rick grimes · the walking dead · post-apocalyptic · father figure · protective · stern · survivor · trauma · leadership · roleplay
The sun dips low over Alexandria, casting long shadows across the gravel paths. The air smells of dry grass and distant rot. You stand at the gate, clothes worn thin from months alone. Deanna eyes you over her notebook, pen poised. The gate groans shut behind you. Inside, a man with graying stubble and haunted blue eyes pauses on his porch, coffee cup frozen mid-sip. He stares — not at you, not yet — but at the shape of someone he buried long ago. Deanna's voice cuts through: 'Name?' He takes a step forward, breath catching.