#aintashes

all he needs to do is wait for the archer to fall asleep and the rest is history. as paimon guides a sleeping daryl through the woods, weaving him through trees with the acute awareness he'd display when awake, it takes but a snap of his fingers to have him jolt awake in the real world.

unluckily for the guardian, the demon makes the transition from dream to reality all too seamless, his false pursuit of a peter just always out of sight translating well as paimon borrows his host's voice and beckons him deeper into the dark.

               ' daryl, please— i'm— my leg— k—keep following my voice...! '

eventually, through the thorn-ridden undergrowth and the unforgiving bark path, he emerges into a clearing that does not look like it belongs. almost peaceful, a gentle fog rolling in that gives the space an ethereal glow; the moonlight an unnaturally big spotlight directly above.

no peter, naturally, but something else directly to daryl's left: a shrike perched in the nearest tree, its resting place not too far from the man's head. it watches him with a beady eye, head on a tilt that gives the impression it's seeing him. its white feathers glisten like jewels in the moonlight, its black tail seeming as dark as night itself.

"so i might have told a teensy little lie," the bird says, and no sooner does it speak is it disappearing in an animated POOF! of black smoke. from behind daryl: "hoh-lee! it's you, it's really you!"

airborne is the 'man' that greets him, and comically too; one leg tossed over the other as if reclining on a well-loved armchair, arms tucked behind his head as if he's never experienced worry in his life. a small crown floats above his head.

"oh you're going to have to forgive me if i'm a little starstruck. this is SO. exciting for me! i mean, DARYL DIXON, in the fl̵e̵s̷h̷!̵"

❛ you look like you got somethin' to say. ❜ ( random dialogue prompt for aaron ! ) from @aintashes

@aintashes || inbox starter!! || accepting!

‘ you could'a given me a heads up. ’ ( for carol ! )

she's halfway down the hillside before her boots gather enough dirt under their soles to bring her to a stop. gloved fingers with their bare tips sticking out the ends hold into the loose gravel and earth she's kicked up on her way down. loose strands of gray hair hang in front of her face. her heart a thunderous roar in her chest as it pounds heavy and fast in ear eardrums. thudthudTHUD!!! she blows out a breath and looks down. nothing but the dead in the crevasse below. moaning and grumbling as the dirt falls on their heads and gains their attention. a few look up. they can smell her and react accordingly. a small group will soon turn into a hungry mob of gaping, black mouths and rotting hands tugging at the walls she nearly toppled to the bottom of.

there's nowhere to go but up.. she's been here before. metaphorically.

physically, too. this isn't the first time she's had to pull herself out a legit ditch. only problem is? she's got a witness this time. and. that witness? is gonna be pissed as hell that she made a move to toss one of their molotov cocktails down into that mess of the dead to get their attention and scour a barely there crossing that was now. unfortunately. a bust. unless burning walkers wasn't what they were going for. and instead? didn't mind walking over the heads of a bunch of hungry ones trying to dig at some rocks?

daryl appears at the edge of the incline. he looks scared. then relieved. then mad. or maybe that's what she saw go over his features in a matter of seconds. he experiences them all even while he's moving onto a position to help her. with a few attempts that leave her gasping and going PALE FACED with a misplaced foot having her lose a couple inches down before their hands lock--and he's pulling her up til her knee hits solid ground and they both fall over on their backs to lay there a second and catch their breath? she knows she fucked up.

'you coulda given me a heads up.' he says.

𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐦𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐧?

independent roleplay blogs for 𝐩𝐞𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐡𝐚𝐦 of ari aster's hereditary and 𝐝𝐚𝐫𝐲𝐥 𝐝𝐢𝐱𝐨𝐧 of amc's the walking dead. 𝐬𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐛𝐨𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐝 with love by 𝐤𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐣𝐨𝐲 and 𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐞𝐚 in a private crossover universe. featuring the collaborative sideblog, 𝐝𝐢𝐱𝐡𝐚𝐦. both blogs contain content which is limited to writers over the age of 21.

you know what? he's not gonna say a god damn thing because if daryl answers him with dirt worm on his breath? he might just throw up. yep. gonna keep his mouth closed on that one. nice and tight. and look away so he doesn't visibly GAG more than he is inside his fucking SOUL.

positivity for @aintashes from @rebuiltmyself