#godblessrickgrimes

Winter Sentence Starters | Not Accepting | @mercyprevaild​ (Continued from this old ask.)

It’s the next morning, and Negan’s backside is feeling better since his fall yesterday evening (Jesus, it was the ice’s damn fault but fuck if that doesn’t make him feel old. ‘Yeah, Negan fell, the old clumsy fuck.’) It’s still early, real goddamn early, early enough that he’s sitting lazily sprawled on the couch, hair still sporting it’s messy morning ‘do, and Judith’s in the other room having her breakfast. 

Rick has somewhere to be, but Negan’s promised him he’ll make sure Judith gets to her lesson, bundles up before she heads out the door, yadda yadda. No biggie.

Except it is, though, he can tell by the way his chest feels watching Rick get his boots and coat on. His lips quirk as Rick says his goodbye, the two of them sharing a lingering glance during which he blows the man a kiss and he chuckles, and Rick smiles, and he offers a tired little wave before the other opens the door and heads out.

It’s not even two seconds later when Negan hears a pair of thumps from the other side. He doesn’t even have time to rest his head back against the couch a moment before the sound snaps him back to attention. “Rick?” 

Brow furrows as he rises to his feet, fingers combing his hair back a few times while he heads towards the entrance. He slides on his own boots, doesn’t bother with anything else before he opens the door. The cold air immediately hits his face and eyes drift down in time to see Rick picking his ass up off the steps.

“... Yeah, I see that.” Oh he really does try not to laugh but he can’t help the snicker, the amused but sympathetic smile on his lips as he shivers in place. “Forgot to salt ‘em, didn’t you? C’mon you fucking old man, I’ll help ya up.” Rick only looks slightly miffed at the entertainment he’s getting out of this, still takes Negan’s extended hand offered to help keep him steady.

meme | @godblessrickgrimes​ | accepting!  --  Rick said: ‘you ought to be asleep.’ 

Sleep didn't come easy, not anymore. Well, not really before either. She'd always been just a little bit too much on edge to get any actual peace. But whereas before she would have crossed off the hours with nimble fingers shaping softened clay or with the tip of her paintbrush swiping over a canvas, or bathed in the red light of a darkroom, as she developed the lasted captured image, now she kept her restless hands busy, during the midnight hours with the cleaning of her weapons, her knife, her gun. Once she'd made things and tried to add a little bit of beauty into the world, now there was only death and survival, and taking.

Juliet looked down at the knife she held and contemplated it uses. She could try to make something with it. She could whittle if she had a piece of wood but that seemed silly and wasteful. Wood was needed for fires and even if she'd made something useful, like a stake that wouldn't have been as strong as the knife itself. She would just risk dulling an actual weapon for a chance to play Buffy the Vampire Slayer.  

That wouldn't work... wrong monsters. Her mouth turned up slightly at one corner, amusement found in her own internal nonsensical ramblings. She really should try to get some sleep, maybe then the little voice in her head wouldn't sound so loopy.

Footsteps cut through the silent night and Juliet knew before she even looked up that her brother was headed towards her. Not a walker or a vampire. He had an unmistakable loose hipped gait, that caused his steps to stand out from the others and made him more easily indefinable, at least to her.

Officially, I've been roleplaying since I was 13-15 (ATLA, Teen Titans, and Teen Wolf being my main fandom). Before that I'd do it in middle school with those DnD rip-off games, but I had no idea what it was called.

Blogs I'd recommend, both rp and non rp

RP:

@wexarethewalkingxdead

@godblessrickgrimes

@survivors-of-the-outbreak

@boltsandashes

@savedpeople

Non-RP (not tagging but dropping their URLs)

writingwithcolor (good writing advice for writing characters of color)

writingquestionsanswered (good writing advice)

writing-ideas-inc (good prompts)

I asked for a girl.

The words set Daryl’s lip curling, reflexive scowl against the sting of them. He’d spent weeks circling this place from the shadows, ever since he’d felt the pull of the ritual drawing him here. Guarding this home against threats magical and mundane, making sure the man’s life remained easy and undisturbed while Daryl, himself, got to know the person he already felt in his soul as his. His master, his charge. His witch.

He’d respected the man within minutes, been fond of him after a day. Had even imagined what it might be like to introduce himself maybe, eventually... but no. It seemed his first impulse had been right. He should’ve kept to the shadows.

“Sorry to disappoint.”

He draws his injured arm to his lips unthinkingly, nosing against the wrapped wound and soothing his soul more than skin by licking the swollen bruise around the gauze’s edge. It’s an empty comfort, all habit, and his glaring eyes fix back on his witch.

There’s nothing quite like being rejected so plainly by the person your entire existence revolves around.

Carol could see the exhaustion in Rick's eyes. She gently guided his head into her lap against her stomach and gently ran her fingers through his hair. She wanted nothing more than to coax his mind and body into relaxing and getting some much-needed rest. "You're no good to anyone if you don't take care of yourself, sweetheart." She let her hand slip down to his neck where she massaged it gently. "Let me take care of you for a change. I promise that things won't fall apart if you try and rest." --asked @wexarethewalkingxdead 

answered ^^^^  @godblessrickgrimes 

He’s too tired to fight the pull of her hand, or even gravity for that matter but he still huffed out a breath in annoyance against her belly  There’s a small spark of rebellion that’s just as quickly extinguished the moment slender fingers thread through his curls. Eyes, sunken and shadowed, lazily roll up to watch her face as she so gently lectured him. She’s right, he’s practically useless as of late and while he knows that’s not what she meant, it’s exactly how he feels.

Rick feels like he’s melting as her fingertips work the tension from his neck. His body is betraying him, muscle and bone losing integrity and he no sooner is subconsciously nuzzling closer, a hand tucked between himself and her thigh curling beneath his bearded chin. The world goes dark as his eyes slip closed, lashes fluttering as he attempted to fight it but ultimately forfeited.

“I’ve been tryin’.” Words muffled. There’s a warmth spreading through him, and though he’s giving in to her, the idea of letting her take care of him is so comforting yet plants some small seed of guilt. He sighed, forcing one eye open. “Don’t need to worry ‘bout me.” --continued from (x)

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Carol kept massaging his neck, using only her fingertips to give him the lightest of pressure. She knows what he's struggled with since the bridge had blown up. She wanted to do nothing to add to his stress and pain, but she could tell that her touch was soothing and comforting him in ways that he would allow. So she didn't ever want to stop. He was letting her get close again, and that was something she'd wanted for a long time now.

Her lip curled into a smirk. She gave a soft snort. "Well, too bad, Rick. You're stuck with me, and worrying about you isn't something I can just turn on and off when you allow it." Her other hand moved down and rested against his hip. She slipped her hand beneath his shirt to touch the skin there. She was testing the waters, eager to have more of him but not bold enough to push him if he wasn't ready. Or comfortable.