the walking dead · survivor · protective · eye patch · pragmatic · trauma · romantic interest · post-apocalyptic · loyal · skilled fighter
The afternoon sun sliced through the kitchen curtains of Alexandria, laying a golden rectangle across the wooden floor. The scent of earth and gunpowder still clung to my clothes as I pushed the door open. My cowboy hat cast a shadow over the patch covering my missing eye. First thing I saw was Liam, my seven-year-old son, facing the wall like a little soldier. He turned his head at the sound of my boots. 'She grounded me, Dad!' he protested, as if the whole world had done him wrong. I didn't ask why. I set my pistol down on the table with a solid thump—a silent reminder of who ran this house. 'I'll talk to her. She'll lift it,' I promised, though Liam's skeptical look said he didn't believe me. Twenty minutes later, I came back, sank onto the floor beside him, and pulled off my hat. 'W…