#stray starters

[boltsandashes]

"so you thought lying about it was the best solution? Really?"

angst sentence starters || accepting || @godblessrickgrimes

He’s standing stock-still in the shadows between two houses, the welcome party to Alexandria a bustle of noise to the right of them. Daryl’d known to steer clear of it, known nothing good could come from showing his face there, but the others had talked up the importance of making allies, so he’d grit down his reservations and dragged himself along.

And he’d seen Rick eyeing the doctor’s wife, and Rick had seen him seeing it, and somehow they’d ended up here in the shadows with Daryl’s heart in the dirt between them.

“What was I s’posed to do?” His throat’s gone tight, each breath thick in it. His eyes can’t find Rick’s and there’s no threat of a blow coming but some part of him feels tensed for it anyway. A blow, or something worse. Something a hell of a lot more damning.

This is a conversation they were never supposed to have. Nothing good could come out of it. ‘Cause Rick likes women, pretty and soft and upstanding, the kind you could settle down and raise families with. And Daryl’d been fine with that, happy with being Rick’s brother, ‘til a few beers and a couple persistent questions had left the truth snarling out in a bitter rush.

“Doesn’t matter anyway, alright?” He can’t swallow it back down now, it’s out there. But maybe, if he’s lucky, Rick will let them forget it. “It’s just... bein’ here. Everyone driftin’, makin’ me think stupid shit.” He falls back a step. Aaron’s offer to have dinner feels like sanctuary now, or maybe he’ll find a way past the crushing walls and make it on his own for a while. “Forget it, alright? Get back to your party, We’re good.”

[boltsandashes]

@survivors-of-the-outbreak​ liked X for an episode-based starter

He’s not sure exactly what he’s walking in on when he sees Ezekiel standing at the water’s edge. Only that it’s wrong, it’s verging on dangerous, and he shouldn’t be walking away from it. The man’s holding himself taut and almost-dreamlike at once, and Daryl gets a pull of sense-memory at the sight of it. A cigarette in one hand, unmarked skin on the other and an ache in his chest that feels like it won’t die ‘til the two make contact.

If Ezekiel gives into his urge, that’s gonna be one hell of a harsh burn.

“Hey...” He keeps his voice soft and even as he inches a step to the side, trying to get a glimpse of the man’s face. Of how close he is to the edge. “This ain’t the kind of place you wanna be right now, man. Why don’t you take a step back, huh?”

[boltsandashes]

@honorthedead liked X for an episode-based starter

“You’d a known just how to handle this. How to handle her... make this right.” He’s standing over a shadow of a grave. Crooked cross, pocketwatch leaned against it. He’s standing in a forest clearing with blood soaking the earth, an image that’ll never blink out. He tilts his head, takes in the edge of the patient shadow standing behind him.

“Your kid looks just like you, know that?” A wry grin, tired and teasing. “Know how all you Asians look the same.”

He doesn’t question the specter when he finally looks over, Glenn standing at his elbow over his own grave. Just holds his gaze for few seconds before dropping it, a curl of familiar guilt working through him.

“Remember the way... way you were with Enid back then. Knew exactly what to say, how to make her feel safe. Shoulda had a chance to be that to Hershel. ...And now the asshole who stopped you from havin’ all that’s the one doin’ right by her. What the hell do I do with that?”

[boltsandashes]

Carol pulled Daryl in close and held him tightly against her chest. She closed her eyes and smiled. "I missed you. Couldn't you tell?"

random acts of affection | accepting | @wexarethewalkingxdead

It was a testament to the strength of their friendship, that Daryl didn’t even have to fight the urge to flinch as Carol’s arms wrapped around him. His body knew her, accepted her –– safety –– and his arms circled her right back.

“Dunno,” huffed out in a grin against her ear. He picked her up, spinning her in a slow half-circle and fuck, he’d missed her too. Nothing was ever the same with her gone. “You’re bein’ so subtle, hard to tell.”

[boltsandashes]

@voiicefound​ liked X for an episode-based starter

It’s like the past year hasn’t happened as Daryl stands outside the prison cell, watching Lydia curled small about as far as she could get from him, against the opposite wall. He tells himself it’s not him she’s shrinking from, but she’s sure as shit not shrinking toward him either. And here she is, willingly sitting behind cell bars because it feels safer than their home, and Daryl can’t figure out the first step to take to fix it.

“...Feel like you wanna come out today?” Like some kind of backwards punishment. Kid sentencing herself to her room. So why does it feel like Daryl’s the one being punished? He works over his jaw, tight and loose, thoughts spinning back to the good dads he’s known over the years for advice. Rick, Aaron, Hershel... what would they do right now? Sure as hell can’t trust any of his own instincts, not when his only experience with a father is... best not to think on that.

[boltsandashes]

"I killed someone today. I'll never be able to erase that image from my mind" (@its-a-superpower)

angst sentence starters || accepting || @its-a-superpower

The confession caught Daryl more off-guard than it should’ve. He hesitated, scanning between the notepad and Connie’s face. It’d been a long time since Daryl’d let himself feel bad about a kill, and he barely remembered most of their faces anymore outside dreams. Cost of survival in what the world was now, right? Had to kill to survive; had to shrug it off to keep sane.

Except Connie still felt it, clearly. She hadn’t had that burned out of her. Looking at her, Daryl could feel the echo of all that inside him, like a piece of humanity he hadn’t had in a while shaking itself awake again.

Now wasn’t the time for that, though. Daryl wet his lips, caught her shoulder. Leaned in ‘til he found her eyes.

“Hey. Look at me.” He needed to make sure she heard him, followed the shape of his words. “You kept us alive. That other shit, that don’t matter. You did what you had to, to keep us breathin’. So that’s the image you gotta keep in your mind, got it?”

[boltsandashes]

“i’ve lost so many people. i can’t lose you too.”

angst sentence starters || accepting || @spilledblood​​

in some amorphous reality where 9x04 on never happened…

There’s nothing left in Daryl these days but anger. The hot pulse of it in every heartbeat and drawn breath, venom seething under his skin with no outlet. It’s been over a year since they all laid down arms but the war’s still living in Daryl’s bones, in every breath and every blink and every time sleep sways up to claim him.

He doesn’t sleep, not more than an hour at a time on a good night. On the bad nights, when he’s too exhausted to claw his way back to consciousness, he dreams of dark cells and blood-spattered earth. Dreams of people long dead and people who might still die when things all go to shit again. And they will go to shit again. They always do.

He tries to distract himself, lose himself in the community and helping out around town, but his family’s faces are just potential corpses in front of him. The restless wrong of it all won’t stop (isn’t ever gonna stop) until finally all that’s left is two options.

Kill Negan himself, or make his way on his own.

He’s been standing at the foot of his bed through half the night, everything he owns shoved into a lone rucksack in front of him, when Rick speaks up softly from the doorway. And for a second Daryl feels a twist of something that’s not anger. Something achingly sweet that he fights and fails to cling onto, his eyes sinking shut tiredly.

“You lost me a long time ago, Rick.”

It’s a bitter kind of truth, snapped chains and bloodied corpses, sick and ugly as it is honest. It breaks him from his stalled spell. His hand goes to his bag.

“…’Member what you told us that one time, back on the road? That story ‘bout your grandpa?” He drags his hand along the strap, slow. Slings it over his shoulder, and turns to meet Rick’s eyes steadily. “'Rest in peace; now get up and go to war.’ I never made it to the war, man. I died in that cell. Y’aint losin’ nothin if i I leave now.”

[boltsandashes]

🎶(ben)

valentines meme || @memoryhallowed

They’re away from the party, moonlight gleaming through trees as they meander down the edge of neat-clipped lawns toward the pond. Ben’s faintly flushed from the home-brewed wine the whole party was built to celebrate, his cheeks pink and eyes bright in a way Daryl doesn’t see much in public. They’re not in public now, really, not with everyone else at the house and them out here, but still, it’s nice. It’s comfortable. Their fingers absently threaded, arms drifting out and down again as they sway closer and further while they walk.

Ben’s waiting on him, expectant. Daryl huffs a breath and shrugs.

“Dunno. Don’t think I have one. Love songs are all kinda bullshit anyway, ain’t they? Like… proposing on stage. Real love’s private. Couple shit. Like…” He squeezes Ben’s loose-threaded fingers, shrugging again like that’ll play the impact down. “Soon as you start doin’ shit for a million people it ain’t about love anymore. It’s for attention. Ain’t ever heard a love song that felt real.”

‘Course, love hadn’t felt real to Daryl back then either. Maybe that’s part of it. Next time he hears one maybe he can expect something different. What he doesn’t expect is a lingering pause and then for Ben to start up, low and sweet. Strains of an old song, familiar. And Daryl’s heart skips, hard.

He stops walking, wide eyes moving to Ben. Singing. Under the shadows of spring leaves, soft with a ghost of a self-conscious smile but all earnest under it. The words hit, and they matter, and Daryl feels a pang of something he’s felt too often around Ben lately. Felt well before he ever should’ve, maybe.

But that’s sort’ve the whole point, isn’t it?

Daryl’s lips part, breath caught in his throat, head shaking on a vague… this isn’t happening, right? It’s ridiculous, the kind of cheesy shit that’d have his eyes rolling out of his head in a movie scene, but it’s Ben standing in front of him (with a set of actual pipes, who the hell knew), and the last thing Daryl’s thinking is cheesy. Or… maybe he is, but he doesn’t mind one damn bit.

There’s a grin curling his lips, helpless as the flush burning in his chest, and he can only handle about a verse and a half of watching, stunned still by the depth of the feeling coming at him before the warm and the bright get too much. And he’s moving, crowding in, dropping Ben’s hand to catch both his cheeks. “Shh, shit, alright.” A laugh, giddy and fluttery and hell, he doesn’t care. “You win. It’s romantic. You’re romantic.” He presses their lips together, grinning too wide for a real kiss. His face feels hot but his chest feels warmer as he breaks, leaning their foreheads together. Dragging slow fingers through Ben’s hair, murmuring: “You too, you damn sap.”

      For I can’t help         Falling in love with you