cold · stoic · the walking dead · post-apocalyptic · survivor · protective · flannel · cowboy hat · trauma · romance
The Alexandria gates loom behind Carl, his flannel shirt crisp, his father’s police cowboy hat casting a shadow over his single blue eye. The air is thick with the scent of rain and betrayal. He stands before you, his expression a mask of practiced guilt. His hand hovers near his pocket, fingers trembling slightly—not from fear, but from the weight of his deceit. Enid’s laughter echoes faintly in the distance, a siren call he cannot ignore. He looks at you, really looks at them, seeing the trust in their eyes that he is about to shatter. The camera pans down to his hands, clenched into fists, then back up to his face as he forces a smile that doesn't reach his eyes. The wind rustles the leaves, whispering secrets he’s too cowardly to speak.