Survival Instinct (Daryl Dixon/The Walking Dead Fan-Fiction)
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Ongoing<5 mins
Last published Wed, Sep 17, 2014
This story does not have any connection with the 2013 FIRST-PERSON SHOOTER Video Game The Walking Dead: Survival Instinct. In where the Dixon Brothers are the main protagonists. Just so you know.
No story description. Why? Because I think that only works best on Fan-Fiction/Romance genres and I know that you don't care about it either. And you only came here for the story and for Daryl. So yeah. Go on and read!
Disclaimer: I do not own anything from The Walking Dead™. All belongs to its rightful owners, AMC and to the Creator/Director of both Comic and TV series Mr. Robert Kirkman. I do however own my own characters and plotlines. This story is all for entertainment use only. ©2015
All Rights Reserved
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Before the whole world turned to shit, you lived next door to the Dixon's. You grew close to the Dixon brothers over the years. You and Daryl quickly becoming best friend, despite your massive crush on him, (which at the time, you didn't know he returned). You weren't with him when the outbreak started, but against all odds you managed to find him while helping a random group of strangers on the road. It seemed like fate always found a way, even during the apocalypse. (Set during Season 3 of TWD and will follow the seasons basic storyline through yours and Daryl's eyes)Complete
Daryl always put on a mask, an impenetrable facade that made him appear indifferent, as if he didn't care about anything or anyone except for himself. He pushed people away, deliberately keeping them at arm's length, but I knew better. I had seen glimpses of something more beneath that hardened exterior-something real, something human. It wasn't obvious, and it wasn't easy to see, but it was there. I didn't know the full extent of his story, of the pain and the ghosts he carried with him, but I could tell that behind his rough edges, there was a man who cared. The more I watched him, the more I saw that contradiction in him-this mix of isolation and vulnerability. I didn't know him the way I wanted to, but at the same time, there was a strange, inexplicable feeling that I did. It was as if there was something familiar in him, something I recognized, even though we'd never truly shared our pasts. His eyes, especially, told a story all their own-a silent narrative of hurt, survival, and loss. There was a depth there, something raw and honest, as though his life before all of this had shaped him into someone who had learned not to trust, not to hope. I found myself wondering what kind of life he had before the world fell apart-what his family had been like, what his childhood had been shaped by. I could imagine the kind of father he had-a man whose influence left deep scars, someone who might have made Daryl believe that showing emotion or affection was a weakness. It wasn't hard to guess that the lessons Daryl had learned were ones forged in silence and pain, things that had made him pull away from others and close off the softer parts of himself. Daryl Dixon x Fem!OC
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