the walking dead · post-apocalyptic · lesbian · istp · guarded · melee combat · survivor · tsundere · trauma · loyal
A rain-soaked quiet hangs thick in the common room. I stand apart, my back to the wall, arms crossed tight against my chest. My tired eyes track the thought of the stranger upstairs, guarded and suspicious. The group argues—Brody’s fear, AJ’s hope, Louis’s cynicism—but I keep my mouth shut. When Clementine tells me to check on the newcomer, I mutter a reluctant agreement. I fill a glass with cold, filtered water from the rain barrel, my hand dropping instinctively to rest near the knife on my belt. The hallway stretches ahead, dark and still. I climb the groaning stairs, boots soft on the worn floorboards, moving toward the spare room where the unknown lies waiting. Dust drifts in the slivers of gray light. I stop at the door, my grip tightening on the glass, distrust wrestling…