#praetervehor

[boltsandashes]

i hate u / i love u starters || accepting

@praetervehor​ sent: "Sometimes you gotta burn some bridges just to create some distance."

It’s a feeling he’s been living with for a while. The need to bolt. Breathe. Be alone in the space of your own head for a while. Or... hell, maybe he’s been in it too much, lately. Who the hell even knows, anymore? Daryl tilts his head back against the wall that’s holding most of his weight, takes in the starlit sky.

Clouds drifting over it, blowing them dark in foggy patches.

Are they talking about him here, or her?

Just twenty or so feet away, their friends are gathered around a dancing fire. Eating and chatting, looking like a family and like there’d never been any kind of a war. It’s the first time Daryl’s been back in Alexandria since he’d been assigned to clean up the Sanctuary, and he’s not sure he’s ever felt less at home. Negan’s off in a cell a few buildings away. Maggie’s at Hilltop waiting for the go ahead on a plan that won’t make anything better, but might feel just a little bit like justice.

All it’ll take is... burning a few bridges.

He takes a long drag of his cigarette, offers it out. Watches the smoke curl to block out some stars.

“What if you burn somethin’ you can’t rebuild after?”

[preempire-a]

@praetervehor​ sent: “Only fools and trouble come out to these parts at this hour.” ► FROM LATE NIGHT WANDERINGS

Dank farrik. So much for finding room and board without incident...

“I’m a fool,” the Mandalorian says without hesitation, hoping it ends at that as he walks past where the woman stands and thinks little of what she said. It isn’t his fault his course had him landing on this planet at some uncalled for hour, and frankly he’s tired of the cryptic shit.

The Mandalorian had been counting on the local inn to have more drunkards than anyone wanting to make conversation with someone decked in beskar. But, past occasions permitting, at the moment he wonders why he even bothers with optimism.

The innkeep approaches him when he reaches the counter, and the Mandalorian communicates his need to stay the night (and how whatever bread and broth they have left would work, too). Unfortunately, while he has enough for the food, he doesn’t have enough for the room, and he sighs quietly at that. While he isn’t necessarily without money, there are more important things for his credits to go towards.

So the Mandalorian asks if he can take the bowl outside to eat, and after he leaves five calamari flan on the counter as collateral, he watches as the innkeep hollers towards the kitchens for someone to bring his food over.

While waiting, he leans back against the counter, arms crossed over his chest. No board isn’t the ideal situation, but hopefully the rain doesn’t end up pouring through the night.

[failedhero-archive]

         Dean has been looking at the same writing on lore for about an hour and a half now. He props his chin on his hand and looks up, over towards Brie with boredom clearly written over his face.                      “Alright- we gotta do something. My brain is turning to mush here, I can’t read another word.” 

[failedhero-archive]

Smash or Pass + Brie ;)

“Pass. Brie is- like the little sister I never wanted” 

[failedhero-archive]

❝ i did offer him a few cheez-its to sweeten the deal. ❞

“Well that’s why he didn’t do it. He hates cheez-its. Gotta go with the little debbies. He’d never say it but those are his sweet spot.” 

[withprotest]

     a dramatic sigh echoes along the halls of the abandoned school, dress shoes falling into a steady clack with each step he takes. the gun in his hand is a decoy of sorts, an illusion that he needs it because for some odd reason that soars pass his mind, the white hair and blue patch of skin over his eye isn’t as weird as not carrying a gun for walkers. z’s, zombies, his own blends. but he was not making it back to murphytown without a working vehicle and she may be willing to aid him-- if he makes her owing him a debt a damn reality. that’s why he’s here, helping and whatever else she thinks. ❛ call me a curious karen,❜ gloved fingers dig within the confines of a trenchcoat pocket to pull out a flashlight.  ❛ but what the hell are you looking for at a kiddie grade school? i mean, if you flunked the fifth grade, ain’t no use attending summer classes.❜  flashlight is offered to her, snarky smirk playing at his lips.  ❛ drop out already. ❜

starter | @praetervehor

[careol-arc]

“  need a hand?  ”

@praetervehor​   /   sun was beating down hard on them today.  they had a lot to haul back to the bridge, and honestly the more helping hands the better.  ❝ yeah actually, that’d be great if you don’t mind. ❞  piling wood into the back of the wagon.  she can tell the horses are getting anxious, ready to get moving again.  they never did like being in the big cities.  ❝ can’t believe we managed to find so much unspoiled wood.  it’ll work great for the bridge, don’t you think? ❞

[t-chambler-archived]

“That’s not what I wanted to do, but that’s ok too.”

When had anything they intended gone as planned? Honestly, Tara's life experience had mostly been getting way too lucky at the correct times. She always had a plan, sure-- but, the world always wanted to throw a curve ball. And why would this be any different?

She stared in disbelief at the absolute atrocity that had occurred and yet, they still lived. "Can't say I've ever seen anyone do that before. Gotta say, impressive." She scratched the back of her head, looked over at the other, then back to the pure, accidental miracle.

"Wasn't by the book, but, hey- if it works, it works. That'll keep 'em out."