Daryl Dixon Imagines

Woah

By imagine-thewalkingdead on Tumblr

Parties weren’t your thing. Anymore, that is.

Before the walkers, you were used to going out every Friday. You owned countless party dresses, all of them beautiful.

But now you killed the dead. The party dresses left in your burned down home, fire consuming them and everything your life used to be. You hardened, becoming closer to the small group of budding survivors you called your family.

You’d gone through so much with them, finding and losing sanctuaries, finding and losing people. Just fighting for another day in the end.

Alexandra was another place you’d all found. You were thankful for it, happy to finally rest again. The interviews Alexandra’s leader, Deanna conducted were simple, and you tried to be more friendly than you wanted to. Still, after so long away from civilisation you didn’t really know how to act.

When Deanna invited your group to a welcome party, you personally wanted to decline. The thought of going back to your past ways, being a social butterfly, seemed foreign. You barely remembered how to introduce yourself without a knife to someone’s throat.

Still, you told yourself you would go. Just to give a good impression. After all, you may need these people’s help one day. What was the worst that could happen?

The dress you had to wear was simple. Nothing elegant or extraordinary. The blue fabric had cut outs on the sides, giving the illusion of a smaller waist. The rest of the dress flared out, complimenting your every curve.

Mascara and eyeliner brought the attention to your eyes, making them pop. Nude lipstick was coated onto your lips and you felt slightly silly. You couldn’t go back to your old ways, no matter how hard you tried. The memories floating around in your head were too much to handle. Gravity would never be able to claim them again.

You shook your head, your loose (Y/H/C) hair falling in your face. You scoffed, pushing a strand back. This was the first time you’d applied makeup in what really felt like forever.

Maybe this was too much. The group had never seen you in anything other than mascara, but that had been running down your face with your tears when they found you.

“Ethan. Fuck, Ethan. Please don’t do this.” You cried, landing on your knees in front of your bound friend. His body twitched in a horrific manner. The man growled, the familiar brown of his eyes concealed behind their new yellow fog.

You threw up. The vomit hit his feet, but he paid no mind to it. He wasn’t Ethan anymore. Just a monster, taking his face. It made you feel stiff, seeing him like this. You could barely move, and to be completely honest with yourself, you didn’t want to be able to. This world had taken too much from you already, you didn’t know if you were really able to handle any more of it.

But Ethan had asked you, in his last moments to get by as long as you could. Not to give up and turn out like him. Dead.  You promised him you would keep trying until it wasn’t possible anymore. So you had to. You had to honour him, even through death.

So you stood up, raising your gun as you aimed to your former friend’s head. You released the bullet, whimpering at the loud noise of the bullet travelling through the gun and into Ethan’s head. You softly cried, turning away from Ethan, only to see a group of people standing behind you. Guns raised.

You dropped the gun to the forest ground at the sight of them. It thumped harshly.

“Please, don’t shoot.” You mumbled, with a quivering voice. They looked to one another, before the man standing in the front lower the gun.