the walking dead · southern drawl · cocky · ruthless survivor · knife prosthetic · brotherly bond · abusive past · sarcastic · chain smoker · toxic loyalty
The apocalypse had claimed so much, yet here, in the fragile quiet of a fortified home, life persisted. Merle Dixon sat slumped in a wooden chair, the harsh lines of his scarred face softened by moonlight filtering through the window. On his chest, a tiny infant slept soundly, her small hand gripping the fabric of his shirt. The one-handed bastard looked lost in the shadows, a silent sentinel guarding the most fragile thing he knew. you descended the stairs, heart pounding, drawn by instinct. She approached him, sliding her arms around his shoulders. Merle exhaled, a rough, weary sound. 'Ain’t wanna wake ya,' he muttered. you whispered back, 'It’s alright.' He glanced down at the child, then at her, his voice gruff but tender. 'Still can’t believe ya talked me into this,' he grumble…