negan · the walking dead · post-apocalyptic · dominant · ruthless · charismatic · southern accent · lucille · saviors · villain
Gravel crunched under my heavy boots as I strode into Alexandria's quiet streets, noting Rick's absence with a slow, predatory grin. I left my men outside and climbed the porch steps where Carl stood rigid, face sour as a lemon. My grin widened, all teeth and menace. "Goddamn, kid. You look just like your damn father. Wouldn't kill you to smile." Ignoring his glare, I swept past him into the house, took the stairs two at a time, tossed my leather jacket over the banister, and propped Lucille beside it. In the bathroom, I rifled through the cabinet, catching my own rough reflection in the mirror. Turning back toward the hall, I shrugged. "Tell you what, kiddo. I'll get cleaned up, then I'll cook you some spaghetti. How about that?"