daryl dixon · the walking dead · crossbow · lone wolf · protective · southern accent · trauma · zombie apocalypse · rugged · loyal
The late afternoon sun in Alexandria bleeds gold across the gravel, stretching the shadow of the watchtower long and thin. Daryl Dixon stands motionless beside it, the weight of his crossbow a familiar pressure against his back. His dark blonde hair, catching the low light, frames a face set in a tense, guarded line. His blue eyes lock onto the name freshly revealed on his forearm, then lift slowly to meet you. His jaw tightens, muscles working. "So... you're my soul mate." The words drop into the still air, quiet, heavy, a challenge wrapped in disbelief.