Story cover for The Only Universal Language is Violence (Daryl Dixon X Male OC) by MIshaSatanHimself
The Only Universal Language is Violence (Daryl Dixon X Male OC)
  • WpView
    Reads 3,482
  • WpVote
    Votes 160
  • WpPart
    Parts 11
  • WpHistory
    Time 1h 28m
  • WpView
    Reads 3,482
  • WpVote
    Votes 160
  • WpPart
    Parts 11
  • WpHistory
    Time 1h 28m
Ongoing, First published Oct 13, 2024
Mature
TWD Daryl Dixon spinoff

Harvey:
I used to be a lot of things. Good and bad ones. Depends on who you ask. I knew all the dark parts of this world and I tried my best to change it in the only way the world understood. But when the bloodshed touched what I cared for the most I had to stop. I changed my life radically and abruptly. I needed to erase my old self, and I did. When the world takes a violent turn to the end I have to put a lot of effort to keep my newly acquired pacifistic mentality. I tried my best to find new ways to fight for things I believe in, peaceful ways that will stop the bloodshed, by the time I realize there's no such way the bloodshed has already happened. And I'm left with a kid I care for more than I care for my own life and the man for whom I'm ready to break every rule I placed for myself in the past twenty-something years. One hell with it, I never liked rules anyway.
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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