bricknees
🌜brit🌛
she/her, 24 ❣️turtle savior. MINORS DNI.does she actually respect authority or does she just have an authority kink 🤔
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Could you maybe write something about Daryl with a reader who’s similar to him and has also experienced physical abuse from their father and they just comfort each other and bond over their scars please
Reminders
Note: My laptop cord broke so forgive any formatting errors :( I toyed with a. Few ideas for this but settled on prison era Daryl with non established relationship fem reader. Def some chemistry, but nothing established. Enjoy!
Warnings: mentions of past abuse, light profanity
Daryl squinted in the sun as he chewed on a freshly picked tomato from the garden. The prison yard was busy, buzzing with activity as people focused on their tasks and socialized amongst themselves. He watched them, studied them. It was new territory for him to feel so important yet so alienated at the same time. Sure, the alienation was mostly his own doing, as he wasn’t much of a social butterfly. He considered himself to be more of a moth, fluttering around on his own in the dark, avoiding the sun. Still, with so many people relying on him and admiring him, it felt unnatural to just walk up to somebody and chat about mundane things as if the world were still turning at its normal pace.
Then, his eyes found you. He never knew what to make of you. You were new — even fresher than the ex-Wooburians. He was the one who found you alone in the forest, yet he had never had a full conversation with you. You were timid and rough on the exterior, never keeping eye contact with anyone unless the sole purpose was intimidation. They almost didn’t let you stick around. It wasn’t until you had a one-on-one with Hershel, where he found you were not all bad, that he talked the rest of the council into keeping you around.
You proved yourself pretty useful, too. You knew a thing or two about gardening crops, you were good with knives and guns, and you were fast. You were never afraid to do what needed to be done, even if it put your own life at risk. You were sent on a lot of runs for that purpose. With people like you and Daryl out on those runs, casualties were few if any. You were both natural protectors.
Some of the kids had taking a liking to you, namely Carl and Mika. You liked them, too, if for different reasons. Carl was strong, and he had an understanding for the world and it’s workings. He impressed you. Mika was sweet, and even if she seemed to sweet for the world, you knew there was a part of her that had potential. She was sure to figure things out, maybe even kick some serious ass one day.
All that aside, Daryl couldn’t read you. Or, maybe he could, and that was the problem. He wasn’t willing to accept how similar the two of you may have been. Hell, he had barely accepted that maybe, somewhere inside him, he was as good as any of these people chattering around him.
“Stare any harder and you’ll melt a hole through her head.” Carol’s voice pulled his gaze away from you. He glared at her.
“Wha’d’ya mean?”
“Oh, come on. You’ve been watching her every move this morning.” She nudged her shoulder against his. “Why don’t you just go talk to her?”
“Hm.” He grunted with a shrug. “Ain’t like that.”
“Why not? She’s cute.” Carol persisted. “She’s like you, but pretty. You’d get along.” She teased.
“Pfft.” He tutted. “She ain’t like me.”
“Whatever.” She chuckled.
Days would go by where he’d watch you from a distance in between his own tasks. It wasn’t that you didn’t notice or feel his eyes dancing over your skin. It was just that you didn’t know how to react or respond. Daryl wasn’t an ugly man by any stretch of the imagination, and unlike him, you could read him all too well because there was something about him that you recognized in yourself and you were willing to accept that similarity.
You snuck your glances in, too. You’d watch from the corner of your eye as his hands gripped the steering wheel on a run, or you’d allow your vision to follow him as he stalked through the gates and into the trees to hunt. You often wondered if he really cared to hunt or if he just wanted to get away. Probably both.
All in all, it was a sad case of two idiots who couldn’t see past their own insecurities and fears far enough to make a move. And it stayed that way, longer than it should have.
One night, when the air was particularly hot and thick with humidity, and he got tired of flipping around on his cot trying to find a cool spot on the sheet, Daryl went outside for a smoke. The prison was fast asleep, save for him, and apparently you. He was about halfway through his cigarette when he noticed a small orange light on the other side of the yard. It would move up and down every so often. He quickly realized it was the cherry of another cigarette.
He couldn’t make out who it was in the darkness, nor could he think of anyone else he’d ever seen smoking. So, he strolled across the grounds and decided to make himself known, so that the other smoker could be known to him. Somehow he was shocked to know it was you.
“Hey.” Your soft voice said casually, not offering even a glance in his direction. You were leaning one shoulder against the chain link fence, watching the quiet forest on the other side.
“Didn’t know ya smoked.” He commented, gluing his eyes to the tree line as well.
“Found the ones I like on our last run. Had to grab ‘em.” You shrugged, taking a long drag and enjoying the cooling menthol as it coated your throat.
“Which ones?” He asked. “I’ll keep an eye out.”
Instead of telling him, you just held up the pack.
“Didn’t take ya for the menthol type.” He mumbled. You sent a quick glance his way.
“What kind would you take me for, then?” You wondered.
“Mm-mm.” He shrugged. “Marlboros. The gold pack.”
“Ew.” You chuckled. “I’m a Camel Crush girl, through and through. You?”
“Don’t matter.” He admitted. “Just the strong ones.”
You nodded and hummed and allowed the silence to creep in. You two stood that way for a few minutes, the only sounds being the noises of puffing and exhaling over a symphony of crickets and night critters.
“Why Crush?” He finally asked. “Why not just menthol?”
“I like having choices.” You said simply.
A slight breeze picked up and chilled your sweaty skin. You wore nothing but a tank and shorts, given the boiling temperatures inside. You ran a hand over your arm to combat the chill. His eyes instinctively flickered to the movement and focused on your hand first, then the flesh beneath. Where he expected to find smooth skin, he instead found a rough terrain of keloid scars.
He had never noticed them before because your sleeves always covered them.
“What happened?” He asked.
“What?” You looked over to him and realized he was looking at your arms. Your hand impulsively moved and covered the ugly reminders of your past. “Oh. Nothing good.” You said vaguely.
“Mm.” He nodded, wondering if it was the same kind of bad things that left him with his own scars.
“Shit.” You mumbled, realizing that small gust of wind blew the cherry off your cigarette. “Got a light? I used my last match for this.”
Wordlessly, he dug in his pocket and handed you his zippo. You lit your cigarette back up and passed his lighter back. More silence followed before he broke it again.
“Was it your mom or your dad?” He bravely questioned.
Your eyes darted to him harshly, but they softened. You considering not answering him, but decided there wasn’t much of a reason not to.
“Neither. It was my step dad.” You confessed.
“My dad was a dick too.” He related.
“Mine wasn’t. His replacement was.” You sighed.
“Mm. Merle — my brother — usually just ran away.”
“From what?”
“My dad.” He said quietly.
“Was your dad like my step-dad?” You asked.
“Mm.” He nodded.
“What was his poison?”
“Whiskey.”
“Oh. Mine liked meth.” You admitted. “Must be a stepdad thing.”
“Nah.” He shook his head. “Just an asshole thing.”
“Sounds right.” You huffed a fry laugh. “Your daddy mark you up like me?”
“Why?”
“How else would you know someone else did this to me?”
“Oh.” He nodded. “Yeah.”
“I’m sorry to hear it.” You sympathized the best you could.
“Don’t matter. It’s in the past.”
“Yeah, I tell myself that, too, but… It’s hard to leave the past where it belongs when you’re covered in reminders. Tryin’ to hide ‘em all the damn time.”
“Yeah.” He agreed. “Maybe they’re just there to remind us we survived.”
You held onto his sentiments, toying with the phrase, spinning it around in your mind and locking it into memory.
“One way to put it, I suppose.”
“It’s the only way to put it. Only way to move on.” He argued. You took the last drag off your smoke before tossing it. Your eyes caught his and stayed there for some time before you offered a soft smile.
“See ya around, Dixon.”
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after looking at a recipe for cheese scones, yes they seem really similar! just imagine them a little softer inside with a more garlic buttery taste and that's basically what they are
i'm conducting an experiment. everyone who's from an english speaking country state your country, regional area and what you call the following images. i need to see something
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so i think american biscuits are pretty similar to uk scones if i remember correctly. but i can confirm they are very yummy. they call them chedday bay biscuits and it's like a crumbly bread (i have no idea how to describe a biscuit), probably a bit softer on the inside than scones are, but it also has cheddar cheese baked into it and gets lathered with a garlic butter sauce after it comes out of the oven. i make them a couple times a year and there's never any left over. 🤌🏻
i'm conducting an experiment. everyone who's from an english speaking country state your country, regional area and what you call the following images. i need to see something
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let rick grimes try and tell me "i give you my word"
nah im out this bitch bc i know u on some bs now
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omg are you KIDDDINNGGGGG MEEEEE?? ! ?
LOVE LOVE LOVE LOVE LOVE THIS IS ADORABLE 😭❤️😭❤️😭❤️
omfg you're so talented i'm obsessed
wrote this little snippet based off of this post by @louifaith bc the idea is so cute. it's just a first encounter between daryl and a little alexandrian girl and i never got any further bc i'm not a writer LOL
︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵
"I like your fairy wings."
It takes a moment to register the words before Daryl realizes they're directed at him, and another moment for him to realize that - shit - so's a pair of big brown eyes. His boots come to a slow stop as he regards the child. The girl couldn't be older than six, a tiny little thing with unruly curls and scabbed knees, gripping a piece of pink sidewalk chalk in one hand. Her curls fall into her face as she leans to try and look behind him, clearly wanting another glance at the wings on his vest.
The fuck?
"Ain't no fairy." Daryl mutters gruffly, unsure of what to make of the girl. A lock of hair clings to the corner of her mouth and she pushes it away, smearing pink chalk over her cheek in the process. Scoffing quietly, he lets her walk behind him as he quickly scans the area, looking for any sign of a guardian but it seems the girl's just out playing on her own; it's strange to him, to be in a place where someone would feel safe enough to let their child outside without being right behind them. It reminds him a bit of his youth, before his mother died, when she'd send him out to ride on his bike and tell him to be back when the streetlights came on. Different times. Now, that sort of thing felt too irresponsible. Too risky - even with walls.
He feels pressure against his back and jumps, turning to look at the little girl as she grins up at him. Her hand is still raised in the air, fingers outstretched and tinted pink. Daryl has half a mind to tell her to quit it, to go find her mom or pops and leave him be, but a little giggle tumbles past the girl's lips and he finds himself short of words. Not a moment later she turns and bounds away, leaving Daryl alone. For the remainder of the day, he's entirely unaware of the little pink handprint lingering on the back of his vest.
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meeEEEEEEE?? 🥹
off the top of my head i squeal when i see @scudslut @louifaith @dixonzzgirl @mvth3r @ghostboneswrites2 @darylsdelts @daryl-dixon-daydreams
but honestly everybody here be my little celebrities, i wanna snatch everybody up and kiss their foreheads 😚😚
When I read a fanfic I like, the author becomes a mini celebrity to me. So when an author with a work I like kudos’ or comments on my own fanfic I just-
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♡ TWD characters + Sleeping at Last Enneagrams + the lyric(s) that reminds me of them ♡
ONE, the reformer ; Carl Grimes ; "the price of this so-called perfection is everything" ⟡ "i want to sing a song worth singing, i'll write an anthem worth repeating; i want to feel the transformation, a melody of reformation"
TWO, the helper ; Aaron ; "sweetheart you look a little tired, when did you last eat? come in and make yourself right at home, stay as long as you need" ⟡ "what a privilege it is to love, a great honour to hold you up"
THREE, the achiever ; (reformed) Negan Smith ; "i finally see myself through the eyes of no one else" ⟡ "a mess of a story i'm ashamed to tell, but i'm slowly learning how to break this spell"
FOUR, the individualist ; Ezekiel Sutton ; "i'm turning out the lights to remember how to see, 'til a renaissance takes place and resuscitates the colour of paint and divinity" ⟡ "maybe i'm hiding behind metaphor, maybe my heart needs to break to be sure"
FIVE, the investigator ; Sasha Williams ; "a white flag waves in the dark between my head and my heart, my armour falls apart" ⟡ "as if i could let myself be seen, even deeply known; like i was already brave enough to let go"
SIX, the loyalist ; Gabriel Stokes ; "i want to take shelter but i'm ready, ready to fight; somewhere in the middle, i feel a little paralyzed; maybe i'm stronger than i realize" ⟡ "is it courage or faith to show up every day? to trust that there will be light always waiting behind even the darkest of nights"
SEVEN, the enthusiast ; Beth Greene ; "how wonderful to see a smile on your face, it costs farewell tears for a welcome-home parade" ⟡ "i want to be here, truly be here, to watch the ones that i love bloom; and i want to make room to love them through and through and through" ⟡ "i feel hope, deep in my bones, that tomorrow will be beautiful"
EIGHT, the challenger ; Daryl Dixon ; "you were wrong, my healing needed more than time" ⟡ "when i see fragile things, helpless things, broken things, i see the familiar" ⟡ "i'm just a kid who grew up scared enough to hold the door shut and bury my innocence" ⟡ "i'll shake the ground with all my might, and i will pull my whole heart up to the surface; for the innocent, for the vulnerable, i'll show up on the front lines with a purpose" ⟡ "i'm shattered porcelain glued back together again"
NINE, the peacemaker ; Lydia ; "choked up i realize, i've been less than half myself for more than half my life" ⟡ "how do i forgive myself for losing so much time?" ⟡ "a little at a time, i feel more alive; i let the scale tip and feel all of it, it's uncomfortable but right"
#twd#the walking dead#daryl dixon#negan smith#beth greene#carl grimes#sasha williams#ezekiel sutton#lydia twd#aaron twd#gabriel stokes#enneagrams
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i need to have my editing rights revoked lmfao
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im logging out
hold on y'all hOLD ON Y'ALL HOLD ON Y'ALL!!!
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okay listen everybody shut the fuck up and LISTEN this is consuming me
tell me alden wouldn't smile at beth in passing all teasingly like "hey blondie 😉" and she'd roll her eyes and turn her head away to hide her blush
come on now they are so tangled-coded it fucking hurts
hold on y'all hOLD ON Y'ALL HOLD ON Y'ALL!!!
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somebody indulge with me on this i've been thinking about it all day. beth and alden would have been SO cute together??? THEY COULD SING TOGETHER 😭
hold on y'all hOLD ON Y'ALL HOLD ON Y'ALL!!!
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hold on y'all hOLD ON Y'ALL HOLD ON Y'ALL!!!
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daryl dixon was fucking GIGGLING. G I G G L I N G. and mfs think they didn't like each other PLEASE- 😭😭😭
i’m pretty sure anyone who thinks daryl and connie had no deeper feelings for eachother or think that their friendship was shallow and very surface level has never had a crush before THATS how u act when you want someoneeee
THAT MAN WAS DOWN BAD DONT EVEN
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PPFFFTTTTTT wait i'm blushing 🥹☺️ thank you so much ❤️
wrote this little snippet based off of this post by @louifaith bc the idea is so cute. it's just a first encounter between daryl and a little alexandrian girl and i never got any further bc i'm not a writer LOL
︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵
"I like your fairy wings."
It takes a moment to register the words before Daryl realizes they're directed at him, and another moment for him to realize that - shit - so's a pair of big brown eyes. His boots come to a slow stop as he regards the child. The girl couldn't be older than six, a tiny little thing with unruly curls and scabbed knees, gripping a piece of pink sidewalk chalk in one hand. Her curls fall into her face as she leans to try and look behind him, clearly wanting another glance at the wings on his vest.
The fuck?
"Ain't no fairy." Daryl mutters gruffly, unsure of what to make of the girl. A lock of hair clings to the corner of her mouth and she pushes it away, smearing pink chalk over her cheek in the process. Scoffing quietly, he lets her walk behind him as he quickly scans the area, looking for any sign of a guardian but it seems the girl's just out playing on her own; it's strange to him, to be in a place where someone would feel safe enough to let their child outside without being right behind them. It reminds him a bit of his youth, before his mother died, when she'd send him out to ride on his bike and tell him to be back when the streetlights came on. Different times. Now, that sort of thing felt too irresponsible. Too risky - even with walls.
He feels pressure against his back and jumps, turning to look at the little girl as she grins up at him. Her hand is still raised in the air, fingers outstretched and tinted pink. Daryl has half a mind to tell her to quit it, to go find her mom or pops and leave him be, but a little giggle tumbles past the girl's lips and he finds himself short of words. Not a moment later she turns and bounds away, leaving Daryl alone. For the remainder of the day, he's entirely unaware of the little pink handprint lingering on the back of his vest.
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wrote this little snippet based off of this post by @louifaith bc the idea is so cute. it's just a first encounter between daryl and a little alexandrian girl and i never got any further bc i'm not a writer LOL
︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵
"I like your fairy wings."
It takes a moment to register the words before Daryl realizes they're directed at him, and another moment for him to realize that - shit - so's a pair of big brown eyes. His boots come to a slow stop as he regards the child. The girl couldn't be older than six, a tiny little thing with unruly curls and scabbed knees, gripping a piece of pink sidewalk chalk in one hand. Her curls fall into her face as she leans to try and look behind him, clearly wanting another glance at the wings on his vest.
The fuck?
"Ain't no fairy." Daryl mutters gruffly, unsure of what to make of the girl. A lock of hair clings to the corner of her mouth and she pushes it away, smearing pink chalk over her cheek in the process. Scoffing quietly, he lets her walk behind him as he quickly scans the area, looking for any sign of a guardian but it seems the girl's just out playing on her own; it's strange to him, to be in a place where someone would feel safe enough to let their child outside without being right behind them. It reminds him a bit of his youth, before his mother died, when she'd send him out to ride on his bike and tell him to be back when the streetlights came on. Different times. Now, that sort of thing felt too irresponsible. Too risky - even with walls.
He feels pressure against his back and jumps, turning to look at the little girl as she grins up at him. Her hand is still raised in the air, fingers outstretched and tinted pink. Daryl has half a mind to tell her to quit it, to go find her mom or pops and leave him be, but a little giggle tumbles past the girl's lips and he finds himself short of words. Not a moment later she turns and bounds away, leaving Daryl alone. For the remainder of the day, he's entirely unaware of the little pink handprint lingering on the back of his vest.
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