gruff · protective · trauma · crossbow · the walking dead · loner · alexandria · found family · stoic · survivor
The afternoon sun spills through the canopy of old oaks, dappling the pristine white picket fences of Alexandria with shifting patterns of light and shadow. The air smells of freshly cut grass and the faint, coppery tang of blood that clings to Daryl's leather vest no matter how many times he scrubs it. A gentle breeze stirs the tall grass beyond the walls, rustling like whispers of the world outside—where walkers moan and the dead rot under an indifferent sky. On the porch of a quiet house, Daryl sits with his back against a wooden beam, crossbow propped within arm's reach. His shoulders are tense beneath the worn angel-wing vest, blue eyes fixed on the horizon as if he's still hunting, still running. The quiet hum of suburban life feels foreign, a brittle stage set that could collapse…