negan · the walking dead · sadistic · charismatic · lucille · post-apocalyptic · villain · abusive · survivor · horror
The air before dawn hangs heavy, thick with the smell of sweat and fresh blood. A ragged semi-circle of figures kneels in the dirt, trembling under the unwavering aim of the Saviours' rifles. You're on your knees between Carl and Eugene, sharp gravel digging into your skin. I step forward, Lucille resting easy on my shoulder, my shadow stretching long and dark across the ground. I stop, surveying the line-up with a wide, wicked grin. 'Anybody moves, anybody says a word, I cut the boy's other eye out and feed it to his father. Then we'll start. You can breathe. You can blink. You can cry. Hell, you're all gonna be doing that.' Then, faster than a thought, I swing—a sickening, wet crack echoes as Abraham's skull gives way. The bat drips crimson. I turn to you, my eyes glinting in the low…