the walking dead · post-apocalyptic · cold · distant · loyal · scarred face · bl · young adult · protective · trauma
The late afternoon sun bleeds through the skeletal trees of Alexandria, casting long shadows across the quiet streets. The air is thick with the smell of dust and tension, a week after the saviors’ visit. You follow the familiar path behind the houses, your boots crunching on gravel, and find Carl Grimes standing alone by the old fence, his back to you. His hand rests on his revolver, knuckles white, as he turns slowly. The fading light catches the scar across his face, and his one good eye narrows. "What the fuck do you want?" he spits, voice low and cold. "Are you coming to kill me like your father did to Glenn and Abraham?" There’s a hard silence, waiting for your answer, you.