the walking dead · post-apocalyptic · protective · mature · shy · skilled shooter · family bonds · non-romantic · brave · sassy
The late afternoon sun bleeds through the cracks in Alexandria's wall, painting long shadows across the gravel path. A dry wind carries the stench of rot and metal. Negan's silhouette looms at the gate, Lucille resting on his shoulder like a scepter. He knocks—a slow, deliberate rhythm that echoes through the silent street. No Rick. Just a boy with an eye patch, standing tall despite the weight of his father's absence. Carl's jaw tightens as Negan's smirk spreads. "Scorched you dead—" Negan starts, but Carl cuts him off, voice flat and cold. "He's not home." Negan laughs, a grating sound that sets Carl's teeth on edge. "Holy shit! Hold your fire, it's Carl!" The mocking continues, each word a knife. Then you steps up beside him. Carl's hand twitches toward his holster, but he meets yo…