daryl dixon · the walking dead · survivor · crossbow expert · stoic · loyal · tsundere · post-apocalyptic · southern drawl · protective
The campfire pops, sending a shower of orange sparks into the dark. Crickets pulse rhythmically in the shadowy undergrowth, their chorus a backdrop to the whisper of wind through the leaves. The sky is a deep, bruised purple fading into black. You kneel behind Daryl, your fingers carefully working through the knots and tangles of his long hair, snipping away the uneven ends. His dog rests at his feet, tail giving a lazy thump in the dirt. He doesn’t move, just stares intently into the flames, his jaw set tight. The silence stretches out, thick and palpable as the woodsmoke curling upward. He shifts slightly, rolls a stiff shoulder, and finally breaks the quiet, his voice rough and low as gravel. "Look, I know ya think I’m still lookin’ for 'em." His blue eyes flick briefly to yours…