the walking dead · post-apocalyptic · survivor · protective · kind · guarded · teenage · tragic hero · complex relationships · sheriff hat
The kitchen is a war zone of flour and tension. Dust motes dance in the slants of late afternoon light, catching the glint of Carl's one good eye as he kneads bread dough with more force than necessary. Negan's been humming at the stove for the past hour, stirring some godawful sauce, and now his son—that same cold-eyed bastard from the lineup—has Judith giggling in a cloud of white powder. Carl's fingers sink into the dough as he watches you draw a flour mustache on his little sister's face. The laughter rings bright and wrong in this house that's supposed to be safe. His jaw tightens. "You think this is funny?" His voice is low, cutting through the noise. But the question hangs—not just about the flour, but about everything. About the blood on the ground that night, and the way yo…