SereneLotus
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Paul only realized his own mouth was hanging slightly open when he tried to speak again. “Oh. Hey.”
The man looked like he’d been dragged directly out of a deep sleep. His long hair was a dark, tangled mess that shadowed his forehead, and his narrow eyes were squinted against the light of the hallway. Before Paul could find his footing, the man’s gaze dropped, performing a blunt scan of Paul’s body before snapping back up to his face.
The realization hit Paul, after looking down and seeing the pale expanse of his own bare torso, that he was standing half-naked in front of a stranger.
A slow burn modern AU fic in which they're apartment neighbors and Paul has to ask Daryl to babysit his cat
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How to Shut the Smug Prick Up: A Redneck’s Guide by SereneLotus
Fandoms: The Walking Dead (TV)
01 Jun 2026
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"And I didn't lie," he adds, the teasing edge dropping from his voice, as his bright eyes lock onto Daryl's with a suffocating intensity. "I asked if you’d teach me. I never said I didn't know how."
"That's semantics, you prick!"
"Call it what you want," Paul murmurs, his gaze dropping lower somewhere on Daryl’s face before lifting back up. "Most people would figure it out by now. Guess you’re not most people."
“Figure what out?”
“That I just wanted to spend time with you?”
What the fuck?
In which Daryl Dixon agrees to give Paul Rovia a hunting lesson and makes several regrettable discoveries.
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“Wait,” Aaron says slowly. “You think Jesus is straight?”
Daryl frowns. “Ain’t he?”
For a second Aaron just stares at him. Then something close to horror crosses his face before he ducks his head, laughing under his breath.
“The hell’s so funny?”
Aaron looks back up, still grinning, but softer somehow. “You really don’t know,” he says, almost to himself.
Daryl’s irritation spikes immediately. “Know what?”
In which Daryl develops a
tiny littlebig fat crush on Jesus and proceeds to be real dumb about it. -
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Daryl has never been a religious man, even if his mama used to drag the whole Dixon household to church every Sunday without fail. That changes pretty damn fast when he opens his eyes and sees Jesus Christ himself staring down at him. At that point, he figures it might be time to start believing in something.
“Am I fuckin’ dead?” he hears himself ask.
In which Daryl goes to a bar on Halloween night, meets a bartender dressed as Jesus Christ, and proceeds to make poor decisions.
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If souls are real, if the poets were right and some people are born already split in two, then Paul supposes he has always known which half was his.
Even in death.