⋆.˚✮Heyo~!✮˚.⋆

Okay I hope you don't mind but I'm gonna continue this because- uh- yeah ':]

☆♡☆♡☆♡☆♡☆♡☆♡☆♡☆♡☆♡☆♡☆♡☆♡☆♡☆

"Heyyy, so...~" You slide to sit beside Daryl, watching as he started up a fire to cook the salmon you had... caught. The fish was still cold from the water of the river, its body motionless as it sat upon the wooden stump in use as a table.

"This might sound dumb-"

"You always sound dumb."

"Okay, shut up, first of all," you huff amusedly, shifting on the log and lightly bumping the archer's shoulders. "Let me speak. I, uh, don't know how to gut a fish."

Daryl glances back at you with a not-so-subtle skepticism, his lip twitching up a split moment. "So y'know how to grab a fish like a wild bear, but y'don't know what to do with it after?" He scoffs, looking back to the fire kindling.

"..no. Am I supposed to?" You roll your eyes, ignoring the small flush of embarrassment tinting your cheeks darker. "I just never had a reason to learn."

"Where'd'ja even learn to grab a fish like that, then? For fun?" The man hums with a low chuckle, the kindling catching spark and soon building to a proper fire.

You clear your throat, a beat of quiet passing in the air. Your lack of response makes Daryl look back at you a second, before giving a huff of laughter.

"You're *joking*," he teases, a part of him waiting for you to tell him you really were joking.

"Look, growing up was weird. Boredom does some stuff to'ya," you say defensively, but can't help but smile upon seeing the usually closed-off man laugh.

"'Kay, fine. C'mere." Daryl moves closer to you, pulling out his knife as the fire warms the two of you. That, plus the way your blood rushes when his knee lightly hits yours. You brush that off, however, forcing your attention to the archer now explaining how to clean the salmon.

"So first, t'chu oughtta scale the fish- y'take yer knife, n'just go against the flow of the scales. Comes off real easy most times. Then y'cut off the fins-"

You watch with a curiosity alike that of a child, the glint of metal and fish scales catching in the firelight, popping brightly as if also interested to watch the demonstration.

"-'n when'ya gut it, yer gonna cut from the anal fin to a few inches from th'mouth. Y'remove the intestines 'n shit from there."

Your eyes trace the way Daryl's hand moves so easily against the fish, the practiced precision of his movements a subtle sublime you find in him. The cuts are clean and quick, but you can tell he's trying to slow down so you can understand the process. It makes you fluster, shifting in your spot on the log right next to the archer. The world seems to grow hazy and peaceful, quiet overtaking you two as you simply take in what Daryl's teaching you. You can hear the soft, repetitive click of grasshoppers and the occasional pop of the firewood. The river that flows ever-so-strong a distance away, the whisper of leaves brushing against each other in the wind. It takes you a second to come back when Daryl huffs, adjusting himself almost embarrassedly.

"Hell you starin' for?"

You blink before flushing and realizing you've been staring at the man's face for probably a few good minutes, quickly distracting yourself with a nearby tree that was rather interesting now that you really looked at it-

"Wha- n-nothing. Pft."

Quiet wraps the two of you once more like a used wool blanket, awkward but nice in an odd sense. Daryl moves the cleaned fish over the fire to cook, and while the air seems strained, he takes his seat beside you again. The way his knee hits yours could easily be a coincidence, but it feels too deliberate to be so, biting back a small smile in trade for a soft chuckle.

Imagine you're out with Daryl needing some food and you come across a real nice river and you go 'I know how to fish!!' And instead of actual fishing like with a rod or whatever you use you straight up just jump in the river and grab them. It's efficient somehow but he just stares at you like

Short drabble from this :p

You don't notice him for quite a while. The occassional rustle of overgrown grass from the wind and a distant crackle of water falling unto the rocky shore below it had faded into a calming soundtrack as you thought. An embarrassing amount of time, really, until Daryl lightly nudged your shoulder, worried how you weren't blinking for a concerning amount of time.

You blinked a few times before looking at him. You watched how he faltered a moment, an awkward beat, before he spoke.

"You okay?" His voice was still that rough southern you were used to, but still held that edge of softness that spoke better than anything words could.

You bit the inside of your cheek, eyes flickering back to the hazy moonlight. Breathing felt heavier in your chest, as if a boulder was tight against your chest. Not as if you were about to cry. More so... a long fought-off tired feeling. It was an uphill battle.

"I'd be lying if I say 'yes'," You finally admit, a failing attempt at a smile catching your lips a moment.

Hazy mornings grew to hazy nights, unable to remember what you did in-between the passing of time. You did something, you're sure. At least, you think are you. You can recall... hm. Not much. A few passing words. Blood of the walkers, staining your hands before being washed away in the river you and Daryl always passed by on your runs. The rustic, mucky colour that spelt of both blood and dirt swirled in the coursing water for seconds before dissipating into the quick pace of the stream.

You let out a tight breath, willing away emotions that so rudely clinged onto you like mosquitos in the summer. It felt worse, how it wasn't a need to cry or be angry, either. It tightened your lungs and made breathing feel like a labour, and sleep sounded of the finest wine- a perfect ailment, though unobtainable in your situation.

Daryl's knee tapped yours, words stuck in both your throats, but not needing to be said. He was there, and he saw you. The same way the sun rises unto flowers neglected each morning, the same way the moon glows in the comfort of night. Simple, but relevant.

And that was really all you needed.

Daryl with a partner who gets depressive episodes but not like crying all the time or laying around they just go silent. And like. Everyone's concerned because what do you mean you went quiet? No no no, the excitable guy over there? You've got the wrong person.

Still going on runs and pulling their weight where they stay, but just. Silent. Lingering a bit too much.

And Daryl doesn't know really what to do with it. He can barely healthily deal with his own emotions, comforting someone else is a big bite to chew. But he still tries. Maybe just staying with them. Nudging them with a water canister or some spare food to make sure they're eating and drinking, even if they're too zoned out to realize they're doing it. Staying by them, a mutual dampened air that's bittersweet and tainted with unspoken complications. But it's better, not being alone. It helps.

For the two people who voted lol <3 [warning- horrible quality]

And ofc my favorite

Fennec came up with this poll but made me make it instead so whatever

Reblog for a greater scientific range? That's a thing people say, right? Anyways, help me torture my friend :D

Had this idea for a while now-

Reader joining the group in season 1 or 2, and yeah everything's okay and stuff but they like. Do not trust Rick. At all. Not because he's a bad person or anything personal, but he's a cop. And they carry really bad experiences with officers/enforcers of law. And Daryl just gets that, yk. Trauma bond n stuff. Like maybe they have a shared experience trying to call the cops for help but it only made their situation worse.

Wildflowers

Pairing- Daryl Dixon x GN! Reader

Summary- Quiet memories and flowers

TW- none really, curses once or twice

▪︎●•°○○°•●▪︎▪︎●•°○○°•●▪︎▪︎●•°○○°•●▪︎▪︎●•°○○°•●▪︎

The pair looks across the open field, memories flooding back of when they had first met- you, half-dead all on your own, but alive. And Daryl, his crossbow pointed to your head and his eyes guarded as they always were. You both just stood there, tension crackling in the air as one waited for any sublte movement from the other. Your breath had caught when he shot, of course expecting the worst from this strange, roughed-up looking man. A muffled thud and rustle of grass behind you convinced you to breath again, noticing- wow. You weren't dead [somehow]!

It was quiet now, the air stinging with a sharp cold and the rotting smell of walkers that had passed through the area.

Despite the almost dead air, the sight was a needed break from the crumbled buildings and long-forgotten cities and towns you'd see every day. Wildflowers- pops of yellows and hazy blues grew with an enviable freedom, and the sun caught on the tips of the dense grass. The earthy scent in the air was noticable, subtle touches of wild mint and freshly watered grass. As if the world hadn't gone to shit. As if folks weren't dying everyday in horrific ways.

"I thought you were some fallen angel when I first saw 'ya," you tease quietly, the soft hush of wind a soothing whisper for peace, even if fleeting.

"I thought you were alrea'y dead," Daryl responded gruffly, his eyes on the horizon.

You give a soft chuckle. That was fair. Your body was caked in mud and blood- both yours and of walkers. Being all out on your own, focused on the slightest shuffle of feet that could mean life or death, you weren't exactly putting a lot of effort into lookin' pretty.

"Still," You continued, your eyes following the other's to the fading sky. "Why didn't you shoot me then?"

Silence once more draped the pair like a weather-worn blanket. You glanced at him, trying to figure out why he didn't answer. Did he just not hear? Was he ignoring you? Or maybe he just didn't have an answer?

You didn't get a response, as Daryl then began making his way back to the grazing horses you two had arrived on. You blinked, unsure if to be slightly offended or just sum it up to Daryl's odd personality, though followed him anyways. It's not smart to be out at night.

▪︎●•°○○°•●▪︎▪︎●•°○○°•●▪︎▪︎●•°○○°•●▪︎▪︎●•°○○°•●▪︎

A/N~ agrhagrgabsg haii! Thank you for reading! This is my first fic, so... wow! I got unneedingly nervous posting this.

I'm not entirely sure if this is just a drabble or the start to a fic, because, to be entirely fair, I am winging all of this [as I'm sure many of us are]. I also was trying to add images, but I couldn't figure out how to make them smaller. Sorry chat 😔. Hopefully more works like these soon, though [and taking less time]!

Guys.

Alexandrian era, with Reader being apart of or being in a solo traveling band. Trading songs and tales for a night under a roof. Madelyn Mei type songs. Yaelklore type songs. Yk yk???

BARD READER :0

Sighing because I wanna write for a different fandom but I'd hate to accidentally mischaracterize a character even though I know people don't care but. Like. 😔 I dunno what if I say someone likes the colour blue only to later find out they have a horrible trauma response from blue. Dude. Don't even joke because I just have such ass luck like that.

Been on my mind for a while- sorry for not posting in FOREVER 💔

But short drabble bc

⭑⭑⭑

The wind brushed against the fading green leaves, the trees lining a pathway deeper and deeper into the ever-growing scaping of plants and herbs and every so often a walker or more. The mindless chatter between you and Daryl dealt with everything and nothing, the conversation as flexible as the river that rushed so.

"Nah, that wouldn't work," Daryl huffed, his crossbow thrown over his shoulder and watching you a few paces ahead of him.

"You don't know!" You smile cheekily back at him, your arms out as you balance on the railroad, cracked and rusted from disuse, with small weeds growing inbetween the cracks and over it. "We could at least tr- oh, fuck-!" You startle, missing your footing and almost falling if not for Daryl quickly appearing by your side.

"You okay? Wha's wrong-" he looks down to see what could've startled you, falling quiet.

There, in the overgrown grass, simply grazing in all it's glory- a box turtle, eating a rather large beetle it found on the ground.

Daryl looked back at you, your shoulders square and a step behind the other man, watching the creature intently as if it insulted you personally. You saw the archer's lips twitch, likely biting back a small smile.

"...you jokin'?" His gruff voice finally rises, shifting the crossbow on his shoulder.

You bristled lightly. Who was he to judge? "Hey, turtles are freaky, okay? I'd rather not get biten from it, thanks." Maybe it was kinda irrational, but really, people downplayed turtles. They could be hella fast. And the way they bit? Mm, thanks, but no.

He gives a low chuckle that he fails to pass off as a cough, crouching down and carefuly tracing the yellow-black pattern of its shell as if to prove to you it was a harmless creature.

"Never thought I'd see you scared'a somethin' like a turtle," he teases, picking up the turtle. It immediately retreats to its shell on the touch, though its' sharp red eyes peek out from the pocket of where its' head is.

"Dixon, I swear-"

"Relax, 'm not gonna throw it at'chu," he rolls his eyes, looking at the boxed animal a moment longer before setting it back down. "Probably."

I *swear* I've been writing, I'm just... (looks at my overflowing unfinished works) ...getting distracted