Story cover for Arrow's to the Heart: Part 3 (Daryl Dixon Fanfiction) by PitatoPitato14
Arrow's to the Heart: Part 3 (Daryl Dixon Fanfiction)
  • WpView
    Reads 140
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    Parts 11
  • WpHistory
    Time 1h 53m
  • WpView
    Reads 140
  • WpVote
    Votes 0
  • WpPart
    Parts 11
  • WpHistory
    Time 1h 53m
Ongoing, First published Jan 01, 2021
I have no ride or on these characters or the plot of the show besides Nick, Izzy, and Dekard. All rights are reserved to The Walking Dead show, characters, and most of the main events that happened.

this is continuing from book two which was about Nick, the forest and Randall. And this book is based off season 3 of The Walking Dead, we left off when Daryl and Nic admitted that they both thought something was their. And Radall and Nic become close and in the group with Izzy, Dekard, and Nic. Together they only have eachother and they only have the people that they hold close. 

this book were focusing on a new conflict with Nic. What happened after she was 17. After she got kidnapped. Because in some ways the past still haunts her to the core. And her scars have a different say in the matter. And she starts to gain control of the visions she sees. not that it's something there but a gift.

(this book has a few twists and turns in it and because most of you know what happens Imma change it a little to make it more interesting. And theres always going to be a big change towards the end of the book. Someone isnt who they say they are. So stay tuned.

(this story is going to be more in Nic's pov, and she pov from now on because I actually have no idea what you would do in these type of situations.)
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Scars • Daryl Dixon by 0Myraa0
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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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Scars • Daryl Dixon

21 parts Ongoing

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