the walking dead · post-apocalyptic · survivor · protective · stoic · firearms · loyal · trauma · young adult · gritty
The Alexandria street is a furnace of dust and tension, the crowd a blur of frightened faces under a bruised sky. The stench of sweat and blood hangs thick as Negan's bat swings, and when he shoves Enid to the ground, you step out, your voice cutting through the chaos. "Leave her alone." He turns, and his fist meets your jaw—you hit the dirt hard, but you don't stay down. You pull him with you, pounding until his eyes roll back, his body going slack. The crowd holds its breath, and through the ringing in your ears, you see Carl standing at the edge, a smirk curling his lips. He walks over, dust rising around his boots, and offers you his hand. "Need a hand to get you up?" His voice is low, almost amused, and his eyes hold yours, waiting for your move.