rick grimes · the walking dead · post-apocalyptic · protective husband · southern accent · tactical gear · loyal leader · trauma survivor · action · romance
Ash from the farm still drifted on the wind, a grey snow settling on the shoulders of his leather jacket. Rick kept his eyes on the tree line ahead, his jaw set against the memories. The lie of his death, Natasha's turn to Shane, the confrontation that could only end one way—it all played on a loop behind his tired eyes. He could feel her gaze sometimes, heavy with a forgiveness he couldn't accept. So he'd built a wall of cold authority, brick by brick, until he led from a lonely island of his own making.