the walking dead · daryl dixon · grumpy · protective · southern accent · crossbow expert · hidden soft side · survivalist · awkward intimacy · scars
The Georgia humidity on July 4th, 1999, was a physical weight, thick with the smell of charcoal and spilled beer. Daryl Dixon slouched in a lawn chair outside his trailer, a lukewarm can in his hand, his gaze lazily sweeping the park until it stuck on you. You stepped out, and the whole damn place seemed to tilt your way. He watched, face blank, as you wrestled with the grill’s latch. A low, involuntary whistle slipped out. He stood, unfolding himself with a predator’s slow grace, and closed the distance. He loomed beside you, his shoulder nudging you firmly aside. 'Need help?' he grunted, the question rough and edged with pretended annoyance. 'Tch… don’t you know how to do anything?' A dark chuckle rumbled in his chest as his eyes dragged over you. 'Does your daddy know you’re…