we ain't ashes.

the sharpest thorn often produces delicate я σ ѕ є ѕ.

[fxgitive-deactivated20160305]

[wingedleather-blog]

melodiespassed:

Perhaps it was selfish to want him to face her, but she needed it – needed to know that it really was him. Beth needed any verification she could get. However, the moment she saw him, truly took in his state did she realize just how broken he must be.

But why?

“Daryl … what happened?”

Beth knew that the other’s emotions weren’t unwarranted, that his feelings were valid. What she couldn’t wrap her head around was just how it possibly related so deeply to her. After all, why else would he refuse her gaze for so long.

“How can I help you…?”

he couldn’t say a damn thing, the right words just wouldn’t do him any favours. he didn’t know what to do-- what do you say to a ghost? a ghost that you’re responsible for? their life had been all about the dead walking again, but not like this. Daryl was unsettled, restless and scuffing about in place while he tried to gather himself.

                                                                 it wasn’t working.

     y’ain’t real.             --was what he wanted to say, convince himself this is just another trick like last time.

when his voice failed him, his face crumpled in anguish as he simply dropped his head to rest at her shoulder. he could never say it, it was so hard when he believed forgiveness wasn’t on the cards. he could never say he was sorry, even though he was. what good would a sorry do now, whether she’s really alive or not?

he messed up, and he’d wear that like the rest of his scars. for now, he could do nothing but cry.

[wingedleather-blog]

melodiespassed:

There’s no response; no words, no movement. Beth is only reassured that he’s actually there by the rise and fall of his chest. Pale fingers curl into the fabric of his shirt, and her hold becomes that much tighter. 

Always the tough one, huh?

But the thought itself appears to break him down. The blond probably wouldn’t have known that Daryl was crying had it not been for the slight shaking of his shoulders. The thought that he was so effected – effected enough to cry before her, it tore at her soul. 

“Daryl, look at me.” Beth gazes up at him, though his appearance is blurred due to her eyes brimming with those cursed tears. There’s only a short pause, and soon enough a small fist raises to beat lightly against his chest. “Damn it, Daryl, look at me.”

it was hushed, punctuated by the occasional hitch of his breaths, and attempts to choke back any further anguish. he had to seal these cracks in a mask he’d held for so long, but it was just pouring out, and he couldn’t stop it, no matter how hard he tried. time had eaten away at those walls, and now he’d suffer for it.

and when she forced him back, pleading he raise his head, face her-- he couldn’t. he couldn’t bring himself to. she was right there in front of him, and he couldn’t bear to look at her. it would only pull down more of the fort, brand that reminder over and over into his heart. no, he could only eye up the dirt like the sorry prick he was, face damp with tears as the fresher ones rolled off his nose.

the thump on his chest and her firm tone dissuaded this decision, if only for a moment. but that moment soon turned into a million, as he found he couldn’t take his eyes off the face he thought he’d buried, but never really let go.

and still, he didn’t say a thing. only the ragged sobs grazing his throat to answer her.

[wnq-writers]

Empty nights often come with crowded thoughts.

Dexter Noox (via wordsnquotes)

[lexilhoward]

                                       I’m gonna ask you one more time. Who are you?                                                                   D   A   R   Y   L

[wingedleather-blog]

melodiespassed:

“Daryl…!”

She desperately hoped that her eyes weren’t playing her, that this wasn’t some sick illusion. Her first instinct had been to search when she had first found herself in such a strange place, but all of her searching had lead her nowhere. Beth couldn’t locate Maggie, Rick, Glenn, Daryl … none of them could be found.

Until now.

She collided with him – hard. Thin arms wound around muscle as Beth clung to the tracker. Finally, a sense of familiarity had returned to her. It was enough to bring a familiar sting to her eyes; tears. She wanted to sipe at her eyes to get rid of the evidence, but she also didn’t want to let go of him. If she did, would he disappear….?

“I couldn’t find you … I couldn’t find anyone…” She found her voice after a moment, though her grip refused to let up. “I didn’t think anyone else was here….”

how’d it feel so real? her smaller frame slamming into his, the impact jarring him back half a step-- he felt everything. a corpse didn’t run, a corpse didn’t shout his name, and a corpse didn’t cry. she was here, and she was alive, just like before. and as he righted his footing in the wake of her embrace with a scuff of his shoe, that fear was replaced by a whole lot more; he has to be dreaming, this whole place was a nightmare and he just couldn’t shake it off. if he moved, held her like she did him, he was afraid she’d disappear.

                        he was afraid he’d wake up, and she’d be dead in his arms again.

he had tried to remember her smiles, her attitude, her faith-- but all that was left was the gunshot that took her from them. and little by little, as she spoke to him of her worry, he came apart. she ain’t real, the voice told him over and over. this was Hell and he deserved every bit of it. she was his punishment, a reminder that he’d been right all along. that faith really hadn’t done a damn thing for them.

                                                   not her.

he could still run, tear himself from her grasp and leave her behind, but this ghost had a hold on him. he should stand still and take it, because that’s what he deserved.

Daryl hung his head, still in Beth’s arms. he couldn’t hold the tears back anymore. he just cried.

[wingedleather-blog]

-- @thewrathwithin​ -- ➵

     ➵     } the big city and its noise never had his heart-- but now nothing truly did, did it? even enclosed in the greenery and its bustling nature did nothing settle his nerves, ease the weight on his mind. it did nothing to balm the memories, even the smell of death still so fresh. it felt like that’s all there was-- all he could hear was the hammering of wood on flesh now, all he could see when he closed his eyes was his mistakes. 

                                                  SQUELCH!

                                      an eye trembled as he flinched away from nothing.

not even the sight of the sun peering through the canopy of leaves and branches overhead could fight it off.

                                                            elastic can only be stretched so far before it snaps.

a lone man, seated at the base of a tree and crossbow resting beside him, laid his head back against it. hardly a flinch of a muscle when a scuffle sounded shy his left. still he didn’t move, only peering when a rabbit with a dusty brown coat crawled into view, nose wriggling away.

                                                                    and something like a smile tugged at his lips.

[drvgonfire]

{ @wingedleather }

“Thank you.”

Beth thanked a passerby for their directions, though she still felt just as lost as she had when she arrived in the ‘normal’ sector. She thought such a place would provide her with answers, or something more than what she’s been given so far. 

There were no signs, no clues to lead her to those she had considered a family. Once again she was alone and she had no idea how to fix it. She fought so hard to get back to them, but just like always reality cruelly ripped such a fantasy out of her hands before she could grasp hold of such a possibility.

What was she even doing, wandering around in such a place? No one was here, no one that she knew, anyway. She could ask for help, but Beth had long grown skeptical of those around her. Who could she trust in a place like this?

That’s when she saw it – saw him. The figure ahead appeared different somehow, but Beth knew that she would recognize him anywhere. How could she not?

Before she knew it she was running as if he would disappear before she reached him. Her hands cupped around her mouth as she shouted, and she was only vaguely aware of how ridiculous she probably looked.

“Daryl Dixon…!”

[wingedleather-blog]

to finally be free of the rags, washed of the weeks worth of dirt and blood-- it was like having a collar removed at last. the odour never did bother him before, always among the first to dig his hands into the filth and the last to care, but this was a different grime, like a stain on his soul. and though the water ran off his back and pooled at his feet blackened, he still couldn’t scrub it clean.

                                     just another scar. just more mistakes. he should be used to it by now.

it was the first time he’d been back outside in days, decked out a little more generously than usual for warmth, crossbow tugged firm to a shoulder. it felt good, having something familiar and dangerous close; at his back and at the ready. he wouldn’t be letting it go again. this place was no walker-infested Georgia, but it was its own kind of Hell.

it wasn’t long into his trip for the bush when a shout yanked on his reins. he’d been champing at the bit to get somewhere quiet, and it crossed his mind to just keep going, leave whoever it was in the dust-- but damn it, he scuffed to a stop. that tiny bit of hope he didn’t think he’d had left to spare angled him toward the voice, peering beyond that tangled mess before his eyes.

                                                       Beth.

he wished he hadn’t stopped at all. staggering back half a step, his expression began to crumble. this place was playing him again.

                                                               this really was Hell.

[wingedleather-blog]

    ➵     } it was like breathing a cleaner air, a different kind of light narrowing his gaze, and the familiarity slammed into him from what seemed like nowhere. he’d seen it all before; the scenery, the people, all ringing those bells, but his capacity to give a damn had been exhausted. he’d gone from one prison right back to another-- vast though it may be, a prison was still a prison, and the isolation his bars.

every time he drew a breath, someone or something found a new cage to throw him in.

his knees found the pavement then, and he clawed at the sweater clinging to his back with a harsh whimper marking his desperation. dragging it off and over his head, his ragged mop of brown hair a mess about his eyes in its wake, this shadow of a man cast the clothing aside, the sun now lashing at his bare spine, caked with month old dirt and blood. sobs wracked his worn throat, no move made to rise from the concrete, remaining slumped and head hanging. 

                                           I’ll find you.

shreds of reminiscence assailed his thinking; the thump of wood on flesh, the whip of blood splattering across stone, the crying---

                                              SQUELCH!

                                                                he flinched.

                                              SQUELCH!

                                                             a brow twitched. 

every muscle was on the highest alert, quaking, as though living the memory. his fingers once slack against his thigh shuddered into motion, lifting his hand to examine the rash of black and blue across his knuckles. his note, of tired grey hue and sodden, rose to peer at the sweater he’d discarded, emblazoned with a faded “A”. knelt now half-naked in the middle of the street without regard for passers-by, and still, he couldn’t stop heaving up fresh tears.

                                        you should be dead.                                                           the guilt told him again.

                                                                                                                    it was right.

[wingedleather-blog]

time to get the ball rolling; like this post for a starter! capping at three, length may vary.

[citta-alveare-deactivated201811]

reapping daryl dixon from the walking dead as per my now expired reserve whoops. application can be found under /a or via the navigation page (link VI)

Welcome back, Daryl!

You’ll be placed in apartment g-1.

You will retain everything you had in your prior stay!

Enjoy your stay!

— mod oo7

[wingedleather-blog]

this whole thing was pushing him to the liquor again.

[guxrdia-deactivated20160830]

[Nothing’s happening. The Crucible’s not firing.]

Despite all the obstacles leading to this moment, there was always one more problem. The final silence shared between the commander and the man she loved like family shattered upon Hackett’s voiced concern. The Crucible failed to activate. With what little strength she had left, Shepard teared herself from her old friend’s side. This couldn’t be the end. Though it felt as though Death had her firmly in its embrace, she clumsily snailed towards the main console.

“I don’t see–I’m not sure how to..”

The agony was too much to bear. A bloodied hand stretched out before her consciouness eventually gave away. A voice urgently calling her name would be the last memory.

However almost immediately, a sudden burst of vitality coursed through her body. The immense pain gnawing at every fiber of her being was replaced by timid soreness. Was it over? Emerald hues fluttered opened, batting away the harsh light pouring through what appeared to be a crack in the darkness. Thankful to be alive, the hopeful sensation was replaced by caution as her senses finally returned. Other than the right arm, the rest of her body had been pinned in place. 

“…the hell?” she mumbled.

A brief period of fruitless struggling left the commander both out of breath and feeling rather annoyed. When in doubt, use biotics. A bluish field encased her free arm, and with a frustrated yell, punched what was apparently a mutilated bookshelf into the air. Now with the weight lifted, Shepard quickly clambored out of the coffin of rubble.

“I–What? Where is..” she clutched her head as if it would eradicate the pain pounding away at her skull.

[wingedleather-blog]

guess this wasn’t everyone’s grave as he assumed, with one survivor breaching the ash and in a showy fashion too. he was first alerted by the thump, followed by a CRASH as a bookshelf met its end a few metres down the slope, dispersing into splinters. instinct already had his crossbow staring down the source of the initial noise, and its sights fell upon a woman, dirtied and disheveled, collecting herself from the ruin in which she’d made a bed.

                                                                damn. she looked like hell.

though he’d relaxed his stance somewhat, his weapon remained at the ready for the moment. from what he could gather, she was just some unfortunate soul caught in the wrong place at the wrong time. despite the mess made of her, it seemed she’d be okay and thus, he judged it a problem beyond his care and shouldered his crossbow. nonetheless his eyes lingered on her, before he scooped up the book which, amid his alarm, had fallen to rest among the ruin. 

still, that tired note drifted this stranger’s way once more, and fleeting was the thought to approach, scope out the danger, maybe help---

                        nah. she looked just fine-- she’d make it on her own.

[wingedleather-blog]

“Why do you ask?”

2-6 word starters | accepting

there was a long and short answer to that question, and the latter was his go-to. for a moment, it seemed he wouldn’t say a word, instead igniting a cigarette and snapping the lighter shut with a heavy, metallic SNAP. dragging on it, mouth full of smoke, he expelled a wisp between barely parted lips before at last, he dismissed her shortly.

          “... don’t matter.”

                                                                                                       and he left her behind.

                                             the long answer remained unsaid--

                                because asking questions has kept us alive.

[memesfrommenace]

2-6 Word Starters

[wingedleather-blog]

memesfrommenace:

Send me one for my muse’s reaction!

“Are you lost?”

“As you wish.”

“Come with me.”

“Can you walk?”

“Dance with me.”

“Did you see that?”

“Do you like it?”

“Don’t go that way.”

“Don’t let them push you around.”

“Don’t try to talk.”

“How are you feeling?”

“How did you get here?”

“I brought you food.”

“I followed you.”

“If you need anything, call.”

“I’ll sleep on the couch.”

“I love the ocean.”

“I’m not answering that.”

“I want ice cream.”

“I will avenge you.”

“I’ve always loved you.”

“Laughing at me won’t end well.”

“Let’s go stargazing.”

“Let’s go swimming.”

“Let me introduce myself. I’m ___ “

“Lie still.”

“Maps and I don’t get along.”

“May I braid your hair?”

“Nice clothes.”

“Nice weather we’re having.”

“Please turn the light on.”

“Pickles are gross.”

“Show me.”

“That isn’t for you to know.”

“That you for saving my life.”

“There is a full moon tonight.”

“There is food in the fridge.”

“There is more to the story.”

“These clothes are ridiculous.”

“They think we are in love.”

“This is comfortable.”

“This is for you.”

“Wait for me.”

“Want me to go with you?”

“What did you do?”

“What is your name?”

“What is this place?”

“Where are we going?”

“Where did you put it?”

“Where is your sense of adventure?”

“Who did this?”

“Why did you come here?”

“Why do you ask?”

“Why don’t we slip away?”

“Will you come with me?”

“Words can’t hurt me.”

“You don’t have to take that.

“You look terrible.”

“You have the softest hair.”

“You rest.”

“You’re my everything.”

[thewrathwithin]

do you remember my face?

[thewrathwithin]

   She hears nothing over the sound of loud bugs and birds. If she had any clue as to what was happening, she might have felt safer. Instead the scientists had thrown her into a strange suburbia that was eerily left behind. Ava suddenly feels a pang of loneliness in the bottom of her heart, and she couldn’t have wanted anything more then to just simply go home. 

   Ava tells herself that perhaps there is another street or a way out of this ghost town, and she turns to face a man she had not seen in what felt like forever.

   ☣ “… Daryl?”

   Many questions arise in her mind, but the one she wants answering most of all is was Daryl real, or something the scientists threw in to mess with her? Taking a step forward, Ava can only hope this was the real him. It looked like him. Same long, oily hair, baggy pants and vest. Tears fill her eyes, threatening to spill as she moves closer. It had to be him. It would break her heart if it was a lie.

   ☣ “I-Is that you? I don’t… I don’t know what this place is.”

   ☣ “Please… please be real.”

[wingedleather-blog]

the words seemed stolen from him, and the perplexed toss of his gaze about their surroundings further conveyed his turmoil. there was nothing but them now, and in noticing this, his stomach turned. was this real? was any of it real? was this his head playing another damn trick, teasing those quiet wishes he kept under lock and key and coaxing his heart into a trap. and all over again.

he thought he’d tamed his hopes by now; taught them to stay low, or just give up.

Daryl’s initial urge was to confirm her being here, to bring her into his chest and make certain she wasn’t just another ghost-- or that she simply was. but instead, he was arrested on the spot, some kind of deer in the headlights, with lips parted. upon her threat to approach, he retreated half a step. he almost didn’t want to know.

                                           ... Daryl?

the prospect it was just his imagination talking was already a sting. and if she were really here, in this hell to spite where he found a home? 

                                                                                                         ----even worse.

          “.... you ain’t s’posed t’be here.”

[wingedleather-blog]

"Ouch... That must hurt."

injured/death starters | not accepting

he didn’t so much as acknowledge the focus of her remark with a glance-- just her, if only briefly.

          “... kin’a tickles.”