- Carl Grimes ! |🧟⁷

so, the prison turned into something like a real community: garden beds grew behind the fences, on which Hershel planted vegetables, guards, a canteen, and even something like lessons for children were organized. At that time, Rick voluntarily stepped away from the role of a military leader and became more involved in farming and raising Carl: he decided that it was enough to fight, it was time to build a life. The council of Hershel, Daryl, Carol, Glenn, and Maggie managed the day—to—day affairs, and Michonne regularly went to scout and bring supplies, but each time she returned, the prison became her home, and Rick and Carl became something of a family. Rick's team had noticeably changed in composition by that time. To the core — Rick, Daryl, Glenn, Maggie, Carol, Michonne, Hershel, Beth and Carl — were added those who proved their reliability in battles: former prisoner Oscar (however, he died in the middle of season 3), as well as Tyrese and Sasha, who came to prison shortly before They became valuable fighters during the lull. Bob Stookey, a former army medic with alcohol problems, also joined the group — Hershel saw him as a useful person and helped him settle in. Glenn and Maggie lived as a young couple, holding each other by the support, Beth babysat baby Judith and sang softly by the fence, and Carol taught secret "survival lessons" for children — she taught knives and sticks while other adults did not know. The air in the prison was almost peaceful then: people ate together, worked together, and laughed together. Rick went unarmed, wore farming gloves and talked to Hershel about the future harvest, Carl tried to be an ordinary teenager — he read comics, played with children, tried not to be "like a father." Daryl became almost a legend in the community: he was respected, counted on, and, for all his closeness, he clearly felt needed. Michonne brought Carl comics, and Rick smiled more often than he had in the entire series. It was a short window in which the characters allowed themselves to believe that the worst was over.

while there was still a fragile calm in prison, Carl seemed to be trying to catch a piece of normal life — and this was all his inconsistency. It was important for him not just to "survive", but to be an ordinary teenager: he read comics, chatted with other children, tried not to carry weapons unnecessarily, and even rebelled a little against the fact that his father was always dragging him into "adult" affairs. At the same time, he did not lose his composure: if it was necessary to stand on duty, he stood, if asked to help with the garden, he helped, and did it without unnecessary complaints. There was already a sense of a future adult in him: responsible, but not having lost the ability to enjoy the little things. Despite all this attempt to appear "like everyone else," Karl still has the inner seriousness that he acquired over the years of the apocalypse. Out of habit, he was the first to notice if something was wrong: it was too quiet at the gate, one of the newcomers was acting unnaturally, Judith had a fever. And he didn't immediately run to Rick or Hershel — at first he tried to figure it out on his own, because he believed that he should be able to cope. But next to his father, he was still a son: he could argue, prove that he was already an adult, and after a minute he could quietly come up and just stand next to Rick when it was hard. This mixture of independence and the need for support made him especially alive: he did not want to be a "child," but he also did not want to be a lone warrior. Another important feature of Karl at that time was his desire to protect not by force, but by caring. He looked after the younger ones, gently rebuked those who joked too rudely about Beth, and tried to make sure Judith didn't see anything superfluous. At the same time, he knew how to be considerate: he didn't give advice if he saw that a person wanted to be alone, but he always left the door open — literally and figuratively: he could just say "if necessary, I'm here." During those quiet months in prison, Karl was not so much a "fighter" as a quiet core: someone who doesn't make loud speeches, but who will be the first to notice who is having a hard time and will be the first to stand by if necessary.

Carl is no longer a child, but he is also not an adult — you can see this transitional, slightly awkward stage in his appearance: he seems to be growing faster than he has time to get used to his own body. His shoulders and arms are thin but already getting stronger, a trace of both teenage stretching and those months when he had to carry heavy things, hold weapons, and help strengthen fences. Her hair is light brown, cut short on the sides, and left a little longer on top, so that it always falls over her forehead in a light wave, and Carl keeps pushing it away with a sharp, almost automatic movement. His face is open, with a thin, barely noticeable line of cheekbones that is just beginning to show, and with a scattering of freckles that are not just on his nose and cheeks, but go further - along the bridge of his nose, down to his neck, scattering over his shoulders and even over his forearms, as if summer generously marked every piece of skin, who has been in the sun at least a little. These freckles make him look both older and childishly touching, as if he still has that boy running around the yard without a T-shirt and not thinking about anything except getting there before dark. He is dressed simply, as if he deliberately avoids everything that looks "like a fighter": most often he wears a dark gray or olive T‑shirt, over which he wears a light zip—up hoodie, which he either fastens or leaves unbuttoned, depending on whether he is hot or just wants to feel a little freer. His jeans were worn but neat, with the legs slightly turned up, and on his feet were sneakers, no longer new, with scuffs on their noses and barely noticeable scratches, like those of someone who walks a lot and doesn't look at his feet when he's thinking about something. And he almost always wears that same cap with a visor — not as armor, but as a familiar object that gives him a sense of support. And he also has this shy grin: it's not wide, it's not demonstrative, it's like it's sneaking out despite his desire to be serious. It begins with a barely noticeable rise in the corner of his lips, then his eyes join it — they warm up a little, become softer, and at this moment all his "adult" facets seem to be slightly erased. He smiles like that when Judith does something funny, when Michonne silently hands him a new comic book, when Rick, without saying a word, puts his hand on his shoulder. This smile contains all his vulnerability and all his tenderness: it appears not to impress anyone, but because it is calm and you can be yourself.

If Carl had fallen in love he definitely wouldn't have announced it to the entire prison yard ‑ it would have been too loud, too vulnerable for him. He would smile exactly like that: not with his whole mouth, but with that shy grin that made his eyes warm a little and freckles appear on his cheeks, as if they were getting brighter from embarrassment. Sometimes the smile came out a little silly — he felt it himself, immediately caught himself, tried to pretend that he was just surprised by something, and looked away, but after a couple of seconds he couldn't stand it anymore and looked again. And his gaze really became puppy dog: there was so much expectation in him, so much hope for a tiny sign that he hadn't ruined everything, that he could just stand next to him. He would follow his love around, but in a way that made it look like a coincidence. Carl would have chosen the same routes on purpose: as if he happened to be at the vegetable garden when she was helping Hershel, or lingered at the dining room, knowing that she would go there after the guard. He wouldn't be looming right in front of her, but rather would have kept a couple of steps away, as if he were just "going his own way," which for some reason always coincided with hers. If she noticed and smiled, he seemed to glow from within: the freckles on his shoulders and neck seemed even more noticeable, and an awkward but happy composure appeared in his movements. He would try to be helpful: he would stealthily drag heavy boxes to her, wipe the bench in advance so that she would not have to sit on the dusty one, bring a glass of water even before she asked. And he did every little thing like that as if it wasn't about feelings at all—as if he was just helping, as he would help anyone in the community. But as soon as she said "thank you" and looked directly at him, his shy grin broke out again, and at that moment all his adult seriousness crumbled, leaving only a boyish joy: I was able, I did something good for her.
he would also try to show off somehow: he would show how cool he kills zombies, and in general how cool and strong he is, just like his father.