#stray starter

(belated) boondock saints starters | @idontkillorphans​

❛ It’s St Paddy’s Day, everyone’s Irish tonight. ❜

A broad smile crooked Daryl’s lips and he turned, leaning sideways against the bar. The dim lights were hazy behind Sleipnir, but Daryl could see clear enough to make out the relaxed set of the other man’s shoulders, the tease in his expression.

vague relationship meme || accepting

@victimplagued sent: “I really like someone, but I’m sure I’d ruin it.”

They’re more than a half-dozen drinks in, between them, when Negan speaks up. Daryl scoffs.

“The hell are you on about?” He nudges the other man’s knee, and leans past him to grab another slice of pizza from the box. “Could get any damn one you want in bed, seen you do it.” That slow grin, the swagger he’s got in his step. It’d been the same way since high school: Negan smiled, and everywhere he went people swooned for him. Man could lead a damn cult if he wanted.

Something clicks. Daryl lowers the slice from his mouth, brows pinching.

“’Less... you mean...” He hadn’t fully registered it at first. That one vital word. Negan hadn’t said want, but like. A sizzle of something anxious burns through Daryl’s gut at the notion. Thought of things changing, probably. Not having Negan around constantly, outside his here-and-gone conquests. Losing nights like these, bumping knees on the couch, sharing beers and whatever dumbass thoughts float through their heads. Left alone while Negan swans off toward happily ever after with whoever the hell’d finally won him over.

(Who’d won him over? Does it matter?)

He needs something stronger than beer.

Daryl grabs for the whiskey, pours a shot or three into his glass, and takes a swig. Steadies his gaze back on the other man.

vague relationship meme || accepting

@victimplagued sent: “Hey, remember that time we ended up going to jail in the 60s?”

“Peace ‘n love rally? Out in California?” Daryl’s fingers twitch faintly, knuckles dragging a restless inch along the cold bars. Aching to reach past them. It’s times like these –– quiet moments, reminiscing –– that make Daryl half-forget all the reasons there are bars between them now.

His lips quirk, down at his knees.

“‘Least it was, ‘til you turned it into a damn riot.”

Negan’s behind bars because he’s dangerous. Because every time Daryl does let his walls down it ends up shivving him in the side.

Except... not every time.

The smile slides wider and he finds his gaze flitting up, landing on Negan’s past the steel bars.

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.

vague relationship meme || accepting

@wexarethewalkingxdead sent: “You should borrow my clothes more often.” (from Rick within out trio thread)

Heat hit Daryl’s gut, the feeling of caught burning bright and out against the slow, deep warmth of Rick’s words. It hadn’t been like it’d be hard for Daryl to go down the hall and grab one of his own shirts, but there’d been something about sliding out of bed and slipping on one of Rick’s that’d felt... right, good. Intimate. Like walking around for the rest of the day and carrying a bit of Rick with him.

And by the heat in Rick’s eyes as they traveled over him, he felt the same way.

valentines meme || @spilledblood​

It takes a beat for Daryl to make sense of it, the red film wrapped around a long, narrow box. It looks like something he’d expect from a jewelry store maybe, all dolled up, but it’s not that. He’s pretty sure it’s not that.

Not like he’s ever been given jewelry.

Never been given chocolate either, obviously, once he pulls the film loose and hesitantly edges one corner of the box up. He probably looks like he’s checking for a damn landmine, but it’s not sure how else to handle it. People don’t give him shit. Not nice shit, not more than basic survival needs, anyway. And now that he and Rick are… what they are to each other, it hadn’t occurred to him that might change along with everything else.

There’s a heat in his cheeks and a fluttering his chest and it’s stupid. Rick’s given him food before. (Supplies. For survival.) This shouldn’t be all that different. But… hell, this is chocolate.

“Didn’t get you nothin’.” He knows what today is, more or less. Far as Alexandria’s time keepers can be sure of their dates, anyway. But it’d never occurred to him it might matter. He’s never been with anyone like this before Rick. Sure as hell never been someone’s Valentine.

A smile touches his lips at the sheer absurdity of it. At being handed fancy chocolates by the guy he’s–– sleeping with. At the way his chest is going warm from it. He digs a piece out: that kind of hard dark shell with something soft hidden inside. He bites over a grin, glancing up.

@ironsteed​ sent: “To put things simply, if your past makes your present…Then your present can, and will, make your future.“ // ironsteed

Daryl’s eyes flitted to the older man, arching brows and a slow-crawling smirk.

“Call that simple?” It felt like a riddle to him, but hell. Svad was smart. Educated. How much time would he want to spend with some street kid who couldn’t think for shit?

He took a few seconds, piecing over the words. Tucked his arm behind his head and shifted to settle more comfortably on the mattress.

@gothamsbadge​ sent: "UNCLE DARYL I SPOKE TO LUKE YOU HAVE BOY COOTIES! SO YOU ARE NO LONGER ALLOWED TO KISS CONNIE! IF YOU DO I WILL SHOOT YOU IN THE BUTT WITH AN ARROW! I LEARNED FROM THE BEST y o u." -Hershel (Blame Connie for this one.)

Daryl’s brows arched slow at the outburst. What the hell’d Luke think he was playing at? Hershel’d already been on a cootie kick lately, last thing they needed to do was put more notions in his head.