#carlgrimes

Very nervous to post this, but let me know what you think please!!!! Or advice on how to do the layouts/writting! 

Thank you! 

 Hope you enjoy!! 

Title:

What Remains Of Me. 

Pt. 1

“Good morning, Maggie.”

I greeted her as I walked down the stairs of our home in Alexandria. She was curled up on the couch, sipping tea and reading a book. Seeing her so calm still felt unreal. A year ago, the idea of any of us sitting safely in a warm house would’ve sounded like a fantasy.

My thoughts drifted back to the day she and Glenn found me, months before Alexandria, long before any of us knew safety was still something we could have. Back then, Rick’s group was scattered across miles of back roads and forest, all of them searching for shelter, food, anything. Everyone was desperate, starving, and worn down to the bone. Which I later found out was the result of the fall of their previous home, a prison, then the horrors of a place called Terminus. 

Maggie and Glenn reached the cabin first. I’d been living alone there for half a year after my parents died. I wasn’t the same person I’d been before the world fell apart. None of us were.

It took time for me to trust them — especially since the first thing they did was try to break into my ‘home’. Before that, the only people I’d met were cruel, desperate, and dangerous. People who taught me that trusting strangers was a mistake. It’s how I watched my parents get torn apart by the dead.

Even now, the memory is burned into my mind. I know it always will be.

“Good morning, Leah.”

Maggie looked up at me as I finished going down the stairs.

“Where’s Glenn?” I asked curiously, rubbing a bit of sleep from my eyes.

“He’s helping Rick rearrange a few things in the armory,” she said. “Speaking of, you need to think about heading to the tower soon for watch.” 

My stomach dropped. “Shit, what time is it?” I asked nervously. Scared of the answer.

“7:45.” She replied, sipping her tea and raising her eyebrows at me.

Great. Fifteen minutes to chug a coffee, brush my teeth, get dressed, and be on the tower by eight.

I spun into the kitchen and headed straight for the coffee machine. The pot was still warm, Glenn must’ve made some earlier. So I grabbed the handle and poured the remaining coffee into a mug. I took a quick sip to test the temperature, then downed the rest in a few gulps.

The empty mug clattered into the sink as I turned and bolted back up the stairs to get ready.

I rushed into the bathroom, brushed my teeth in a hurry, then went into my room. I felt the heat from the sunlight that poured through the window; it was going to be real hot today.  I stumbled around the room, yanked open the dresser, and pulled out underwear and a bra. From the next drawer, I grabbed the first pair of jean shorts I saw and shoved them all on, then found a deep blue tank and tugged that over my head. It still felt surreal that I could grab clean clothes from a dresser in my room.

When I was dressed, I crossed the room to my weapons. I cinched a wide braided leather belt over my shorts, clipped a drop‑leg holster to the strap, and slid my knife into the gap where the leather had been worn smooth by use. On the other side, I snapped my 9mm into the holster at my hip. I knew Alexandria was safe, but I still couldn’t sleep without my weapons within reach. I ran down the stairs, called a quick “bye” to Maggie, and was out the door. I picked up my pace, cutting across the street toward the tower, not taking my time since I didn’t want to be late. Another thing for Carl to be annoying about...

“Hey, moron!” an all‑too‑familiar voice yelled from behind me.

I kept walking, then glanced over my shoulder and rolled my eyes. Of course. Carl Grimes. He’d been insufferable since the day we met, and I’d never bothered to pretend otherwise. We argued about everything; there was no real reason for the dislike, just a friction that never smoothed out.  And the fact he was an asshole.

We were almost nineteen, and his best insult was still “moron.” Pathetic.

I flipped him off without slowing down and kept moving. 

I heard his steps get louder and quicker behind me like a pissed‑off puppy. “Really nice of you to show up, princess. Why don’t you stop wasting time and go do your job?” he snapped. Tilting his head to the side, the wide brim of his oversized sheriff's hat casting a dark shadow over his face. 

Princess.

That word always made my blood boil, even before the world ended. Especially coming from him. His voice was always mocking and sarcastic, laced with venom.  I knew it was his way of saying I was dead weight to him.

I stopped in my tracks. I turned to face him and found that same smug smirk. “I would if you hadn’t called me a moron a minute ago and then followed me around like a lost puppy,” I shot back. I put my hands on my hips, giving him a mocking head tilt of the stupid one he always does. 

The smug smirk on his face vanished, replaced by something harder. I felt my own grin creep up. it was too easy; I’d gotten to him. He took a daring step closer, the dark look in his eyes making it clear he wasn’t backing down. He never did, and neither did I. I remembered how annoyed the group  got while we were on the road, constantly having to be around each other, always fighting.

“Careful, princess,” he said, voice low and dangerous.

I ignored the way my heart quickened at his tone. Before I could fire back another sharp blow at his infuriating nickname, gunshots cracked across the morning like a storm. My snapped my head toward the noise, towers that had been quiet a heartbeat ago erupted with tracer fire over the fence.

“Carl! Leah!” Rick’s voice cut through the chaos. “Get up on that tower now!”

I sprinted toward the tower Rick had pointed to, my boots hammering against the dirt as gunfire cracked through the air. By the time I reached the ladder, adrenaline had already taken over. I climbed as fast as I could my hands slipping once, the ladder slick with morning dew, before pulling myself onto the platform at the top.

Chaos swallowed everything. Bullets tore through the air from every direction, some ricocheting off metal and biting into the herd below. The walkers’ groans rose in a swelling chorus, desperate and guttural, echoing off Alexandria’s walls like a deadly warning.

I grabbed one of the mounted machine guns stationed for this tower, fingers trembling a little as I loaded the belt. The moment it clicked into place, I opened fire. The recoil slamming into my shoulder. I kept firing, round after round, watching walkers drop and pile against the fence, their weight bowing the metal inward.

I didn’t realize Carl had already climbed up beside me until the deafening roar of his machine gun joined mine. The tower shook under the combined force of our fire and the dead trying to claw their way through below us. He stood close—closer than he needed to. Jaw tight, eyes locked on the herd with his usual unwavering determination. I could feel the heat radiating off of him.

I kept firing from the tower, each shot pounding out a rhythm that held the walkers at bay. We’ve definitely dealt with worse herds, but this was still a ton. The biggest herd I’ve seen trying to get in. Then I saw something that made my blood run cold. A section of the metal wall was buckling under the relentless pressure of the herd. The steel groaned and split just enough for the dead to start pushing through.

“Damn it,” I muttered under my breath. I didn’t wait. I dropped down from the tower, my boots hitting the ground hard as I sprinted toward the breach.

Walkers were already pouring through the gap—three or four at a time, those rotting hands clawing at the air as they stumbled into Alexandria. I raised my weapon and fired, taking them down as quickly as they came through. But more kept coming.

Suddenly,  I felt someone beside me. I glanced over quickly and noticed it was Carl. He didn’t say a word, his face angry as he fired at the walkers. A roar of blood in my ears as my heart hammered with every shot. Each shot I fired was a statement. This was my home, and I wasn’t about to let the dead take it. Not again. 

Finally the flood of walkers died down and so did the gun fire. I fired a straggler in the head as it tried to come through the gap. 

“All clear!” I heard Rick announce to everyone. I aimed my gun to the ground with a breath of relief. 

“What the hell was that!” Carl suddenly yelled at me, his voice cutting through the fading rush of blood in my ears.  I took a step back at his voice. “What?” I shot back, confused and already annoyed. “If you wanna go and get yourself killed, be my guest,” he said sharply, referring to me jumping off the tower straight towards the gap of walkers that were barrowing through. “But don’t put it on me to come save you.” He spat out.

 “I didn’t need you to come save me, Carl. I had it.” I snapped at him, absolutely absurd, he’d think I’d ever need him to save me from anything. “Didn’t look like you did.” He barked back. His blue eye was burning holes in mine. Before he scoffed and started walking away. “I did! You didn’t need to follow me, you know what, right?” I called out to him, my voice laced with anger. His steps faltered slightly, but he kept walking. 

My name’s Avery, and I’m a huge twd fan. I’ve written fanfics for other fandoms before, but I’ve always kept them private. This is the first time I’m thinking about sharing one publicly, so… I’m a little nervous. Terrified. Horrified...... lolll.

Soooo. The story follows Leah, an original character dealing with loss, trauma, and trying to find her place behind Alexandria’s walls. She and Carl Grimes have had tension ever since they met, that slow-burn, enemies-to-lovers kind of thing. They’re both almost 19 in this story, still butting heads, still pretending they don’t care about each other's existence. But when a breach in the wall threatens Alexandria, they end up fighting side by side… and everything starts to shift.

If that sounds like something you’d want to read, let me know! I’d love to hear your thoughts before I post Chapter One.

I'm gonna include a teaser also for a little more info.

TEASER:

I used to think the world ended the day my parents died. After that, surviving was the only thing I knew how to do. Alexandria was supposed to be different — safer, quieter, a place where I could finally breathe.

But safety doesn’t last long in this world. The tower shook under my boots as the herd slammed into the walls, and when I saw the metal splitting open, my stomach dropped. Walkers were forcing their way through, pouring into the Safe Zone like the world was ending all over again.

I didn't hesitate. I jumped down from the tower towards the breach. I wasn't losing another home. I stood in front of the walkers pouring into the streets of Alexandria and fired my gun, taking down one after the other.

And suddenly Carl- stubborn, sharp-tongued, impossible Carl - was right there with me, firing at the walkers slipping through.

-------

AHHH im nervous. bye.

Tw: fresh sh cuts uhhh okay

I need ff requests, I’m best at fluff/angst but I’m up for smut. my brain has had a total of -6 fanfic ideas this week and its already Tuesday someone help ☹️ i have tagged most interests of mine that i can write about but I’ve probably missed some out so post your requests anyways XD

Awwww, thank you so much!

He is the new obession so... unfortuantly sorry to anyone with no interest, but yay for those who do,

there is a lot more coming!

I have also already dropped the first concept for another Chandler Riggs character, Peter (from the spider short) and there may or may not be another one coming... along with... maybe some ben from breakup season if anyone is interested?

Ron Anderson x Reader

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summary: Ron’s never let anyone help. You’ve known about the bruises for a while, but this is the first time he lets you see them up close. The first time he talks about it. The first time he doesn’t pretend he’s fine. warnings: mentions of abuse, injury descriptions, blood, wound kissing, hinting parental abuse, emotional distress, cursing, bad writing, long backstory

words: 1.2k ✦•····························································•✦•····························································•✦ Pete was already temperamental. Leaving bruises was rare, but yelling wasn't. Ron learned to be quiet and channel the anger. Sam cried. Jessie pretended. After the breakout, things became worse. Pete was angrier. Ron was cracking. Sam cried louder. Jessie smiled harder.

Every night, Ron would sneak out. It didn't matter to him where. Anywhere was better than being around his dad. He liked the comforting silence the night brung. Feeling the cold breeze tingle his wounds. He didn't tell anyone. He didn't plan on it. Until, he met her. He had seen you before helping in medical center or helping unload after runs. Something about you left him curious. The way he'd see you and if he'd look away for a second he'd be gone. The way you seem to know exactly what to say or do in stressful situations. It always left him wondering and sometimes even wanting. The first time you guys talked was at a welcoming party. You had stuck behind Carl the whole night, scanning the room as if walkers were going to break in at any moment and you HAD to be the one to jump in the action. When no one was looking, or at least when you thought no one was, you snuck out the front door. Ron followed. He opened the door and saw you sitting on the porch stairs. He hesitated before slowly approaching. He cleared his throat, "Not much of a party person I'm assuming?" you rolled your eyes, not looking up. "No," You said dryly, "so go away." But he didn't. He sat next to you and talked to you for the rest of the party. Turns out you guys got along pretty well. You guys shared trauma, experiences with the outbreak, and a couple sarcastic jokes. You weren't as tough and mean as you looked. As you're friendship grew, the more you'd find out about his home life. Often going up to his house with comics, only to leave because you heard thumps and crashes from inside. Seeing him wear long sleeves or hoodies when it's a million degrees outside. Then one day you wander into his room uninvited and find him shirtless with bruises all along his arms and stomach. He used the usual excuses, he fell down the stairs, got a little too rough when play-fighting Carl or Mikey, and the list goes on. Until, one night he comes through your window scared, hurt, and sad.

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You lay in your bed reading some book you found collecting dust in one of the basements. It was boring you to death. Until..

knock...knock....knock..

You wake up from your bored-like trance and sit up. You look around. knock...knock..

You stand up and head to the window. What you can make up was a silhouette of a boy. Brown hair, bushy brows, a slouchy set of shoulders, Ron? You open the window, "Ron? What did you get a nightmare and wet the bed or something?" you tease with a slight smirk. He look's up at you. Your smile drops as you step aside and he slowly drops in. Blood was gushing out his nose and dribbling off his lip, he had a bruise on the side of his face, and you had a gut-feeling that wasn't all.

He limps toward your bed and sits down. You grab your chair and place it in front of him. "What happened...?" you ask softly. He hesitates, responses calculating in his head, but each answer seems odd to say aloud. "I-I'm sorry." he finally whimpers, keeping his head down, shoulders shaking slightly. "I’m sorry," he repeats, voice cracking. "I shouldn’t have come here. I just—" He swallows hard. "I didn’t know where else to go."

Your heart drops. "Ron… what happened?"

He shakes his head, wiping his nose with trembling hands. "He-he just lost it. He had too much to-" he lets out bitter laugh, "You know my mom- it's like she can't even accept or talk about it. She walks around with some stupid smile all the fucking time." His voice got slightly angry, words forced through his gritted teeth. "Then Sam-" he continues, "my mom just locks him in his closet all night, so all he knows is just to do what mom says or run away. Then my dad-" he paused and his head voice drops, sniffling and shaking. He shakes his head, "I hate him. I hate him so, so, much." Tears start to well his eyes.

You watch him silently, thinking of anything to say.

"I'm sorry," he repeats, "I didn't know where else to go." You hugged him. He fell into your shoulder and just cried. It felt like forever and your shirt was soaked with a mix of nose-blood and tears.

He finally calmed down a bit and lifted his head. "Can...can you help me?" he asks. You nod immediately and get a first aid kit from your desk drawer. You quickly clean off face.

"Is that all?" you ask hesitantly. He nods slowly then takes off his sweater, then his shirt. Bruises were traveled among his left arm, hand, and on the sides of his stomach. "Oh Ron..." you whisper sadly as you softly trail, your fingers among the bruises. Although he let out small winces at each touch, he let you continue. "It's nothing. It's just a scratch." he mutters. You grab his hand and run your thumb along his wounded knuckles.

You slowly lift his hand higher, brushing your thumb across his knuckles again. Without thinking too hard about it, you lean down and press a soft kiss against the bruised skin. Ron stiffens, startled, but doesn’t pull away.

Your lips linger for just a second before you whisper, “It's more than just a scratch.”

His breath catches, and he looks at you like he doesn’t know what to do with himself. You move carefully, kissing the inside of his wrist, then the bruise on his forearm. Each time, you’re gentle, as if the bruises might break under your touch.

When your eyes meet his, he’s trembling slightly, cheeks flushed, eyes glossy. It’s vulnerability, raw and unguarded, the kind of look he rarely lets anyone see. His chest rises and falls, fast and uneven. Then, almost without thinking, as if the words he can’t say are spilling out through his body instead, he leans forward.

Your lips meet his in a brief, hesitant kiss. It's soft, desperate, and trembling with everything he’s been holding in. You pull back slowly and meet his eyes once again. They have a sense of fear, he's asking for any sort of sign of reassurance. You grin softly and he follows. After, you quickly bandage his knuckles, then run some ointment on his bruises and cuts. Theres a silence during this, but not an awkward one. It's relieving. Calm. A break for Ron.

"Thank you." he whispers. You nod before getting up and tossing him a maroon knit crewneck and extra pjs.

"You're staying here tonight."

"B-but..my dad- when I'm not-"

"I'll wake you up before sunrise."

You give him a reassuring grin. He doesn't say anything and nods. You hand him the clothes, and he takes them with shaky hands. For the first time tonight, his shoulders drop, just a little.

“Thanks,” he says again, softer this time, like the word doesn’t even cover it.

You nod, sliding back into bed while he changes. When he finally crawls under the blanket beside you, there’s a beat of silence, only the sound of his breathing evening out. You let your eyes drift shut, but not before you feel him shift closer, just enough that your shoulders brush.

For once, he doesn’t seem afraid to fall asleep.

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