Daryl Dixon X Reader - Blog Posts

𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖈𝗈𝗅𝗈𝗋 𝗈𝖿 𝘀𝗶𝗹𝗲𝗻𝗰𝗲, daryl dixon. ( teaser )

▏﹒﹒ fic rating: R-- this fic is meant for mature ( 18+ ) audiences only. minors do not interact. ▏﹒﹒ warnings: violence, death, walking dead level gore, suicide / suicidal ideations, mentions + descriptions of abuse and mental illness, suggestive / sexual themes. these are warnings needed throughout the series. will be updated if needed. ▏﹒﹒ desc: the silence is often deafening. you find, however, that it is easier this way, easier to fade away. to blend into the background, to be another blur of a face— easily forgotten, & overlooked. you prefer it that way, the solitude. after all, if you are alone who will be around to question the parts about you that you don’t quite understand? the stoic expression that hardly cracks, the calcutative mannerisms, the burns on your forearms? you don’t mean to seem apathetic. it is just easier that way. ▏﹒﹒ notes: this fic is still in writing! this is simply a teaser for it & the first chapter will be posted soon. a taglist for this will be created, so if you're interested pls let me know <3

fiddling with the woven bracelets, her gaze stays glued to the way they rub against her wrists. he can’t help but feel like there's something different in her expression-- almost like there was finally something there. there is something that aches deep within him as he watches her once stoic facade break slowly like glass chipping underneath the pressure of crisp, harsh winter wind. “have you ever heard of the story of the two birds on the wire?” 

his eyebrows furrow, lips twitching downward. “naw,” he tells her. “i ain’t never ‘eard of it.”

“well, there's two birds on a wire,” she starts. he watches as her eyes finally look up, but not at him; part of him is disappointed that she didn't quite catch his eyes, but the other is sure he would have froze on the spot, like a gazelle in headlights; her gaze, much like others have described, is blinding, and he was sure he wasn’t too fond of anything remotely close to spotlight. she watches the fire in front of them crackling and in the embers glow he can see pain etched in the cracks chipped in her broken look. he didn’t think his chest could tighten any more than it already has. its become a common thing with her now. hes sure that, with her, hes never sure just about anything anymore. “one bird says c’mon and flies away, the other watches ‘em close and says i'm tired. tells ‘em that he wants to fly, too, but he's lying, because see, they’re two birds of a feather, swore to each other that they are always gonna stay together, but ones never going to let go of that wire. so the one that does want to fly is left with an impossible choice.”

see, he can remember quite clearly the day he finally felt understood-- heard, even if he didn’t speak a single word. he associates such a day with the smell of burning wood, maple tree sap, and the feeling of wet grass and moonshine on his skin. daryl dixon also remembers this as the day he fell hard, harder than that day at the quarry, and boy did he fall hard that day.

“does the bird stay with him on the wire, or fly away?”