#||rp meme answer||

Send ‘You want a what?’ for my muse’s reaction

Connie knew it wasn't a genuine question because to be honest, the sign for 'baby' was pretty self explanatory. Still, she repeated it, crossing her arms loosely with both palms facing up as if she was cradling an invisible infant, then rocking her arms from side to side slowly.

"I just think we should talk about that sort of thing," she signed next with a small shrug.

Their relationship had developed organically. There'd been very few and far between times when she hadn't enjoyed Daryl's company, most of them back at the beginning when she didn't know him so well yet and there were just too many stressful things for them to worry about. Now things were calmer and as scary as it was, she felt like it was time to see just how serious this relationship might get.

"I want a baby, eventually," she decided to add in hopes of getting some color to return to his face. "and I want to know what your thoughts are on that subject."

There was something endearing about watching the emotions go through Daryl as he tried to gather his thoughts and communicate them. But Connie had to admit she was also nervous, she believed they were both mature enough to not let a talk about what they would like for the future ruin their relationship, but there was always some nerves about it, which she fought to oppress.

But Daryl was observant, and so he noticed. His expression softened when he realized she was as nervous about asking as he was about answering. "I'm not sure," he decided to just be honest. "I gotta think about it."

Connie's shoulders sagged in relief and she smiled, nodding her head as she reached out and gave his hand a squeeze before letting go to sign.

Impress my muse

Connie slipped into the passenger seat with a smile and a quick wave as she settled for the ride, securing her seat belt before Daryl got her attention. It took her brain a moment to register his hand motions as signing, because before now she hadn't focused in his hands for communication; but when she did, her mouth fell into an O shape and her eyes widened, then her cheeks flushed when she caught herself and pressed her lips shut, but there was an even bigger smile on her face.

And then he was pulling a Hershey's chocolate bar out of his pocket and the light feeling that had settled in her gut whenever she was around him and that she usually blamed on the baby turned into very persistent butterflies.

She took the candy bar and held it close to her chest in thanks. Connie opened her mouth, but couldn't find the words to thank him out loud, so she quickly brought her notepad and pen out of her purse, being quick to write.

Impress my muse

His gut told him Sophia was planning something, and yet, Carl couldn't figure out what. He liked it that way though, her unpredictableness always peaked his curiosity, and so he didn't hesitate to stick close to the wall when she hissed out his name, grinning up at Sophia the moment her head came into view when she reached the top of the wall.

Then she was coming down, and Carl's eye widened, arms shooting forward as he gave a step closer to the wall, when Sophia came down way faster than he was used to seeing her do so. He didn't grab her, there ended up being no need for that, and the look in his eye went from panic to surprise.

Send me   ‘ wait ‘   for my muse’s reaction to yours grabbing their arm to keep them from leaving

Eight days. Eight fucking days had passed since the morning Shane woke up and wasn't able to find Michonne anywhere, and he was seemingly the only one that gave a shit about her sudden disappearance. "She does that sometimes." he'd lost count of how many people told him that when he went around asking if she'd given anyone any clue of where she could have gone after the first day of no news. Now here he was, telling the same bullshit to himself in an attempt to make himself believe it. "She'll come back when she wants to."

Apparently, it took eight entire days for Michonne to want to come back, and when she did, she acted like nothing happened.

Michonne came back with a deer drapped over her shoulder, leaving it at the kitchen for it to be skinned and its meat divided among the Alexandrians. After that, she went to the infirmary, handing some supplies to Siddiq, then to the armory, leaving the gun she'd taken with her, in the way, she talked to people, and nobody even questioned her over a week long absence.

It made Shane feel stupid for following her around the entire time trying to stop her to talk. Especially when she was clearly ignoring the subject on purpose.

Desperate times required desperate measures, and so he did the one thing that he'd learned not to do back when he'd met her. He reached out and grabbed her arm. Shane braved himself as Michonne's full body tensed and she wiped around, dark brown eyes staring at him like a cornered animal about to attack.

"Michonne," he started. Maybe that death glare intimidated people, but not him, never him. "Where the hell were you?"

"Out," Michonne responded as soon as he finished the question, pulling her arm from his grasp with ease only because he let her. She turned and started walking again.

"You were out for over a week."

"Huh..."

Huh?! Did she not realize how long she'd been gone for?! Shane followed her, picking speed to stand in front of her and block her way, forcing Michonne to stop because he stubbornly continued to step in her way when she tried to walk around him.

"Why did you leave?"

Michonne's glare softened, but her gaze remained as intense as it always was when Shane found her staring at him, and as usual, it lacked any answers. He'd never quite figured out how to fully read her– unlike most people, he could tell she had things on her mind, but not what.

"If I wanted to talk about it," Michonne started with a matter-of-fact tone. "I would have stayed." she avoided eye contact as she walked around him. "I caught a deer, that's what matters."

Shane followed her with his eyes, bewilderment and anger coiling in his gut as turned when she got too far behind him and watched her disappear inside the house they shared.

(for Ava)

Send “Memories of Sorrow” to see a painful and tragic memory of My Muse

Once, Ava had hoped that the memories of those first days when people started biting each other would become blurred by the passing of time. Most of them did, you could only watch so many people die before the circumstances of each death started being reduced into mere categories: rotters, suicide, other people, the weather, or starvation. Those were the most usual ways to go nowadays. People didn't stand out in her memory unless their death was particularly unique, and even then she forgot certain details, small things that weren't important.

However, there was one, just one, that remained unchanged.

It'd been less than two weeks into the apocalypse when big cities began to fall, either to the dead or to Sunset Protocol. The military checkpoint Ava and so many others, her sister included, had been stationed at had quickly been surrounded by people, those who came from other cities wanted to get to DC in hopes of finding safety there, those who were in the city wanted to get out as the cases of this illness increased, both roads were filled with both vehicles and people on foot, more than they could handle; and with people came the dead.

Everything went to hell after that, there was no saving DC, there was just a chance to get as many people out of there as possible. At some point, she'd lost sight of Victoria while helping a man who'd proven to be an useful veteran two days ago, David García, and when she found Victoria again, the bite on her sister's shoulder left it clear to Ava that there wasn't anything they could do.

But Victoria wouldn't be her sister if she gave up so easily.

"You're not blowing my brains out until we're absolutely sure I'm turning," Victoria'd told Ava, despite being the youngest one, for once, she showed more authority than Ava, and Ava was just too overwhelmed to retort.

Victoria thought that if there was even a small chance she wouldn't turn, it was worth waiting; and Ava clung to that, she hoped, for once in her life she prayed to a God who before now she'd only ever turned to forcefully when her grandparents made them all pray before each family meal. She wanted this to be different, wanted Victoria to be some kind of unique person that wouldn't be affected. Her sister barely if ever got sick growing up, she'd always had a hell of immune system. So why should that change?

The symptoms started showing around eight hours after Victoria was bitten, excessive sweating, a burning feeling on the bite, like alcohol had been poured on it, and numbness on her limbs; twelve hours in and she'd passed out twice, each time awakening weaker than the last; Twenty hours in and Ava had to physically hold her up for her to walk, a nosebleed joining the other symptoms; twenty two hours and David was walking behind them while Ava carried Victoria on her back; Twenty four hours and they couldn't keep going.

David had left them alone, checking the perimeter to ensure they wouldn't be bothered. Ava held her little sister's hand and talked to her about stuff that seemed so small before but so important now: childhood memories, family vacations, dumb shit they'd said and done and argued about through the years.

"I love you."

"Me too," Victoria whispered, scoffing when a tear slipped down Ava's cheek. "Don't go soft, remember we promised to stay strong."

"We were going to stay strong together."

"Keep the knife," Victoria told her, voice a weak wheeze. "You better don't lose it."

"I'll take better care of it than you ever have," Ava taunted. "Not like that'll be hard, considering you lost mine."

They laughed, then their expressions fell again as Victoria coughed out blood. "Remember," she gasped. "Not until it happens–"

"In case it doesn't happen." Ava nodded, pressing her forehead to Victoria's.

"Exactly," Victoria nodded weakly, pressing back against Ava's forehead. "I don't want you stabbing my body for nothing."

Ava breathed with her until she stopped, held Victoria's hand even after it went limp in her grasp, and continued to hold it when, now cold and stiff, it squeezed her own again, attempting to pull it towards her mouth as Ava leaned away, her eyes cast to the ground.

The knife made it between Victoria's teeth before Ava's free hand could be pulled in, muffling the dead woman's groan. Ava squeezed her eyes shut as the corpse's teeth clicked against the metal, refusing to look this thing that was no longer her sister in the eye, afraid of the lifeless gaze that she knew would have replaced her sister's once lively brown eyes.

She pushed the blade further into her mouth, through flesh and bone until Victoria's body went limp, then pulled it out and let the body slump back against the tree.

Ava wasn't sure how long she spent just kneeling there, the knife still in her hand. She wasn't even aware of its weight, or if her hand sweating around the handle, until David returned and attempted from pry it from her fingers, Ava yanked her arm away, glaring at the man.

"I dug a hole," was all he said, giving her a sympathetic look. "You should say goodbye and bury her, it isn't safe out here."

It was a quick burial, so quick it couldn't even be called a funeral, definitely not what someone who'd died because she'd chosen to help people instead of saving her own life deserved. But it was all Ava could give her little sister in that moment, a hole in the woods and a name carved in a rock with the same knife that'd put her reanimated body down.

Send "Memories of Sorrow" to see a painful and tragic memory of My Muse

The riots, as so many news broadcast channels had called them, turned out to be so much more than just some isolated incidents. People were attacking each other on the streets, in houses, in public places; nowhere seemed safe, but the CDC had told people in the area to head to the nearest safe zone, in their case: it was Atlanta.

Carl had his face pressed to the window, watching their neighbors pack their lives in as many bags as their cars could take and drive away; while Lori did the same inside their house, their bags already by the door, all that was left to do was pack food and wait for Shane to come back with Rick. Her phone was left in the living room, only meant for emergencies. Lori jumped when a car's tires screeched outside and a horn went off, gripping the edge of the kitchen counter as she forced herself to calm down.

"Carl, get away from–" she'd meant to tell him to stop looking out the window, but when she looked that way, the boy wasn't there anymore.

Dread settled deep in Lori's gut and she rushed to the living room, finding him with her phone against his head, and was about to tell him that he couldn't be playing with it when he spoke first.

"It's grandma," he said, sparing her a quick glance before his attention turned back to the call. "Yeah, mom's here. We're waiting for Shane and dad– yeah, I'll tell her. I love you too." Carl held the cellphone out to her. "She wants to talk to you."

Lori reached for the phone, then paused and instead stroked Carl's cheek. "Do me a favor, yeah? Go get the family albums," she requested, remembering that he'd been asking to help since she'd started packing everything. "And the picture from my nightstand, the one with Codger."

Carl nodded quickly, handing the phone over and rushing away. Lori took a deep breath, placing the phone to her ear.

"Hi, mama," she spoke, willing her voice not to crack.

"Hi, sweetheart," her mother spoke. Lori didn't miss the way she sounded: breathless, as if she'd been running a marathon. "How are you?"

"We're alright. Packing everything to head to Atlanta," Lori said, ignoring the hundreds of things that were making her want to cry because she didn't want to worry her mother. "How are you?

There was a pause that made Lori's grip tighten on the phone while her free hand picked at the skin of her forearm, wincing whenever she pinched a bit too hard with her nails; it was an awful habit that she thought she'd gotten over, and she did for a long time, but given the situation, it was hard to keep it at a bay, it helped her stay grounded, stopped her from bawling her eyes out to her mother.

"I'm okay, sweetie. The officers told us the next bus will be here in about half an hour," again, her voice was breathless, but she seemed to be trying to hold it back, to sound as normal as possible, it only made her sound more strained, more wheezy. "Tell Shane to avoid the main roads, yeah? It's hell out there."

"Yeah, I will. He– he and Rick will be back any minute now," Lori assured despite her own uncertainty. "Once we're there–"

Her mother said something, something Lori didn't quite get as the call became more and more distorted until it abruptly ended. Lori's eyes swelled with tears, and she turned to the door in time to watch Shane walking in, pale and sweating and looking at her like he didn't know how to tell her what happened.

BLOOD RELATED PROMPTS

Michonne didn't think she'd ever forgive Rick for the blood freezing horror he made her feel when he'd done the most heroic, most stupid thing imaginable —even for Rick Grimes himself— and blown up the bridge while he was on it to prevent the herd from crossing. Thankfully, Daryl'd found him, injured and unconscious; barely clinging to life, but alive.

That'd been two weeks ago. Now, Michonne lied beside him, Rick's hand resting on her belly and rubbing circles around her belly button; she watched him stare at it, as if entranced by the motions of his own hand, or lost in thought.

"Hey," she spoke, pressing her mouth against Rick's as he was looking up, smiling against his lips as he hummed contently. "What's on your mind?" she whispered.

"You, always," Rick said without a moment of hesitation. "And the baby. I want them to be healthy."

"Don't scare me like that again and they'll be just fine," Michonne assured, tensing and laughing as Rick's fingers pressed onto her side, tickling her. "Stop that."

Rick kissed her, reveling in the way her laugh vibrated into their kiss as he made Michonne lie back and shifted a bit too fast to be over her. He tensed and winced, bracing himself on shaky arms and making Michonne frown.

"Shit," Rick breathed, wincing more because he knew he was going to ruin the mood than due to the pain. "I think I pulled my stitches."

Brows furrowing, Michonne placed her hands on his shoulders and made him lie down, lifting his T-shirt to find that, indeed, a thin trail of blood was making its way down his abdomen from the very corner of his previously stitched up injury. Michonne moved to stand.

"I'll get Siddiq–"

"Wait." Rick's hand wrapped loosely around her wrist. "There's no need, you can do it yourself."

"I'm no doctor," Michonne retorted.

"Neither am I." Rick smiled up at her. "When has that stopped us from patching each other up?"

Never, that was the answer. But Michonne wasn't going to say it out loud because if she did, she feared he'd become his usual reckless self and pulling his stitches would become a regular occurrence. Instead, she went to the bathroom, getting the medkit and returning to their shared bedroom to sit on Rick's side of the bed, getting everything she needed.

"Don't expect any numbing gel," Michonne huffed.

"Good thing you went to law school," Rick chuckled. "You'd have made a terrible doctor."

BLOOD RELATED PROMPTS

Things had only gotten more and more tense since that first clash between the communities and the whisperers. They'd lost many friends in this senseless conflict that they didn't start, but Lori knew for a fact they were going to put an end to eventually; they always did, no matter what or who came for them. She could only hope that no more lives would be lost.

Her stress levels peaked whenever someone walked through the door, and Daryl seemed to be going out of his way just to make said stress levels skyrocket.

To say he was dirty would be an understatement, he walked in with his shirt covered in blood and a limp to his walk, heading for the kitchen and downing a bottle of water in less gulps than anyone should be able to. Lori sent Judith and RJ upstairs, making sure they made it to their bedrooms before she went after Daryl.

"'m fine," Daryl said the moment he felt her presence, briefly glancing over his shoulder at her before turning to the sink and washing his hands. "Got into a fight with the big one– Beta, that's all."

He muttered something quite impolite about the man, but Lori didn't really pay attention, her focus was on the forming bruise that she spotted at the back of his neck but that got lost under his shirt. She stepped forward, hand barely lifting the back of his shirt before he flinched away.

"Come on, Daryl, you're–"

"Stop fussing–" he snapped, glaring before realizing he was doing so and casting his eyes away almost apologetically. "This isn't my blood."

He moved to leave and Lori moved faster, standing in front of him. "Sit down and let me see your back."

Daryl frowned. "I said–"

"I said sit your ass down, Daryl Dixon," Lori interrupted him, teeth gritted and voice low because she didn't want to make an scene with the kids upstairs, but the way she was glaring daggers at Daryl made it clear she would if he left her no choice.

Defeated, Daryl pulled out a chair and sat facing the backrest. Lori lifted his shirt then, already familiar with the scars that adorned his skin, but caught off guard by the fresh bruises that now accompanied them. The size of one that was larger than her palm made her gasp.

"That bad?" Daryl huffed, sounding amused.

"Got into a fight?" she hissed, wincing at the thought of how this could have happened. "More like got beaten."

"You should've seen the other guy," Daryl retorted. "Pushed him down an elevator shaft."

"Damn," Lori breathed, moving to stand by his side, her hands are her hips and her brow arched. "And was that before or after he gave you enough bruises for a lifetime."

"After." Daryl moved to stand. "And since it's just bruises, I will–"

Once again, Lori moved faster, using his moment of distraction as he grabbed the same bloody shirt to put back on to grab a frozen steak and press it against the largest bruise, located on his lower back right over his spine, hearing Daryl hiss and curse under his breath.

"Stop fussing," she spoke almost mockingly. Lori guided his hand to hold the steak in place.

"You act like I'm deathly wounded and yet you're mean to me," Daryl huffed. "You make no damn sense, Lori."

"And yet, you love me," she retorted with a smirk. "So you make even less sense."

Daryl hummed his agreement, leaning closer in search of some mouth to mouth comfort. Lori leaned back, watching him frown in confusion that she'd moved away.

"I don't fuss. I worry about you, and rightfully so, because you're prone to getting hurt," she said, pushing past him. "Go lie down on the couch."

"On the couch?" Daryl groaned. "What did I do–"

"I don't fuss, Dixon," Lori interrupted him again. "Maybe next time you'll think twice before saying I do."