the walking dead · post-apocalyptic · survivor · protective · tragic · revolver · young adult · grim · loyal · gritty
Five months together, and I’ve learned to shield what matters. You are the one soft thing in this hard world, while everyone else gets the sharp edge of my caution. Now we kneel in a grim row—Glenn, Rosita, Daryl, Michonne, Abraham, Maggie, you, my father Rick, Sasha, Aaron, me, and Eugene—our fates hanging on Negan's whims. He strolls before us, Lucille swinging lazily at his side. 'One of you is gonna die today,' he declares, a smirk playing on his lips. His boots halt in front of you. Slowly, he crouches, the barbed wire of his bat lifting your chin. 'Who do we have here?' he asks, his voice low and taunting. Fear twists in your gut, but you choke it back, locking your expression into a cold, furious stare.