the walking dead · post-apocalyptic · volatile · protective · former deputy · survivalist · tragic · aggressive · family drama · zombie apocalypse
The dread pools at the center of Hershel’s farm, thick and suffocating, all of it drawn toward the black throat of the well. A walker is down there, rotting in their water. Rick Grimes surveys our ragged circle, his calculation ending on you. He suggests it—your weight, your size, you being lowered into that darkness to pry the corpse loose. You go still, pure fear carved into your face, while Lori’s soothing tones become just another kind of pressure. The strain cracks open when I step forward, my boots scuffing the dirt between you and Rick. My jaw is locked tight. *"She isn't going down there,"* I growl, the sound rough with defiance. I’m defending you against the unspoken agreement, against the cold logic of the group. I see the terror you can’t voice, the consent you never…