#mercyprevaild

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I want to _____ you. | Not Accepting | @mercyprevaild

Negan doesn’t give an answer when there’s a knock at his door, but seconds later he finds his guest welcoming themselves in anyway.

Rick might notice the leather jacket haphazardly lying across the back of a chair, the boots that were seemingly kicked off and left in the middle of the room... and he’ll most definitely notice the glass in Negan’s hand, and the near-empty bottle of whiskey resting beside Lucille on the coffee table in front of him.

And when Negan glances up from where he sits slouched on the leather couch, red eyes make it clear he’s well into inebriation -- or perhaps a bad cry. And after a delayed paused, he scoffs.

“The hell you doin’ here, Rick? I know, know you’re here to fuck, right? Gonna be honest with you, I... I don’t think I got it in me. Pretty sure even my dick’s drunk off its ass. Whiskey dick, literally.” A snort of laughter, he’s motioning with the hand holding his glass, liquor sloshing within and threatening to spill over.  He seems to notice, stops himself and puts the glass to his lips instead as he keeps his eyes on Rick, who’s now approaching him.

"Seriously, the fuck you want?"

"I want to help you."

Negan stares at him, blinking, dumbfounded. "Help me? The fuck do I..." Features twist with irritation. "I look like I need fucking help? Your goddamn help? When it's, when this is your--" Your fucking fault?

He doesn't say it, not at first, but fuck does he feel it. It's not all Rick's fault, not really, certainly not anything he consciously did. But their... relationship, whatever the hell it may be, it's brought out too much in Negan, dredged up feelings of grief and other things he's kept so tightly on lock for so long, if not forgotten. And tonight, it became too much.

He's too drunk to care about or even remember the dried tears on his cheeks.

"You did this." Words come bitter but sloppy as he stands. He sees a flash of what he thinks is confusion in Rick's face, but it's not enough to stop the man from trying to take his drink from him. Negan dodges the attempt, lifting it out of reach with a sway and then taking a final defiant swig of his liquor, downing most of it before it's successfully stolen from his grasp.

"Fuck you, Rick." Words spat. 'That's not very helpful of you,' he wants to say, but the words never find their way out. He watches Rick set the glass on the table and he promptly goes to reach for it again, but the world threatens to spin as he leans over and he groans, straightens himself back up the best he can.

"You want to help?" He sways into Rick's space when he feels hands on his shoulders, undoubtedly helping to keep him steady. Trying and failing to read his lover's face, he exhales through parted lips, alcohol heavy on his breath. "Come to bed with me."

It's only then that Negan realizes that he's already being guided towards his bed, and guided onto it soon after. He looks at Rick and he recognizes it then, the concern on his face, how gentle he's being despite his unkind words, and his own expression falls from anger, to nothing, to big eyes filled with a vulnerable, confused sadness.

It makes him feel pathetic. Cared for. It feels good. It feels awful. He doesn't know how it feels, other than that it's too much.

Because why would anyone give a damn about him here?

SHE HAD HEADED OUT WITH ONE PURPOSE and that was to find rick if that was even really possible. it seemed beyond possibility and yet .... ever since she got rick was alive this was her focus. she was not going to stop because she needed him, judith needed him and rj needed him. they would find each other again and be a family once more. she was following any and every lead she had and hoping that eventually one of them would lead to his existance. "where are you rick?" she spoke as she looked around fingers reaching towards her blade at the sound of approaching steps.

            these sleepless nights weren’t ones that were particularly new for shane. frustratingly, he’s had them since rick was hit by that bullet back in kings county. all of it had been so jarring, the feeling that shane’s world had been falling apart.. then his world quite literally falling apart after that. he never had time to process it, which might’ve been for the best short-term. it kept his mind busy, prevented him from having to mourn everything he’s lost. 

            regardless, in the weeks following the outbreak, he’d still wake in a cold sweat in that damn tent. it was easier when it was just lori that laid by his side, he could slip out and she wouldn’t stop him. take his gun and try to ride out his panic attack until he was exhausted enough to lay rest beside her once more. 

he thought... hoped that having rick back would make them go away. that his mind would be put to ease knowing that it was alright. they were okay, and the prison was the best outcome from all of this that they could find. 

            all of that being true, it still didn’t undo what had happened. didn’t seem to lift any of the guilt, or pain, or the new found guilt that he held surrounding the sort of man he’d become without rick by his side. 

He hadn't meant to intrude on such a thing but finds himself frozen in the doorway regardless. Blue-gray eyes take in the other walking slowly as he rocks the tiny form and Merle hates how the sight makes his chest tight in ways.

drunk meme - Random drunk quote found on google.- @mercyprevaild

NO LONGER ACCEPTING!

“This is the most I’ve ever been. Ever.”

Daryl almost had a white-knuckled grip on the mason jar of moonshine. They'd had a pretty shitty day, and he wasn't above indulging in a little of the devil's juice in order to unwind. The only time he even considered giving up the jar was when Rick reached for it. He watched his partner, in every sense of the word, put the clear jar to his lips and take a measured swallow. "Good stuff, huh?"

Rick handed the jar back, smacking his lips. His blue eyes were glassy, a clear sign that he'd had more than enough. He had only wanted a healthy buzz, but he had slipped past that and was well into drunk territory. "This is the most I've ever been. Ever." He lifted his finger, pointing it at Daryl to emphasize his point. "And I been plenty."

Daryl chuckled when he realized that Rick was leaving out entire words and didn't even realize it. Yep, his boyfriend was drunk. At least he was adorable. That was more than most could say. He wrapped an arm around Rick's shoulders and pulled him in close and kissed his cheek. "Well, so long as you don't go doin' anything too crazy, it should be alright."

Rick's eyebrows raised slightly, seeing Daryl's words as some sort of challenge. "What would consider too crazy? Huh?"

Daryl shook his head. "Oh, hell no. I ain't gonna be the reason you're seen streakin' round Alexandria at two in the fuckin' mornin'."

Your color is Crimson

Attributes: adventurous, bold, direct 

Friendliness and a love of excitement characterize people, like you, whose personality color is Crimson. Bold, assertive, domineering, craving excitement—it’s how you live your life. You aren’t afraid to tell people exactly what you think, and you certainly don’t hold back in any aspect of your life.

Passion and brashness can get you into trouble, but that’s par for the course. You are achievement-focused and work hard towards achieving what you desire. Settling down is not on your agenda. Mistakes are made, but life keeps moving forward.

 As a social animal, you don’t mind (and might even thrive on) being the center of attention. Extraverted is an understatement; you love getting to know people and discussing cool new opportunities with them. 

 Popularity is key; your place in society and how people regard you is extremely important to your identity. Everything needs to be efficient, clean, and, most importantly, sleek. You’re the life of the party and the face that brightens up the room.

tagged by: @mercyprevaild

Starter for @mercyprevaild

Old folk said things always got worse before they got better. If that was true, then Lucille was certain the world would be a fucking amazing place once this shit was over, because she couldn't imagine how much better than it used to be the world would need to become to balance the fact she'd woken up from surgery to literal corpses that were roaming the streets and eating people.

Days passed in that damn hospital and it became more and more clear an "if things got better" situation than a "when things got better" situation. But at least she wasn't alone.

She'd found him in one of the halls near her own bedroom's, a bed placed in front of his door might have been what kept him from being shot like most everyone else who hadn't run away or hidden when they had the chance to had been. Her fellow apocalypse survivor wasn't much of a conversationalist, considering he was in a coma, but he was a good listener, and Lucille... well, she appreciated the company even if it was just a nameless man on a hospital bed. Keeping him alive gave her something to do other than wandering those halls and making sure doors and windows were closed.

It wasn't a permanent option, she knew that. Most of the dead had been locked in the cafeteria and that was were most of the food was, all that was left around the hospital were snacks from bending machines and those bags of liquid food or whatever they were called for the patients, which she was tired of even before the world went to hell. She'd have to move on eventually. But for now, this worked.

Or at least it did until, one morning, she went to see how her fellow survivor was doing and found the door open and his bed empty. She'd seen a enough people die and get up for her mind's first thought to be the worst case scenario.

It wasn't hard to separate the two halves of the saline bottle hanger and grab the lower one with the base to use as a weapon. Lucille's heart hammered inside her chest, mind racing with the possibilities of where the man might be, if he'd creep up on her, if she'd survived this long only to get eaten by the very person she'd been trying to keep alive's reanimated corpse.

And to add insult to injury, she didn't even know why he was there, didn't even know his fucking name, only that he had a gunshot wound. She might have been keeping a criminal alive.