves were still wrapped up in a restless sort of wrong that he wanted to fix with a hot mouth on his throat––

What?

He blinked quick, slumping back against the counter and gripping the edge in quaking palms.

“Alright. So we got... what? Memories missin’, some weird blood shit. Wendigo don’t do that, right?”

[nighttime-rambles]

[boltsandashes]

So i just realized... I'm genuinely not sure if i have any interest in watching the new episode next week. It's next week, right? I just.... After those announcements, I pretty much know that nothing that's going to happen in the next year is going to matter, and that if you're interested in the relationship dynamics between Daryl and anyone besides Carol (be it romantic, friendship, antagonistic, or familial) they're just not going to end up meaning anything.

I'm... At this point what would I even be watching for?

[rpmusings-galore]

                                                   i am more   a n g e r   than self…

[boltsandashes]

wexarethewalkingxdead​:

Carol didn’t want to stop touching him for fear that she’d imagined him in the first place. Imagined that she’d made it out of the ocean, imagined that she’d made it to shore, imagined that she’d ran to him and had been holding onto him. Her hands trembled as he spoke reassurances to her. Her lips fell into a frown when he mentioned that they had to get her patched up.

She had forgotten all about being shot. She often pushed what she needed aside when those that she loved were in danger or were hurt. She and Sophia had the flu at the same time when her girl had been six years old. She had tended to Sophia while having a one hundred and two point eight fever. She’d only collapsed once Sophia’s fever had broken and the girl was able to finally rest. It was par for the course that she hadn’t remembered her own wound.

“It’s nothing,” she promised him, knowing that he was right, but also knowing that they had to make sure they were protected, that those from the boat wouldn’t find them if they followed them to shore. The ocean still raged so that gave her a little comfort that unless they were willing to bring their vessel all the way in to be smashed upon the rocks, that they were out there waiting for the waves to calm down, or that they had stolen their boat with what little supplies that lay inside its belly.

She could see the exhausting clear in his face and in his movements. She guessed it was the adrenaline that still kept her on her feet, kept her coherent, but how long would that last? She couldn’t be sure. She gently wrapped her good arm around his waist, tucking herself up next to him so they’d both be steadier on their feet. “There’s gotta be somewhere right in there to rest up. Somewhere out of sight. ” Somewhere they could have the advantage.

There was nowhere to go but in. Blindly through the scraggly line of wind-battered trees and into the dense darkness past it. Daryl’s soaked and sand-sludged boots felt heavy on every step, heavy and loud once they were through the line of leaves that seemed to blot out the waves like a blanket. Carol was an extra weight at his side but she, at least, was a welcome one, reminding Daryl on every step why he was still moving.

Sinking down to rest would be so damn easy now. Dozing off, taking his chances that the woods around were safe... but not if it risked Carol. So they walked. Five minutes, maybe. Ten. One wobbly foot in front of the other, edging around the swampier bits of the dirt floor. Didn’t look like they were about to find any cozy caves to hole up with, and Daryl got as far as saying “don’t think...” about it before he lost the energy to talk again. One foot, other foot was about all the focus he could muster, ‘til his foot nearly came down on a cluster of wide, low leaves. His steps paused, and he pulled Carol up short along with him. There was a small white flower sitting on each leaf, more like a cluster of hairs springing out from a green middle bit than normal petals, and Daryl’s fogged brain wobbled over a vague recognition before he grunted, bobbed his head at it.

“That. S’...” He couldn’t remember the name of it. He leaned over anyway, working best he could not to drag Carol over with him, and grabbed a fistful of the plant, tugging. “S’good. For wounds. S...” He pulled it out, roots and all, and shoved back to his feet. “Golden... root, yellow somethin’. ‘Ll help stop it gettin’ infected.”

[boltsandashes]

@ironsteed​ || dark harbor (closed)

There’s this thing about falling in deep with someone. It doesn’t start deep, not really. Not in a any way you’d notice. It starts easy. Dark eyes, stubble, abs. A hot mouth. Tease of grey in the beard that hints of life lived, and a car and a brand of drink that tells of life being lived well.

That first night’d been nothing. Teasing, flirting (and god, could Svad flirt). A sweet fuck, and a warm bed for the night. But then there’d been that night in the back seat of his car –– scorching, desperate –– and that night by the lake that’d felt like almost worship. It’d turned into stargazing after, somehow, and talking, and Daryl’d started noticing those crinkles at the edge of Svad’s eyes that went deeper when Daryl made him smile, way he kissed Daryl like it was about more than getting off. And over the course of a couple months (no fucking time at all, really for someone like Svad, eternity for someone like Daryl), he’d found himself completely damn lost on Svad. Swallowed up in him, dreaming of soft moments and fucking futures.

Cabin by that lake. Lazy mornings. Living lives together.

And, yeah, Daryl’d noticed the ring. But that wasn’t the kind of thing a guy wasted much thought on when he had eyes like Svad’s sliding down his frame, lips like Svad’s saying sweet, smart, slick words to him. And anyway, if some old lady he’d never met was too blind to notice her man stepping out, how was that Daryl’s problem?

...Until it was. His problem. ‘Cause, sure, she might not know shit, but Svad wanted to keep it that way. Wanted to keep the family happy, whatever the hell that meant. Which meant that once again Daryl was finding himself splayed out alone on a motel room bed when they should’ve been together, ‘cause The Wife had decided to leave late or come home early or whatever kind of shit always happened that had their visits slipping shorter and shorter. Had long, lazy nights breaking down to quick gropes and cold beds. 

And for all that this might’ve started as a sweet fuck and a warm bed, Daryl’d never felt so much like a damn itch being scratched as he had last week when Svad had grabbed his buzzing phone after finishing, rolled away with a curse, and dropped Daryl a fistful of twenties for the room and a ride home before leaving.

‘Cause The Wife had texted, wondering where he was.

Daryl’d sulked for a solid three days after, for all the good it’d done him, and then gone to a bar like he’d had any real intention of picking up someone new. He might’ve (he wouldn’t have) but Svad had reached out just then and Daryl’d given in like the desperate kicked puppy he was, and now...

Two hours late, the door finally clicked open. Daryl flicked to the next page of the magazine in front of him, and didn’t bother looking up.

“Whores charge by the hour, y’know.” Another flip. He hadn’t taken in anything on the last page. Wasn’t even sure what he was reading. All he could focus on was the presence by the door and the petty ache in his gut, and the urge to make Svad as pissed as he felt over it. “Can send you a bill if you want.”

[reedusgif]

Such a significant glance

[boltsandashes]

@idontkillorphans

[boltsandashes]

wexarethewalkingxdead​:

Carol’s entire body hummed with disappointment. He’d reacted in the same manner that he always did. He brushed her off, even accused her of not being honest with him. She let her lips move up into a smile, forcing the hurt and the confusion from the forefront of her mind. She couldn’t let the hurt settle in, let the hurt ruin tonight. The plan was to have fun while she did what she could to help her two friends find their ways to one another. She hadn’t ever expected, nor let herself hope, that she’d get anything of personal gain from this night.

“Yeah. Know me to well, don’t you?” she teased, hoping that her voice didn’t betray her true emotions. She was a chameleon after all, wasn’t she? She could hide herself well in plain sight. She’d been doing that most of her adult life, pretending to be the happy, suburban wife and mother with the perfect life. Behind closed doors, everything was so much turned and twisted and completely opposite. She didn’t get to experience happiness much in her lifetime. She definitely didn’t deserve the love this life could give her.

Rick may not know a lot of things, but he knew enough to look past the bullshit and look deep into the woman that sat opposite the two of them at the table. He could hear the honesty that had been etched in her voice, so it confused him when Daryl accused her of being dishonest and she let him. He knew that Daryl wasn’t very good at seeing what was right in front of him, but he didn’t think Carol would let him get away with calling her a liar, and yet, she did just that.

He swallowed his shot, hoping to get just a little bit more tipsy and be able to understand the pair of them just a little bit with a little more liquid clarity. He picked up the cards as Daryl began to deal them out, trying to focus on the cards in front of him, but he wasn’t able to as his gaze returned to looking at Daryl, wandering if the man was that damn clueless when it came to the woman that sat opposite him. He shook his head, focusing on his cards.

“I fold,” Carol announced, knowing that nothing she traded in would give her a decent enough hand this round to even attempt any kind of win. She hoped that made her exempt from this round of Truth or Dare to whomever did happen to win. She pushed her cards back toward Daryl, careful to meet his eyes for a flicker of a second. She didn’t want him to feel that anything was different, that anything had changed between them.

Rick clicked his tongue together as he took two cards, discarding the two that he didn’t want. He took the two that Daryl handed him, tapping his left foot a little against the tiled kitchen floor. His hand was a good one; a winning hand if he did say so himself. “Royal flush,” he announced, not bothering with the formalities of a tried and true Poker game, as he laid down a Ten, Jack, Queen, King, and an Ace of Spades on the table in front of him.

The energy at the table’d gone all strange on the heels of Daryl’s answer. Or maybe Carol’s, or both.

He’d made her upset, that much he got. Carol could put on bright masks all she wanted but Daryl knew enough to see through them. Didn’t always mean he could piece together why.

He let it go. Wasn’t about to call her out on dodging his callout. If she wasn’t ready to admit shit, move her and Rick forward... hell, not like he didn’t get how that felt. He met her eyes when she did, twitched a subtle nod that felt like an apology or ceasefire, and shifted focus back to his cards. He had a high pair, decent hand, but it was halfway a relief when Rick laid out his winning cards. After that last round, Daryl wasn’t sure he was ready to toss another dare out just yet.

He dropped down his own cards, letting the others see who’d won.

“You win, Grimes. Guess it’s my dare.”

[boltsandashes]

we-will-begin-again​:

Lori didn’t force him to keep his hands under the water. She knew better than to force Daryl to do things he didn’t want to, any wrong move and he was going to shut in, and that was the last thing they needed right now. Lori just watched him, as he tried to even his breathing, giving him a small, thankful smile when he allowed her to grab his hands again and continue to wash the blood off.

Her hands stopped, body tensing, when Shane’s name came out of Daryl’s lips. Lori looked up at his face, bracing herself for the next thing that might come out of his mouth- anyone had yet to say anything about the whole Shane thing to her, but Lori knew they weren’t stupid, and she and Shane hadn’t exactly been discrete about their thing, just enough for Carl not to know.

Lori’s expression softened when she realized where Daryl was trying to get at with mentioning Shane. Her hands stayed on Daryl’s as he spoke, trying to bring him some kind of comfort through gentle strokes over the back of his hands with her thumbs.

Merle was dead. That was clear now that Daryl was somewhat opening up about this in his own way. Lori didn’t know how to feel, she was half relieved because now they wouldn’t have to worry about what Merle might do, and half upset because as much as she didn’t like Merle and he was an asshole eight times out of ten, he was Daryl’s brother.

“There’s this false idea that you’re only supposed to feel sad when someone that was close to you dies,” she made sure to think her words through before speaking, not wanting to sound hesitant. “But that’s impossible. If you truly knew someone, you were with them through good and bad times, you’ll have conflicting feelings when they die, specially someone like… Shane, in my case.” and Merle in your case, Lori chose to leave that part implicit.

She noticed some blood on Daryl’s cheek and wiped it off with her thumb, washing it off in the water right after. “Just know that everything that you’re feeling is valid,” she said, her expression hardening slightly as she looked him on the eyes again. “and if anyone says otherwise, you tell me, I will tell them to mind their damn business.”

Valid. That was... he didn’t...

The word spun aimless through his head.

All his life Daryl’d been told the things he was thinking or feeling were wrong somehow. He was too quiet, too angry, too soft, too loud. He was redneck trash and too stupid to know what he was talking about. He was too weak, too sweet, naive, cold, violent. Didn’t like the right things or want the right things or do things quick enough without being asked to do them. From his dad, that was reason for beatings. From the school, reason to kick him out. He’d tripped into a life of trailing after Merle, ‘cause Merle'd made it easy to. Merle knew best, always had, and even when Daryl’d thought what he was doing was bullshit, it’d been easier not to call him out on it.

Anyway, what’d Daryl know?

This group hadn’t been like that. Rick looked to him. Carol leaned on him. They all treated his skills and the shit he knew like it was worth something.

Valid.

He watched the blood swirl down the drain. The echo of her finger on his cheek tingled over him and he wished, vague and distant, for the comfort of the contact back again. 

“Don’t even know what I’m feelin’. I think...” His brows pinched. Head shook, faintly. “He’s always been there, know? Asshole. Always been there. Ain’t ever supposed to be a world without him in it.”

[boltsandashes]

victimplagued​:

He can almost see the gears turning in Daryl’s head. The clear indecision of whether or not Negan was completely full of shit… He shouldn’t be enjoying this as much as he is but it’s hard to not. Negan is undoubtedly getting carried away. It’s also hard to not do that as well. It’s fun, it’s thrilling, and it’s the first time he has even bothered with flirting for the longest time.

But the cogwheels are working in Negan’s head too. It occurs to him like a flashing bulb of a thought that perhaps Daryl has never been pursued properly. Never felt desired. Why else would he be reluctant to admit what is obvious? Why else would he have these biting cynical comments about himself and being an omega? 

Whatever it was, he was willing to get to the bottom of it.

“Are you saying I am a fucking liar?” He might be challenging him some. Harmlesss but testing some waters. Pulling at any loose thread he can grasp so see how much Daryl can unravel. What he might do when confronted.. “Because the last time I checked I get absolutely jack shit for spinning some cock and bull story. If I say you’re pretty, you’re god damn pretty.”

The dangerous drawl of those words sets a throb of awareness pulsing through Daryl’s gut, pulling every thread of focus straight to the Alpha next to him. He should be nervous, probably, or bristling, and down the bar Daryl catches a couple betas even instinctively straightening at the distant thrum of that tone. Powerful, commanding, angry almost, but... the words he’s using aren’t threatening any kind of a fight.

Daryl’s ducked gaze drags over the water-stained bartop. Wary. Lands on Negan’s hand, and lingers. Thick digits, calloused palms, neatly-trimmed nails. Every bit of him radiates a kind of energy Daryl’s never felt before, not even from other Alphas. The ones he’s known... they’re all rough, or all show. Negan? He owns the power like a well-worn jacket, something old and comfortable that’s reshaped itself to a sort of second skin over the years. It’s who he is, that power. Undeniable.

And now it’s all aimed straight at Daryl.

He pulls a shaky breath in, rolls a half-shape of a water ring with the bottle, and feels around the edge of those words. It’s not true, that’s just facts, but Negan’s forcing it to be true somehow. Giving... not permission, even. A command. Feel good. Accept it. No option.

It’s a relief, to have that power taken away.

His head ducks lower, chin ducking into the shelter of his hunched shoulders, and feels a smile dance over his lips. Pretty. It’s a stupid word to get all tangled up over. To feel fluttering in his chest like damn butterflies, warming him like sunbeams from the inside out. Feel good, accept it.

Someone wants you.

He bites his lip, hard, to catch the smile from slipping too wide. Shrugs, and hitches a small nod.

“Alright.”

[boltsandashes]

victimplagued​:

The thing was Rick did live in a world of picket fences and a tad bit of naivety. He wasn’t a prude per say. But things had always been a particular way in his life. He had married the girl he had fallen in love with in high school, grew up alongside her as they became parents and adults, and figured these things out together. It was as rose-tinted as it could possibly be. Plucked right out of someone’s cliche and overly traditional fairy-tale. He would have continued loving her no matter what she did to him because that’s what he was supposed to do. For her, for the sake of their marriage, and ultimately his kids. In retrospect, it was probably doomed to failure. No one gets it that easy. Rick just did the next right thing without questioning it.

But it didn’t mean he was always right. He could have been way off the mark without knowing it. Daryl, however, has a way of hitting his targets regardless. Rick can only blindly fumble his way there and hope he’s doing what he is supposed to.

If his fumbling led him to Daryl, as Michonne might have suggested, could he accept it? Would he be able to learn new things about himself even at this age? Would he be able to allow himself this freedom of finally breaking the shackles of what was expected of him? Would Rick be able to admit he wasn’t as unquestionably straight as he had thought? That perhaps it bordered somewhere along the demisexual route - a word he learned at the unyielding adamancy of Eugene with his all knowing brain.

He was there, s’all, and willin’. Maybe he wasn’t the only one there and willing. Wasn’t the only capable of seeing something in Daryl that proved he was worth it. And damn good with his mouth. Rick’s eyes cut and annoyance seeps in. Wasn’t his place to get annoyed how good or bad Jesus might be with his mouth.

How had Michonne even known?

“Michonne and I… we’re not together. ‘Guess she ain’t my fairytale, if that’s what we’re calling it. We’re friends still, always will be and I do love her but I suspect you also love her so it’s not… love, but somehow we figured it out. It’s not supposed to be. Don’t think any less of her. Hell of a woman…” It’s a very disjointed thought from their conversation. Something he has to let slip now because he might hold it in forever if he waits. Is Daryl confused by the sudden abruptness or does he understand what Rick might be sharing the information for? 

“Jesus isn’t the only one willing, y’know. You got options.. you got the ability to have more than a nice mouth to go to.”

It’s an avalanche collapsing over him, or under him, maybe. Crash of information knocking the ground out from under him and leaving him unsteady. Off-balance. Wind knocked out, ‘cause...

He’s not... glad about it. Much as he might’ve felt some sad petty hurt at the sight of them that first night (and those days after) those two are two people he wants to be happy. If together makes them happy...

But it didn’t. That’s what Rick’s saying.

He’s trying to feel his way around a consolation when Rick pivots hard, and Daryl... Daryl stalls between a choke and a hard scoff. Options. He’s not... is this just Rick being... supportive or some shit? That kind of vague hopeful bullshit people who’ve always had nice things think happens for everyone? Or has he got some kind of person in mind?

Considering Rick saw him with Jesus he’d probably thinking about guys, probably thinks Daryl’s got some kind of straightforward sexuality to nail down. But Daryl can’t even pin his thoughts on a single solid option Rick might have in mind for him. Assuming he does have one. Someone back in Alexandria? That Eugene guy seems desperate.

His lips part, hang. Close, a scoff knocking out.

“Don’t gotta play that game, Rick. Ain’t lookin’ for no clap on the shoulder, other fish in the sea shit. I’m good. How things are, family we got back there?” His lips twitch, thumb dragging over the frayed thread. “People who wanna see me every day? S’more’n I need. Sex is just... scratchin’ an itch. You ain’t pissed at me, ain’t burnin’ bridges? I’m good.”