MERCIFUL
private daryl dixon.
Sometimes fate is like a small sandstorm that keeps changing directions. You change direction but the sandstorm chases you. You turn again, but the storm adjusts. Over and over you play this out, like some ominous dance with death just before dawn. Why? Because this storm isn't something that blew in from far away, something that has nothing to do with you. This storm is you. Something inside of you. So all you can do is give in to it, step right inside the storm, closing your eyes and plugging up your ears so the sand doesn't get in, and walk through it, step by step.
nobodiesgovernor-archived asked: love me -fLEES-
Leave a “Love Me” in my ask, and I’ll write a fluffy drabble about our characters.
Caring for people was something
that was foreign,
yet somehow second nature
to the younger Dixon.
And with their recent times
spent together in the
heat of battle,
he knew he could trust the sheriff.
When the sun was high,
Daryl found himself under the hood
of a car they had found on the highway.
Soon he noticed a figure blocking the sun’s rays.
“Min’ handin’ me a socket wrench?”
he questioned,
giving his dear friend a small,
yet warm smile.
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