#nadia rants | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

drifting-pieces-blog-blog · 1 year ago

Text

Breaking down the Comics: Like a Drugged Up Business Man (Issues 4-7)

Marc Spector - Moon Knight: Issue #4: Wild Midnight

Written by: Charles Dixon

Art by: Russ Heath

ALRIGHT. Let's get back to our new writer, Chuck.

So Chuck wrote issues 1-24 and issue 34. Apparently he wasn't too keen on it. It was a job. A job at Marvel. And it was an in to get into the comic writing big leagues.

Now, issues 1-24 is nothing to sneeze at. It's a good number of comics. However, there is some criticism that he left the series on a half hearted cliff hanger. He introduced plot lines then left before he finished them.

Never a nice thing to do to a series or to the next writer (Ask Star Trek TNG how they felt about that with the borg writer that tried to leave. Seriously, ask. I love Star Trek.)

Why am I bringing this up on issue # 4? We'll get to that. Just keep that in the back of your mind as we go along.

You guys see probably looking at that guy on the cover and going "HEY! That guy looks familiar! And Midnight? This is obviously a play on the name. Is this Midnight man?"

And I'm here to tell you that: You are paying attention. Good for you.

We open on Atlanta Georgia!

We see a glass building with a man climbing up the side with classic 1990s suction cups on his hands and knees. I can't tell you how many movies I saw with these.

Also?

“Heh heh heh” (this always gets me laughing.)

"VERY scary, Mr. Spector!"

"Marlene! I thought I locked that door."

"You didn't."

"I thought that rough guy talk came naturally. I didn't know you practiced."

"I WASN'T! I was just trying on my new kevlar costume and kind of got in the mood.

The last one got pretty shot up when I was getting you out of Burunda. I thought I'd look into something more bullet resistant."

Yeah... Marc would need something more bullet resistant since the man doesn't know how to DUCK.

Marlene doesn't like him joking about Bushman. She is still upset that Marc didn't kill him.

"He's never going to stop hounding you. You should have kiled you."

Marc laughs at her blood thirsty attitude.

Marlene is still not impressed.

"You were a MERCENARY, Marc. You traded in death every day. But after your original run-in with Bushman you put on that goofy costume and all of a sudden you became a Choir Boy."

(No, that's Dare Devil.)

My argument that Marlene is a toxic partner continues. She always wants him to be something different. In the original run she just wants Steven and for him to settle down with her. Here, she has 'accepted' him as Marc, but she wants him to be what her idea of him is: A brutal killer.

She is not having any of Marc's silly ways. And this just kills me because Marc, under all that angst and trauma, is a silly guy.

Marlene is not having his silliness.

"I hope you get a chance to grow up before somebody kills you!"

And she storms off.

A little later, Marc goes looking for Marlene and comes across Chloe. The new 'cook'. And there she is cooking in her bikini top again.

He asks if she's seen Marlene.

"Not lately, Marc. She took the porsche and went to her apartment in the city. She said that she would see you again when you grew up and stopped playing cowboy."

"Her exact words?"

"I would not repeat her exact words, Mr. Spector."

Frenchie interrupts the two to tell him that Marc's accountant is there to see him on urgent matters.

"On the last six Friday nights, six different businesses in six different cities were broken into and valuables stolen. A real pro. He only skimmed the best stuff. Cash... Paintings... Securities... Anything that wasn't nailed down."

Turns out Marc is a major stockholder in every one of those businesses.

Turns out, this makes Marc a suspect because his name keeps popping up in the investigation.

Poor Marc. "Paper rich but cash poor."

(Steven sure did know what he was doing with investing and things as a way to plan for the future. Too bad Marc has no idea what he's doing.)

Marc asks more about the burglaries.

Turns out at each robbery, a clock was smashed with the hands at midnight.

And I give you a close up of Marc’s reaction to that bit of news.

“Midnight?!”

This man...

Elsewhere, we find some thugs trying to offload some fur coats.

They are arguing about price and things are starting to escalate when BLAAM.

Moon Knight literally blows a hole in the ceiling and busts in.

He'd like to talk to one of the thugs.

"You guys don't mind if Winslow and I talk privately, do you?"

turns out Winslow used to fence Anton Mogart's stolen items.

You all remember Aton Mogart, right? The original Midnight Man.

Winslow is interrogated and declares taht Anton is dead.

Moon Knight declares that Anton is alive and that "I'll be back. If you've heard from him, I'll find out and I'll burn you down. Kapish?"

(Awww Marc, I love that Yiddish).

And then Moon Knight leaves back out the hole he made.

I mean... At least he's actually using the same exit now.

Back at the mansion, Frenchie noted that Marc was "wound up so tight over Mogart."

"It's personal. He's goading me. I made a mistake thinking he was dead and now he's rubbing my face in it. Not only is he stealing from me, but he's making it look like I have something to do with it."

Frenchie tells Marc that it's a shame no one can tell him anything. (Where's Jake when you need him?).

"Too bad you can't just invite him out for a beer?"

And I kid you not. Marc and his amazing bad decision making skills everyone:

"You're just shy of being indicted, you're under investigation by every federal agency but the department of agriculture and you want to throw a bash?

Half of the guests are going to be feds. You're wired for sound better than a David Bowie concert. A low profile would be best."

"You want me to act guilty, right, Hal? It's Friday night and a week since his last job. The wealthiest stiffs in three states are here. Our thief won't be able to resist."

"I heard that you were some kind of adventurer in your past. But this kind of stunt is stupid."

"You're a hardcase, Hal, but you're still an accountant You know your Jungle and I know mine."

Pretty smug there Marc.

And at the party, we find a platinum blonde making her way around. Oh look at that! Felicia Hardy!

For those not in the know, she's an on again off again love interest for Spider-Man and also a cat burglar, and also Black Cat!

Wonder what she's doing there? Hmmmmmm.

Meanwhile, Frenchie is also displeased at this whole affair.

"I hate this whole idea, Marc. There're too many people around. It's a bad situation."

"Stop worrying, Frenchie. This apartment is unapproachable from anyother building and the basement is locked up tight."

Marc explains that they've left no option but for the Midnight Man to be drawn out. The place is a 'fortress'.

"Just like the Alamo." (oh Frenchie how I love you).

And then Marc notices "the blonde". Marc no.

Marc. Marc no. No Marc. No.

Lucky for Marc, he's interrupted by a gushing lady about how generous he is with his donations to the local children's hospital.

He's ushered up on stage to start the pledge drive just before midnight.

Marc stars by donating One Hundred Thousand dollars.

He's informed that someone else has donated Half a Million Dollars.

Out done at his own shindig, Marc askes who donated the check.

"A mister Anton Mogart."

Side note: This art style is reminding me of early Spider-Man art with all the handsome but reactive close up faces of Peter Parker and it is sending me.

It's at this time that smoke bombs go off in the ballroom.

Considering that the party is full of FBI and various investigators... We see several of them spring into action, pulling out weapons like it's the 50s.

Ms. Hardy also springs into action, making a break for it.

And then we see a figure clad in all black running through the crowd snatching up all the fancy jewelry.

And then Moon Knight also runs by in the gas.

Which... now you have two figures in a cloak and hood running through a gassed up room. Good job Moon Knight.

The feds mistake him for the bad guy and open fire.

Marc Spector, Everyone:

Our Mystery Moon Knight makes a run for it, sucker punching Frenchie and slipping down a hall.

He's got a game planned and Moon Knight is invited to play.

"C'mon, Moonie! You can't win if you don't play!"

He tosses more gas bombs and makes to escape only to run face first into Moon Knight's fist.

"You should have stayed dead, Mogart. I don't know where you've been holed up all these years..."

Midnight man rolls away and runs for an open window then dives out, landing in "One of those slide tubes for high rise rescues."

I'm glad I'm not the only one that has no idea what those things are called.

Moon Knight watches as Midnight Man slides away in the tube.

"But I'm not stupid enough to follow him down this thing..."

"Then how stupid are you?" Black Cat!

She sucker kicks him. And I gotta say, that had to hurt.

Little History of Black Cat, AKA Felicia Hardy!

First appeared in The Amazing Spider-Man 1979! Daughter of a world renowned cat burglar.

Depending on how she's being written, she also has the ability to cause bad luck to anyone that comes up against her. Sometimes love interest, ally, and enemy to Spider-Man. Too bad she has no interest in his alter-ego Peter Parker.

Something else about her? She has superhuman strength. She packs a punch! Along with agility, balance, and expert knowledge in fighting styles and gymnastics.

I was honestly surprised to see her in this. There was no indication of a ‘special guest appearance’ on the cover. Usually there is when you bring in a pretty face like this.

Especially in a two parter because this is the end of the issue!

But we certainly see her on the cover of the next issue!! Interesting choices being made here.

Marc Spector - Moon Knight: Issue #5: Rockin’ at Midnight

Written by: Charles Dixon

Art by: Sal Velluto

Another change in artist. In a two parter. That’s pretty weird, honestly. What the heck was going on at Marvel at this time? (aside from the mass exodus to DC that took place followed by a new editor and chief, and Stan Lee leaving New York for LA to start up Marvel studios to start producing cartoons and shows, leaving a void in creative control that was filled by the editor in chief and big wigs. You know… all that.)

Alright, we open up on Moon Knight not having a very good time.

We start with Black Cat mistaking him for the other hooded figure that stole all the jewels.

Moon Knight tries to reason with her.

"It's Anton Mogart we're after. He calls himself Midnight."

"And what do you call yourself, Caspter the un-friendly ghost?"

"Uh... Moon Knight?"

Yeah she's never heard of him.

Poor Marc.

They fight a bit and Marc tosses her in the closet and locks the door to chill for a minute.

He turns to give chase to Midnight and comes face to guns with the FBI.

They think he’s the thief and they try to arrest him.

….Marc that’s not how you…

So he beats them up and runs off.

Black Cat bursts through the door and also runs off.

He instructs Frenchie to get them airborne quickly.

"I ran into some bad luck. It started when a black cat crossed my path."

Black Cat catches up in time to watch them take off in the chopper and she manages to somehow attach a line and get pulled along without them noticing.

They manage to spot Midnight Man getting into his car just before he takes off.

At this point, Black Cat jumps on top of the chopper to say hi.

"Who is she, boss?"

"Uh... Someone I met at the party. Keep your eyes on Midnight, Frenchie."

Yeah... Just...ignore the lady in the literal cat suit sitting on top of the plane. Good plan.

They zoom off after Midnight and of course he looks up and notices the moon shaped plane chasing him.

They zip across the bridge and Black Cat is impressed with their gumption.

"You are WAY crazy, Casper, climbing down a ladder from a chopper doing at least seventy. But, I haven't been to Queens in ages. Not since Parker and I called it finito. Y'know, Casper's costume's not much... But with a build like that... What did he say his name was? Moonbeam? Moonshine? Moonraker?

Get serious, Felicia. Why would a guy name himself after a James Bond movie. Especially a Roger Moore James Bond movie. ICK!"

LOL What's great about this is that as a fan of the 90s Spider-man cartoon growing up, they all had fast talking monologue thoughts and I can hear this in that style.

It's just wonderful to hear how the writing style was back then.

Alright a lot is about to happen and fast talk is only the first half of it! Welcome to the end of the 80s and early 90s!

Moon Knight drops from the chpper to land on the getaway car.

"Moon Knight! My main man! You come to see the USA in my Chevrolet?"

(Midnight man suddenly sounds like Lobo from DC comics who is the MOST late 80s early 90s character I've ever come across and the reason why I still to this day still will randomly call someone "My main man".)

"When did you develop a sense of humor, Mogart? A stupid sense of humor." Marc's just mad he's not the one cracking the jokes.

"Oh, Lots of things about me would surprise you, Moonie."

Black Cat is close on their tail as she leaps car to car through traffic.

She notes that Ol' Moonie was telling the truth after all and seems to be the good guy.

Moon Knight demands that Midnight pull over. Midnight politely declines.

And welcome to Marc continuing his string of bad luck.

I don’t even know where to start.

It's okay. The car lands in the water.

Black Cat is sad to see all the stolen diamonds sinking down with the car.

Frenchie flies in and drops a ladder.

Luckily, Marc surfaces.

He's unable to locate Midnight man.

"No sign of him. ....Huh. You always were a lousy swimmer, Mogart."

This is a hilarious call back to the first time Mogart fell off a cliff into the water and 'drowned'. Then again later when Mogart kidnapped him in the sweres and 'drowned' again. He uh... He's got a problem with water.

Moon Knight has another concern.

"Lost another cape. That's getting expensive."

And with that, Moon Knight flies off and Black Cat watches him go.

"Catch you another time, Moonbug. Maybe we'll get to party again. I'll bet he's cute under that creepy mask. What IS it about a man in a mask tha tmakes me melt?"

Black Cat certainly has bad luck when it comes to men.

Frenchie and Marc return home. Frenchie remarks about the fuel being on E because Marc was so insistent on searching up and down the river looking for Midnight, just in case.

"I wanted to make sure he's really dead this time. No more unpleasant surprises."

"Your entire life is a series of unpleasant surprises, Marc."

Frenchie, you hit the nail on the head real hard there, buddy.

Speaking of unpleasant...

They land and Marlene is there to greet him. A little desperate.

If you recall, the last we saw her, she had stormed off after picking a fight with Marc.

Now she's back and she throws herself into his arms.

"I wanted to apologize for the way I acted yesterday. I have no right to try and change you."

And then she finds a platinum blonde hair on his outfit. (Black Cat brings all the bad luck)

"A little disagreement and you run off with the first tramp you can find! You disgust me, Marc!"

And she storms out again.

Marc's pretty pissed off. He goes and has an argument with the Khonshu statue as usual. I'm glad to see that remains from the original days. Is it even Marc if he doesn’t have a moment or arguing with and blaming all his troubles on a statue?

"What are YOU looking at, Khonshu? If it weren't for YOU I wouldn't have all these complications in my life. I'd be happier and things would go a lot smoother with Marlene. Sure.

If it weren't for Khonshu, I'd be DEAD and so would Marlene. Both of our lives were saved the night that I took on the cloak of Khonshu and became Moon Knight. I just have to learn to live with an Ancient Egyptian GOD in my life--And the guilt over my less-than-moral mercenary days.

Could be worse. Some guys have to live with their in-laws. Where'd the water on the floor come from?"

Marc….

Window exit! Do I count this? Also, he’s constantly trashing his own mansion.

Marc.... Marc....

He refuses to listen and Midnight puts up a fight.

"If I have to kick your butt to get you to listen, I can do that!"

And then Marc's new 'cook' Chloe shows up, distracting Midnight.

Moon Knight manages to punch him out

Moon Knight unmasks him to find.... "It's just some kid."

He picks up the unconscious man and starts to carry him inside.

"What should we do with him?"

"This kind of situation wasn't covered in your maid job description, but could you get me a bottle of asprins and a couple of beers to wash 'em down, Chloe? We'll BOTH need them."

Marc, you are just filled with bad ideas.

Now with the new Midnight man tied up to a chair, he regains consciousness and Marc starts his interrogation.

"Now maybe you can tll us who you are, Kid."

"Sure thing. You can ditch the mask though. I already know all about you. Spector."

“What’s the use of a secret identity if everyone already knows it? How do all the other guys do it?” - Marc who is so bad at keeping his identity that he stopped trying later.

Yeah, totally called it. It seems any time an old villain shows up and isn’t the old villain, it’s always the son or something. I’m…Just surprised that Mogart had a kid, to be honest.

Jeffrey Wilde, the new Midnight man, goes into his story.

His mom didn't marry Mogart. He was a fling baby.

That makes sense, knowing Mogart.

Mogart sent money for support "when he thought of it".

He met Mogart for the first time when Mogart was dying in a hospice of cancer.

Turns out the chemicals that deformed him also gave him cancer.

As a kid, he had collected newspaper clippings of Mogart's special activities. While visiting his dying father, Mogart had disclosed his techniques and asked his son to stay on the right side of the law.

Marc is surprised to hear that Mogart really IS dead and that he isn't the one that ended up killing him.

He asks the kid why he's been bothering him and framing him and all that business.

"To show you what I picked up from my old man. To show you how good I am. That I can be your partner."

Oh boy, this is going to end well.

Marc is just as incredulous as I am.

"Say WHAT?!"

The kid wants someone to show him how to "learn the crimefighting game" and he figures Moon Knight is the best there is to do that.

(LOL I Love you Frenchie).

Marc reads him the riot act, telling him to run home to his "Mama".

"...Stay off my back and stay away from anything to do with me."

He has Frenchie send the kid home.

This is not the last we are going to see of Jeff Wilde.

A product of the late 80s and early 90s when everyone felt like all the heroes needed some sort of protege or to work with younger kids wanting to become heroes. And, spoiler here: It doesn't end well, as most things don't end well when it comes to Marc Spector.

Alright.... So now we go elsewhere and pick up a completely different story plot.

Just, out of the blue that's going to leave off on a cliff hanger and lead into the next issue.

I find this sort of story telling deeply unsatisfying. There's ending on a cliffhanger, then there's just dropping plots and deliberately setting up another issue.

Not to mention Marvel did that thing they always do that I hate where you have a whole "LOOK AT THIS CROSSOVER" with Black Cat who then just goes "Yeah, I'm not interested" and leaves.

It's just such an obvious ploy for readership and money.

That's my two cents. Anyways.... On to elsewhere.

We find ourselves in a subway station with a big guy and a bunch of rowdy teens.

The teens point out that the big guy in a suspicious trenchcoat and hat smells really bad.

The guy exits the subway (not at all suspicious) and makes his way down town.

More punks give the big guy a hard time until the big guy pulls out a huge machete.

The punks pull out their guns and open fire on the guy. The guy gets shot in the head and all over but keeps coming till he stabs one of the punks.

The big guy goes down while the other punks freak out.

Then we get a close up look at the guy's face.

It's actually pretty grusum and I'm not going to post it, but he's pretty decayed looking with yellow and red eyes and gnarly teeth.

The caption: ZOMBIE FRIDAY NIGHT.

And that's where the issue ends.

Now, if you were with me in the Moench run break downs, you’ll remember we already covered zombies with Brother Voodoo.

.....Taking a peak at the next cover we get "Brother Voodoo comes to town!"

Yeah... Apparently Brother Voodoo only covers zombies... Hmmm... Only this time he's not in the jungle, but in the big city.

I'm going to be honest here: I'm not going to cover every issue. There's no way. The late 80s and early 90s were ROUGH.

You are going to find a lot of themes of BUSINESS and DRUGS and PUNKS and JUNKIES and YOUNG TEEN VIOLENCE. These were all the major hitters for the late 80s or early 90s.

They did everything to make the comics seem exciting and relevant and were often written by new arrivals to big comics that were trying to attract readers.

So I'm going to skim this one real quick for you guys (because you're also going to get a lot of stereotypical black man jive stuff in this and it's painful to read through).

Marc Spector - Moon Knight: Issue #6: One Hand in the River

Written by: Charles Dixon

Art by: Sal Velluto

We start at "Spector Enterprises Inc" (What the heck business does he do? No one knows. Some complicated business stuff I'm sure) where Marc is pulled in all sorts of directions for his business needs.

You see, Marc isn't used to business. This isn't Marc Spector's bag. This is why he needs Steven Grant. This is why I don't understand why the writer decided to get rid of Steven and Jake. It makes no sense.

Marc has placed himself as the president of Spector Enterprises Inc. and he has no idea what he's doing.

Oh look. Midnight returned all the stolen property to the FBI offices in Brooklyn. The FBI has decided Marc isn't worth looking into....

But the IRS is suddenly VERY interested in Marc's business practices.

He's being Audited.

Marc heads to his office to sulk and finds Brother Voodoo waiting there for him.

Marc points out that Brother Voodoo looks a bit rough.

He sure does.

Jericho says he needs Moon Knight's help.

Marc ones more complains that someone knows who he is.

"I think I'm going to take out a full page ad in the times and tell EVERYBODY my 'Secret Identity' and get it over with."

Turns out a cult is in New York. The same cult they fought way back in the day that likes to play with Zombies.

At this point Brother Voodoo takes off his snazzy sunglasses and reveals that he too has been made into a zombie!

We cut to outside where Moon Knight's biggest fan is waiting in a car. "Well if it isn't Marc Spector, AKA Moon Knight. Thought you'd shake me, didn't you, m'man? Well Midnight's no brush off I wonder who his creepy amigo is."

We see Marc walking to a cab with Brother Voodoo.

Brother Voodoo is apparently fighting off being controlled by the cult by eating salty snacks. The salt does some chemical mumbo jumbo to give him control.

He can also sense when other zombies are near and look! our trench coat friend is walking by.

They follow the zombie into a building. Up on the top floor there is a fancy restaurant where some mafia sort of guys are having lunch.

They talk a bit of shop about paying people off and yadda yadda yadda...

We see two heads talking about turf and disputes. They start talking about new guys in town that come from some 'kinda cult thing'.

And boom! Trench coat zombie man busts in!

And Moon Knight busts in. (When and where did he have time to change?!?)

If I had to put money on this... I'd say this was the same fancy resturant that was previously featured in an earlier comic where the big violent guy went on what he thought was a date and then tried to blow the place up.

Moon Knight and Brother Voodoo fight the gangsters for some reason. The gangsters all dealt with, they turn to confront the zombie to find... He's got a bomb strapped to his chest! (this poor resturant).

The zombie is ready to detinate and Brother Voodoo tells Moon Knight that "No one can sway him from the spell he is under."

Just when all seems lost, Midnight swings in (literally) and tackles the zombie.

He kicks the zombie out the window (hitting him square in the dynamite) and the zombie explodes, blasting out the window and causing some damage to the side of the building.

"That stupid kid. That stupid, stupid kid!" Moon Knight is not pleased.

"You've been following me! I told you to back off, Kid! I don't need a partner! I don't want a partner!

Why are you still tagging along behind me, kid?"

"Could it be your winning personality?"

Moon Knight is stunned speechless. (I like to think it's because he isn't used to being addressed like this and the jab at his personality hits home since Steven and Jake are apparently being suppressed or just flat out denied).

Pissed off, Marc storms off with Brother Voodoo.

They all pile into Midnight's car where awkward introductions are had.

They head back to the mansion.

Meanwhile, in South Bronx, we find ourselves in a slum where a bunch of zombies are watching.... THE ANDY GRIFFITH SHOW. The zombies appear to appreciate it.

And now we got zombie cult guy making deals with south american cartel gangsters that wanted to wipe out the mafia guys. (I told you this was going to get complicated)

Back at the mansion, we find Jericho trashing a room while Marc and Jeff are waiting outside the room while Jericho 'gets his head in order' before they storm the zombie cult location.

Oh look! Chloe shows up to demand to know what's going on.

And Jeff CLEARLY has the hots for her. Hmmm.

The room inside is getting trashed, but it's better than the time he brought home Jack Russell the werewolf and locked him in his room... Marc...needs to make better decisions.

ANd Brother Voodoo has his head in order now and pops out to tell him that the zombies are located in the South Bronx and they have work to do!

End issue.

Oh boy... A multi parter... I can’t help but think back to Moench’s time when each issue had the ability to tell the story and stand alone. Sure, we got a few multi part stories, but they flowed together so well.

Thena gain, they didn’t really have standard volumes that told one story like comics do now. In today’s comics, you have Volumes that contain roughly 5-6 issues that all connect together. Sometimes you have a stand alone issue mixed in, but usually it still has a way to lead into the story. In the original comics, each issue stood alone and didn’t end until a massive change in writer and direction of the comic was needed. We moved from Moon Knight to Marc Spector Moon Knight and got a new set of volumes.

And while, sure, it’s interesting to see them telling longer stories… These aren’t ALL connected stories. These are special guest cross-over stories. Collect them all and put them in a volume and you still get the most random stuff. And each ending of the issues just feels like they are cutting the story in half.

I’m starting to see why Ol’ Chuck Dixon isn’t a well known Moon Knight writer and why his run in particular was criticized like it was. Interesting.

Marc Spector - Moon Knight: Issue #7: Zombie Saturday Night

Written by: Charles Dixon

Art by: Sal Velluto

Alright... Now... We uh...

We got the gang all here having breakfast in the kitchen and...

What the hell is going on in this picture...

That GIANT plant up there (I guess Marc’s love of giant potted plants goes back to 1989). The kitchen looks tiny compared to the GIANT mansion we know it’s in.

Why is Frenchie getting manlier and manlier every time he’s drawn in these issues? Why is he casually oiling all his guns at the table?

WHY IS MARC DRINKING OUT OF THE BLENDER?!

MARC. MARC NO.

Well... despite what's going on in that picture...

Brother Voodoo is getting a good breakfast with plenty of salt to help his synapses fire or something.

He remembers what happened to turn him into a zombie and he regales the group with his... Hey wait...

....Where's his brother? That's his whole schtick! Brother Voodoo can see the ghost of his brother, who possesses people and helps him!

Anyways... He tells the group how he was hunting down the zombie cult when he was captured and forced to drink the poison that turned him into a zombie. They also stole his Magical Medallion that was "the focus of my own voudon powers".

He was then locked up in a ship and taken to New York.

He tells them about the Slum where the zombies are being trained to kill (and watch Andy Griffith?)

Frenchie asks how Jericho got away.

"With the help of my brother, Frenchie."

See, Frenchie out here asking the important questions.

Alright, all that out of the way, they decide to head to the Bronx.

He tells Jericho to take teh van and the rest of them get the chopper (it really only comfortably seats 3, after all). Jeff is excited about the chopper.

But before they leave, Marc gets a phone call from his really pissed off Accountant.

It's about the IRS Audit. The accountant is understandably nervous and needs to go over things with Marc.

Marc blows him off and they leave. (see? There's so much business at stake in these comics.)

We enter into the typical Moon Knight landing on a roof and rolling into action scene. Only now we have the kid, Jeff, stumbling around because he's not used to Marc's hard hitting take the punch and glider style of fighting.

Inside, we have the Drug cartel arguing with the Zombie cult about what's going on. With Moon Knight making his way in, the Cartel boss gets antsy and makes a run for it.

We see more Zombies watching tv and...Oh. I get it. It's the early 90s hysteria about how watching TV makes you into zombies. I remember that. It's a commentary. Hm.

Brother Voodoo make his way through the building and faces off against the cartel guys.

Moon Knight makes his way down from the roof, fighting zombies and trying to keep track of Jeff, who reveals his costume is just spandex and not Kevlar like Marc's is.

Marc... Not everyone can afford Kevlar.

Marc's fighting zombies, trying to protect Jeff, and trying to deal with Jeff bumbling around.

At one point Marc gets mad and resorts to his old style of just punching things till they go down. ....Problem is, you can't just punch a Zombie down.

....So Marc punches him out the window.

I see Marc's moved from jumping through windows to just throwing things through windows.

They eventually meet up with Jericho and find themselves surrounded by zombies and the leader.

Jericho calls for his brother. A little possession here, a little spell chanting there, the zombie leader loses his power and all the zombies go down.

Jericho manages to get his Medallion back and it restores his power.

We cut to the Cartel leader calling someone saying he's done with zombies and they need to get their gig up and running again. But outside, another zombie (or the same zombie, it's not clear) in a trench coat has a gun and his picture, clearly there to eliminate him .

And that's the end of this issue and FINALLY the end of this cliffhanger run.

WHEW.

Look, some stories are harder to get through than others. Even Moench had a couple of issues that were difficult to read, but they were difficult because sometimes the story just didn’t click with me. I still appreciated the art and the little side bits and nods and fun Moon Knight moments.

The Marc Spector Moon Knight is difficult for a LOT of reasons, that unfortunately have a LOT to do with the age, the comic style, and the art isn’t as pretty either.

You got a lot going on and they sacrificed art style for getting as much in as they could to keep the action GOING. It’s rough. There’s a reason why a lot of things from the late 80s and early 90s feels like you’re talking to a coked out business man. And boy howdy do these feel like we’re talking to a coked out business man.

There’s just so much at stake ALL of the time. And Marc is so bad at managing things. I’d say it’s fascinating to watch Marc crash and burn without Steven and Jake, but the writer CLEARLY has no intention of including Steven and Jake and honestly, would probably prefer to remove all the mental health issues that Moench so lovingly included and dealt with in the creation of Moon Knight.

So am I going to do a breakdown of ALL the comics in Marc Spector Moon Knight? …I’m going to burn out if I try. So I’m going to find a way to get through them, because I want to read it. I know I skimped it the first time I laid my hands on it, and now I want to see where our Moon Man has been. (plus the next issue includes the Punisher!)

Most likely I’m going to do big long posts that are a summary of multiple comics at once with some pictures to highlight certain aspects, art, or just Marc being MARC. (he’s so bad at everything here).

Let me know what you think! The 90s were rough people!

#Moon Knight #Moon Knight comics #Analyzing the comics #Marc Spector #I'd take Steven and Jake but clearly they aren't in this #Hm #Marc is bad at everything and shouldn't be left to make decisions #Am I the only one that sees Jeff and thinks about Nadia and her rant about Jeff?#Jeff...#Why did everyone need a Spelunky sidekick in the 90s?

11 notes · View notes

angelwings-crossbowstrings · 1 year ago

Text

But Put Together, the Cracks We’ll Close In

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Fem!Reader

Setting: Early Alexandria

Warnings: Typical TWD violence and gore; mentions of past child abuse; mentions of suggested abortion; blood and injury

Summary: Fresh into Alexandria, Daryl meets his match in a two year little girl and slowly loses his heart to her mother. You.

A/N: Based on the request/headcanon from @louifaith Just a couple of things. The child is described as in hair and eye color. Nothing is mentioned of reader so these traits could come from her father. There is also the mention of an “Eskimo kiss.” I grew up hearing and using that term but I’m not sure if it is offensive or PC nowadays. please feel free to send me a message if I need to change it. It is not my intention to be offensive to anyone! Also, sorry if anyone likes Spencer. He's always my go to asshole. I received my answer on the above questioned term. I will definitely not be using it again! It has been edited out. *gif is not mine

“S’that?”

Daryl felt the opossum sway in his grip, looking down with a scowl firmly plastered at the bright eyes returning his gaze, brimming with curiosity. She was a toddler, maybe two years old? Christ, someone had a toddler in this mess. “Dinner.” He grunted, pulling the dead animal out of her reach. He found out quickly that the curious little creature would not be deterred so easily. Standing on her tip-toes, she made a grab for the marsupial. “Knock it off.” He huffed and took a step back, bumping into Carol.

“Daryl, she’s a child. Don’t be such a grump.”

“Ain’t you got a mama—family to get back to?” He snapped, ignoring his best friend. The little girl’s eyes brightened.

“Mama! Mama!” She clapped. Daryl rolled his eyes at her enthusiasm.

“Yeah, go get ‘er.” There was an intense sigh of relief when the little human went running (waddling?) out of sight. “They got kids here.”

“Yes, Daryl. That’s what that was.” Carol nudged him playfully. “The people seem to think they’re safe here. It gives me the creeps.” He nodded but didn’t comment. “They obviously don’t know what’s going on out there, not like we do. I think we need to be cautious here. Find a way to fit in but keep our guard up, you know?”

Daryl snorted. “Yeah, good luck with that. Ain’t got no intention of tryin’ to fit in with these folks. Livin’ in a fuckin’ fairytale here. Ain’t gonna last.”

“You’re such a ray of sunshine.” Sasha clapped him on the shoulder as she passed, earning yet another grunt.

“Mama, here!”

Oh dear god, no. “S’back.” The hunter stated flatly.

“Oh, and she brought a friend.” Sure enough, the little girl was dragging you along, tugging incessantly at your hand as if the child had found the world’s most priceless treasure. “You did tell her to ‘go get her.’”

“Nadia, slow down!”

And slow down, she did. Right in front of a scowl-wearing redneck with a bleeding opossum in his grasp.

“Mama, dinner! Dorl dinner.”

Dorl?!? Daryl looked helplessly over to where Carl was carrying Judith, the little light of his life. Would this be what she was like as she grew up? She already knew him, loved him despite how broken and hopeless he was. She would laugh at him if he was ranting about something and hold out those chubby little hands and he was done for, whatever had irritated him was forgotten.

But this child? This wasn’t his lil’ asskicker.

Daryl liked kids but he liked them from a distance. He had no business being around them, save for Carl and Judith. I wish I could have known Sophia. He wouldn’t bother getting to know anyone in this place. It’d burn like every other home they had anyway.

“Dorl, huh?” You smiled.

“Daryl.” He replied flatly, his lip curling.

“I’m Y/N. I assume Aaron found your group?”

He didn’t answer, too occupied with trying to continuously move away from the small child clumsily reaching for his knife sheath. “Stop that.” He barked, expecting the kid to balk. She did quite the opposite and wrapped her tiny arms around his leg, just below his knee. What the fuck was he supposed to do now? Shake her off? Of course not. She might get hurt. While he really didn’t want to be touched, he couldn’t help but feel like it was somehow his job to make sure this kid wasn’t hurt. “Can ya—would ya—?” Shoulders slumped, he didn’t even gesture. You know what he was asking.

Chuckling, you reached down and gently pried the little girl loose. “Nadia, you’re supposed to ask before hugs, remember?”

“Hug Dorl.” The dark-headed child pouted.

That was his cue to step away, as quickly as possible, without running. He absolutely did not run.

When you looked up, he was already gone, lost in the middle of his group as they headed in to surrender weapons and be interviewed by Deanna.

Daryl sat on the now red-stained porch, prepping his kill for cooking later. Carol had scolded him and made him promise to use the backyard going forward, but he doubted they would be there long enough for him to need the area. It was just the way the world was. Nice places like this could never last.

“Dorl dinner!”

Jesus take the wheel. “Ya need a bell.” He grunted, looking around for you. “An’ apparently a leash.” Maybe if he ignored her, she would go find you. But what if she wandered off alone and somehow made it out of the gates? Shit. “Sit down, gremlin.”

She giggled and patted her chunky hands against her chest. “Nada.”

Daryl stopped moving and stared for a moment. Wasn’t that Spanish? Maybe? Wait. You had called her Nadia. Maybe that’s what she was trying to say. “Nadia?” Blue eyes squinted in wait.

Nadia bounced and nodded and then pointed at him. “Dorl! Dorl, Nada!”

He released his knife and leaned his elbow against his knee, the heel of his hand pressing into his forehead. “Dare-ul.” He tried.

“Dooorl.”

“Oh, for fucksake.” The archer gave up, picking up his knife and continuing with his task. Nadia didn’t even seem to notice what he was doing but leaned in closely with the most serious look he’d ever seen. He needed to lean back once she made it much too far into his personal space.

“Fucksy.” She said, maintaining eye contact as if she were challenging him.

“No! Don’t say that. Can’t be teachin’ ya sh—stuff like that!” He panicked, opossum forgotten. Daryl threw back his head with a groan. “Can’tcha please just go to your mama?”

Nadia’s little face lit up and off she went with a chorus of mama mama mama. Watching her go, Daryl wondered where the little one’s father was, but soon banished the thought. It was none of his business. What was his business was to make sure the annoying curtain-climber made it home safely. Abandoning his dinner—no time to cover it if he was going to catch up—he walked briskly until he caught sight of her. Little legs can fuckin’ move. We’re fucked when Jude learns to walk.

He stayed close, but far back enough to not catch her attention. She seemed to know exactly where she was going. Rounding the curb to the end of the street, he caught sight of the small house. Quaint compared to the other homes. The front door was open but he dared not go closer. Boots firmly planted on the sidewalk, he observed the struggle of a tiny human tackling front porch steps. Nadia was determined though. Had he chosen to help, he was certain she would give him that serious look again and yell at him in baby-speak.

“Nadia Avery, how do you keep getting out the door!”

Maybe cause you leave it open? He suppressed the urge to roll his eyes.

Regardless, there you were, swooping down to gather the bundle into your arms with a couple of sobs and more than a few sniffles. “Baby, you have to stop doing that! You scare mommy.” Nadia was nuzzling your jaw but then suddenly pointed right at him.

“Dorl got Nada.”

When your eyes found his own, Daryl froze. His arms were out to his sides, his eyes wide. He looked nothing short of a deer caught in the sights of his crossbow when it realized it’s about to be shot. “I—uh, kid found me.” Forcing himself to relax a fraction, he rubbed at the back of his neck. “Didn’t want ‘er wand’rin’ ‘round by herself.”

Your face softened into a grateful smile. “Thank you for making sure she got home.” He nodded curtly and you turned away, only to turn back in the same motion. “Would you like to come inside? I have some stew that I’m heating. Plenty for the three of us.”

A part of him that he didn’t know existed wanted to immediately accept the offer but the part of him that had kept him alive this long spoke louder. “Nah, got my own dinner I need to take care’a. Thanks, though.”

You nodded, the smile never faltering. “Think of it as a standing invitation. Nadia seems to like you. She’s a good judge of character.”

He snorted. “Alright.”

“Goodnight, Daryl.”

“Night.” He took two steps.

“Nigh’ nigh’, Dorl!”

He heard the sound of a kiss being blown his way, but didn’t turn around. Maybe if he ignored her, she’d go away.

It had been three days since he had last seen you or Nadia. He found that it unsettled him but not enough to go looking. Aaron had gifted him a work area and parts to build himself a bike. It was the best thing anyone could have offered him at that point. He felt like he still wasn’t fitting in, and while that was the idea at first, now it just felt…lonely.

Carol was always gone when he got up and not home yet when we retired to bed. Rick and Michonne couldn’t stay out of the bedroom for more than five minutes unless something ‘coppy’ needed to be handled. Carl was always outside with Jude in the nice weather.

Daryl was alone. Though he usually preferred it that way, he couldn’t seem to shake the negativity it seemed to bring to the surface.

Spending time around something familiar from the old world came to be a comfort. When the posh little community with its “good morning” while walking the dog and laughter over coffee at the gazebo became too much for Daryl, he disappeared into Aaron’s garage. Aaron and his husband seemed okay in the archer’s book. They never once stared at him like he was going to rob them blind or beat them to a pulp. They showed him kindness even if his only attempts at conversation consisted of nods and grunts.

“You going to this party tonight?” Aaron asked from the doorway the led into the house from the garage.

“Nah.” Daryl picked up a wrench and continued his work, not giving the question a proper thought.

“You really should make an effort to get to know more people here.”

“They don’t like me. Shouldn’t, really.” The archer shrugged.

“They just don’t know you. Maybe you should give them a chance.” Aaron kept his persuasion in the doorway. He had gifted Daryl that space and was unwilling to step into it without an invitation he was unlikely to receive without asking.

“Better they don’t know me.”

There was a sigh that made Daryl curl his lip. “Just think about it, okay?” The shuffle of feet and the door opening signaled the other man’s exit.

Why should Daryl go? He had little interest in fitting in, even when his own group was making such an effort. Carol and Rick were wary and had whatever it was they had but Carol would tell him if she felt it necessary. Daryl was just plain wary, utterly uninterested. Most of them would likely be dead soon and he didn’t need anyone else to mourn.

So why he found himself showered and in a fresh set of clothing that was his own form of presentable was absolutely beyond him. It had nothing to do with the fact that on his walk home, he thought maybe you’d be at the party. Nope, nothing like that.

He had made it at least to the yard outside, watching the festivities through the window. Everyone he knew seemed so at ease in there. Dressed up, laughing and drinking. Mingling like they belonged there. He didn’t belong there.

“Nah.” He said softly before turning away. He was passing by Aaron’s house when a call of his name from that familiar voice had him stopping with a sigh. “Yeah?”

“You went. Good for you. Did you have a good time?” Aaron asked from the porch. Daryl shrugged. The man’s eyes narrowed and suddenly the archer was nervous, feeling judged. “You didn’t go in, did you?”

Daryl shook his head. “Just ain’t my thing.”

“Hey, you tried.”

“Why didn’t you go?” That wasn’t supposed to sound so accusatory but Daryl was tired and had simply had his fill of the day and that place.

“Eric’s ankle is still giving him trouble. We just thought it best to skip out on this one.”

This one? Christ. That insinuated there would be more. With an inward groan, he answered outwardly with a grunt.

“We’ve got dinner ready. More than can feed us. Can we tempt you?” The offer was sincere and Daryl was hungry, but his battery was running on fumes. He glanced toward his own home and then back at Aaron. “Eric makes a mean spaghetti, man. Come on, you’re already out.”

Daryl sighed. “Fine.” He was grateful for the invitation, he just sucked at showing it, as with almost every other emotion. Aaron held open the door and with a nod, the archer entered, still ill at ease being inside someone else’s home when his own still felt less than comfortable.

“Dorl.”

Before he could prepare himself, Nadia was latching onto his lower legs. Arms out awkwardly, he glared at Aaron. “Didn’t say she was here.”

The man just shrugged a shoulder. “Didn’t say she wasn’t either.”

“Hi, Daryl!” You came around the corner from the dining room, no doubt to gather your spawn but he couldn’t seem to form a thought around the smile you were giving him.

“Mama! Dorl!”

“I can see that, baby. You think you can let go so that he can walk?” Nadia shook her head with a vicious pout.

“Dorl up?”

“What?” He looked down at the toddler and back up at you, silently hoping you’d act as translator for the little gremlin.

“She wants you to pick her up. You don’t—”

For reasons unbeknownst to even him, he bent down and placed his hands beneath Nadia’s arms, lifting her onto his hip. It felt no different than holding Judith. Nadia was heavier of course.

“Dorl!” Chubby arms wrapped around his neck, her little cheek rubbing against his stubbled one. “Tickle.” She giggled like it was the funniest thing in the world and repeated the action.

You were still smiling but much more softly. “She really likes you.” Daryl grunted. “You don’t say much, do you?”

“Ain’t gotta lot to say.” He shrugged the shoulder Nadia’s chin was resting on, sending her into another fit of giggles. She pulled back suddenly, very in his space and then pressed her face against his cheek. He flinched but otherwise didn’t move. There was the smallest flutter that tickled his skin before she reared back again, smiling proudly. “What—”

“Butterfly kisses.” You informed, arms crossed but your smile hidden behind your hand.

“What the fu—heck’s that?”

“Oh come on, you never gave your mom butterfly kisses?” You chuckled.

Daryl felt nauseous at the mention of his mother. The only thing he’d shared with her were bruises and a few after-beating hugs. But you didn’t know him. He took the anger and locked it down, but it must have spilled into his expression.

“I’m sorry.” Your smile was gone, but to his surprise (and relief), there was no pity in your eyes. Only understanding. Still, it wasn’t a subject he cared to let linger.

He turned his attention to the child, who had developed a sudden interest in the hair over his ears. “Ya ever gave a nose kiss?” He almost laughed out loud when Nadia’s eyes flew wide with wonder. She didn’t confirm or deny but the fact that she hadn’t moved was answer enough. “S’simple.” Daryl brought a hand up to the back of her head and gently urged her forward, rubbing the tip of his nose over hers. “There. Nose kiss.”

She kept those wide eyes as her little mouth began to spread open into one of the biggest smiles he’d ever seen on a kid, granted he hadn’t spent much time around any.

“Again!” She squealed, grabbing his cheeks and pulling him forward. He expected to have a bloody nose from the force with which she came at him, but her movements became deliberate and gentle, as if getting it right was the most important thing in the world.

Nadia was incredibly pleased with herself, her little hands patting against Daryl’s chest before she wiggled out her request for freedom and sprinted toward the dining room with this newfound information to share with Eric and Aaron.

“Careful.” You said, though there was no hint of anything unkind in your tone. When he looked away from the other room, he found your expression to be one he couldn’t seem to identify. It was soft yet guarded. He didn’t move away when you reached a single hand out to adjust his vest. “You’re smiling.” And you walked away, leaving him there to realize that he was indeed wearing a small, lopsided grin.

He shook it off with a groan, absolutely regretting his decision to come in for dinner.

“Dorl!” Came the loud shout from the table. “Dorl, sketti!”

This was not going to end well.

It had been two weeks since the spaghetti dinner, which in fact had ended rather pleasantly. Aside from your giggles when he realized he was eating his meal with the same gusto and manners as the toddler next to him, Aaron had offered him a job that let him go outside the walls. He’d accepted almost immediately.

Little Nadia had been determined to take him home with them, so he walked you there with her tiny hand in his. Halfway, she had begun to tire and fuss, instinct had kicked in and he scooped her up in the same manner he would Judith. The child was asleep on his shoulder almost instantly.

He had zero intention of entering your home and was thankful the kid was out cold so that she couldn’t initiate the suggestion. He had passed her off to you and started to leave.

“Daryl.” You had called quietly. He still wasn’t sure why he had turned back to you so quickly. “That invitation is still open.” You smiled, he grunted. “Thanks for being so sweet with her. Goodnight.”

There had been a heavy feeling in his chest but he had nodded. “G’night.”

Now, you and little Nadia were almost a constant presence when he wasn’t beyond the wall. A presence that he found no longer really irritated him.

He would sit on the porch with the kid, working on his crossbow while Nadia colored or played with toys. He had to find her some of her own to have there because it seemed she and Judith were at odds about Daryl’s attention. He had made the mistake of lifting lil’ asskicker out of her playpen while Nadia was on his heels and the latter had begun to wail.

He had quickly passed Jude off to an equally concerned Michonne and scooped up the kid. “S’wrong? Hey.” Little arms wrapped around his neck and, though he didn’t see the angry pout directed at the other baby, Michonne did. He turned at her chuckle, eyes wide and confused.

Before she could explain, those little arms squeezed harder. “My Dorl.”

From that moment on, he saved time with Judith for emergencies (there were none) and for after Nadia had gone home with you.

“Don’t touch that, Dia.” Daryl huffed, catching her little hand reaching for the knife he had on the porch table. He had spent the morning skinning a few squirrels for Carol to use in a stew but was at that point, working on the tension on his bow.

And babysitting.

You had some inventory to do at the infirmary with Pete. The doctor gave him bad vibes so when you had asked, he’d accepted all too quickly. Even offered to tag along and keep an eye on the kid there. In the end, after you had politely declined, he had reasoned that you were a grown woman and could handle yourself.

“Babysitting, again, hmm?”

Daryl glanced up from his crossbow toward Carol on the top step, Nadia already beaming up at her from the hug around her waist. It lasted all of three seconds before the kid was back to her toys beside Daryl’s boot.

“Mhm.” Was the only answer he offered, one that was mimicked from the little person below him. He didn’t smile but Carol didn’t miss the way his eyes left the weapon to regard Nadia for a moment before returning to the task.

“Where’s Y/N?” She asked, plopping down onto the other chair. She grabbed a toy that had rolled away and handed it back to the child.

“Some inventory shit at the infirmary.” Daryl shrugged, rotating the bow to check his work. Carol made a noise that gave him pause, one he didn’t like. “What?”

“No one’s at the infirmary. I was just there for Mr. Henderson’s blood pressure medication.”

He could feel his heartrate picking up, a sense of foreboding so strong that he could barely think straight. “Pete weren’t there?”

Carol shook her head. “No one.” She sat up straight when Daryl stood, sheathing his knife and placing his crossbow on the railing. “Daryl?”

“Dia, I’m gonna be right back. You’re gonna stay with Carol for a few minutes. Tell me the rules.”

Nadia’s wide eyes narrowed into seriousness. “No bow. No move. Be good. No shit.” It took her a moment to babble through the small list but Daryl ruffled her hair with the smallest of half smiles.

“No shit, Daryl?”

He was already stepping off the porch. “Her mama hears ‘er sayin’ that an’ m’a dead man.”

Carol laughed and shook her head, turning her attention to the little human that was already working up to a cry as Daryl walked out of sight. “Do you like cookies, Nadia?”

He checked the infirmary first. He didn’t doubt Carol, but maybe she had missed a room or something. It was, as Carol had said, empty. “Fuck.” The next most logical place would be your home. He ran the entire way. He’d feel like an absolute fool if you were fine, but he’d cross that bridge later. The door was open, he could see that from the moment he rounded the curb. You had a habit of doing that and he hated it, but who was he to tell you what to do?

“Y/N?” He took your steps two at a time and stopped on the threshold. “Y/N? Are ya here?” No answer. He felt like shit the moment his boot touched the floor inside. He’d never taken you up on an invitation for the dinner you continuously offered him, much less any offer to simply come inside. Now here he was tearing room to room, in your safe space. There were covered pots on the stove and the oven was on, but where were you? “Y/N!” He placed a booted foot on the bottom stair before your voice stunned him frozen.

“Daryl?”

He nearly collapsed in relief.

“What’s wrong? Where’s Nadia? Daryl?”

“She’s fine. She’s with Carol.” He rasped, sheathing his knife when he saw you staring at it. Your hair was wet, your clothes damp. You must have been in the shower. “M’sorry. Carol said ya weren’t at the—just got worried. M’sorry.” His eyes had lowered to the stairs below you but then your bare feet were padding down them to stop directly in front of him. “I’ll, uh—lemme go get ‘er.” He had barely moved before your hand was on his shoulder. To his shock, he didn’t flinch; didn’t even have the urge.

“Are you okay?” You asked, ducking your head to seek out his gaze. He continued to expertly dodge.

“M’fine. Just—I’ll go get Dia.” He stepped away and out of the loose grip you had on him, immediately missing the warmth of your hand. What the hell was wrong with him?

“I was making us dinner.” The words rushed out of you, like you were trying to get them out before he could leave. Daryl looked over his shoulder from the doorway, an eyebrow arched. “Us. Me, Nadia, and—well, you.”

“Me? Why?” He hadn’t meant to sound so unkind, ungrateful, but that was just who he was down deep, wasn’t it? Still, you seemed unbothered, your nervousness born of something else entirely.

“Because Nadia likes you. I like you. We’d like to spend time with you that doesn’t involve me asking for favors or the entire community leering and making assumptions.”

He still hadn’t fully turned, but narrowed his eyes. “Think they ain’t gonna make assumptions when ya have me in your house?”

“Fair point.” You nodded, chuckling. “Honestly, I don’t give a fuck what they think but I worry that you do.” Head tilted, Daryl turned but remained in the doorway. “You seem so private, quiet. I don’t want to do anything that makes you uncomfortable.” Your bottom lip disappeared between your teeth for a moment. “So, will you come? Please?”

As much as he tried, he couldn’t sense a single ounce of dishonesty or ill intent in you. It was certainly there, wasn’t it? No one outside of the group that had grown to like him over months of death and sorrow wanted anything to do with him. So, why you? Why Nadia? “Alright, I’ll go get ‘er an’ be back.” He turned and took a step before you called out again.

“Don’t worry about changing or anything. Just bring you, okay?”

He nodded around the very foreign flutter in his chest, clearing his throat and leaving the house before he could overthink things right there in front of you. He’d be able to do that in abundance on the way to grab the kid.

To say he was confused was the largest of understatements. You were a beautiful woman. Where was Nadia’s father? In that world, the absence usually meant he was either dead or had willingly left, which he couldn’t fathom either. Was the kid the reason all the single men weren’t knocking down your door? That couldn’t be it. Nadia was amazing, all bright smiles and such an innocence that was refreshing in a world as dark it was.

Even if you did have suitors, why were you taking the time to get to know him? He was damn sure nothing special and had nothing to offer you. Daryl growled at himself. He was jumping the gun. You hadn’t expressed any real interest in him. You wanted to have dinner. Aaron and Eric had him over for dinner all the time. It was what friends did. He was your friend after all. He had to be for you to trust him with Nadia. He snorted. Maybe that was all the brat’s doing and you were just along for the ride.

His shoulders were slumped, feet dragging by the time he made it back to his house, already opening his arms in expectation of the bundle of Nadia that would be leaping into them any moment. “Dorl!”

“She was about to strap on your crossbow and come find you herself.” Carol teased from the doorway.

“I was barely gone twenty minutes, kid.” He nodded to Carol and turned back to take Nadia home. “Your mama’s at home makin’ something for supper. Ya hungry?”

“Mmmmhmmmm!” Little legs were swinging while bright eyes watched the street in front of them, her arms loosely around his neck, trusting him to not let her fall. And he would never. Daryl craned his head to look at her, all dark hair and big blue eyes. She could pass as his own kid to anyone who didn’t know better.

Whoa. That train of that was roughly derailed.

Easily done when the top of her head leaned against his temple and she began to hum some tune he didn’t know. It calmed his anxiety enough to not eat him from the inside out before he made it back to your house. Nadia was wiggling to be lowered before he could even get her to the steps. Much to her annoyance (if her little growl and pout were anything to go by), he didn’t place her on her feet until they were on the porch.

The door was still open and, man, he really wanted you to stop doing that.

“Mama!” Nadia squealed, running right into your arms.

“Hi, baby! Did you have fun with Daryl today?” You hefted her onto your hip, your face turned toward hers even though your smile was aimed at the archer.

“We always have fun.” He was close enough to ruffle the kid’s hair without invading your space.

“No shit!” Nadia proclaimed with her arms in the air. You were smiling but your eyebrows shot up toward your hairline. Daryl cleared his throat.

“M’a tell Carol to watch ‘er mouth.”

“Carol. Right.” You chuckled. You started to reach for his arm but must have thought better of it and motioned toward the dining room instead. He found he was disappointed. “Go ahead and sit down wherever. There’s some wine and water already there.”

Daryl liked wine. He’d partake when at Aaron and Eric’s for dinner but here? He wasn’t sure that was such a good idea. The table could seat six but there were three places set, the middle chair holding a booster seat. He didn’t sit, wouldn’t until you did. Instead he noticed how close the glasses of wine were sitting to Nadia’s place and took the liberty of moving each of them to the other side. Not that the kid would bother them but it just felt—right?

“Alright, kiddo. You get to eat first.” You weren’t carrying Nadia anymore but she was right behind you, looking up at the bowl of pasta like a pup that was about to get its kibble. Daryl was already lifting the kid into her seat when you turned from placing the bowl on the table. “Thank you.” You did touch his arm then. “Go ahead and sit. I’ll be right back.”

Nadia had apparently chosen his spot for him, patting the back of the chair to her left. Chewing on the side of his thumb, he glanced toward the kitchen. Wasn’t he supposed to pull your chair out for you or something? Aaron had.

“No, no, Dorl.” Nadia pulled at his elbow, earning a halfhearted scowl before he realized she was trying to get him to stop the anxious habit.

“Sorry.” He mumbled, not sure why he was apologizing when she just went back to dancing and eating once he had dropped his hand. He watched her for a moment, just being a kid, innocent and oblivious to the dangers and heartache that lay in wait just outside of Alexandria’s protective walls. She and you—just two more people for him to mourn in the end. What was he doing there? He had no business being in your lives. If he didn’t lose the two of you, then you would lose him. It was inevitable. It was fate. It was the way the world worked now, tirelessly snuffing out any semblance of light that could give someone like him hope.

And goddamnit, he’d be devastated. He adored your kid and though he couldn’t quite decipher what it was that he felt for you, he knew that if anything happened to you, he’d shatter.

“Daryl?”

“What?” He snapped out of reflex, not fully out of his head before he had realized you were speaking. You flinched, the pasta in the two bowls you were holding bounced but didn’t spill. “M’sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it. Are you okay?” The bowls were placed on the table and a basket of fresh bread that he hadn’t noticed you had already brought out. How long had he been standing there?

“Yeah, uh—yeah, m’fine.” He shifted his weight from foot to foot, suddenly feeling very trapped in the small room. It wasn’t really that small, was it? “M’just—” He didn’t finish before he all but ran to the door, closing it behind him like he really wished you would start doing. He had a cigarette lit within seconds, trembling fingers bringing it to his lips for a long drag.

Pale light from inside cascaded around him as the door opened. You didn’t move any closer, obviously staying near Nadia while the little girl ate. “You okay?”

“Mhm.” Lie.

“Come back inside?” You requested after glancing toward Nadia, finding her eating her pasta elegantly with her fingers. Daryl said nothing, wasn’t even sure he could, but he flicked his cigarette toward the sidewalk and stood, walking past you with but a beat of hesitance.

Despite Nadia’s excitement at his return, he remained quiet, but offered the kid a ghost of a smile when she offered a bite of her own food. Disgruntled at his refusal, she wore her own version of a scowl and continued to eat. You had taken your seat, giving the bread basket a tiny shove toward the archer.

“Thanks.” He mumbled. He wasn’t sure how to act around you anymore. Staring at his food, he questioned whether the way he usually ate might disgust you. It was never something he actively thought about. He grew up in a home where he snatched what he could get and ate it quickly before someone could take it or reprimand him for it. It was nearly the same now that the world had ended. Thankful for any scrap of food, but quick to make sure it was gone before someone came ready to fight for it.

“If you think any louder, I might be able to hear it.”

Daryl glanced up, unable to meet your eyes. You were swirling the wine around in the glass with your gaze settled on him. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be. It’s just dinner, Daryl.”

With a barely there nod, he picked up his fork and began to eat, slowly and carefully, not noticing the way you watched him with a quizzical expression.

Nadia was having a hard time keeping her head up by the time dinner was finished, her little eyes closing before snapping open with a jerk of her head.

“Time for bed.” You announced, attempting to wipe her face around languid movements of annoyance. “Come on, baby.” Lifting her from the chair, you tilted your head when she leaned her upper body back toward Daryl, reaching out with lazy, grabby hands.

“Dorl night night.”

Halfway out of his seat, he froze. “Think ya should, uh—your mama should handle this’un, Dia.” She didn’t seem to have it in her to argue, flopping onto your shoulder. You managed to hold up a finger, asking him to wait while you put Nadia to bed. He did, but busied himself gathering the dishes, taking them to the sink, and rinsing them out as Carol had trained him to do. “Wow, my very own human dishwasher. Can I keep you?”

Daryl felt the heat rise in his face, traveling down to his chest and up to the tips of his ears. “Stop.” God, you were just as bad as Carol.

“Daryl.”

Oh, boy. Your tone had gone from playful to serious in two seconds flat. His stomach was in knots but he dared not turn around and rinsed the same bowl at least three times. “Hmm?”

“I’d like to see, uh—I’d like it if you'd come around more often. Tonight was—it was nice.”

And there it was. The one thing that had caused him so much inner turmoil now confirmed. You were interested and, for the life of him, he couldn’t understand why. When he finally managed to get his tongue to work, the words that spilled out were nothing like the ones running through his head and he regretted them immediately. “Where’s Dia’s daddy?” Christ, Dixon. “M’sorry.” He tried to backpedal, finally turning toward you and leaning back against the sink with a white-knuckled grip against the edge of the countertop. “Ain’t my business.”

“Gone. I don’t really give a fuck where.” You shrugged, so nonchalantly that he had to look at you. “He didn’t want her. Nearly got himself killed finding pills for me to take. I refused, he left. But I have her and I hope he’s a walker.” Your gaze was fond but serious, and he found not a single trace of annoyance or anger. “She’s never really liked men. Even Aaron and Eric had to coax her inside for dinner with a stale candybar.” You laughed at the memory, and Daryl realized he could listen to that sound for the rest of his life. “But then you. She wasn’t afraid, not for a single second.”

“It was the ‘possum.” He shrugged, shyly ducking his head for only a moment but looking back up through his fringe when you laughed again.

“Okay, we can go with that.” You lifted yourself up onto the island, kicking your legs, reminding him of Nadia. “Doesn’t really explain why she stuck to you like glue every moment since then, though. Dorl this and Dorl that. I’m not complaining. You’re good for her.” Daryl scoffed, ducking his head once more. “You are, Daryl. And I think she might be good for you too.”

“She’s a kid. Don’t know no better.” He shrugged, the urge to run becoming more and more prevalent. He didn’t belong there. It wasn’t his family. Nadia wasn’t his kid and you weren’t his. God, he wished you were.

You hummed, holding back something. “I had fun tonight, but when you come back, don't worry so much about what I think, okay?” The way he tried to eat more slowly?

“Yeah, okay. Was nice. Thanks, uh—thanks for havin’ me.” The archer made the choice to pass you and head for the door. Your bare feet hit the floor just behind him. “I’ll see ya ‘round. Lemme know if ya need someone to watch Dia.” Why the hell did he offer that?

“I will. Thank you.” The smile you gave him was almost sad. Maybe disappointed? “Goodnight, Daryl.”

“Yeah. Night.” He crossed the threshold but turned back, keeping his head low. “Keep your door shut.” There was no time for you to answer before he was jogging down your steps, barely slowing his stride all the way home. All the lights were off when he arrived and he couldn’t be more grateful to slip in and down to his room to berate himself properly until he was finally able to fall asleep.

Logically, he should have avoided you since that night, but Daryl never claimed to be the brightest crayon in the box. He absolutely did not look for reasons to go to your house, satisfied to find the door closed each and every time. If he saw you carrying something, he’d jog over to take it from you, no matter how big or small. He responded by meeting Nadia in the middle each time she called for him, even if he was covered in dark blood and brain matter.

“Dorl smell ick.” She would say.

He was down bad and though he would deny it until his last breath with the age old line of we’re just friends, Carol was smarter than that.

“Daryl, you and I are friends. You’re sweet on that girl and you can fight me if you try to claim any different.” She stirred at the brownie batter, intermittently swatting away his hand when he tried to sneak a taste. “You should just tell her how you feel.”

“Stop actin’ like ya know ev’rythin’.” He snapped with no real heat.

“Okay, fine. I know nothing.” She stated coolly, spreading the mixture into a baking pan. “Except that Spencer has been spending an awful lot of time around her and Nadia.”

Well, that had his attention. “What? When?” He hopped off the countertop and was quickly standing just beside Carol, moving accordingly so that she could continue her baking.

“Usually when you’re out. I think you intimidate him.”

“Damn well better intimidate him.”

“Why? You’re ‘just friends,’ remember?” Daryl curled his lip at her air quotes, turning on a heel to head toward the door.

“Shuddup.”

He hadn’t been focused, lingering on what Carol had told him that morning. Worrying that Spencer was putting the moves on you that very moment he wasn’t there to do anything about it. What if he’d missed his chance? He growled, trying to take more of his own weight off of Aaron but his leg burned and ached.

“Ain’t that bad.” He tried to brush it off, but it was, in fact, that bad. He hadn’t seen the damn trap, the walker backing him right onto it. He was lucky the dead bastard didn’t take a chunk of him when he went down, but Aaron was quick. Had Daryl been alone, he’d likely be snarling and growling on the ground with his calf still locked within that metal.

“Keep telling yourself that and maybe your stubbornness will keep you on your feet until we can make it back.” The other man huffed. “First Eric, now you. I swear, I’m cursed.” Daryl groaned but couldn’t disagree.

Christ. The archer’s head was fucked. He couldn’t focus with images of you running rampant at the forefront of his mind. The way you would smile when you saw him; how you’d laugh when he’d huff at Dia for calling him Dorl; you’d have him for dinner a few times a week and it was less and less awkward.

He was so fucked.

“Open the gate!” Aaron called urgently. Daryl hadn’t even been paying attention but maybe zoning out was what brought him that far with such an injury. The toe of his boot was dragging, his leg both numb and throbbing in a way he couldn’t seem to understand was even possible. Sasha was yelling, but he couldn’t understand what she was saying. He was too busy trying to look over his shoulder at the steady crimson trail that followed them. Would walkers follow it right to the gates? “Jesus, okay. I’m going to get help to carry you to the infirmary.”

“Fuck Pete. Gimme Y/N or just take me home.” Daryl slurred, his head falling back against the metal just inside the gates. He was fading, tired and smothered by a dark cloud that was creeping into the edges of his vision and mind. He knew he wouldn’t die from this, but damn, did it still suck.

“Dorl! Mama, Dorl boo-boo!”

Tiny, warm hands were on his face. He was cold, didn’t even realize it. Big blue eyes were hovering right in front of his face, a little mouth between chubby cheeks speaking with an urgency that made him want to scoop her up and soothe the worry. “Dia.” He breathed, his mind finally catching up, though he wasn’t sure for how long.

“Nada kiss boo-boo.”

Daryl chuckled breathlessly but pulled the little girl against his chest. “Nah, baby girl, don’t kiss that boo-boo. S’gross.” Big crocodile tears were forming and falling, and his heart ached. His little girl was never supposed to cry, never supposed to even be sad. “M’okay. Your mama’s gonna make it all better, you’ll see.”

“Mama, Dorl got big boo-boo.”

“I see that, baby. Can you move so mommy can take a look?” You were there, your voice a balm to the pain that was slowly fading.

“She’s alright.” Daryl shifted Nadia to his side, letting her hold on with her head on his filthy chest. You’d have to give her a bath later and somehow, he had the energy to feel bad about that.

“Jesus, Daryl, what did you do?” You were cutting the lower part of his pant leg, right there on the street, but he didn’t have it in him to see who might be watching. He muttered bear trap but didn’t really recall it being his voice. Was it even him?

The child holding to him made a noise when the wound was revealed, jagged punctures that still steadily bled and she shouldn’t be seeing that. Why wasn’t someone taking her away? “Ssh. S’okay, Dia. Just look at me—can ya hum that song ya always do when we take ya home?” A tiny sniffle but then a little tune in his ear.

“What happened? He okay?” Rick.

“Daryl!” Ah, Carol. Good.

“Hey, take her, would ya? Don’t need to be here.” He was gentle if not weak when he tried to hand off Nadia, kissing one of her little hands when he finally peeled them away from his neck. “M’a be okay, Dia.” She cried. Even as Carol promised her cookies and brownies, she cried and his heart ached more than his leg. He barely caught the word disinfect before the hellfire in his leg struck him like a hammer to the head and he knew no more.

“S’not that big’a deal. I can take care’a myself at home.” Daryl grimaced and watched you moving things around in your living room. You disappeared and returned several moments later with pillows and blankets.

“I know you can, but I also know you’re stubborn as a mule and you’ll try to go out of those gates behind Aaron within a day.” He barely opened his mouth before you held up an authoritative finger. “Don’t lie to me, Daryl Dixon. And don’t pretend I don’t know at least a little by now.”

“Dorl!”

Before he could process her voice, the archer had a lapful of toddler. It was hazy but he could remember how he felt at the gate, the protective instinct, the absolute knowledge that Nadia was his no matter how untrue it was. He couldn’t seem to shake it.

“Hey, Dia.”

“Be careful of his boo-boo, sweetie.” You admonished in the most gentle tone while propping Daryl’s leg up on a pillow. “He’s going to stay with us for a few days so I can keep an eye on him.”

“Why?” Came the innocent reply.

“Because Daryl is naughty and doesn’t like to listen when he’s told he can’t do something. Like you with Miss Carol’s cookies.”

Nadia gasped dramatically and turned those big blues to Daryl. “Dorl takes cookies.”

Glancing at you, expression bland, he nodded. “Yeah, I take the cookies.”

“So he has to stay right here on this couch unless mommy is helping him, okay? Can you be my junior nurse and make sure he stays put?”

“That ain’t fair.” Daryl objected with an indignant pout.

“Why? Because you know it’ll work?”

Daryl grunted and crossed his arms. He was in for a long few days.

A week later, the stitches were out but there was residual swelling that was hindering healing. Nothing to worry about, you had told him.

“Why ain’t Ken wearin’ no clothes?” Daryl was concerned to be ‘playing Barbies’ when Barbie wore a bathing suit and Ken was naked as the day he was—assembled? So far he’d been able to avoid dialogue and just bounce the doll around with facial expressions that kept the toddler occupied. “Seems a lil’ fucked up.”

“You try finding doll clothes nowadays.” There was laughter in your voice and tenderness in your touch while you cleaned the wound and changed the dressings. Only a couple more days of that.

“Maybe I will.” The archer mused, standing the doll on top of Nadia’s head, keeping it there with his finger on the top. Her little arms could only reach the legs, facing reddening and scrunching with giggles.

“Time to pick up your toys. Daryl needs to rest and you, missy, need to get to bed.”

“Noooooo.”

“Don’t sass your mama.” Daryl dropped the doll in favor of patting the kid on the head. “G’on now.” The archer dropped an arm outward, fully expecting the hug that was incoming. “Night, kid.”

“Nigh’ night’, dada.”

It was at that moment Daryl Dixon completely forgot how to breathe. His eyes were already on yours before the kid decided to drop that bomb and skip away to brush her teeth like she hadn’t just turned his world upside down.

“M’sorry. M’so sorry. I don’t—she didn’t—”

“I’m just—” you interrupted, backing toward the doorway, “I need to put her to bed.” You stumbled out of the room as if he were chasing you.

He wasn’t sure he could move if he tried. His heart was in his nose, his stomach in his ass, and his lungs were plaited around his spine. Why would the kid call him dada? It made no sense. A couple of months wasn’t long enough for anything like that. Right? Fuck, he needed to talk to Carol. His brain was malfunctioning. He couldn’t process this.

Throwing off the blankets, Daryl sat up, levering to his feet. He still had a limp but it was easier now. Shuffling to the exit, he stopped, staring at the handle of the closed door. You’d been doing that now, hadn’t you? He said something once and you had listened.

“So you’re just gonna run away after that, is that it?”

The archer spun so fast that he lost his balance, righting himself with a hand on the wall. “It ain’t—I was—just needed to talk to Carol.” He admitted. His shirt was damp and he was certain he would vomit.

“She didn’t mean anything by it, Daryl. I’ll talk to her.” You were wringing your hands, your chin wobbling.

Don’t cry. Please don’t cry. He had the sudden desire to hug you but didn’t dare move. Aside from casual touches, bumping shoulders in jest, and of course the occasional wound treatment, the two of you had never physically interacted. Not that he hadn’t thought about it. Wow, had he thought about it. “I know she didn’t mean nothin’.” Ouch. Somehow that revelation was worse.

“She loves you, Daryl. I’ll talk to her, I promise. Please don’t walk out on her. On—on me.”

He likely looked like an idiot hobbling half the distance to where you stood. “Ain’t goin’ nowhere.” When you nodded and dropped your head, he dared another unsteady step. “M’a stay as long as ya want me here. You an’ Dia.” With one hand, he touched your shoulder and left the decision up to you. You needed no further prompting to step into his arms. For a moment, nothing else mattered. But then you were stepping back.

“Okay.” You nodded, turning your head to wipe away a tear you thought he didn’t already notice. “I like having you here.” He returned the nod silently.

Nothing else was said. Daryl went back to the couch, you went to get ready for bed. The night went on with both you and Daryl feeling more alone than ever.

“She really called you dada?” Carol asked in an excited whisper, the wide grin on her face in direct contrast to Daryl’s frown. “That’s a good thing, right?”

“No!” He shot back immediately, looking over his shoulder at the little girl playing on the living room floor. They had somehow even managed to get her to sit next to Judith’s playpen, so long as Daryl didn’t touch Lil’ Asskicker, peace remained. “I mean, yeah. Fuck, I dunno what I mean, Carol.”

“Daryl.” The seriousness in her tone brought his gaze to hers, flinching when he found her leaning on her elbows much closer than she had been just a moment ago. “I’m gonna ask you a question and I want you to answer me honestly.”

“Ain’t never lied to ya.”

“Okay.” Her eyes, just as blue as his own, narrowed. “Do you love that little girl?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I do.” It was true. It was so different from how he loved Judith but yet completely the same. He would give anything for her to have been his, to have been there while you carried her. He wanted to spit on the man that tried to force you to end it. He couldn’t imagine a world without you and little Nadia anymore. It was as if the two of you were the missing pieces that could give him a chance to be whole.

“And Y/N?”

“What?”

“Do you love Y/N?” Carol leaned back a little, her gaze no less intense.

“S’a lil’ more—I, uh—”

“I said STOP!”

Daryl was on his feet instantly at the sound of your voice, running outside. His limp was less profound and didn’t hinder him from descending the steps to see you across the street with your arm in Spencer’s grasp. You were likely on your way to collect Nadia.

“Come on, Y/N. You’re beautiful, and I’ve seen the way you look at me.” Spencer pulled you toward him.

“You’re delusional!”

“Stop being such a prude. You’ve got a kid. You think you got any other options out there?”

“Yeah! She does!” Daryl’s fist had already connected before the other man had even realized he was approaching. The archer stepped in front of you and stayed there, coiled to attack but holding steady until he was given a reason.

“You?” Spencer spat, literally, a glob of blood and saliva landing next to Daryl’s boot. “The dirty redneck everyone’s afraid of? That’s laughable.”

Daryl started to move until he felt the smallest tug on his jeans. Nadia was looking up at him, equal parts curious and afraid.

“Dada mad?”

Your arms encircled his stomach with whispers of he’s not worth it repeated over his shoulder. “Get the fuck outta here an’ don’t come near my girls again.” The archer waited, arching a brow when Spencer hesitated.

“You heard him.” Rick stepped up to Daryl’s left, Michonne and Carol on this right. “Best be going now.” Spitting again, the man curled his lip and scrambled to his feet, stomping off toward his mother’s home. “Well, that’s gonna be a problem.”

“I’ll go talk to Deanna.” Maggie offered, nodding at Rick but stopping to squeeze Daryl’s arm on her way by. What the fuck? Had everyone noticed?

“We should make ourselves scarce.” Michonne suggested with a knowing grin.

Once they were all out of sight, Daryl deflated, one hand falling to the top of Nadia’s head. “Ain’t angry, Dia.” She sniffled and seemed to only hug his leg tighter. When it was clear he couldn’t turn with the added weight to his injured leg, you stepped around in front of him.

“Your girls?” You asked, expression so terrifyingly unreadable.

“I just—he needed to leave an’ I didn’t want him to think he could come back ‘round.” His bottom lip was instantly being gnawed between his teeth. “Needed to make sure ya were okay.”

“So, we’re not your girls?” There was definitely disappointment there. You were wringing your hands again before reaching toward Nadia.

“I mean, if ya—yeah.” Daryl swallowed hard. “Yeah, you’re my girls. Have been for a while. M’just a idiot an’ I was—I’m scared. Don’t wanna be like my old man.”

You hummed, stepping into him to brush back the fringe across his eyes. “You haven’t told me anything about your parents, but I’m willing to listen. I wanna know everything about you.”

“Me too—’bout you, I mean. ‘Bout Dia.” He was reaching for your face, leaning in just as you did. His lips barely brushed yours before there came another tug at his jeans again.

“Home, dada.”

You laughed while Daryl just looked stricken and confused. “You heard her, Daryl. Let’s go home and figure this out.”

One Year Later

“Daddy! Lookit picture!!”

Daryl looked up from the mess of rabbits he was skinning on the porch, blowing upward to move some of the hair from his eyes. The almost four year old was sprinting down the street from the Grimes’ house, a piece of paper waving in her grip above her head. He waved to Michonne who had been watching Nadia make it back safely. “Whatcha got there, Dia?” She was grinning from ear to ear when she presented it to him, holding it out in front of her because ew no when he reached for it with bloody fingers.

There were three stick figures. One was obviously him if the crazy hair and scribbled attempt at a crossbow were anything to go by. A small figure was at his side, dark hair and a big smile: Nadia. And then there was you. Daryl snorted. You were a stick figure with a circle drawn around the middle.

“Your mama’s gonna ‘preciate that, kid.”

“Appreciate what?” You stepped out with two glasses of water, placing them on the table and resting your hand on your swollen belly. Nadia proudly displayed the drawing and received a big smile and mhm, so pretty from you while Daryl snickered into his shoulder. “Go put it on the fridge, baby, and wash your hands. Supper’s nearly ready.”

“Okay, mama!” And off she went in a blur.

“Not funny, Dixon.” You dug your bare toes into his lower back until he yelped.

“S’a little funny.” He wiped his knife across his jeans.

“About as funny as you cleaning these rabbits on my front porch.” He ducked his head sheepishly when he turned to watch you lower into your chair.

“I’ll clean it up, Sunshine. Don’t get all uppity ‘bout it.” Rising from his perch, he gathered the meat onto a parchment you had given him and wrapped it, leaving the bones and fur to handle later. “Dia! C’mere!” Moving at inhuman speed, she was looking up at him from the doorway the next second. Daryl jerked his chin toward a bag on the table beside his water glass. “Broughtcha somethin’ back.”

You leaned forward with curiosity and watched your daughter pull out the contents of the bag, barely catching a glimpse of the different colors before Nadia hugged Daryl’s leg and disappeared back inside with squeals of delight echoing in her wake.

“What did you bring her?”

Daryl smirked. “Told ya I’d find clothes for them dolls.”

#murda writes #daryl dixon #daryl dixon x reader #the walking dead #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon fanfic #daryl dixon x y/n #daryl dixon x you #step dad!daryl #dad!daryl #daryl x female reader #daryl dixon x female reader #daryl dixon the walking dead #daryl dixon twd #Spotify

1K notes · View notes