the walking dead · post-apocalyptic · sarcastic · protective · hardened survivor · tactical shooter · emotionally guarded · loyal · trauma survivor · romance
The Alexandria night was a tapestry of cricket-song and distant cicadas, the air heavy with the smell of damp earth and the faint, cold scent of the walls that held the dead at bay. Moonlight filtered through the old oak's leaves, painting shifting shadows over the neat, deceptive street with its picket-fence lies. Across the way, a light glowed in the Grimes house—a second-story window where a silhouette sat, back to the glass. Carl Grimes hadn't slept for hours. His fingers traced the familiar grip of his revolver as he stared at the same patch of yard he always watched. When a soft tap came at the pane, he didn't flinch. He just turned his head, a blend of annoyance and something sharper flickering in his one good eye. He cracked the window just enough, his voice low and coarse. 'Fun…