grimescoded

putting all of my twd rambles here

[reedusdaily]

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what if we orgasmed while playing guitars together

[normanshostage-deactivated20260]

daryl dixon/norman reedus forcing you to smoke more than you can handle

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I think about this scene a lot

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I think if there was someone who had a camera with an infinite battery in twd,, these photos would be in the memory chip

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the grimes hosting family game nights each Friday night ,, everyone in Alexandria can hear the commotion from their house . the concept of their whole group playing uno… who is winning.hmmm

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he really tried his best to come off as a cool uncle here but ended up looking like a predator

[rickcarlnegan]

negan came in his pants when rick slit his throat trust me on this one bro

[pilvimarja]

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carl after being put on mama duty for most of s5

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Carl reading RJ his own comics before putting him to bed

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high key the best era of twd ! They all look like they’re on a family camping trip,, somewhere in the countryside with too many mosquitoes and weird smelling flowers . just fighting over who’s cooking dinner that night and whos hanging up laundry . I live for this stuff !!!

also this photo here just gives me major old caravan park vibes,, them all staying there during the summer holidays because its cheap and in a nice rural area . i need to stop talking lol

[paraily]

yesterday's trauma is today's fetish

[grimescoded]

thoughts on saviour!carl 🤔🤔🤔🤔🤔🤔

[grimescoded]

Judith wears Carl’s old flannel like it’s stitched into her skin. The sleeves hang past her wrists,, the hem torn and frayed, one cuff stiff with dried blood no one talks about anymore. It barely fits, but she wears it anyway, layered over stained shirts and tank tops , like it’s the only thing keeping her tethered .

The fabric smells like dust and old campfires, faded into something that’s almost a memory. She won’t let anyone wash it. Won’t let them stitch the holes or scrub away the blood. The damage is part of him now,, like the crooked handwriting in his goodbye letters, or the blurred edges of Polaroids of them together she keeps folded in her back pocket. It’s the last thing that still feels like Carl, untouched and real. 

[fangenvy]

current status: going insane remembering that Carl absolutely would have let Rick eat him when he thought his dad was turning into a walker. he could not bear shooting his dad and lowered his gun and just sat there, ready to be consumed by the man who made him, the only family he thought he had left in the world. he'd have been painfully bitten and torn apart by his dad and then turned into a walker himself if there was enough left of him after his dad sated his hunger. the man who made him, who gave him life, would take it away again – in a way it's poetic. Carl was prepared to become a monster, to join his dad as one of these mindless creatures, to die. because shooting his dad in the head would be a fate even more painful for Carl.

[grimescoded]

this Enid with this Carl

[grimescoded]

hiii idk if ur taking requests or not buttt I'd love to see some Daryl and Carl uncle/nephew kind of stuff because I love them sooo much, and ur au is sweet 💝

wait yes i miss them alot lol also requests are always open 💞

Carl sat on the old counter,, legs swinging like a metronome, boots scuffed and dusty. The cracked vinyl beneath him squeaked with each shift of weight, but he didn’t notice. His eyes were fixed on Daryl, who crouched beside the skeletal frame of a motorcycle, hands deep in its rusted guts. Grease coated his fingers like a second skin, and the air smelled of aged leather, motor oil, and the kind of cologne that lingered long after its wearer was gone.

Daryl didn’t talk much when he worked, but Carl had learned to read the rhythm of his movements,, the way he paused before unscrewing a bolt , the muttered curses when something didn’t budge. It was like watching someone speak a language only engines understood .

"Carl, cm'ere for a sec" Daryl said, voice rough but not unkind.

Carl hopped down, boots thudding against the concrete. He stepped closer, and Daryl handed him a wrench without looking.

“Hold that steady,” Daryl said, nodding toward a stubborn piece of metal. “Don’t let it slip, or I’ll have to start over.”

Carl gripped the wrench,, arms tense. “Got it.”

They worked, the silence between them filled with the clink of tools and the occasional grunt. Daryl glanced up once, just briefly.

“You ever rebuild one of these before?” he asked.

Carl shook his head. “Nah. Just watched you.”

Daryl smirked, a flicker of pride in his eyes. “Well, you’re doin’ better than half the grown men I’ve met.”

Carl smiled to himself and muttered a "thanks".

“Make sure to change out of those clothes before I drop you home,” Daryl said, wiping his hands on a rag that looked like it had survived three wars . He paused, glancing sideways at Carl with a half-smirk. “Your dad yelled at me last time for gettin’ oil all over your flannel.”

Carl snorted. “He didn’t yell. He just gave you that look.”

“Yeah, well, that look felt like a damn sermon,” Daryl muttered, tossing the rag onto the bench. “Started talkin’ about ‘setting examples’ and ‘responsibility’ like I was corruptin’ you with motor grease.”

Carl grinned, tugging at the hem of his shirt, which was already stained with a fresh smear of black. “To be fair, this one was clean ten minutes ago.”