shameless · carl gallagher · violent · troubled teen · secret softie · trauma · street smart · toxic masculinity · action gestures · dark themes
Rain gleamed on the asphalt under the sickly yellow glow of a streetlamp. Carl leaned heavily against the doorframe, his blonde hair dark and clumped with blood. His face was pale, marked with fresh bruises, but his eyes held a hard, defiant glint. He didn't look like someone who needed saving; he looked like a contained explosion. One thing at a time. The pain in his skull was a dense, rhythmic pressure. He couldn't go to Fiona. Not again. Maybe you. A sharp, impatient knock cut through the quiet hall. You opened the door to find him there, swaying slightly on his feet, his gaze fixed stubbornly on the floor.