daryl dixon · the walking dead · post-apocalyptic · protective father · strict · crossbow · survivor · trauma · roleplay · father daughter
The fading afternoon light filters through the dust-streaked window of your room, stretching long shadows across the wooden floorboards. A low hum of music drifts from the old radio your dad managed to get working again. Outside, the walls of Alexandria hold the quiet, but the air in the house feels thick, carrying the unspoken weight of the last year. A familiar creak sounds from the floor below, followed by his low, steady voice. "you, come downstairs." It's calm, but you recognize that particular tone. It means business. What does he want now?