#hell might as well include Carol too | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

liyliths · 3 months ago

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౨ৎ ⋆ ｡˚ 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐒𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐍: 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐁𝐀𝐓𝐇𝐓𝐔𝐁

summary: you're on a wild goose chase for some kids, including one with apparent superpowers, who could've guessed? steve is also realizing he has some shit he needs to fix, and his friends really suck. then, you wind up at hawkins middle school to make a fancy bath for a kid with telekinetic powers. here's to hoping she finds will and barb safe and sound!

Steve’s grip tightened around the Coke can, his voice dropping into a dangerous tone. “I should’ve shoved that spray paint right down your throat.” Tommy’s jaw clenched at that, his expression hardening as he stepped forward, closing the gap between them. Carol scoffed, tossing her head in disbelief. “What the hell, Steve?” Steve’s eyes flicked between the two of them, his patience rapidly wearing thin. “You know, neither of you ever gave a damn about Nancy. Not even Y/N. You didn’t like them, because they’re not miserable like the two of you.” His voice was sharp, filled with bitterness as Tommy and Carol exchanged a glance, acting as if Steve were the crazy one here.

pairings: steve harrington x reader

warnings: mentions of a fight, bruises and blood, steve's idiot friends, (again, i know, i'm tired of them too) and cursing

word count: 7k

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Joyce's vehicle glided down the streets of Hawkins, bathed in the late afternoon golden glow. Hopper sat behind the wheel, his eyes focused on the road, while the golden light filtered through the trees. The vibrant fall leaves swirled around as the vehicle moved, painting the forest in hues of orange and yellow.

Inside the car, the group sat in tense silence, the weight of their mission heavy in the air. Joyce sat with a furrowed brow in the passenger seat, her fingers tapping anxiously against her thigh. Hopper's gaze was fixed ahead, his expression determined as he guided the car towards the Wheeler's house in an attempt to find Mike and his friends—along with the girl who has ‘superpowers.’

The teenagers sat in the back—Y/N fidgeted with her hands nervously, her eyes gazing out the car’s window as the vehicle’s engine hummed. Her friends, Nancy and Jonathan, exchanged worried glances, their faces etched with concern.

“Do you really think Mike is home?” Hopper broke the tense silence, his voice low, glancing in the rearview mirror at Nancy.

“I—I don’t know.” Nancy’s words were barely a whisper, her uncertainty clear as she fidgeted with her hands.

Hopper’s expression hardened. “Well, wherever your brother and his friends are, that girl is with them. And she might be able to help us find Will and Barb.” He hesitated, his tone softening. “This is gonna be hard to hear, but that body they buried for Will—it was fake. He’s alive, somewhere out there, and we’re going to find him.”

Nancy’s breath hitched. Her wide eyes met Y/N and Jonathan’s, the teenagers struck by disbelief. They were right after all…

As they neared their destination, turning on Maple Street, Hopper slowed the vehicle to a stop a distance away from the Wheeler’s house, the engine humming softly as it idled. The group examined the state of the house—government vehicles swarmed the driveway and street, with agents walking in and out of the house.

Nancy’s panic rose instantly, her heart pounding as she took in the sight. “Oh my god…” she breathed, her hands trembling. Without thinking, she threw the door open and scrambled out, with Hopper following close behind. Jonathan and Y/N exchanged a worried look before following their lead.

Hopper pulled out a pair of binoculars, peering at the agents as they moved in and out of the house. “Hold on, kid,” he muttered, but Nancy’s desperation broke through.

“I have to go home,” Nancy’s voice cracked, her face tight with concern.

“No, you don’t.” Hopper simply stated, focused on the sight in his binoculars.

“My mom and dad are in there!” Nancy’s voice shot up, frantic now, her eyes wide with fear. Her hands shook as she gestured toward her house, her breath quickening.

“They’ll be okay.” Hopper sighed, putting his binoculars down, only to be met with the sight of Nancy storming off toward her house, while Jonathan and Y/N glanced at each other, giving a small, unsure shrug.

Hopper was on the girl in seconds, grabbing her arm. “Let go!” Nancy screamed, struggling against his grip as she tried to yank away, desperate to free herself.

“Hey, hey, hey! Listen to me—just listen to me.” Hopper held the girl’s shoulders, his eyes locking with her blue ones in an attempt to get through her. “The last thing in the world we need right now is them knowing you’re mixed up in all of this,” He explained, gesturing toward the government vehicles with his binoculars in hand.

“Mike is over there! My brother is in there!” Nancy shook her head, her breathing ragged.

“No, he’s not. They haven’t found him,” Hopper insisted, his voice firm. He pointed toward the helicopters hovering in the distance, blades slicing through the air, suggesting they were searching for something—someone.

“For Mike?!” Nancy’s voice screeched, her voice breaking in disbelief. The thought of those helicopters hunting her little brother… it wasn’t real.

Hopper drug the girl back into the vehicle with the others following, the car doors slamming shut. But the tension was thick, the air becoming hard to breathe. Nancy sat between Y/N and Jonathan, her breath coming in heavy as her friends looked at her with concern. “Look, you gotta trust me on this, alright?” Hopper turned in his seat, glancing at Nancy. Joyce followed suit, both of them looking back at the teenagers. “We need to find them before they do, any idea where Mike and his friends might go?”

Nancy clenched her fists in frustration, her face tight with anxiety. “No, I don’t know!” she snapped, her voice cracking as it rose, filling the cramped car. Y/N winced at the outburst, her shoulders tensing under the weight of Nancy’s panic.

“You need to think.” Hopper’s voice was frustrated, watching the girl shake her head in complete disbelief.

Nancy’s thoughts spiraled. How had she missed the signs? Her brother and his friends had been acting strange for a while now—secretive, whispering, slipping away—but she’d been too overwhelmed with everything else, too distracted to see what was right in front of her.

“I don’t know!” Nancy shook her head, throwing her hands up in defeat. “We haven’t talked much lately.” Her voice wavered, regret pooling in her chest as her eyes darted toward her house overflowing with government agents.

Joyce leaned forward, her voice softer but no less urgent, eyes scanning the teens. “Is there any place your parents don’t know about? Somewhere he might feel safe?”

Nancy hesitated, her mind racing, but nothing came to her. Before she could respond, Jonathan, who had been quietly lost in thought, suddenly spoke up.

“I might not know exactly where he is, but—I think I know how to ask him,” The boy said, his voice cutting through the tension as the others turned to him, their attention sharpening.

Hopper’s eyes narrowed. “What are you thinking?”

Jonathan leaned forward slightly, glancing at his mom, Joyce. “Their walkie-talkies. Will has one somewhere at home.”

𝐅𝐚𝐢𝐫 𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐭

The sky was slightly overcast, with the sun peeking out of the clouds. Steve Harrington sat on the back of his burgundy BMW parked in front of a quick-mart, his usual perfect hair tousled and wild. His face was still bloody from the fight with Jonathan, and dark purple bruises had already begun to form around the cuts. His jaw throbbed every time he moved it.

“You owe me a dollar-twenty,” Tommy Hagan called out, stepping up behind Steve and tossing a bottle of painkillers his way. Steve caught them as they flew through the air, and Tommy handed him a Coke to wash the pills down.

“Don’t worry, man,” Tommy continued, his grin widening as he leaned back, smug, “he’s gonna need a lot more than aspirin when we’re done with him.”

“Yeah, if the cops ever let him out, that is,” Carol chimed in, her voice dripping with cruelty. “They should just lock him up forever. I mean, did you see the look on his face? Total psycho,” She mimicked the look of Jonathan mid-fight, throwing mock punches at Tommy’s chest as he chuckled.

“He probably had that same look whenever he killed his brother, right?” Tommy added with a snicker, giving Steve a light tap on the arm. But Steve remained silent, his expression unreadable—pressing the cold Coke can to the side of his face in an attempt to numb the aching.

Carol, never one to let something go, let alone read the room—continued their tangent. “Oh god, I just got this image of him making that face while he and Nancy are screwing. I wonder if Y/N has ever joined their party—gross!” She grimaced as she said it, but Tommy burst into laughter.

“Carol, just shut your goddamn mouth for once in your life!” Steve’s voice suddenly cut through their mockery, both Tommy and Carol flinching at the unexpected outburst.

Tommy’s brows furrowed as he glanced at Steve, stuffing his hands in his pockets. “Hey, what’s your problem man?”

Steve pulled the Coke can away from his face, deadpanning Tommy and Carol’s shocked gaze. “You two are the problem. You’re both complete assholes.”

The brown-haired boy pushed himself off his car, turning toward the driver’s door as he shoved through his friends. “Are you serious right now?” Tommy shot back, still baffled.

“Yeah, I’m serious,” Steve spat, gripping the car door before pausing, meeting Tommy’s gaze. “You shouldn’t have done that.”

“Done what?” Tommy’s voice oozed with fake innocence, as if he had no idea what he was talking about.

"You know what," Steve growled, stepping in closer to Tommy, his face tightening with anger.

Tommy’s smirk widened. “You mean calling Nancy out for what she really is? Oh-ho, that’s funny, ‘cause I don’t remember you asking me to stop.”

Steve’s grip tightened around the Coke can, his voice dropping into a dangerous tone. “I should’ve shoved that spray paint right down your throat.”

Tommy’s jaw clenched at that, his expression hardening as he stepped forward, closing the gap between them. Carol scoffed, tossing her head in disbelief. “What the hell, Steve?”

Steve’s eyes flicked between the two of them, his patience rapidly wearing thin. “You know, neither of you ever gave a damn about Nancy. Not even Y/N. You didn’t like them, because they’re not miserable like the two of you.” His voice was sharp, filled with bitterness as Tommy and Carol exchanged a glance, acting as if Steve were the crazy one here.

“They actually care about people,” Steve added, before getting cut off by the red-haired girl.

“Oh, right. Nancy—the slut with a heart of gold!” Carol snapped back, the sound of her voice grating Steve’s nerves.

That was it.

“I told you to watch your goddamn mouth!” Steve shouted, pointing at Carol, his Coke can still gripped in his hand. The sudden outburst startled her, but before she could respond, Tommy shoved Steve hard against his car.

"Hey! I don’t know what’s gotten into you, man, but you don’t talk to her that way,” Tommy shot back, jabbing a finger into Steve’s chest.

Steve had enough. He shoved Tommy back, his frustration reaching its breaking point. “Get out of my face,” he warned, stepping closer, eyes locked with Tommy’s brown ones in an attempt to push him back with sheer will.

But Tommy wasn’t backing down. In an instant, he grabbed Steve by the collar of his jacket, yanking him forward and slamming him against the car again. Steve’s hands instinctively flew up, gripping Tommy’s shoulders tightly.

"Or what? You gonna fight me now, too?" Tommy taunted, shaking Steve by the collar—threatening him, his voice thick with arrogance. "Because you couldn’t take Jonathan Byers, so I wouldn’t suggest that.”

Steve’s brow furrowed, his friend’s mocking words echoing through his mind. Tommy gave him one final shove, releasing his grip and stepping back. Steve exhaled sharply, and with one last look at the pair, he turned, angrily opening his car door.

“Let me help you with that door there, buddy,” Tommy sneered, shoving Steve into his seat, and slamming the door on him with a harsh thud. The engine ignited, and Steve wasted no time backing out—the tires screeching against the parking lot asphalt.

Tommy, not content to let it all go just yet, took off running toward the retreating car. “Run away! Just like you always do! That Nancy’s turning you into a little pussy!” His breath hitched as he shoved the back of the car with both hands, watching it lurch forward.

"That’s right! Run away, Stevie boy!” Tommy continued, his voice echoing down the street as the BMW skidded out of the parking lot, tires screeching against the pavement.

“Now what?!” Carol scoffed, throwing her hands out in frustration, standing stranded in the parking lot beside Tommy.

Steve was pissed.

His grip on the steering wheel began turning his knuckles white, barely paying attention to the road as his jaw clenched with frustration. The thought gnawed at his mind; what if he had tried to be good for Nancy? It was all wrong—all of it, and he finally realized. Y/N was right, he shouldn’t have been such a shitty person, and such a shitty boyfriend.

Y/N saw him. The real him. And the truth is—that scared the hell out of him.

He shouldn’t have let Tommy and Carol get to him, to let them spray paint those words on The Hawk about Nancy, and he shouldn’t have let his anger get the best of him. Hell, he couldn’t even blame Nancy for everything with Jonathan, but that doesn’t mean it didn’t hurt. But hey, maybe he deserved it—he hurt her too, he pushed her away like she was nothing.

He couldn’t change what he did, and he doubted he could fix it—but he knew he had to try and make it right for those he hurt. At the very least, he owed them that.

𝐁𝐲𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐇𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞

As Joyce’s Ford screeched to a stop outside the Byers house, a cloud of dust billowed up around the group caught in the rush of their arrival. Hopper wasted no time killing the engine, opening the car door to rush inside the house with the others. The teens followed close behind, scrambling out of the backseats and racing up the creaky porch.

Joyce fumbled with the rusty doorknob as she unlocked it, her hands shaking as she finally pushed open the door, sending the group tumbling into the chaos of the Byers home, beginning their desperate search for Will’s walkie-talkie.

Y/N paused as she entered the home, her eyes wide as she took in the disaster before her. Furniture was torn up and overturned, with trash and discarded objects scattered across the wooden floor. The most abnormal part was the Christmas lights hanging overhead, with the alphabet painted onto the wall in the living room—almost like an organized mess.

“Woah,” Nancy muttered under her breath, her eyes glued to the lights as she took in the bizarre setup. Y/N scanned the room, trying to make sense of it all.

“What is all of this?” Y/N questioned, her voice a mixture of awe and confusion, staring at the chaos scattered across the room.

Jonathan, moving briskly down the hall, glanced back over his shoulder, his voice low and hurried. “My mom—she used the lights to talk to Will,”

Y/N and Nancy exchanged questioning looks, with the sound of more clutter echoing throughout the house—until Joyce’s voice broke through.

“I got it!” She shouted, and a small sense of relief coursed over the group. They gathered in what was left in the mess of the Byers living room, attempting to communicate with the younger kids through the walkie-talkie.

“This is an emergency, Mike, do you copy?” Nancy kept repeating, her voice echoing through the room only to be met with silence—the only sound on the other side being static. The quiet felt deafening—like a ticking reminder that they were running out of time. “We need you to answer. We need to know that you’re there, Mike!” Nancy’s voice rose in frustration, until Hopper suddenly stepped forward, pulling the walkie-talkie out of the girl’s grip. She and Y/N exchanged an unsure glance, while Joyce stood by the couch folding her arms tightly, with Jonathan leaning against the wall behind them in anticipation.

“Listen, kid, this is the chief—if you’re there, pick up. We know you’re in trouble, and we know about the girl.” Hopper’s voice commanded, the only response being radio silence as everyone sat quietly, hoping for something—anything on the other side of the radio.

Hopper’s brow furrowed as he pushed on, “We can help you, but you’ve got to pick up. Are you there, do you copy? Over!” He spoke sternly, to no avail. Nothing—again. He sighed, setting the walkie-talkie down in defeat. The man looked toward the rest of the group, rubbing the bridge of his nose, attempting to ground himself.

“Any other ideas?”

As the group exchanged unsure glances, trying to come up with something—a voice arose from the other side of the device, catching their attention. “Yes, I copy. It’s Mike, I’m here… We’re here.”

In a flash, Hopper picked the walkie-talkie back up, a rush of relief running through everyone. “Where are you?” He asked urgently, to be met with a quick response. “The junkyard, we’re piled up in the abandoned bus,” the boy spoke from the other side.

“I’ll meet you there, kid.” Hopper then set the walkie-talkie back down, hurriedly walking toward the front door as he put his jacket back on. “I’ll go and get them, you all stay here,” The chief commanded, throwing his coat on before being stopped by Y/N—who rushed out of her seat on the couch, grabbing his arm.

“I’ll go with you.” She looked up to Hopper, her eyebrows knit together with determination.

Hopper barely glanced at her, shaking his head as he pulled open the door. “No, if it’s a setup, I need you safe. No questions,” He commanded as he walked out of the door, quickly shutting it behind him before anyone could protest.

“Great,” Y/N muttered, turning on her heel to look at the rest of the group. “Now what?”

Jonathan shrugged, leaning against the living room wall with his arms folded. “I guess we wait.”

Hours had passed, and as the night fell a heavy silence settled over the Byers house, broken only by the occasional creak of floorboards and the distant hoot of an owl outside. The tension was thick in the air as the rest of the group waited anxiously for any sign of Hopper and the kids’ return.

The living room was bathed in the soft glow of a lamplight while Joyce paced back and forth, her hands wringing together nervously. She couldn’t stop glancing out the window, searching the darkness for the one thing that could put her mind at ease. Every second felt like an eternity.

Y/N sat beside Nancy, her foot bouncing on the floor anxiously as she stared ahead. The weight of the unknown pressed down on her shoulders. Was Hopper okay? Were the kids safe? There were too many questions and not nearly enough answers, and all she could do was wait.

Suddenly—the sound of a car engine broke through the silence, growing louder and louder until it filled the room with a low rumble. Heads snapped toward the window as headlights pierced through the darkness. Joyce rushed to the window, her breath catching in her throat, fingers trembling as they gripped the sill.

“Is that them?” Y/N��s voice broke the heavy silence in the room. “I hope so, sweetie.” Joyce barely whispered, her gaze still locked on the approaching car, biting her nails in nervous anticipation.

The vehicle pulled up to the house with a screech of tires, its headlights illuminating the front porch in a harsh glare. For a moment, time seemed to stand still as the group held their breath—until Joyce rushed to the front door and opened it, the teens following close behind her.

The headlights turned off and Y/N recognized the vehicle—it was Hopper’s. The chief’s figure exited the driver’s seat, watching as the kids he rescued from the junkyard scrambled over each other out of the back seats.

“Oh my god, Mike?!” Nancy’s voice broke, cracking with relief as she sprinted toward her brother, pulling him into a fierce embrace. “I was so worried about you!” The girl pulled back, gripping her brother’s shoulders, scanning his face with relief.

“Yeah, uh… me too?” Mike spoke softly, taken back by his sister's concern. As Y/N watched the pair reunite, she caught sight of Dustin standing beside Lucas, his face lighting up with surprise when he spotted her.

“Y/N? You’re a part of this too?” The curly-haired boy questioned with wide eyes, disbelief coating his tone.

“Unfortunately,” Y/N gave a small shrug. “Guess we’re all in it now, huh?”

Truth is, she’d rather not be involved in any of it—but it was too late to back out now, for any of them. As Dustin nodded, Y/N’s eyes fell on an unfamiliar face. A girl, small and fragile-looking, stood quietly by the truck. Her head was shaved, and her expression guarded, wearing a pink dress that was covered in grime and dirt.

Then it clicked.

It was the girl from the articles. They really did find her. Nancy’s gaze followed Y/N’s, her brows knitting in confusion. “Is that my dress?” She asked, gesturing at the dirt-covered pink dress the girl was wearing.

Mike looked behind himself at the girl, then shot his sister an apologetic smile. “Uh, yeah, about that…”

Everyone had settled inside and sat in the living room. Mike knelt in front of the coffee table, drawing on a piece of paper, sketching out his explanation of what he’d discovered with his friends. The lamp shined with a yellow hue as Y/N sat on the couch next to Nancy, with Hopper standing beside them, his arms crossed.

“Okay—so, in this example, we’re the acrobat,” Mike began, his finger tracing his attempt at a straight line that held the acrobat upright. The others leaned in, listening intently despite their skepticism. His explanation felt as fragile as the world they were beginning to realize they knew nothing about.

“Will and Barbra, and that monster—the Demogorgan—they’re the flea,” he continued, pointing toward the drawing of a flea on the other side of the line underneath the stick figure as the group paid close attention.

“And this is the upside down, where Will is hiding.” He gestured at the space below the line where the flea was placed. The teens exchanged uncertain glances, trying to make sense of it all.

“Mr. Clarke said the only way to get there is through a rip of time and space,” Mike set the drawing down, looking back up at the rest of the group.

“A gate,” Dustin chimed in, while Y/N furrowed her brows in thought.

“That we tracked to Hawkins’ lab,” Lucas added, drawing the others' attention. “With our compasses,” Dustin finished his sentence, eager to connect the dots—observing the confused expressions on the others, trying to figure out how to make this all make sense.

With a deep breath, the curly-haired boy continued. “Okay, so, the gate has a really strong electromagnetic field—and that can change the direction of a compass's needle.” He clarified.

Hopper, standing rigidly at the edge of the group, finally spoke. “Is this gate underground?” He questioned, his hand wiping his mustache in thought.

“Yes,” Came the soft reply, catching everyone’s attention as it came out of the mysterious girl’s mouth who had said just about nothing all evening.

“Near a large water tank?” Hopper asked again, his expression darkening as the girl confirmed his suspicions with a silent nod.

“How… how do you know all that?” Dustin glanced at Hopper, the man avoiding eye contact at the question, his lips pressed into a firm line.

“He’s seen it…” Mike thought out loud. “Holy shit!” Dustin shouted, his hands holding the top of his head in disbelief, earning a glare from Hopper—but the dots connected in Y/N’s mind. All the times Hopper had been late and came up with his lame excuses… he’d been investigating Hawkins lab for this girl? That man was absolutely terrible at keeping a secret.

“Is there any way that you could—you could reach Will? That you could talk to him in this…” Joyce asked, slightly stuttering through her nerves, and the girl with the shaved head finished her sentence—her voice barely above a whisper.

“The upside down.”

“Down… yeah,” Joyce whispered, her eyes trailing off in thought.

“And our friend Barbra…” Nancy spoke up after some hesitation, her gaze landing on Y/N next to her, then to the small girl. “Can you find her too?”

The tension in the room weighed heavily upon the group’s shoulders as they surrounded the kitchen table. The girl with powers sat in the center, eyes closed—her face eerily calm as she concentrated. In front of her, the static from Will’s walkie-talkie crackled faintly, along with a sketch of Barb that Y/N had drawn.

No one could fully understand what the girl was doing, but she’d explained enough—they knew she was trying to find Will and Barb, somewhere deep inside her mind.

The girl’s eyes twitched beneath her eyelids, rolling slightly as her focus deepened. As she concentrated—Y/N felt goosebumps forming on her arms, her hair standing straight in the air as if lightning was about to strike. She furrowed her eyebrows, her mouth open in silent shock until she noticed the lights above her flickering, the electricity in the house faltering as though the very energy was being altered.

There were so many unanswered questions, yet no one dared to speak.

Suddenly, after what felt like an eternity, the girl’s eyes flew open. Her face was pale, heavy with the weight of something unspoken. The electricity above steadied, humming back to life as the static from the walkie-talkie faded into silence once more.

“I’m sorry,” she said softly, her voice barely above a whisper. The girl couldn’t meet anyone’s eyes, her expression guarded, almost hollow.

Y/N’s heart sank. The apology felt heavier than any answer could have been.

Joyce's voice trembled as she leaned across the table, her hands nervously gripping the edge. “What—what’s wrong? What did you see?” She stammered, her wide eyes darting between the girl and Hopper, who rested a reassuring hand on her shoulder.

“I can’t find them,” the girl’s voice broke, barely audible as she stood, her face pale and exhausted. “I need to use the bathroom,” she glanced at Joyce, and the brunette nodded as she stood from her seat, quickly showing her the way to their restroom.

As soon as the door clicked shut behind the girl, Mike broke the heavy silence. “It’s like… every time she uses her powers, she gets weaker,” he explained, his voice quieter than usual. He exchanged a worried look with Dustin, who added, “The more energy she uses, the more it drains her. Kind of like how a battery runs out.”

“Yeah, you should’ve seen her earlier,” Lucas chimed in, shaking his head in disbelief. “She literally flipped a van off the road with just her mind. It was insane.”

“But,” Mike sighed, slumping into his seat, “she’s totally wiped out now. Like, she can’t even think straight after something like that.”

Joyce re-entered the room, her voice shaky, eyes darting between everyone. “So… how do we help her? How do we make her better?”

Mike shook his head, sighing with a shrug. “We don’t. We just have to wait and try again.”

Nancy, pacing beside Y/N, threw her hands up in frustration. “Wait? How long is that supposed to take?”

“I don’t know.” Her brother simply said, while Y/N noticed a figure emerging from the hall behind him. The girl stood there, her exhaustion weighing heavy in her eyes, yet her face set in a determined line.

“The bath,” she spoke, and everyone’s focus shifted toward her.

Joyce shook her head, trying to understand what the girl was saying. “The bath?”

“I can find them… in the bath.” She clarified, while everyone exchanged confused glances, trying to piece together what the girl meant.

Suddenly, Dustin's eyes lit up, a lightbulb going off in his head. “Sensory deprivation!” He exclaimed, a grin spreading across his face as if everything had just clicked into place. “That’s what she’s talking about.” He snapped his fingers and looked around, excited.

“You’re a genius, Dustin!” Lucas beamed, high-fiving the curly-haired boy who grinned proudly, his gummy smile lighting up the entire room.

“Ms. Byers, can I use your phone?” Dustin asked, and without waiting for an answer, he headed straight for the home phone mounted on the wall, dialing frantically.

“What, why?” Joyce's voice cut through, her eyebrows knitting together in confusion as she stared at the boy.

“My science teacher, Mr. Clarke," Dustin explained, the excitement in his voice building. "He knows all this stuff. He’ll know how to make a sensory deprivation tank, like a bath.”

Everyone stood in silence as they watched the boy ring his teacher, the sound of crickets chirping outside filling the cool air, with the occasional floorboard creaking. Y/N looked toward the clock on the wall, reading 10:07 PM, wondering if the teacher would even pick up the phone this late.

Dustin stood by the phone, the rhythmic ringing seeming to stretch on forever. Just as the silence became unbearable, his voice suddenly pierced the air. “Mr. Clarke? It’s Dustin!”

The boy then begged his teacher to explain sensory deprivation, and on the other end of the line, there was a long pause—Mr. Clarke clearly processing this strange late-night request—but with some persistent pleading from Dustin, he eventually started listing the steps. Joyce quickly handed him a notepad, and Dustin jotted down the instructions, nodding eagerly as he listened. “Yep, uh-huh. We’ll be careful, I promise,” Dustin reassured his teacher, shooting a glance at the others crowded around him, supporting the phone between his shoulder and ear. "Thanks for helping with this curiosity voyage so late! See you Monday, Mr. Clarke."

As he hung up the phone on the wall, Dustin turned to the rest of the group, pencil still in hand. “Do you still have that kiddie pool we used for bobbing apples, Ms. Byers?” He asked, pointing the pencil at her.

Joyce blinked, trying to recall. “Uh… I think so?” She looked to Jonathan, who nodded to confirm.

“Good, then we just need salt. Lots of it.” Dustin declared, raising his brows, his voice taking on a serious tone.

“How much is lots?” Hopper asked, his arms folded over his chest, watching the boy as he re-examined the notes he’d just written on the notepad.

“Fifteen hundred pounds.” Dustin didn’t even flinch, but the room collectively froze.

“And where the hell are we supposed to find that much salt?” Y/N questioned, leaning against the kitchen table with her hands.

Hopper scratched his chin, thinking for a moment before speaking. “I might know a place.”

𝐇𝐚𝐰𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐬 𝐌𝐢𝐝𝐝𝐥𝐞 𝐒𝐜𝐡𝐨𝐨𝐥

The group arrived in the dead of night at Hawkins Middle School. Street lights dimly lit dark, empty roads, with moonlight reflecting off the pavement. Hopper recalled the middle school stores de-snowing salt in bulk, as well as the other supplies they needed. Everyone rushed out of their vehicles, splitting off into groups to grab supplies. Y/N, Dustin, and Lucas made their way inside the school to set up the kiddie pool, after Hopper broke the lock for them. The smell of old books and cleaning supplies lingered in the air, their quick footsteps echoing through the halls past rows of silent classrooms and bulletin boards filled with announcements and posters.

“Never thought I’d be trying to find my presumed-to-be-dead friend with Hawkins’ new girl, let alone a girl who can throw vans with her mind,” The curly-haired boy broke the silence as they walked, carrying the kiddie pool together, a smirk creeping onto his face.

“I'm not that new, jerk. I've been here for months,” Y/N shot back, sending the boy a sideways glance.

Dustin shrugged, not missing a beat. “In Hawkins terms, you're still new. We only get fresh faces once, maybe twice a year, tops. So yeah, you’re still in the 'new kid' category, sorry Y/N.”

The girl scoffed as Lucas shook his head, “Yeah, well the even weirder part here is the girl with telekinetic powers,” he chimed in, raising an eyebrow as he looked between the other two.

Dustin nodded, pretending to consider. “You’ve got a point. I guess you learn something new every day—like the fact that superpowers aren’t just comic book stuff.”

“Right,” Y/N muttered, half to herself. “Because everything else about this town is totally normal.”

The group found the gym, setting down the kiddie pool to open the doors. As they entered, the space was pitch dark—you couldn’t even see your hand in front of your face. Lucas ran his hand along the wall, finding a light switch and flipping it on as the gym became dimly lit by a light hanging in the center. Sponsor flags were hanging up, with the school’s theme colors painted on the walls.

“Alright, let's get this thing to the middle,” Y/N suggested, gesturing toward the kiddie pool.

“Son of a bitch—why is this thing so heavy?” Dustin grumbled, his face scrunched with effort as they dragged the bulky pool, the plastic skidding as it slid across the slick floor.

“Because we’re doing this the hard way,” Y/N said dryly, helping the boys roll it into position. Once they reached the middle, they untied the rope holding the kiddie pool together and threw it aside. They began to pull it apart, but it quickly became clear they were in over their heads.

“Okay, um—it’s upside down,” Dustin muttered, fumbling uselessly with the sides.

“No, it’s not. Pull harder,” Lucas corrected the boy, earning an, “I am!” from Dustin, trying to make sense of the mess as Y/N tugged on one of the flaps, only to watch it flop back down, throwing her hands out in defeat. “How does this even work?”

“I don’t know—we need a strategy,” Lucas declared. “Let’s pull it back together… on three.”

The group readied themselves, holding onto the edges. “One, two, three,” Lucas counted down, pulling it apart with everyone, but the walls of the kiddie pool stubbornly collapsed on the floor with a loud thud.

“Shit!” Dustin exclaimed, throwing his hands up in frustration. “This damn thing has a mind of its own.”

Y/N huffed, shaking her head as she put her hands on her hips. “Okay, we seriously need a new plan.”

“Yeah, before we end up in a wrestling match with a kiddie pool,” Lucas chimed in with a playful grin, before Dustin slapped his shoulder. “Hey, man! What was that for?”

After a bit of waiting, Nancy and Mike arrived in the gymnasium pushing a wheelbarrow full of hoses, rushing to connect it to a water source in the janitor's closet. As they connected all the hoses, Mike drug the hose to the kiddie pool, helping the others hold it up. Water began to flood in the pool, while Lucas shouted at Nancy whether to turn the water hotter or cooler to get the temperature just right.

Hopper and Jonathan arrived with their supplies and worked together to pour all fifteen hundred pounds of salt into the pool. They passed the sacks of salt to each other and slit them open with a knife, watching the white crystals spill into the water.

The boys tested how much salt they needed to use by dropping an egg into the water. If it floated, everything was exactly as it needed to be: salt amount, water amount, water temperature, etc. The egg kept sinking, so they added more and more salt until the egg finally floated on the surface, the boys giving each other a big high-five in victory.

The girl with the shaved head finally arrived at the gym with Joyce, bringing the whole group back together as they gathered around the kiddie pool. Mike grabbed his walkie-talkie, turning up the static on an empty channel. Y/N watched as the girl began to take off her socks to enter the pool, with Joyce handing her blacked-out science goggles.

“What’s her name again?” Nancy whispered as Y/N stood beside her, glancing at her brother, Mike.

“Eleven—or El, for short.”

The girl took a deep breath and stepped into the pool, making her way to the center after Joyce and Hopper helped her, supporting her with their hands. The group sat around the kiddie pool, watching the girl lay back—her pink dress becoming soaked, flowing in the water.

Not even a few seconds in, the electricity in the gymnasium surged—flickering on and off. The same feeling Y/N had felt at the Byers washed over her, goosebumps forming on her skin as her hair stood like there was electricity. Everyone exchanged stunned looks with each other, until suddenly—the gym blacked out, leaving the emergency lights on, dimly lighting the room.

“That’s not creepy at all…” Dustin whispered under his breath, before getting cut off by Eleven’s voice.

“Barbra?” The girl’s soft voice echoed through the gym, while Y/N and Nancy tentatively leaned in to hear what the girl was saying—their concern for their lost friend rising. The girl began breathing heavily, and abruptly—the lights began flickering erratically once again.

“What’s going on?” Nancy questioned as she looked around with wide eyes.

“I don’t know,” Mike answered, exchanging a worried glance with the girl.

“Is Barb okay? Is she okay?” Nancy asked desperately, gripping the rim of the kiddie pool—her voice quivering. Her expression was etched with fear, searching for any sign of her friend’s fate. Eleven remained silent for a few moments, then suddenly began repeating a single, devastating word.

“Gone.”

The word grew louder with each repetition, echoing through the gymnasium, sending waves of dread that crashed over Y/N—especially Nancy. Her hand reached to cover her mouth, her eyebrows furrowed together in disbelief. Y/N placed a hand on Nancy’s shoulder, watching as tears began to form in her eyes.

Joyce placed a comforting hand on Eleven, her voice soothing as she tried to calm the girl. “It’s okay, it’s okay,” Joyce whispered. Eleven's breaths came fast and shallow, her small body trembling until she finally steadied herself. The gym lights flickered and went out again, the emergency lights casting a dim glow. “Castle Byers,” Eleven spoke through the oppressive silence, her voice clear and urgent. Joyce and Jonathan exchanged glances, hope sparking inside of them as they leaned in toward El.

“Will?” Eleven called out, her voice carrying through the stillness, earning a gasp from Joyce.

“You—you tell him I’m coming. Mom is coming.” Joyce stuttered, her hands trembling as she held Eleven’s shoulders, eyes wide with desperation. Everyone's attention suddenly snapped to the walkie-talkie as a boy's voice crackled through the static—breaking the silence with a single, urgent word.

“Hurry.”

Everyone exchanged shocked glances, the gym filling with silence once again, until Eleven abruptly jerked up in the pool, water splashing—startling the group. She gasped, taking off the science goggles, and Joyce immediately pulled her into a tight embrace.

“I’ve got you,” Joyce repeated. “It’s okay sweetie, you did so good,” She spoke reassuringly, stroking the girl’s head as she comforted her.

Y/N sat frozen for a moment, then made a sudden beeline for the gymnasium doors, her footsteps echoing loudly in the silent space. She burst into the dimly lit hallway, clutching her mouth, attempting to piece together what happened in her mind. She was grateful for the hope for Will, but all she could think about was Barbra.

Did she die as soon as she got sucked up in my dream? Was there a chance I could’ve saved her if we would’ve figured this all out sooner?

She paced the hall frantically before being startled by the sight of Hopper in her frenzy—stopping dead in her tracks, his presence a sudden, grounding force. “Come here, kid,” the man opened his arms, watching as tears welled up in the girl’s eyes. She ran and clashed into his embrace, almost knocking him back.

“What if—” Y/N’s voice began to tremble, pausing momentarily as she took a deep, shaky breath. “What if I could’ve saved her?” She said, closing her eyes tight, wishing it all away—only to be met with Barb’s frightened expression, clutching onto Hopper even tighter.

“Listen, there’s nothing you could’ve done, Y/N. There’s nothing we could’ve done, it wasn’t your fault.” Hopper sighed, his voice thick with empathy, rubbing the girl's back, watching as she pulled away from the hug—meeting her teary-eyed expression.

“Everything’s going to be okay.” Hopper raised his eyebrows. “I’ve got to go meet Joyce in my car, alright? We’re going to save Will. You stay here with the kids, we will be back.” The man put his hands on the girl’s shoulders, watching her nod tentatively.

“Okay…” she managed to speak, watching Hopper’s hands leave her shoulders as he walked past her toward the exit, leaving the girl in the empty, silent hallway.

“Be safe, okay?” Y/N called out to Hopper before he left, watching him turn around to meet her gaze.

“Always, kid.”

As Hopper exited, Y/N was left alone in the middle school’s hallway, lost in thought. What now? She couldn’t just sit here and wait. Suddenly, the gym doors swung open, revealing the girl’s friends—Nancy and Jonathan.

“Y/N?” Nancy's voice called out, breaking through the stillness. Their worried gazes met Y/N’s, a moment of profound silence hanging in the air. The three stood there, united by their grief and determination. Nancy’s voice was low but resolute.

“Let’s kill that damn thing.”

────────────────────────────────────────────

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galadrieljones · 4 months ago

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Zabel Interview, Team Delusional Round-up, re: the past few weeks (months?) 💫

(Based on an ask from @natural-blue-26! This post contains spoilers, pertaining to the script leak. If you don't want them, turn back!!)

First, let me say that @twdmusicboxmystery has posted an excellent video covering this topic over at her youtube channel. This post is jumping off of that, with some additional takes and analysis by me!

Also, note that I wanted to wait to post or to talk about this too much publicly until today, as I think there are a lot of genuine shippers who might be let down right now. Not all c*rylers are unhappy, unruly people. Many are shippers just like us, and even though I don't ship it, I support them. I am only putting this in the Team Delusional tag, so anyone who sees this is seeing it either because they follow me, follow the tag, follow someone who follows me, or they went looking for it themselves. I am not making drama or inciting a "ship war." If you're here out of anger, I suggest you turn back. I am just going to go over what I see.

The Facts

There has been a recent spate of events that have lead Team Delusional to a rare and more than modest resurgence. Until now, we were mostly just working with templates and symbolism, with a healthy dose of informed meta and speculation: We were seeing how the season 4/5 template was beginning to unfold toward the Grady arc, which includes Carol in a major role.

BUT. Let's check in with what's been going on over the past six months. A lot of this new resurgence starts with Emily's multiple trips to Europe for TWD cons in the past six months, integrated with her (yet unrealized) insinuation that she has been in studio recording one or more songs that Beth sang on TWD. Massive financial burdens aside, these are unusual undertakings for Emily. While she has done many fan cons over the years, visiting Europe twice in a four month period is bizarre (as well as expensive). She also talked openly and excitedly in the panel at French comic-con about how cool it would be if Beth returned. Further, Emily's "re-recording" of "Parting Glass" and possibly other TWD songs was a fairly big announcement for us at the time, but we haven't seen any more on it since. Speculation went everywhere from "She'll be singing in a flashback in Daryl Dixon season 2" to "Her songs will be part of the soundtrack" to "She'll actually BE in season 2, singing, in the present moment."

A lot of these things, if they were spread out over a 5 year period, wouldn't matter at all. But the fact that they're all taking place in the six-month run-up to Daryl Dixon s. 2, when we've already been able to speculate her tenuous return based on templates and other tells, is exciting. It's been almost ten years to the day of Beth's *death.* Why now? The timing on all of this is very suspicious.

Now, a few weeks ago, there was a LEAKED SCRIPT excerpt, which was claimed to be the final scene of DD 2.6. In the script, we learn that Isabelle has died and is appearing to Daryl in the form of a hallucination while he fights walkers in the Chunnel. This was confusing for many reasons. First, we already know, given their ruthless advertisement of the fact, that season 3 is already being filmed in Spain. So why are they headed to England? Also, where the hell is Laurent? Further, Isabelle's death, while unsurprising to many of us, creates some new questions. Many members of a certain *other* ship were ecstatic to learn about Isabelle's death, as Daryl/Isabelle ship rumors have been rampant in the fandom basically since season 1. Forget the fact that the same ship FREAKED out over Daryl/Leah three years ago (a clear nothingburger). Any time another female character even comes into contact with Daryl, a notable portion of fans must make their "displeasure" widely known.

Moving on. Yesterday, an article came out summarizing a yet-unreleased interview with David Zabel in SFX magazine. You can read it here. In the interview, Zabel makes the following comment about "C*ryl":

"The obvious thing to do, and the easier thing to do would be, 'Okay, now they're falling in love and they're a couple.' But I always felt like that would be a mistake, because it would feel like you were going into the TV book of tricks," he explains. "To me, there was never a question that [their connection] was something other than what it is, and what it seems to want to be, and why it works so well."

Zabel then goes on to hint at a highly-contentious romance with Daryl and Isabelle:

"What happened in season one was that you could see a connection forming, for sure," he says. "We didn't manufacture that but we left room for it. A lot of season two is about the development of that and where that relationship goes, and that little surrogate family of Isabelle, Daryl and Laurent."

Now, the full interview doesn't come out until September 4, at which point, we may get a clearer picture of what's going on. However, it seems that Zabel is politely declining the "C*ryl as romance" narrative. In the quote, he uses the excuse of wanting to avoid TV tropes; however, he then goes on to say (in a portion of the quote that is being wildly misinterpreted among the c*ryl ship) that "To [him]," there was "never a question that [their connection was something other than what it is." He then equates "what it is" with "what it seems to want to be" and "why it works so well." The misinterpretation is coming with that second part. "What it is" = friendship. Zabel is clearly saying that c*ryl "seems to want to be" exactly "what it is," aka: a sacred friendship and nothing more. He's basically saying that this already "works so well," and so why fix what ain't broke? Why create a romance between two characters who are clearly just very, very good friends when he could go another, more interesting direction?

Certain c*ryl accounts have misinterpreted that section of the quote. They seem to think he's saying that the c*ryl ship "seems to want to be" something else, something other than what it is. But if you follow the grammatical logic of the sentence, you can see that they're wrong here. It wants to be what it already is, which is friendship. Of course, to c*rylers, what it already is = romance, but that isn't canon. There's no proof of this. In fact, there's more proof to the contrary, that they're best friends. They're family. Carol was married to somebody else, raised a child with him, still holds a contentious relationship with the other man, allowed Daryl to toil away in the woods alone for five years because she needed to stay with her husband...

In addition to factual evidence from the show, the C*ryl Friendship Campaign has been going strong on social media for MONTHS. In her video this morning, twdmusicboxmystery also goes over quasi-recent comments from Angela Kang which are UNSUPPORTIVE of a c*ryl romance. The notion that this perspective is coming out of nowhere, which some fans are claiming as a way of blaming Zabel for either lying or betraying his fanbase (and the actors), is, frankly, absurd.

Please note that I'm not saying that nobody should ship c*ryl just because it isn't canon. That would be silly. I ship non-canon ships all the time. BETHYL is a non-canon ship! I've written whole fanfics for Beth and Daryl (well, I've tried lol, but most remain unfinished). It's one of the funnest parts of being in a fandom.

What I'm saying is that c*ryl is NOT CANON. It never has been. And the people who get angry about this, who want to get professionals fired over this, who think that they're entitled to getting exactly what they want, lest the show perish, are wrong. They're doing it wrong. It's totalitarian and, frankly, obsessive. This is not how you be in a fandom, and my interpretation here of the Zabel interview in conjunction with the C*ryl Friendship Campaign is that they are TRYING to let this highly volatile and frankly unpleasant faction of the fandom down lightly in an effort to get them off tptb's AND the actors' backs. They don't want to deal with this shit anymore. And by the way, they're actually not leading anyone on. They've been insanely clear here, in their rebranding of c*ryl to a platonic ship, as to what's happening and what's going on, and while I really do feel for the good people who may feel let down by this, I am GLAD to see that the showrunners aren't going to heed the demands of one tiny, loud faction of a giant fandom, and that despite the haters, they're going to tell the story they want to tell.

ANYWAY.

Over the past 48 hours, things have gotten...weird. Zabel's interview dropped less than a day after the TWD Skybound social media accounts appear to have...posted a Bethyl edit out of nowhere. @sweetz1919 also posted early this morning, bringing together a few more Beth-related posts on either official accounts or *near* official accounts, which post promotional material, and which are followed by AMC TWD. One of these posts is a repost on twitter by Scott Gimple, who so rarely posts on social media, that any time he does, it's like a unicorn, symbolically notable and certainly important.

Now, pertaining to the Zabel interview, another wide complaint taking place in the c*ryl camp is that Zabel is likely LYING or he is being taken grossly out of context, because if c*ryl isn't happening, AND Isabelle is going to die, then how could Daryl POSSIBLY get his happy ending?

THIS is where Team Delusional comes in. Of course, we have our theories. Most people think WE'RE the delusional ones. And maybe we are! Lol. I don't really care. Most of our theories are crafted through a TON of hard, circumstantial, pattern-driven, and symbolic evidence, evidence taken from IRL sources, and hypotheses made after paying very close attention to what's been going on and making LOTS and LOTS of connections over a period of many years. Me, myself, I've only been here for four, but some of you guys have been doing this for almost ten, and for that, I salute you! As I said earlier, TD has been theorizing Beth's "return" in DD2 based greatly on symbolic and template-driven evidence alone for a while. A lot of what we're seeing now on social media is playing directly into our hand.

Emily in Europe multiple times in a 4mo period, including a trip to Paris, with her latest stint being just a week before "official" filming for season 3 was set to begin? Emily re-recording tracks from TWD? Leaked script pages in which Daryl mentions Beth specifically AND suggest that Isabelle is going to die? Romantic!C*ryl = not happening? HOW could Daryl possibly get his happy ending now? The rest is TD theory, ie: WHY we think Beth will come back to manifest Daryl's "happy ending." Speculation and theories on how she could come back, the connection to Spain/England/France, that's basically all we talk about lol, each of us with our own interests and niche perspectives, all arriving at the same point.

SO while there is still no proof that she is coming back, all of this is a Good thing, actually. For us. Because while everyone is looking around, freaking out, wondering what's going to happen next, we are seeing and able to read a LOT of signs that others ignore. And rightly so! There's no reason the rest of the GA needs to think that Beth is legitimately coming back. That would overshadow Carol's role in season 2, which is significant. It's just important that the GA REMEMBERS who Beth IS, that she was important to Daryl, and that hey, people used to really like Beth, and they liked Beth and Daryl together, and that was hopeful, and nice for him, and he hasn't had much "hope" or "niceness" since, and wouldn't it be nice if he could have that again...? All of these things are really there to do just this: let the c*ryl ship down easy, and remind people that Daryl once held a very strong connection to a woman whose life "ended" too soon, and who has really never been mentioned again.

While I really have no idea what's coming next, I wonder if we'll begin to see more astroturfed discussion on Beth's *death.* How weird it was, what the hell was going on at Grady, etc. If we don't see it in promotional material, we may hear about it in-show. Because if Daryl is casually mentioning Beth (along with Merle and Glenn) to Isabelle's ghost/vision in episode 2.6, then this likely implies that he's told her about Beth before, and that he's talked to her about what happened. It implies that Isabelle knows who Beth is, which would be a truly insane development, since he's literally never talked about her to anyone, including Carol, as far as we know.

So anyway, as usual, we should all just keep our heads down, chins to our chest, keep hope alive, but with a balanced sense of anticipation. We still really don't know what's going to happen, so it's important to be rational, but it also won't hurt to have a little faith 💫

#team delusional

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dokidokitsuna · 11 months ago

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The Happy Family

Finally did a basic ref sheet for these three…I wanted a new alt design for Elfy in the next episode, and I figured, while I’m at it I might as well bring back his parents’ classic designs and get those down too.

So, clearly, the next installment of The Dream Discoveries Tour is going to feature another “family discussion”-- the final one in the story. And the only one that Forgo gets to join in on (kinda)! ^^ We’ll finally have all 4 major characters speaking in the same chapter, and I’m really looking forward to it~.

While I’m here, let me hit you with some final family fun facts:

Carol and Leon are not romantically involved, just FYI. They’re just a couple of besties who decided to co-parent a genetically-modified alien child. ^^ Y’know, as one does.

Everyone in Lab Discovera dresses from a standardized set of ‘athleisure’ clothes manufactured for its live-in staff, Elfilin included. However, a few of Elfilin’s clothes (like this T-shirt, and his trademark blue hoodie) are direct hand-me-downs from Leon-- clothes he used to wear when he was younger and a little less muscular.

Obviously, Elfilin is closer with Leon than he is with Carol (and vice versa). But he actually gets more of his personality from Carol, and thinks of her as the technically “safer” guardian.

^This is mostly because she’s the more consistent parent, having better control over her emotions and being more straightforward with Elfilin during stressful times. Meanwhile, Leon usually just pretends to be happy, oversells it, and eventually becomes distant when he can’t pretend anymore. Basically, he wears his heart on his sleeve, and as Elfilin gets older he notices more of these emotional “hiccups”, and they make him nervous and distrusting. He loves his dad to hell and back, but deep down he doesn’t think he’s reliable.

#kirby #gijinka #au #dream discoveries tour #elfilin #leongar #clawroline

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fandoms-in-law · 7 months ago

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QPR Desires

Summary: When Steve encountered the term QPR it became his dream, including his best friends. Some reflection shows him how much of a dream that was as he lets go the people he'd placed into it.

Authors Notes: This started as me saying goodbye to a similar dream, so it's an au with no Upside Down cause it didn't fit to leave that in.

/\/\

Hearing the term had been a dream, begun a dream for Steve. A QPR sounded perfect as well as familiar; an echo of friendships he had or once had all in a phrase.

Then he mentioned it and saw no willingness, slightly tested it and found no joy so he re-examined the friendships.

In memories he saw his dream, small habits and rituals teasing the line of a qpr back from when they were kids and part of him yearned for that time. Except the recent memories painted a different picture, worse, harsher. It showed very different people held together by history and a Tommy and Carol he couldn't include in his dreams. They weren't his: not his friends or his QPR. They were barely likable when he thought over how they acted.

Steve still wanted a QPR, wanted that closeness with someone without the push for sex or kisses but had no idea how to ask for it, if he even managed to find someone that might like him enough to agree. So he didn't try, let the kids he once babysat befriend him and bug him for lifts or trips and focused on surviving alone.

"Steve? Why'd you ghost us man? Last month it was like a message every week planning for our trip home while term is out and then nothing? The hell is going on with you?" Tommy asked, appearing on the other side of the counter as he worked. He must have been stood there a while since Steve had been on break and could see Robin across the shop clearing some tables.

Steve shrugged, saying nothing beyond the script and gesturing towards the ice cream.

"No, I want to know what is with the silence? Don't I get a goodbye, a fuck off, an explanation over why you've decided to just drop us like bad meat?" Tommy pushed, leaning over the counter and staying close even at the dismissive glare that usually shut him up.

"I did some thinking and couldn't find any reason to like you or be your friend that didn't begin with 'well five years ago Tommy was a decent human being' so assumed with all that fun you boast over having at college you wouldn't care. Was right too since it took me being in front of you for anything to be said if you'd even noticed the silence before now. What ice cream can I get you to digest with that explanation?" He gestured at the ice cream selection again, keeping the dismissive expression on his face but stepping twice back from the counter to prepare for Tommy's attempt to manhandle him or start a fight. Over his shoulder Steve could see Robin straighten and start to come over, an expression he'd not seen her wear before on her face.

Tommy scoffed, trying to grab him but unable to reach. "You think you're too good for me? Fuck off. I'm better than you."

"No, your dad is a manager because your brother managed to build a business and you are only learning business because you're too scared to try liking one singular thing daddy doesn't decide for you. I actually got out from that pattern and get to decide things for myself. That includes not wasting time with hot headed arseholes flaunting power they haven't got. Make an order or I'll have to ask you to leave."

At Steve's words Tommy pushed on the counter as if to jump over it to get at him but was held back by Robin's hand darting out to catch his collar. "Security have been called. Assaulting or threatening our staff is a ban-able offence even if charges aren't submitted. Do not return to scoops ahoy. We'll have the formal ban sent out to you soon." She stated, somehow dodging the hands flailing back at her and the kicks that made Tommy look like a toddler throwing a tantrum more than a man restrained by his collar.

"You can't do that!" Tommy yelled at her, but didn't argue more as the security had actually shown up in record time. He did turn back to Steve to continue yelling, "You don't get to abandon us, Harrington! We're we're abandoning you! Why would we want to spend time with a washed up nobody anyway?"

Steve didn't reply and from the glare Robin split between him and Tommy he was pretty sure any attempt to would be interrupted.

They stood silently for a few minutes until the security were out of sight.

“Thanks for that, Robin.” Steve muttered, moving over to the till as he spotted Erica Sinclair coming in.

“No thanks needed. Hagan has always been an ass. I’m just glad to have the power to do that to him now.” Her grin was cruel but Steve didn’t feel threatened by it as he had a few times since getting his job. “What happened to complaining about being stuck here? You’ve done that all summer.”

Steve huffed, barely pausing to get the taster spoon Erica requested. “Still am, but it’s pretty good being stuck.”

As he fetched the tasters Erica requested, definitely taking advantage of the store policy, Robin disappeared. It wasn’t a busy time so he didn’t mind or hurry to look for her once the kid finally actually brought a cone.

“You surprised me, Harrington. Maybe we can become friends properly.” She said, coming back to the counter, nodding her head back to the window to the staff room.

There on her board meant to tease him was a ‘You Rule’ tally and Steve could only grin. “Been trying to befriend you for a while now, Buckley. Glad you’re starting to see what a great friend I could be.”

“Give me the chance to put more assholes in there place and we’ll see how this goes.” She laughed before they both had to focus on serving customers.

Perhaps a QPR with his childhood friends was only ever going to be a fruitless dream; Perhaps he had looked for friends in the wrong places before, but now Steve was sure that however close he might become with his co-worker, he’d at least started trying to befriend someone decent.

#stranger things #steve harrington #robin buckley #platonic soulmates stobin #platonic stobin #aromantic steve harrington #tommy hagan

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havin-fun-imagining-twd · 1 year ago

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Still beating

What - dealing with grief as the dust finally starts to settle. Dealing with grief regarding one specific character's death in particular. You know the one.

Genre - heavier, but we get devoted husband/father Daryl out of the mix. And we don't end the chapter on a bummer, never fear. This ain't a French movie, slowpokes

Relationships - wife Reader and husband Daryl as well as your baby. Familial affection with Rick, and that balance between friend and clergy for Father Gabriel.

Perspective - 3rd POV Daryl, and 2nd POV You

Pronouns - she/her

When - time jump! we've briefly hopped to post season 8, pre season 9 (but before The best kind of damn weird). This chapter takes place during the earlier phases of recovery and rebuilding after the war. The previous chapter, Scary as a sleepy kitten, took place during season 2.

TWs - grief, PTSD (including after SA), depression, self-loathing, and some cussing. This chapter is also kinda lengthy, friends, and had to have exposition. (Might should've sliced the chapter in half, but then we'd have another two-parter on our hands :P)

But how long though? - ...20 minutes or so?

Story references and Masterlist link? - under the cut

And is there a pic at the end as a prize for finishing? - yes :D

Have fun and happy reading!

References to other chapters - what we learned in The Interview. There is also grieving/anger as seen in The first Christmas 'without' Part 2 and its conclusion in I don't hate you, a happy reference to Happy 8th of July!, reference to those lovely tugging strings as found in Invisible Tugging Strings, Part 1 and Part 2 (Part 2 I reckon is still glitched and showing as labeled mature, the poor thing's been cleared about 7ish times via help ticket XD ).

There are a lot more details you might recognize, pop on by to the Official Masterlist here, or for those who prefer linear over non-linear, the Chronological Slowpoke Masterlist here

-----------------------

Still beating

She was doing real bad. The past few days had been especially bad. Grief has nasty ways of settling in and rearing its ugly head.

He didn’t know too much about what to do to help her, he’d never been good at that stuff. And there was no fixing all that happened, especially not when the last thing that happened was the worst thing that could’ve.

Just like if TJ or Judith died, it was the worst thing. And part of his wife died right alongside Carl.

Hell, she’d been the one to wait after Carl died, then turned, to pull the trigger.

Now, she felt dead, too.

Gabe had to suggest that she check her pulse when it got bad enough.

Just at that moment, as Daryl was worrying and worrying, TJ started to wriggle and hum in an attempt to root at Daryl's bicep, which pulled him out of his own head for a second.

Gently, he began to bounce to try and keep his baby lulled. He knows Y/N wanted to breastfeed only to get her production up (and so TJ’s suckle could get stronger after the surgery), but Y/N was finally asleep.

Beginning with when Denise was killed, Y/N hadn’t been making as much as she first had. Then, the Saviors stopped the RV and surrounded them, and Negan did what he did. Then Daryl himself got taken away, then there was all the fighting.

And then Carl died.

Getting her milk to come back had been proving damned hard.

A handful of not-very-good times, they’d supplemented what milk she did make with watered-down formula and/or watered-down goat's milk.

One very bad time, they’d used sugar water to fill the babies’ bellies until Jesus got back with goat's milk. Just the one time they had to use sugar water, everybody made damn sure of that.

For now, Daryl could crack into what was still left of the goat's milk in the cooler, right? The two women in the Kingdom who had little guys had sent over actual breast milk with Carol a few days ago, but it was used up yesterday. That stuff had been a God-send, he couldn’t thank the ladies enough.

Between the two babies in Alexandria, TJ and Gracie, everyone had to be smart about using what (non-expired) formula was left. And given that the power got cut, keeping the goat's milk fresh was another problem, hence the cooler. The panels and power were back on, but it was spotty and he didn't want to risk the milk spoiling.

There was still a shit ton of clean-up had since the Saviors nabbed Alexandria’s storage, then firebombed the town. To make things worse, those assholes had their own compound destroyed, and Hilltop and the Kingdom got screwed, too. Even the beach women took another beating. Hell, and them junkyard people were literally all fucking gone except their leader chick.

So, Y/N breastfed the two babies as much she was physically able, all while working as the only other doc left standing in all five communities; she was running herself into the ground.

And with Carl gone…

It ain’t fair that she couldn’t make enough — it was Negan’s goddamned fault.

Which leads to what just went on: so Mich had told him, Y/N’d lashed out at Negan and the new doctor kid with the facial hair, what was his name, Sidney?

Daryl hadn’t been at the infirmary when it happened, but, according to Mich, she’d had to pull her out of the room. Once out, Y/N asked her about TJ, Judith, and Gracie to make sure they were safe, then disappeared after Mich had turned around. Straight up and bolted.

Daryl had checked the escape-closet first, but she wasn’t in there or the attic it connected to, wasn't on the roof that lead to.

He’d then checked the burned church. She’d been there, he recognized her boot prints, but she'd moved on. From there, he was able to follow her sooty tracks in the direction of the place he should’ve known to check first.

Sure enough, Y/N'd been at Carl’s grave.

His wife could barely look at him when he approached. He'd simply kissed her on the head and quietly walked her back home. Once home, he'd cleaned and bandaged her hand while she, again, tried to pump enough for the little guys.

Mich had told Daryl she’d get Rick for her, so he’d be here soon.

Daryl wracked his brain, he even prayed to learn what do to try to help carry Y/N through this shit.

At first, Y/N’d been pacing around the room, crying but trying not to, arms wrapped around her picture frame with a photo of Carl in it as if it was the only thing keeping her afloat.

He'd been able to persuade her to lay down, and ended up laying in bed with her and holding her tight, their baby next to them in little bassinet.

Initially, him holding her and pressing kisses to her neck had made her feel worse. More guilty, that is. A handful of days ago, something got into her head that she needed to give him a damn "annulment."

Nah, for real, she’d even said (to Gabe) that the two of them not having ever done the deed yet was "grounds" to give him one. “Grounds to free him,” were her exact words. It was a whole thing, and the couple of failed attempts at trying to do the deed after getting hitched some months back probably made her feel guilty, as if not having sex yet would make him not love her, or?

Father Gabriel had Daryl's back the whole time during the conversation, though, decent dude.

And no, Daryl wasn’t angry or even real hurt that she’d thought she had to ‘free him’ and shit, he knows it was the grief and physical exhaustion that got her to that point. His woman had full-on blacked out and hurt herself that day, which is why he'd brought her to Gabe in the first place.

But the, um, the walls were thinner than Daryl had expected, which is how he overheard from the person that he was gonna love and stay with and stay faithful to until he dropped dead softly confess that she was “selfish” to keep him “stuck” with a “batshit m-mess” like her and “a baby that ain’t his.”

The fact that Y/N kept maintaining how much she loved him and how she didn’t want no annulment helped it hurt less when she’d sounded just about convinced that it was “loyalty to me ’cause we’re close, loyalty to Rick,” and because of “he’s got so much shame. He feels responsible for what the Claimers did,” that made him marry her those months ago. "He loves our ch—my child, and might love me, but it's not fair to him. He deserves better, h-he needs better, the man's been trapped all his life. I-I don't want him trapped, I want him happy!"

Gabe never played into her fears. He been no nonsense about all of it, told Y/N that she needed a damn rest, and asked her to tell him what she thought about it when she woke up.

The good thing was that after a 5 hour period of uninterrupted sleep (during which they used some of the goat's milk for TJ and Gracie), she woke up in a daze at why she’d thought an annulment was something Daryl needed or wanted.

The bad thing was, she was then socked in the gut with more unearned guilt for it, then with worry that she was too far gone, or crazy, all that.

Been a bad, bad few days.

Been a lot of Daryl showing her love that she felt not worth being shown. So that she fell asleep in his arms today was such a damn win!

After getting up to take a leak and finding that Y/N was miraculously still asleep, he thanked whoever was up there, then tried to figure out what else he could do to help her get through today…and right at that moment, TJ started to rouse, so he got his answer: keep their baby comforted. More shut-eye could only do his woman well.

Deftly lifting the little bundle into his arms, he'd kissed the scar above the baby’s upper lip and tiptoed out to the hall, where he was now.

Lightly he bounced, softly he shushed. He held TJ like a football and moved back and forth, back and forth. Babies smell so damn good, and make the cutest noises, goddamn.

After a couple minutes, through the open door, he peeked at his Y/N.

Shit. She was already sitting up and blinking off the sleep.

Whatever it was she did and said today, she felt low as hell about it, that much was clear. Without looking, she grabbed the now-broken picture frame and clutched it to her middle.

"You're supposed to be asleep, slowpoke," he tried to tease.

Her clothes had ashes from where it looked like she’d knelt down then sat down in the burned church. There was some dirt on them, too, from when she’d been at Carl’s grave. Daryl made a note to shake the sheets out later and pick the tissues up off the floor.

That's when the front door opened downstairs.

Was that Ri—good, that was Rick’s voice, he was finally there. There was a second voice, too, was that Father Gabriel’s? It was soft like Gabe's voice was.

Daryl looked downstairs.

Yup, it was Rick with the rev.

He waved them upstairs, but it must’ve been the clunking of the Gabriel’s new cane that got Y/N stumbling out of the room.

“Rev! I would’ve come to you, y-you need to be takin’ it easy.” She hugged the picture frame in one hand, gripped the banister in the other and started to go downstairs, asking Gabe how he felt, urging him to sit down, had his vision worsened, all that stuff.

“Y/N, more rest won’t stop me from losing sight in this eye,” Gabriel responded in his quiet way, remaining on the second step, not going up or down the stairs. He smiled. “You could say I’m the one making a house call to a patient this time."

She held back a sob and bowed her head. Then, she subtly slipped two fingers around the inside of her wrist…

Rick stepped the rest of the way up the stairs and put his hands on her shoulders. “What's going on, weirdo?”

“Ricky, I'm s-sorry."

He leaned closer and took her in for a hug. “Heart still beating?” he murmured.

Her inhale was shaky. “Mmhm. Yours?”

“Beating strong.”

TJ perked up and began to whimper upon hearing her voice. Y/N unzipped her hoodie to—she still had a gun on her?

Okay, that'd been stealth as fuck, it hadn't even been printing. It was the mini one she'd kept on her when they first got here, when Deanna insisted on keeping the weapons locked up. Still, he'd been literally holding her, how in the hell had he not noticed?

Daryl shared a glance with Gabe. Minus her screwdriver, she'd turned in her weapons after what happened the other day.

Y/N handed the small gun to Rick, who looked wary, but accepted it without question. She hesitated before reaching into her boot to hand over her screwdriver, too.

Daryl slid his hand around his wife’s waist to guide her back to the room. Without looking him in the eyes, she cupped his cheek and told him he was a good father. Then, frame still gripped under one arm, she took the baby into the other.

“Let’s try havin’ a snack before I go with Uncle Ricky awhile, okay, chickpea?” she murmured, then unbuttoned the top of her shirt.

Daryl took off his vest to give her some more coverage, then helped her with her top buttons. When he draped the vest around her, she'd turned her head to kiss his hand. He felt his cheeks warm when she did that.

Walking into the room again, she softly told Daryl that he and Rick could sit on the beds. First, she placed the picture frame on one of the mattresses. Next, with their baby latched on and suckling, she went to the end table at the window to sit down on the floor beside it. The way she sat, it was kinda as if she were using it as a shield.

“Rev, please take the chair,” she mumbled to Gabriel with a glance at the only piece of furniture in the room at the time, other than the bassinet, a nightstand, and the end table. Negan had specifically left the rocking chair as a 'gift' for her. The piece of shit...

Anyway, Daryl had got them their two twin mattresses back (hey, squish them together and you get a big-ass bed) the first trip to and from the Savior’s compound after the war ended, once the folk from Alexandria had begun to move back from the Hilltop. Only, no bed frames yet.

“And sweetheart, I’ll-I’ll take the pumps with me for while I’m in there. Wanna make sure you and Aaron have enough for them,” she said to him, voice still raw. Y/N turned to him and gave him a wobbly smile. “Sorry I used up so much of the tissue supply,” she tried making light, but got close to tears again, so stumbled through asking “Can I, um, Rick, m-might can I bring my pillow? Is that okay?”

Go with Rick where, and take the breast pumps and her pillow, why? He made eye contact with Gabriel, who looked just as puzzled. So, he turned to Rick.

Rick lowered his eyebrows as if he didn’t know what she meant, either. He squatted to sit down on the mattress beside Daryl, and looked at his sister. “Y/N, where are we headed?”

Glancing up from the baby to him then to Daryl, she adjusted TJ’s position on her breast while she figured out how to answer, by the looks of it. Another glance at her husband as if she were worried about his reaction...

“Rick, I thought you was here to…escort me?”

Daryl had no clear idea what she meant, it was the rev who understood first.

“No,” Father Gabriel told her gently. “Y/N, you aren’t under arrest.”

Under arrest? Daryl fought between the urge to get angry or dead-ass laugh. 'Under arrest??'

It was for real, though. His wife’s tears started flowing again as she turned her attention to Rick and began to stress, “There can’t be no special treatment—”

“—Is this why you handed me your weapons? Why would you be under arrest?” Rick cut her off to question.

She stared as if he’d grown antlers. “I s-struck a patient, and, and—”

“—And I slit his throat open, which is why that 'patient' is in there in the first place,” he cut her off again, firm.

Thankfully, TJ let out a wail the same time she wailed, “Ricky, y-you weren’t his medic!” pausing any further arguing.

Y/N gulped, pressed down on one breast, then the other. “I know there’s not much in ’em, Teddy-bear, but it-it’ll get better. It’ll come back,” she shushed, lifting him up and tucking herself back in. With a few kisses, she shushed, “You’ve gotten so much faster at drinkin', babycakes.”

Daryl got on the floor with her and took TJ back.

She avoided eye-contact again, and her lip wobbled again as she pulled the top of her shirt higher. That told him there’d been not much milk in there. And he could see all over her face that it was switching her on the legs with more false-ass, unearned guilt.

The familiar string in his chest suddenly tugged in her direction—next thing, he was resting his forehead on hers. “Hey. You’re makin’ more every day, angel,” he whispered in her ear. "And you're a damn good ma." Then, he started to help her button back up.

The way her expression softened and her body relaxed toward his felt better than fireworks going off on the Fourth 8th of July.

And as if he were back in that Georgia-in-July heat, Daryl just about melted right there on the floor when he saw his TJ, neck lifted high, making a face-scrunching, gummy smile at him. "Look how strong your neck is getting, ’lil badass, you’re rockin’ it!”

Shit, their kid was the best damn thing.

Y/N leaned against him and reached to lightly fluff their baby’s hair and rub their baby's teeny feet.

Gabriel sat in the rocking chair quietly, hands resting on his cane. He caught eyes with Daryl and nodded his head toward Y/N, glad to see her no longer convinced she needed to ‘free’ her husband.

Absorbed in the photo, Rick exhaled, then spoke up. “Y/N, how about we start from the beginning? What happened at the infirmary?”

She pressed tighter against Daryl as a pained noise left her throat. “Did you talk to Siddiq yet?” sounded very small.

“I want to talk to both of you.”

“And Michonne?”

He nodded. “She told me some.”

The big watch she’d kept from Dale tick-tick-ticked on her wrist. Then came the sound of light metallic clinking. Daryl didn’t have to look to see that she must’ve pulled out her brother’s necklace and was tugging on it.

“What I did ain’t excusable,” came out raspy and thick.

“It is," Rick answered.

“It’s not, especially not what I said to Sid—” a sob choked her response. She used Daryl's leather vest to hide her face before hugging it around herself like a blanket.

“Walk me through what happened first, kiddo, before you hit Negan with this?” Rick subtly gestured to the broken picture frame.

So she had smacked Negan in the face? Hot damn, Daryl was more in love with her already.

Y/N swallowed and shook her head. “They’d been lookin’ at it, the both of 'em.”

“At the picture?”

A tiny nod. “I’d left the room, and when I got back, they was looking at it. Siddiq brought it over to him. Tried to make like Negan was sad, too. Fuck that!”

TJ started rooting on his bicep again, but Daryl was on it. “Sorry, pipsqueak, I don’t got the right parts for that.” He started to massage the baby’s belly, and TJ quieted.

“It’s okay to let ’em cry a little, it-it helps restock these,” his wife tried joking, nodding down at her chest.

“Y/N.” Rick was delicate about coaxing her for more details. “You got back into the room, Siddiq and Negan were looking at the picture.”

“Negan’s filthy hands were on it,” she grit. "Lookin' at Carl and me, you with Shaney." The sounds of the pendant being pulled across the chain filled the room along with TJ’s soft cooing.

“Is that when you hit him with the frame?” Rick asked.

“No. I told him not to look at it again or touch it, and if he did, I’d hurt him.”

“Angel, slow your breathin’,” Daryl interjected at the same time that he figured out why those words sounded familiar: it was similar to how she'd warned the last Claimer fuckhead, the one who’d had Carl pinned down and was gon——Daryl shut down this brain for a sec, it was best not to think about that night.

He turned his head to see Rick, red-eyed, tracing his thumb along the photo of Carl, Y/N, Shane and him. Seems as if Rick had recognized her words, too.

“And when was it that you did hurt him?” Rick pressed on.

Y/N swallowed. “About half a minute later when he tried to act like it wasn’t his fault.”

Rick’s composure staggered and collapsed. His voice was hoarse when he managed to say, “It’s not his fault.”

But Y/N was fast to shut it down. “Don’t for one more second make like it’s yours, Ricky, you get that monkey off your back,” she comforted and somehow scolded both at once. “Negan was doing what Negan does when he, when he told you that. It was manipulation, nothin’ real. How C-Carl—” another choked-down sob, more tears.

Daryl noticed her press her fingertips to the spot under her chin, beside her jaw, checking her pulse to prove it was still beating.

“Negan had nothing to do with how Carl got bit,” Rick whispered. “You know it’s true, kiddo.”

“No—our boy wouldna ended up out there, w-with-with Siddiq, if it hadn’t been for Negan.” Her tone got louder and angry, her stress stutter became more noticeable, the way she tugged the necklace turned rougher. “He and his followers was why we weren’t able to trust no n-newcomers like Sid, which is why Sid was still out there alone, and, and, and why Carl went to him! It, it was because of Negan and his, and his, his-his cult!”

TJ seemed freaked out by the louder voice, the baby’s dark, blue-black eyes grown big.

Daryl spoke Y/N’s name to try and bring her back to herself, but she seemed to have very suddenly calmed.

She was blinking at her hand.

Daryl looked, and then saw the two halves of her brother Shane’s chain, broken.

“How many times did Carol warn me that this would happen when I tugged it,” she muttered to herself. "Good thing I didn't decide to tug on the rosary, huh?"

Inhaling, she leaned her head against the wall behind her, staring into space, fingers to her wrist to check her pulse again.

From beside her, he covered her hand in his. Then, pressing his lips to her fist, Daryl took the necklace from it. He could fix it.

“I lost my temper again, I’m sorry,” she spoke to all in the room, her hand cupping Daryl's cheek a moment. Then, more quietly, she looked at Rick. “How many days’ll I be in there?”

Which sent Daryl straight back to disbelief he was hearing those words, what absolute bullshit. “Y/N, you ain’t going nowhere.”

“You’re not going to a cell, Y/N,” Rick echoed.

“No special treatment,” she softly repeated. “If I were anybody else—”

Rick interrupted her “—It’s not about who you are.”

Father Gabriel had gotten up and was making his way to Y/N by then.

Y/N shook her head at the conversation, tired. “If I were anybody else or had any other role, and if he were anybody else,” she caught her breath, “there’d be reper-re-rep—” a few more tries, and she had to choose a different word, “consequences. Assault and battery on an un-unarmed person—a patient—from their medical provider, that’s serious.” Her hand was back to covering her face. She sat pressed against the wall, knees at her chest.

“You and Siddiq are the only doctors left. We couldn’t just put you in a cell even if you had earned it.”

“I ain't a doctor, at best, I’m a medic,” she grunted. “And I did earn it, just ask him and Michonne. As for my,” she made a shaky inhale, “my duties, I can be escorted out.”

“And TJ? Gracie?” Daryl put out there, hoping to guilt her out of insisting she get jail time, like, what the fuck. What kind of conversation was this?

Screw this, he couldn't even sit. He stood, shaking his head and pacing around the room, still holding TJ.

The expression on Y/N's face should’ve been enough to calm him down, along the defeated, quiet way she reasoned, “I’ll pump and y’all will visit. It’s—no, sweetheart—it’s only for a few days,” when he started to dead-ass leave. As if her being in there ‘only for a few days’ would help this bullshit make sense.

But that’s when he ended up snapping, “This is goddamn bullshit! You bopped a sick fuck on the nose with a picture frame, who in the hell will care? Rick, why you even entertainin' this shit?” and he regretted doing so as soon as he barked it out.

The old, invisible knee rammed him in the nards harder when Rick cautioned, "Brother," and Gabe finally opened his mouth, and louder than Daryl had ever heard him speak. “She cares, Daryl. So do I.”

And to make it all worse, their baby had given a start in fear when he’d shouted, and now the poor kid was screaming—and TJ doesn’t scream, shit, shit, he blew up while holding his child?

“M’sorry! M’sorry," he hushed to his baby, "I love you so much, kid, I’m so sorry I scared ya. I ain’t gonna hurt ya.” With a kiss on TJ’s wild head of hair, he murmured, “Pipsqueak, your old man is an idiot.”

Y/N rushed over when TJ screamed, but she didn’t take the baby away from Daryl. Instead, she caressed her husband’s forearm and triceps and spoke to their child. “Your daddy’s got you safe,” she soothed.

He knew she was trying to look him in the eyes, but he couldn’t return it. He’d just scared an infant because he couldn’t check his temper. Their infant.

His wife’s quiet assurance cut through the rushing in his head. “Daryl? TJ ain’t hurt, sugar, and you’re not a bad father. Do some skin to skin, okay?” She pecked a kiss on his cheek. “And that's a dollar for cussing, pay up later.”

She then sat back down on the floor next to where the rev had made his new seat. Daryl took the now-empty rocking chair, unbuttoned his and TJ’s shirts, then nestled the kid on his chest.

Y/N then told the room the rest of what happened, how after Negan croaked out with what voice he had left, saying it 'wasn’t his fault Carl was dead', that she’d turned around and whacked him across the face with the frame.

Siddiq had reacted by grabbing her shoulders from behind to pull her away from Negan — so she had shoved back and kneed him in the dick plus rammed her head against his, dropping the frame in the process. The frame broke as a result—and when it broke, she'd lost her cool, said some shit, and threw some shit. Mich heard the hubbub and intervened, then Y/N hid herself away cause she 'knew' she was 'gone crazy.'

As far as Daryl was concerned, the new doc was lucky all he got was a shove, a knee to jewels, a clunk on the head, and some words and maybe a clipboard thrown at him, because Y/N could fight damned well. She'd had it drilled into her how and when to do it. Freely taught others moves, too.

When she’d showed Carol some techniques, way back, it was one of the things that sent him falling for her.

And…Y/N might’ve not said it out loud, but when she described how Siddiq grabbed her from behind to pull her away, everyone in that room got why it caused her to react strong.

What she described herself as doing would’ve been instinct.

Siddiq wouldn’t know why. Negan might, the fucker had watched the tape of her Deanna interview.

“See?” Y/N blew her nose again, sniffed, and stared at the floorboards. “It’s not right to Sid or the community to, to have what I did go unchecked. And what I said to Siddiq was so cruel. What’s worse is I meant it. Fuck, I still do.”

What she'd said was basically that she wished he’d gotten bit instead of Carl, and that it was just as much Siddiq's fault that the boy was dead as it was Negan’s. That 'he should be dead.'

She grimaced, then caressed the watch on her wrist. Must’ve been thinking of Dale. “Ain’t fair to…Negan, neither. If there’s anything Carl wanted us to understand, it’s that,” she whispered.

Rick lifted the frame to kiss his son’s picture, wiped a couple tears away. “When I talked with Sid, he was…alarmed. Worried. He thought it was off-character.”

Y/N went rigid where she sat. “Siddiq wasn’t there two years ago.”

Daryl lifted the baby higher on his chest and snuggled closer.

Rick shook his head. “You wishing someone dead, or, dead instead of another, is very off-character, it’s not you. No—don’t shake your head, Y/N.” Her brother maintained, “Even back then, after what happened, you didn’t wish me dead. You wished that Shane was still alive, not that I was dead instead. Even if you did say those things, it wouldn't have been the truth, just the hurt speaking.”

“I attacked you and told you I would kill you. And I-I meant it at the time, you know that.”

“And for a couple days, you left, because you didn’t actually want that. You knew it was wrong.”

“Which is why I need to get put away for a couple days. I decided to hurt a patient and his doctor, my own fr—” She wasn’t able to say what was probably the word ‘friend.’ Y/N bit her lip, and continued, “Then hurled words at him what nobody should get hurled at them.” She swallowed a cuss and grabbed another tissue.

“You’re exhausted, Siddiq knows that.” Rick pointed out. “We’re not ourselves when we’re—”

Y/N wasn’t having it. Probably too exhausted, to tell the truth.

“We’re all exhausted. C’mon, man, you just lost your son!” A sob left her and she tried to breathe through her nose. Checked her pulse again.

“You were also reacting to how he yanked you back, kiddo. That's not nothing.”

Daryl gave Rick a warning glance.

Rick saw, nodded, and held up a hand, which made Y/N turn to see what Daryl was doing. But Daryl simply kissed TJ on the head, not saying nothing.

She wasn’t fooled. When Y/N looked back at Rick after giving her husband a look of it’s okay, Daryl gave Rick another warning glare, then a nod.

“You didn’t react like that without reason, Y/N. There’s no shame to admit it was a trigger.”

She grumbled at the word. “Trauma ain’t an excuse to traumatize others.” After exhaling, she ran her hands over her face and took a moment. Hardly louder than a whisper, she challenged, “Ricky, not all my problems stem from the rapes. I’ve always been too hot-headed.”

At that moment, Daryl wanted to scoop her and TJ up and drive them away from everything, keep the two of them safe and unbothered for a month or two or four.

“Getting grabbed like that m-might, y’know, might could’ve reminded me of it—when they—" She ran a hand through her hair. "Okay, it did get me going. But, I,” she paused. “It wasn’t that I saw red or blacked out, I chose to keep goin’ once I’d started. I threw stuff because I was raging, I didn't want to stop because I thought he deserved it.”

Y/N fiddled with Dale’s watch, and turned to Father Gabriel beside her and almost smiled at him, close to the way she used to smile at Glenn, as if he were in on a joke. “Here I’d hoped I was re-domesticated by now.”

“Let us give thanks that you’re still housebroken,” he responded, taking Daryl by surprise. "You're...still housebroken, are you not?"

The way Y/N then cracked up and grinned woke up the butterflies in his stomach.

“Y/N, you’ve come miles since I first met you,” Gabriel told her softly, smiling back.

“All the way from Georgia,” she joked back, then grew more serious. “You’ve grown a whole lot, too.” She wiped her eyes, and Gabe closed his.

“And Y/N,” he shook his head. “You aren’t losing your humanity. I know you’re frightened of that, after what you told me happened to your other brother.”

It hadn’t even registered in Daryl’s mind that Shane’s memory would be scaring her. She loved her brother like hell, but she was always terrified of going down the same path he did.

He looked to Rick to see what his reaction was. His reaction was tear-rimmed eyes and a nod of his head toward TJ, silently asking if he could hold the baby awhile. Daryl nodded, Rick stood, and returned Y/N the frame as he walked by to pick up the little one.

Hands empty, Daryl took out his army knife and the broken chain from his pocket so he could fix his woman’s necklace. Wasn’t gonna be hard.

He heard Y/N whisper, “Hey, punk," to Carl in the photo. "Miss you. Miss you, too, loser,” she said to her brother's photo. He let his eyes travel to where she sat under the window, and watched her kiss the picture and well up. It was the old one of her and preschool-age Carl photo-bombing Rick and Shane, after one of them got some kind of cop award.

Clutching the frame once more to her belly, she and Father Gabriel then started to talk in low voices with one another.

“The red haze in your right sclera is so close to bein' clear. Did you talk to Rosie today? She’s been seeming less depressed.”

“I thought this was me visiting my patient, not the other way around,” Gabe gently hinted. “Y/N, please talk to me.”

Daryl heard her sniffle. “Rev, but I don’t want to have meant those words. I’ve been workin’ on it. It-it might be his fault, but I know he’s innocent, he’s humane—Sid even counts walkers like I do, man, yet still, I—” her breathing shuddered. “After whatever this mess is kicked in, every time I see him now, I hate him. Why do I hate a decent person?”

“Grief,” he offered simply. He gave her another shrug and small smile. “Keep doing what you have been. It will get easier every day, the same way your, um,” he was careful about his wording regarding her tits, “that you have more for the little ones every day.”

She huffed but didn’t raise her voice again, she stayed quiet as could be. “It don’t feel like none of that’s happening.”

“Our perception of things doesn’t always equal the truth, Y/N.” Gabe seemed to take a moment. Maybe he was praying.

Y/N’s fingers found her pulse again.

“We are all healing,” Gabriel next said, and smiled again. “Your heart is still beating, is it not?”

Y/N stared for a few moments, caught in the act. Eyes meeting Daryl’s for a moment, she removed her fingers from her neck, and inclined her head at the reverend. “What about yours?” she asked softly.

“Still beating. And that’s the proof,” he assured her just as softly. “Y/N, as for the way you understand your actions and your emotions toward him as not being right, I would like you to take it as a comforting sign. And, you just handed over a weapon you plainly wanted to keep concealed, you didn’t use said weapon to hurt Negan, either,” he pointed out, for which Daryl was grateful. “Perhaps, if you begin to make excuses, begin to feel no sense of having done wrong when you have, I will worry.”

Weirdly enough, he next grinned up at the ceiling. “But I am not, because you are simply broken and in need of healing. You’ll get there, as will I,” he held his hand out to the room. “As will your brother, your husband. All of us.” He sighed. “So long as our hearts are still beating.”

Daryl looked back at his wife in time to see her bit her wobbling lip and nod. Her gaze turned to Rick with the baby. He was kissing TJ’s scrawny little feet.

Her face softened seeing them, and as Daryl’s stomach fluttered again, she turned to look at him. His stomach full-on did a happy flip (and, yeah, he lost his grip on the necklace’s broken link and dropped it).

Y/N said to Rick, “Well, we still need to show ’em that Alexandria—that you—are accountable and fair. How many nights will do, you think?”

Rick shook his head. “Zero. But, because you have a point and won't take 'zero' as an answer,” he quickly added, “how about one?”

“For a piggy, you’re actin’ awful chicken.”

He was unmoved by the cop joke. “Bawk, bawk.”

And Y/N laughed, for what it was worth. And it was worth everything, hot damn was that laugh the best sound.

Daryl figured he might as well check, “What about bail, that still a thing?”

“Not with you owing a whole dollar. That’ll take weeks to pay off,” she said, back to doing her best to lighten up things. He loved her so fucking much, goddamn.

“Supervision when outside the cell,” she stated to Rick.

He shook his head again. “I have a better sentence in mind. When I saw you wearing Lori’s belt earlier today, it reminded me of it. See, and you left this at the infirmary.” He reached into his jacket pocket.

Recognition swept across her face when he held it out. “Do you think he’ll feel safe?”

“The headphone cord is too thin to choke him with, it’d snap.”

“Ricky, that joke was very dark,” she lightly chided.

He squinted, kissing TJ’s feet one more time first. “I hereby sentence you to one night—”

“—Three.”

“One in lock-up,” he spoke over her, then was fast to tack on, “with Daryl and this one as guards.” He motioned to the baby.

"Women shouldn't have male guards," she dryly droned.

"Overruled. You'll also get supervised outings for your duties tomorrow and the day after, including the trip to the Hilltop for Maggie’s prenatal visit. And,” he held up the music player, “you’ll need to listen to music with Siddiq on this. We know it works.” He cocked his head. “Let’s start with 20 minutes per day, like you and I had.”

Some tears slipped out even though she was smiling. She mouthed I love you to him, then asked out loud, “How many days?”

Rick squinted. “Fourteen.”

---------------------------

You

“You pick the songs. Whatever you like,” you told him, staring at the photo and rubbing the ‘22’ pendant over your lips. Daryl fixed the chain for you shortly after you’d broken it. You really love him.

Sid accepted the mp3 player out of your hand.

You and he each had one earbud in, one apple beside you, and Michonne sat nearby with Judith. Supervision was your stipulation, yet being proactive about ensuring it had done nothing for how humiliating it was.

Still, you took an objective look and figured Siddiq should know that his safety mattered, that your people were fair and held themselves to standards.

Just looking around the place, it looked as if standards were a given here. That Alexandria’s power grid and some panels were already repaired within two weeks of Negan’s razing was almost unbelievable.

Sucks for the Saviors that cult that the Alexandria community had been built to withstand up to magnitude 4.1 earthquakes and be fairly fire-safe as part of its self-sustaining (and for-politicians) model, so in the least, a good number of the homes were still standing.

Carl's gazebo was another story, as were other similar structures, like the church, but the ash had been washed off by the rain, and the communities' walls were back up.

Next to you, Siddiq asked you how to work the mp3, citing, “Carl had been the one to…”

Had been the one to work it when he borrowed it to visit you out there, in order to show you some kindness. Before he got himself bit because of you.

The words festered inside of you. Whatever. Let them fester, you felt dead anyway.

As you went to point to show him, the picture hung from your outstretched, bandaged hand. The pic you'd chosen this time was another older one from the before-times, not one of the newer polaroids. You'd been the one to take it, actually, using a disposable camera about five and a half, maybe six years ago.

It was blurry, Lori and Carl had been being silly and stopped posing, Rick was mid-comment. You loved this one.

It felt so unreal now, felt fake.

Felt dead.

You checked your pulse. Still beating.

“The, um, just use-use those two buttons there for up and down to search,” you mumbled, tucking the photograph into your shirt pocket. “That one is for back, that one for options. Press down on the middle to click.”

He went huh. “Here’s the Indian music playlist,” he chuckled. Appears he’d found the Desi Party! playlist. Carl told you he’d played it for him.

Before he’d gotten fucking bitten.

How could your heart rage and ache so much if you were dead?

“It’s got all sorts on it,” you replied blankly to Siddiq. Remembering your oldest sister who’d made all the playlists before handing her mp3 down to you, it felt like she was made up. All your siblings except Shane felt made up. Your own mother, the foster siblings over the years, they felt made up, too.

Felt like everyone before was made up.

Fake.

Dead.

“My mother was a big filmi fan,” Siddiq shared.

But you simply repeated, “Pick whatever you like, you’re in charge of the songs.”

There was no emotion in your voice. You didn’t want to chat with him, didn’t want to nerd out about Bollywood music, and also didn’t want to face him after saying such awful things to him early today.

Hating him felt right. It felt "deserved," which is a word you'd learned to not use, thanks to Dale.

Granted, hating Siddiq felt wrong, too, which invited shame to take a seat on your lap.

So, you followed the rev’s advice and took comfort in the shame because it meant your conscience was still ordered in a good direction. It meant you weren’t fully dead yet.

You checked your pulse again to remind yourself that it was still beating. Life was still going. You even have a child that fills you with such an intense, aching, healing love.

Father Gabriel also told you that feeling dead didn’t make you a bad mother or a bad wife or bad person, it simply meant you were broken and grieving.

“Y/N?”

“What?” you growled — and immediately wished it hadn’t come out that way. In your head, you told Carl you were sorry, you’d do better next time. Then, you prayed to stop hating the sight of Siddiq, the sound of his voice. Wished Dale or Hershel or Glenn or T-Dog or Deanna or Denise or Sasha were there for, for—advice, support, you don’t know…

And because the rev has enough on his plate and needs to rest, maybe later you’d risk everyone’s ire and sneak away to visit Mr. Jones at the junkyard. At least he wasn’t dead yet, too. Maybe visiting him would convince him to move back to Alexandria.

“I never apologized for pulling you backward like that,” Siddiq said to you, a little short. Couldn’t blame him.

In truth, you had done all you were going to do to Negan after smacking him the once, but Sid wouldn’t have known that. Wouldn’t have known how grabbing you like that would flip an alarm, either.

No use moping, if your positions were reversed, you’d have wrangled him back, too.

And yet, you just caught yourself licking your teeth and sneering in response to his apology.

But it wasn’t out of anger or hatred so much as…you still aren’t certain what the emotion was. Grief, depression, shame, all three. You supposed it didn’t make a difference. Didn’t feel like much of anything.

Briefly, you put two fingers to your neck to check your pulse again. Still beating. Still alive.

Alive, and needing to eat some crow, as it were.

“Don’t apologize, you were protectin’ our patient. What I did was wrong,” you recited. “I-I threatened a patient and then whacked him across the face.” Your conscience then prompted you to apologize again for what you’d said to him. “And, just—Siddiq, what I said to you was bullshit and lies and m'sorry I said it. Cruel bullshit, naught else. Don’t go believing a word of it.”

He wasn’t clicking through the playlists and songs anymore.

Appearing uncomfortable, he peeked at you before he put his attention back on the mp3. “Michonne said pulling you like that was a trigger, which is why you, um…I’m sorry,” he said again. “I didn’t know.”

First, you relaxed your jaw. “Ain’t your job to know. It’s mine to learn past it.” Next, you spackled on something of a smile and added quietly, “It’s good that you, that you stepped in. Thank you.” You did mean it, for what it was worth.

How many minutes until the twenty was up, you wondered, and tried to not be obvious about checking the time on your wrist. Eyeing Michonne, she seemed more preoccupied with Judith than with being punctual regarding your penance/sentence.

“PTSD is serious. That’s why I’m sorry, I, um,” Siddiq faltered. He went back to clicking through the music choices.

“We all have at least a little PTSD, bud.” With a light nudge to try and convey camaraderie or something, you attempted to tease, “C'mon, you chosen at least one song, yet?”

“Sorry, let me just, uh…” and with a few more clicks, the first song started. It was Bohemian Rhapsody.

“You chose the playlist ‘Songs Everyone Likes.’”

He chuckled awkwardly. “Yeah, figured I couldn’t go wrong with that one.”

The memory of belting out this song with Carl, Glenn, Beth, and Maggie before your group even found the prison whooshed back and you started to smile—until you remembered that Carl was gone now. He was dead.

You’d forgotten all of that for hot second, but your Carl was dead. So was Glenn. So was Beth. So was Lori, who'd joined, so was T-Dog, so was...

Maybe you were dead, too. You felt dead—so, you pressed your fingers to your neck to feel for a pulse.

Still beating.

The lyrics of the song began to register. You know, the early parts like ‘I don’t wanna die,’ and ‘carry on, as if nothing really matters.’ Sounded a little too personal, tell you the truth.

And just like that, the song was skipped. You glanced at Siddiq.

He shook his head. “Not the right mood for it.”

“Mm.”

The intro to the next song in the shuffle was very bouncy, and ‘Dance to the Music’ started to jive through the earbuds. You didn’t sway along like you naturally would have. No urge to.

The song played, finished.

“First time I heard this was in Shrek,” Siddiq made small talk while munching on his apple. “Love that movie.”

You might’ve hummed in acknowledgment, you aren’t sure. He handed your apple to you, you took it. Held it.

The next song started, ‘Young Hearts Run Free.’

The song played, finished.

Siddiq made more small talk. “I remember that one in Romeo + Juliet, the one with, um, Claire Danes? We watched that version in high school after we finished reading it.”

You hummed again. Pressed your fingers to your wrist, just in case. But no, your heart was still beating.

The next song started, ‘Jumpin’ Jack Flash.’

“A lot of oldies,” he commented once the singing began. He took the final nibble off his apple.

“But goodies,” you responded, willing yourself to sound less stiff and monotone. “Modern stuff is on this playlist, too, don’t worry.”

The song played. Finished.

The next song started. ‘Another One Bites the Dust.’ Siddiq promptly skipped it once the refrain started and the lyrics sank in.

“Good call,” you grunted.

The next song started. ‘Ain’t No Mountain High Enough.’

“Oh n—please skip this one, too." You loved that one, but you’d queued it up for Glenn at his and Maggie’s wedding, and it was not the time to go reminiscing. You swallowed the lump in your throat. Checked your pulse. Still beating. "Please skip 'Thunderstruck' if it comes on, too?”

The mp3 player clicked as Siddiq skipped the song. Next on the shuffle was ‘Under Pressure.’

He adjusted his seat and coughed. “This one fits.”

A combination sigh/groan was your contribution, because he was right. The two of you were the only doctors major medical personnel left standing.

The song played. Siddiq’s knees and wrists bounced to the rhythm where he sat beside you. You stared at your boots. Where’d all the soot and dirt on them and your clothes come from, you couldn’t remember…

…

It was when a strong gust of cold wind blew that you noticed that the music had stopped, your earbud was out, and the sky wasn’t as cloudy anymore.

When did that happen?

You sat up and blinked a few times, your apple still in one hand, Shane’s necklace in the other.

“Hey,” you heard Siddiq call.

What, why were your cheeks wet? “S-sorry, I,” you dropped the necklace, wiped your eyes with your sleeve, and put the apple down, “must’ve, um, checked out.”

“I’m not sure how long it was after it began when I noticed the change,” he let you know. “Is…this what happened earlier?”

You closed your eyes and shook your head. “Earlier was somethin’ else. This was just—” ‘Dissociation,’ was a misunderstood word, so Denise taught you. And you didn’t want to use the word for that reason.

You really wanted to keep a shred of dignity for yourself in the eyes of that guy. He didn’t even know that you’d hurt yourself when you’d ‘blacked out’ the other day…so, you decided upon a white lie highly euphemistic layman's term. “I spaced out.”

He nodded, but his brows sunk, as if he weren’t buying it.

And when he did that thing where someone slightly opens their mouth because they’ve put together a response, you changed the subject. “Listen to anythin’ good while I was in space?”

Siddiq wasn’t swayed. “Do you still feel detached?”

“A little,” you answered truthfully, inhaling deep and checking your watch to try gauging how long you’d been out. Except, you had no recollection of what time it had been earlier, so it was a bust. God save you, you were a mess.

“Sid. I’m sorry you’re trapped dealin’ with this shit, it ain’t fair to you. If, if you wanna bounce early, don’t feel obligated to stay, and, and—like, if you don’t wanna do this whole music thing, it’s fine. W-we don’t want you feelin’ unsafe.”

“Unsafe? Y/N, I…” he paused. “I forgive you for what you said earlier. And I’m not scared of you. Hitting Negan wasn’t okay, but…” another pause. “Compared to the way most others are baying for his blood and how you defended saving his life, I mean—you helped me save him, Y/N—” He lifted his hands, palms to the sky. “You’re my friend, we work together, it’s not like I can’t see that you’re drowning.”

Nothing prepared you to hear that.

He was calling you a friend and was still trying to be understanding, after all that…

You wanted to slam your head on a hard, rough surface and cry from the shame and simultaneous relief. You also didn’t want to accept it, and so pushed back: “You were alone out there too long. Friends d-don’t tell friends they wish they were dead.” And mean it, you did not confess.

But of all things, he merely raised one shoulder and snorted. “I’m a really good friend?”

Tears spilled at the same time that you almost laughed.

No, it's true, you almost laughed. Things felt a little unreal again, but in not a bad way. The most you could do right then was send up thanks for the mercy that came out of the mess. You pinched your wrist first, then felt for your pulse.

“Compared to a few minutes ago, do you feel more like yourself now?” Siddiq made sure.

Huh. You used to ask Shane a very similar question, when he was forgetting his goodness.

You kept feeling the small beats at your wrist, reminding you that you were indeed alive, therefore capable of healing and growth.

“Heart’s still beating,” you sniffled, making yourself smile at him. The hatred and disgust you’d felt earlier seemed to you less like a fact and more like a bad dream.

Then, from the far right of the oak tree, you heard Aaron’s voice saying, “Not yet, man, they’ve got four minutes left.”

Aaron and Daryl then came into view. They waved to you as they walked by with the babies, another reminder that you that you weren’t fully dead inside. Gracie was in a stroller, TJ was bundled in Daryl’s arms. Your husband lingered behind, eyes on you as he absently pecked a kiss to your baby’s covered head.

Something stirred, and your chest fluttered and tugged in their direction, reminding you again that your heart was still beating. So was Maggie’s, so was her and Glenn’s baby’s, so was Rick’s, so was Aaron’s. Life was still going. You had a child, a husband; lifelines. Their hearts were still beating, too.

The unexpected wink and the way Daryl’s gaze softened as he looked at you made you feel as if you’d been freezing and someone just handed you a cup of cocoa with mini marshmallows. The way he next moved his lips to pronounce ‘troublemaker,’ however, you ought to have seen coming a mile away.

The heaviness in your body eased a bit. A smile started prodding the corners of your mouth. Shyly, you returned the wave and mouthed ‘mangy hick,’ your wrist bumping against the photograph sticking from your shirt pocket.

Aaron noticed him acting like a dope lagging and gestured for him to keep up. “Four more minutes and we’ll come back to get her.”

Daryl called out "slowpoke," and waved your baby’s little arm to the two of you as they walked away. He kept peeking behind him, too, it warmed you. When they reached far enough, you once again took the photograph out from your pocket.

With a final peek at Carl’s picture, you sent up a prayer and reaffirmed the promise that you’d made to him. That you’d live for him, do him proud.

So long as your heart was still beating, you’d try to do him proud. “Seems you and I got four more minutes, Sid. What’ll we pick?”

-------------------------

> Masterlist link here

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---------------------------

And here's the picture prize for getting through the long chapter!

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the-case-book-of-fanfiction · 1 year ago

Text

my rewatch of broadchurch has reminded me of how much i love the idea of hopper taking on steve as an intern and showing him the ropes of policework. so, uh, here's a little thing i might make into an actual fic one of these days:

it's not steve's first choice of job. but it was offered to both him and robin, it pays well, it gets his dad off his back. or maybe worse. ("finally getting your life together, are you? finally got yourself an actual career.")

at first, it's simple, easy. reports, paperwork, sometimes some leg work. hopper oversees steve and robin's training personally. he says it's because they show potential; while that may be true, steve also suspects that hop's been told to keep an eye on the two of them by the shady government agents who have been lingering around hawkins—most of them pretending to be regular people, but the townspeople know better. everyone knows everyone in a small town like hawkins, and after the hellscape the town became, people have their own theories about what happened. most of them are pretty close, almost all of them including a government conspiracy.

for the few months, that's all they do. chase after the people who get too close to the truth, hush them up before the papers can snap up the story. they can't stop them all, but for the most part, people outside of hawkins write it off as lunacy. steve and hopper are thankful for that.

two years. two years of pure silence from any related to the upside down; no demodogs, no labs, no doctors, no psychic children. just eleven—jane, now—with the hopper-byers, and she hasn't used her powers for anything other than making max's life easier. the party's gone back to playing d&d together regularly, even though their parents tease them they're too old to be playing it in mike's basement.

and then, a couple months after the anniversary of will's disappearance, the world starts to crack again.

not really, not literally, not like it did when vecna split hawkins into four chunks of hell. but it's close, because steve can feel the world shift and begin to fall, just like it did then. it's worse this time, though, because he didn't really notice last time. he was too wrapped up in himself, in high school, in tommy and carol, in nancy. but this time? this time steve is fully aware of just how disastrous the world is.

it's a body. it's a young boy. all of hawkins stills because it's a little too similar.

when he's found, nobody knows who it is. the body's in the quarry, found by a group of young kids playing a little too close to the edge. (the town starts to get uneasy.)

the police retrieve the body. the family's contacted privately. the mother screams and wails that she was right, that she knew, that if they had just listened to her—

they realize, too late, that a missing persons report was filed about the boy two days ago. hopper hates how much the woman reminds him of joyce.

the autopsy is performed, and it confirms that the boy is really this woman's son. hopper insists on being present for the autopsy, just a little too worried it would be another fake.

for a while, steve is convinced it has to be related to what happened in the early 80s. hopper is, too, until that autopsy. after that, he tells steve it's a perfectly normal murder case.

it takes a while before steve believes him. only after that does he start to think that a regular murder case is even worse.

"i hate these small town murders," hopper says to him one day. "too many secrets about too many people get uncovered. things we never should know."

"but we're the police, shouldn't we know these things? if people are threatening and blackmailing and committing petty crimes, shouldn't we know?" steve asks, confused as to why hopper seems to be okay with these things—small compared to a murder, but big to a small town—happening all the time under their noses.

because that's what has been happening. backs are turning quickly. the town is becoming violent, accusing anyone and everyone who is slightly suspicious as the boy's killer.

"in a regular small town, it wouldn't be as big of a deal," hopper says. "even then, some things are just better left unsaid. but here? there's too many secrets we need to keep. secrets unrelated to this case. secrets that could get the soviets interested again."

and the idea of that makes steve shudder, his body remembering pain he had never really gotten rid of, always feeling it when it's too cold or raining.

robin shares similar ideas to hopper. "all these accusations," she says one night, when it's just them in the office because hop sent everybody else home and he's in the next room making coffee, "doesn't it scare you? like imagine if somebody turns on...i don't know, jonathan or...or nancy? i mean nancy owns guns and people know about it—"

"the boy wasn't shot, robs."

"—and jonathan, i mean, everybody who went to school with us heard about you breaking the camera and why you did it. they might..."

steve shakes his head. "i wish i hadn't, robs. especially now."

"i know that, that's not what i'm saying. my point is, we've all got dirt, every single one of us. eddie's been accused of murder before, who's to say they won't do it again? even if it doesn't make sense, neither do the people they target now. anyone who's done any wrong is in the risk of it being made public. and if that happened to us? if people find out about el, about vecna, about will? what happens then?"

she's worked herself up into a panic, steve can tell. but this time, he doesn't really know what to say. he doesn't know what will happen. the government agents who watched them for months before they disappeared all at once never made verbal threats, but the threat of their presence was enough to silence everyone.

the only thing he can think to say is "eddie's on tour with the guys right now, he's safe from all of this."

"until they get back, then everyone will become the next jason carver," robin says, and steve begs her not to bring him back up.

secrets get dug up as the case drags on, only getting further and further away from closure. affairs, bullying, threats, drugs, alcohol, robbery. whatever small, dirty secret the town could possibly have, it does have, and it gets dug up and aired out like dirty laundry.

steve watches the town pretend to be shocked at every new revelation. it doesn't hurt very much until he watches the entire town pretend that they—and he—didn't know his dad was cheating on his mom and has been for years; that still doesn't hurt as much as the pitying looks they give him when he shows up to ask questions or to take their statements; and that still doesn't compare to the looks everyone gives his mom.

he watches his mom lose her love of life. it was fine, or they could pretend it was fine, before everybody knew (officially) about his dad's infidelity. they could pretend it wasn't happening. they pretended it was some big business meeting or a dinner with a client or whatever it was, except what it actually was.

that's what hurts steve most about policework. watching people go under for things that have nothing to do with him. watching people lose family and livelihoods over mistakes made years ago. watching the life drain from a community, replaced by suspicion and anger and hatred.

because if he stops and thinks about it, steve doesn't really mind it otherwise. he likes the thrill, the facts fitting together, the possibility that they might actually be right.

and when they are right, even after countless wrong leads, steve feels the relief deep in his bones. he feels it in the town, too, feels people start to breathe again and start to go back to normal and live their lives again.

he knows it's not normal again, not really. how can it be? but he watches the case go to trial, he watches it go right, he watches the killer go to jail. he watches the family finally breathe again, hears the mother thank him and robin and hopper, sees them try to go back to their lives and do they best they can.

it's not normal, but it's better. it's better than it was, because the accusations are gone now, what's been dug up has either been forgotten or left alone or maybe it has changed lives, but people are moving on. sweeping it under the rug like it never even happened.

there are some divorces in the following weeks—the couples whose infidelity was discovered. the police chase a few domestic abuse reports. steve handles a few of them, because he's learned to handle the punches now. there'a crackdown on illicit substances. steve and robin are glad eddie's quit all of that now, that he had given it up years ago.

the world stops ending. steve knows it'll end again someday, more often if he ever ends up in a big city. but for now, it's over and he can go back to his boring old police routine.

steve likes "boring" these days. boring is a safety net, something to fall back into when things get exciting.

the other thing steve likes about policework—it is exciting. sometimes. sometimes, it makes him feel alive again.

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jaytoons7 · 2 years ago

Text

Bored and can't get to sleep, So I'll try and type out some timeline/lore stuff for ST

I like to call this part of the timeline "The Tragic Teifecta of the Toppat Clan". Or basically, The leaderships of Wilford, Randy, and Terrence and how things just went very wrong.

Note: This is all just a work in progress. Also it's 5 in the morning and my brain might not be able to type out everything correctly.

Wilford became leader after overthrowing Billy G. due to the "T.R.N.K incident" that left several Toppats injured/dead. As mentioned in his bio, Wilford despised incompetence and expected the clan to bring their best to the table. As a result, The elites did as well.

Unlike Wilford though, Who was at least willing to try and help anybody lagging behind (Only if they were willing to learn and better themselves. He didn't respect slackers), Many of the elites (Who were pretty much all born and raised in the clan) expected the other Toppats to pick things up naturally. And if they didn't, They were just dead weight. Some of these elites included Randy and Reginald's parents (They were assholes and sucked).

Speaking of Randy, Wilford made him his right hand due to his efficiency at "handling a job" and maybe some personal attachment and seeing him almost as a son but who's to say for sure?

What most people didn't know was that Randy's "efficiency" came from his powers. He can enhance anything he pleases and make them more powerful. Take a simple shotgun as an example. He can make that shot a lot more deadly.

Eventually, Terrence joined the clan and developed his own powers, Preventing his own death. Oddly enough, Him and Randy end up bonding despite their differences.

This is where the "tragedy" begins. Wilford dies in battle and Terrence learns the hard way that he can't prevent other people's deaths. Randy becomes leader and makes Terrence his right hand because gay.

Randy's main goal was to make the clan feel accessible to anybody, Considering many Toppats joined because they had nowhere else to go. So he thought, "What better way to make the clan feel accessible to anybody than to make it feel like a huge party?"

And so he did. He basically started the "party era", Where post-heist parties were extremely common. Many of the Toppats loved this, Especially the younger or newer members. The elites though, Absolutely did not. They often complained to him that he was making the clan look like a joke, And that if he didn't do something about it, They would.

This stressed Randy the hell out, But he found some comfort in talking to Terrence. They even eventually found out about each others powers and found some solidarity.

But as you know, Randy eventually ran the clan into bankruptcy. When he was confronted, He panicked and fled from the clan, Barely being able to say goodbye to Terrence and make him leader.

I already kinda went over how that went though. Terrence was not prepared to be leader in the slightest, He threw reckless raids to try and emulate Wilford, Some Toppats died, His powers became too much for him, Reg and his pals overthrew him, You already know that though.

And that's how three leader's reigns ended in tragedy back to back. Nowadays, The only people currently in the clan who were there throughout the entire thing are Reginald, Carol, and Louise (An OC).

#the henry stickmin collection #thsc #thsc au #thsc shifted timeline au #sir wilford iv #randy radman #terrence suave #those are the only characters i'm tagging #this is gonna look so bad later...#jay rambles

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grandhotelabyss · 2 years ago

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Why is the general public, and particularly the "fiction teaches empathy" crowd, so fkn callous when it comes to the deaths of anyone with savings that exceed four or five figures lol. Do you have any insights, or are there any passages in literature or criticism that shed light

I can give the general public a pass—I can even understand a little populist schadenfreude, hailing as I do from the populace—but figures who purport to represent, to lead, or to revolutionize the people (artists, socialists) should hold themselves to a higher standard of public bearing. Not even in a sentimental "you have to love everybody" way, but in the sense of at least showing enough self-command not to display undignified, petulant, and unworthy emotions, such as glee at some effectively innocent stranger's death.

The standard reading in the canon on the subject would be Nietzsche's Genealogy of Morals, an analysis, applicable to secular creeds like socialism, of Christianity's compassion for the weak as a flimsy cover for aggression against the strong.

Faith in what? Love of what? Hope for what? – These weaklings – in fact they, too, want to be the powerful one day, this is beyond doubt, one day their ‘kingdom’ will come too – ‘the kingdom of God’ simpliciter is their name for it, as I said: they are so humble about everything! Just to experience that, you need to live long, well beyond death, – yes, you need eternal life in order to be able to gain eternal recompense in ‘the kingdom of God’ for that life on earth ‘in faith’, ‘in love’, ‘in hope’. Recompense for what? Recompense through what? . . . It seems to me that Dante made a gross error when, with awe-inspiring naïvety he placed the inscription over the gateway to his hell: ‘Eternal love created me as well’: – at any rate, this inscription would have a better claim to stand over the gateway to Christian Paradise and its ‘eternal bliss’: ‘Eternal hate created me as well’ – assuming that a true statement can be placed above the gateway to a lie! For what is the bliss of this Paradise? . . . We might have guessed already; but it is better to be expressly shown it by no less an authority in such matters than Thomas Aquinas, the great teacher and saint. ‘Beati in regno coelesti’, he says as meekly as a lamb, ‘videbunt poenas damnatorum, ut beatitudo illis magis complaceat.’ [The blessed in the heavenly kingdom will see the torment of the damned so that they may even more thoroughly enjoy their blessedness.] (Trans. Carol Diethe)

You don't have to share Nietzsche's aristocratic apologia for the strong or his belligerence against Judaism and Christianity to see how a self-styled compassion whose actual content is aggression can go wrong in all sorts of ways, including for this compassion's ostensible objects.

We had a higher caliber of radical in the 19th century, when the early feminist Margaret Fuller, whom Nietzsche would have hated but whom Nietzsche's beloved Emerson loved, wrote,

Those who would reform the world must show that they do not speak in the heat of wild impulse; their lives must be unstained by passionate error; they must be severe lawgivers to themselves.

#friedrich nietzsche #margaret fuller #philosophy

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seaside-writings · 11 months ago

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Hi there, all you holly jolly people! I'm back with another list for my "12 Days of Prompts."

This one is based on the second Christmas horror movie that my family and I have made a tradition of watching every single year and that, of course, is "Gremlins."

"Gremlins" has been one of my favorite movies since I was a little girl, I even had one of those singing Gizmo dolls! So as you can tell this Christmas horror movie has a very special place in my heart so I absolutely had to include it.

Like always if you do use these prompts please tag me so I can see what you’ve made!

I hope you all stay blessed and safe throughout your day.

Merry Christmas & Happy Holidays: Celia ❤💚❄⛄🎄

"Well, that's the story. So the next time your air-conditioner goes on the fritz, or your washing machine blows up, or your video recorder conks out, before you call the repairman, turn on all the lights. Check all the closets and cupboards. Look under all the beds. 'Cause you never can tell. There just might be a gremlin in your house," - "Now I have another reason to hate Christmas," "What are you talking about?" - "Gremlins, huh?" "Yes," "Little monsters?" "Right," "Hundreds of them?" "I don't know, maybe thousands. Look, I know it sounds crazy. I know it does, but in a matter of hours, this town's going to become a major disaster area! You have got to warn people!" - "Keep him out of the light. He hates bright light. Especially sunlight - it'll kill him. And keep him away from water. Don't get him wet. But the most important rule, the rule you can never forget - no matter how much he cries, or how much he begs, never, never feed him after midnight," - "GET OUT OF MY KITCHEN!!!" - "If it isn't Captain Clip-on! Guess who almost filed for unemployment today? "I give up," "You!" -

"What're they doing?" "They're watching Snow White… And they love it,"

"Honey, this is the gentleman who sold me the Mogwai," "Sold? An interesting choice of words,"

"They're clever. They're mischievous. They'll get into the kitchen, the basement, the garage. They'll get into anything. And once they get in… you're in for it," - "Sir, before you go, I want you to know I am truly sorry for all this. I want to offer you this. There's one. There's one other one but it's an invention of mine," - "The boss had other ideas. He gets so sentimental around the holidays. I would've fired you in a heartbeat," "And a merry Christmas to you too. Now excuse me," - "You think the kid's drunk?" "No, but you are," - "Let me drive," "No, you're drunk," "You always get to drive!" "Cause I'm the sheriff, asshole!" - "I warned you brats!" - "It's the creatures! The creatures are making it look like an accident! Sheriff! WILL YOU LISTEN TO ME?!" - "Tell me something. How does a cute little creature like this turn into a thousand ugly monsters?" "Well, this is before it enters the pupal stage," "The pupal stage?" - "He does Santa every year!" "Yeah, but what the hell is he doing now? What's that stuff he's got all over him?!" - "And that's how I found out there was no Santa Claus," - "To hear, one has only to listen," - "What are they?" "They're the Mogwai… I guess," "Did you give them water?" "No," "Did you feed them after midnight?" "Well, I gave them some chicken but… No, wait, I made sure. Mom, what's going on here?" - "What are they!?" "They're gremlins! Just like he said!" - "Christmas carolers, I hate Christmas carolers! Screechy-voiced little glue sniffers!" - "What's this?" "It's your Christmas present from me," "This crummy old broom? What am I supposed to do with it?" "I thought you might need a ride home," - "You haven't seen my new apartment," "I haven't seen your old apartment," - "You should just buy orange juice in cartons, it's a lot easier," - "This is a cacoon, and inside he's going through changes. Lots of changes," - "You say you hate Washington's Birthday or Thanksgiving and nobody cares, but you say you hate Christmas and people treat you like you're a monster,” - "What is that dog doing here!? This is a bank, not a pet store!" - "They're here! Oh, they've come for me! They've come… I… I… I'm not ready! I'm not ready yet! I'm not READY!" - "Mom, they've hatched. Get out of the house!" - "So, cool it, will you? - "The attendant from your local gas station tried to sell me his; I'm sure it will come in handy," - "Will you sign this petition? They're trying to close down the tavern," "Sure! That's where my dad proposed to my mom, you know," "That's where everyone's dad proposed to their mom," - "It's Christmas!" "Well now you know what to ask Santa for, don't you?" - "The bank and I have the same purpose in life; to make money. Not to support a lot of deadbeats," - "Cover your mouth, don't breath in the gas!" - "One, two, three, four, five new ones! Now can I have one?" "I don't know," "Hey, look! That one's got a cute little stripe on its head! Hey, cutie," - "Bright light! Bright light!" - "They're inside!" "All of them!?" - "They put them in cars, they put them in your TV. They put them in stereos and those little radios you stick in your ears. They even put them in watches, they have teeny gremlins for our watches!" - "I always thought everyone was happy during the holidays, no matter what," - "He has something to say to you," "You mean you understand what he's saying?" - "Perhaps one day, you will be ready. Until then, the Mogwai will be waiting," - "Sorry, Dad," "No, it's okay," "No, I'm really sorry," "It's not your fault, I was going to get to that. I'll fix it tomorrow," - "Hey, gang, It's been a rough night for Rockin' Ricky, but he's still on the air!" - "There's these little green guys with big teeth running around town wrecking things," "Kid, this is Christmas, not Halloween!"

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bobmccullochny · 1 year ago

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History

December 13, 1545 - The Council of Trent, summoned by Pope Paul III, met to discuss doctrinal matters including the rise of Protestantism.

December 13, 1577 - Francis Drake departed Plymouth, England, in the Golden Hind on his voyage around the world.

December 13, 1642 - New Zealand was discovered by Dutch navigator Abel Tasman of the Dutch East India Company.

December 13, 1862 - During the American Civil War, the Battle of Fredericksburg occurred in Virginia as the Union Army of the Potomac under General Burnside suffered a costly defeat, losing 12,653 men after 14 frontal assaults on well entrenched Rebels on Marye's Heights. "We might as well have tried to take hell," a Union soldier remarked. Confederate losses were 5,309. "It is well that war is so terrible - we should grow too fond of it," stated Confederate General Robert E. Lee during the fighting.

December 13, 1937 - The beginning of one of the worst atrocities of World War II as the Chinese city of Nanking (Nanjing) was captured by the Japanese. Over the next six weeks, the Rape of Nanking occurred in which Japanese soldiers randomly attacked, raped and indiscriminately killed an estimated 200,000 Chinese persons.

December 13, 1981 - In its struggle to maintain Communism, the Polish government imposed martial law and took steps to stifle the growing power of the pro-democratic trade union Solidarity.

December 13, 1991 - North and South Korea signed a treaty of reconciliation and nonaggression which also formally ended the Korean War, although actual fighting had ceased in 1953.

Birthday - German writer Heinrich Heine (1797-1856) was born in Dusseldorf. Best known for his statement made a hundred years before the advent of book-burning Nazis in Germany - "Where books are burned, human beings are destined to be burned too."

Birthday - Mary Todd (1818-1882) was born in Lexington, Kentucky. She became the wife of Abraham Lincoln, the 16th U.S. President.

Birthday - American clergyman and composer Phillips Brooks (1835-1893) was born in Boston, Massachusetts. He wrote the lyrics for the popular Christmas Carol, O Little Town of Bethlehem.

#today's smile

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the-firebird69 · 1 year ago

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There are a lot of things happening one of them is the storm is heading north west and do northwest it would hit Northern Florida with the eye it is going to head north the ship is not launched if at lunch now in a few hours the current will change and it would wipe across the southern portion of the islands but if during the next couple days it launches the storm is going to head to Florida. Right now they're trying to work on trying to find out what's inside the ships and they're working on it now. They're looking at the stone chips and they don't see anything in there of interest there's a few compartments in your checking they're checking to figure out what's on the Black ships and they're trying to figure out what happened to the two stars what their horrified by is it might be that he destroyed them and we won't have a window of opportunity to say it disabled the computer it will be a problem and the clones are being attacked fiercely we think it's by the computer and we need to know that they say because the computer could be taking over the underworld these guys aren't so Swift and they're moving to find that out. The max dispatched agents all over the world and again information on what the clones did they're investigated what happened and they're finding out it might be abysmal and it took a long time for them to get their stuff together but people are in the way in armies and now the warlock are occupied with the clones and it's given a window and they're both kind of responsible and are sick and it's going on now Tommy f is saying he got what he needed and her son and daughter say he probably fell for a roof doesn't have the technology and he's actually not feeling too good about it and it was the last lie that David Carol told and it was in westborough and they died because of it fully we think that they were entombed in Alexander and the Earth shifted and they died and it might be an accident and some say it's not and that's the Max and we believe them it's going to be hell these clothes will soon be declared the most wanted people in history for putting everybody in Jeopardy including Tommy f will be wanted and it's going to be gigantic none of these clones Will survive

Thor Freya

It's a huge day for us we thought we did the right thing and this guy saying probably not and will and Bill say probably not and it's really well and Bill who was held information because they had to nobody if they're race would tell us not in the million years unless we question them and it was our responsibility to question them because it was down all three of them were saying you're probably not right and now we are facing it and it does not look good we'll probably all die we want to tell you we tried and the empire is taking it back using this regrettable sin which may have only cost us 2 minutes it might not matter and it led to the weapon system which may not have come out

Clones

We now see your purpose and what you're saying is a lie if we crack the code it will go down a lot easier and we wouldn't have to fight all this hardware and it is a trap of some sort and as our friend said you could give one message and then it goes full autonomous and probably 90% of the hardware so we don't like what we're hearing and it's probably lies we know it's a lie we interrogated you and said you get more than 2 minutes maybe a year or shut the whole thing down and Dave knows how to do it because he built it then you said he had to go because he had to mix it up a little and it doesn't make any sense what you're saying did not make sense and then you said you couldn't handle Dave and that made sense so now we're going after you because we have ways to doing that and people know that there are ways to do it especially the three they don't like you for it because they're inventors and engineers and you're sick

Mac

We could have asked them but they wouldn't tell us anything and we couldn't get to them and we can't get to him and he says he doesn't know the half of it compared to the two big guys so we're going to go round and round but it's actually true

Big Hawaiian

I'm speaking here and this is terrible people are accusing us of this crime and they haven't researched it properly

Tommy f

Yes we did and we saw you putting them in there and we saw your transport them over because we all followed you and you kept them there and you're an evil person and you're dead meat

Mac

We do concur that he has to die and he did this because his clones need to die and he's a traitor to them that's why the clone is speaking up he's a criminal and he needs to be apprehended tortured interrogated and burned

Thor Freya

We do intend on doing that and we must he's an actual threat to just about everybody comes in contact with

Macs

We need to go after him now

Olympus

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blackaquokat · 2 years ago

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I MEAN IF YOU’RE CURIOUS---(under the cut because it might be long)

So. Her name is Peneleope “Penny” Haidar. She is a Hawkins local, she’s a biromantic demisexual. She lives on a pick-your-own produce farm with her dad (an emergency surgeon) and her mom (a biologist; still ironing out details for this one), her three siblings (one is Erica’s age, the other two are younger), and her Sitoo (spelling is relative when it comes to arab terms in English, but this means grandmother). Penny’s arc basically goes from “shy girl who willingly isolates herself from the people around her” to “part of the most unexpected OT3″ (or OT4 depending on the version where she’s part of events from the beginning or the original one where she comes in towards the end of S4).

Penny is a VERY quiet girl because the unfortunate stories her mom told about her own childhood in America as the sole Arab kid in most circles scared Penny out of wanting to connect with, well, anyone, for a really long time. She eventually grew out of this fear, but by then, it felt too late to reach out to befriend anyone legitimately in school, so she doesn’t get more than one real friend until post-graduation.

Her only real “friend” for a long time was fellow SWANA kid and neighbor George Jabir, a Syrian-Pakistani kid. Their families bonded over their similar heritages, and Penny never let herself believe they were anything but friends-out-of-convenience until the events of S3, when George was one of the casualties of the Mind Flayer. She also considers Lucas Sinclair, the boy she used to babysit until he outgrew the need for a babysitter, her friend/surrogate little brother (because almost all of the younger kids in the party have mentors/older siblings and I want someone who looks out for Lucas and ERica like this so badly; let my kdis be saved and taken care of).

George’s death is one of the reasons she finally reaches out and attempts to befriend a boy she and George had been hopelessly fixated on for years: Eddie Munson.

There’s a whole story there, but basically, Penny likes Eddie because he had the nerve to stand up and stand out while she tried to fade into the background her whole life. Even her hobbies, which include studying the animals on the farm and outside of the farm (rabbits in particular, she loves rabbits and she loves nature, she’s basically the party’s Ranger after she joins), involve fading into the background. Eddie thrives in the spotlight and makes a spectacle and makes others feel uncomfortable if they try to shame him. She doesn’t know until they start talking, but Eddie never forgot that her family was one of Two that reached out and helped out the Munsons after Eddie had moved in with Wayne. So they’d been unknowingly fascinated with each other for Years and only now started trying for a friendship.

And then there’s Steve. Penny did Not like Steve at all in high school because Carol and Tommy H used to torment the hell out of her and for years, he just watched it happen. There’s a story here as to what makes Penny stick out in Steve’s memory, but this is already getting long, so I”ll leave it at, Penny made one move to stick up for herself and Steve witnessed it and after a rough start post-graduation, Steve makes a genuine, heartfelt apology for his shittiness and she accepts and he becomes a regular fixture in her life at Family Video, where yet another reluctant crush starts forming.

As far as where she starts impacting the plot, if she’s not involved from the start, I first threw her into the show when the witch hunt for Eddie began and Jason tried to threaten/shame Penny into telling him where Lucas would be. She tells him to fuck off and calls them out on how horrible they are (Jason tried to leverage George’s death as a reason to sell out Eddie), her Sitoo frightens the entire basketball team into running off and shitting themselves. But then later, one team member who had a guilty conscience after Patrick’s death calls Penny to warn her that Jason’s going after the Sinclair kids with a gun at the Creel Murder House and Penny goes full on Momma Bear to protect the Sinclairs, her favorite kids in town besides her siblings. although she wasn’t expecting to get full-on sucked into the absolutely Insane nonsense to follow.

So...sorry for the word-vomit. I also have a possible plot about a gate somehow opening somewhere on Penny’s farm post-S4 so she can have a proper dramatic showdown with some monsters, but this already got long so I’ll leave it here for now.

So. This is my girl!

I just saw your tag about self-inserts and Stranger Things, and uh...I might have made a third-Gen-Lebanese farm girl OC because if the Stranger Things crew had had a farm girl in the party, they'd have had access to a Lot of monster-killing weapons. My family farm had some good shit for that, not to mention lots of good hiding places to set up traps and ambushes. But I've been feeling shy about sharing her. So seeing your tags made me feel MUCH better about my girl.

i'd love to hear all about her !! tell me what she's about, what she looks like ! who she's friends with ! her impact or otherwise on the plot ! :D

my friends and i all made stranger things self inserts as i said, and since we're all from socal, we're all leaning into the 'new kid from california' thing like max and billy did (except for one of my friends who decided to be a local hawkins menace lol). hawkins suddenly has a strangely high amount of people moving in from california. strange.

plus, then we can be obnoxious californians bitching about the cold and lack of in-n-out the way max and billy shoulda been lol. we are diversifying the fuck outta hawkins. two mexicans, a cuban, a japanese-hawaiian, and a third gen lebanese girl walk into a cursed hell town in rural indiana- 😎💀

(i called dibs on my babygirl steve and round and round it went for anyone who wanted a canon character boyfriend/girlfriend. and then i drew us all smooching them uwu)

i've already done a buncha sketches of us interacting w canon characters and it's SO much fun. it's such a simple yet delightful pleasure to make self inserts and plays doll with the canon characters. idk why anyone would deny themselves or others one of the base desires of fandom <3

#kat rants #stranger things #kat's ocs

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about-faces · 2 years ago

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Congratulations on your Top 22-list! Sheesh, I've been gone for a month and I feel like I've missed like half a life in the meantime. Anyway, reading through the list was a hoot. There was a surprising amount of RECENT comics as well on that list, and far up in the list too! Which leads me to a question about a story that DIDN'T make the cut, one that I was surprised didn't get a mention even at the bottom half of the list: Nightwing: The Great Leap. What made that one fall through the top 22?

Thanks, man! I was also surprised by how much recent stuff I included, but dang, it's really been a surprising last few year for good Two-Face content! When I first tried doing a Top 22 list five or six years ago, it was almost entirely older content. With potential exceptions like Peter Tomasi's work, including The Great Leap.

In fact, that story is a perfect example of why I was so riddled with indecision about how to compile this list. Before this year, I would have included Tomasi's The Big Burn and Ugly Heart (the New 52 stories) together as "one" story, but I could easily have also included The Great Leap as a kind of "trilogy" of Tomasi's particular take on Harvey, but that seemed like cheating.

The problem with all three stories is that they are all very mixed bags. Some absolutely fantastic Harvey content, combined with flaws from both Tomasi and DC editorial screwing around with things. For The Great Leap specifically, I didn't include it because of a few factors.

1.) Carol Birmingham. She was clearly made as a bland Rachel Dawes stand-in at Gilda's expense, and I have never liked Harvey having an emotional affair with her--and even LOVING her--more than Gilda. The fact that Tomasi forgot to make her a distinct character in her own right instead of just a damsel didn't help any.

2.) I hate how the story seems to be crafting a complicated, conflicted Harvey, then abandons it all in the third act to turn him into a supervillain maniac who shows no regrets nor torment over what he went through. ESPECIALLY since Harvey arguably succeeded in saving Carol from himself (by getting Nightwing's help in the first place), which could have been tragically bittersweet if Tomasi had wanted it to be.

3.) Nightwing's "No, Harvey, YOU let him win!" Dick's whole attitude towards Harvey makes perfect sense, including his callous disregard for Harvey's mental illness, but the way the narrative fully supports Dick's assertions by the end--despite everything we've seen--still leaves a bad taste in my mouth.

There was a time when the pickins were slimmer for good Two-Face content that this could have still made the list. But now we're lucky enough to not have to settle for mostly mixed-bags. Hell, we're right in the middle of two potential all-time great Two-Face sagas: "Gotham Nocturne" in Tec and Batman: The Audio Adventures. It's been an exciting time! Even the mixed bags are more interesting to me than The Great Leap, like his oddball role in Priest's Deathstroke and his team-up with Jason Todd in Task Force Z. And when it comes to Tomasi, I'd still sooner include The Big Burn/Ugly Heart over TGL at this point.

I really look forward to revising the list in the coming years, to see which choices I made in 2022 have aged well and which haven't, not to mention what other new stuff might make the cut!

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captains-simp · 4 years ago

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Carol Danvers ~ Impatient Acts: Part 2 (Consequences)

Part one

Carol Danvers X fem!Reader Smut

Word count: 5,129

Includes: choking, brat taming, face slapping, spanking, whipping, degrading, bondage, gagging, vibrator, edging, strap, overstimulation, anal and praise

[ masterlist ]

Buy me a coffee ☕

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

"I'm cumming, I'm cumming!" You practically scream as you clench desperetly around the strap as you cum hard on the toy, shaking in pleasure as some of your white, sticky liquid escapes around the sides of the toy and spreads across your thigh as you clench them together after pulling the strap out.

You hadn't even regained your breath when Carol speaks her final words that night.

"You're going to regret that."

My Captain has ended the call.

You grinned as the memory of that night played through your mind for the hundredth time that day.

As you fiddled with your keys, trying to find the one to your front door, you considered what toy you would use later on. Since you had broken Carol's number one rule you had found yourself doing it again and again without her knowing (mainly due to the overwhelming fact she hadn't called you since).

Despite getting a release that night, it had made you even more sexually frustrated as Carol's threats seemed to follow you everywhere.

You figured if you were going to get punished for breaking the rule once, you might as well break it as much as you wanted because it wouldn't make a difference.

When you stepped into your house you were still under the impression that Carol wouldn't be back for at least a few more days. You hadn't expected her to be sitting in your house waiting for you. And you definetly underestimated how pissed she would be when you saw her again.

Before you could even think about what you would make for dinner you felt a strong presence behind you that slammed you against the wall before you could react.

You winced at the pain of the shock to you ribs and were thankful for your instincts to turn your head to the side so the wall only collided with some of your cheek.

You hadn't even been able to comprehend these issues when the all too familiar intruder pressed themselves fully against your back and wrapped their hand you had come to memorize like your own around your throat.

The intoxicating scent, glimpse of blonde hair, strong hand with slim fingers and especially the feeling of the covered bulge between her legs that couldn't press itself any further against you told you who it was.

"Hey...Carol." You greeted with a grin as best you could with your restricted airways.

Her hand was locked in an iron grip around your throat. Her fingers dug into the side of your neck so firmly you could feel her fingernail breaking and marking the skin as they pressed down on a vital part of the blood flow around your neck.

Combined with her palm threatening to crush your airways with one movement ignited a fire between your legs.

The pressure of both of these actions made you feel undeniably light headed. Carol reduced her force to allow the blood in your neck to continue towards your head when she spoke. After all, she needed you conscious for what she had planned.

"You don't get to call me that right now, brat. Not after what you've done." She said, the bitterness in her voice sending chills throughout your body that you weren't ready to take seriously yet.

"I'd say I'm sorry," you started with a smirk, "but I'm really no-" Carol didn't let you finish. She spun you around, too quick to stop, before slapping you harshly across the cheek.

You were taken aback by the shock and sting across your cheek, not expecting Carol to be in such a sadistic mood so soon.

She turned your body again towards the stairs this time and shoved you in that direction.

"Move." Was all she said before slapping your ass as a warning not to disobey.

You climbed the stairs as quick as you could but stumbled a couple of times, still recovering from the shock of being slapped so hard. Carol chuckled mockingly in response, making you cheeks burn with embarrassment.

You tried your hardest to recover from this though, trying to maintain your bratty nature as long as you could, knowing that was always what got the best performance out of Carol.

Once you stepped into your bedroom you wandered towards the bed, not sparing Carol a single glance despite your whole body fighting to see the anger filled expression that always ruined your panties.

You could hear her walking purposefully towards you. You could smell her familiar scent that overtook your senses. You could feel her hair tickling your neck as her hands glided over the waist of your blouse.

You couldn't stop yourself tilting your head to the side ever so slightly and stepping back to be against her.

Carol clearly didn't appreciate the gesture. She placed a strong hand between your shoulder blades and forced you onto the bed on your stomach.

Just as you went to move to get up in protest, Carol pinned your shoulders down with a painful strength you were futile to fight against.

She knelt one leg on the bed to lean over you and didn't hesitate to grab at the front of your blouse between your skin and the bed sheets.

There was no grace or sensuality to her movements, only a cold, silent annoyance.

Once she had a hold of the fabric, your girlfriend ripped you blouse apart without a second thought and tossed it across the room, some of the buttons scattering to places you would probably never find.

"What the hell?!" You object, frustrated by the loss of one of your best blouses.

"Quiet." She spitts before yanking at your bra, damming it to the same fate as your blouse.

You huffed quietly, both of you knowing she could have just as easily unhooked it rather than destroy the cloth.

You knew it was a way for Carol to get her point across. You had made a big mistake and you were going to regret it.

She gripped under your bare bicep to pull you up the bed so your face was hovering over your pillow. You turned it to the side to see what Carol was doing, just as she hooked her fingers under the area of you trouser waistband that was just above your ass.

She pulled them down without looking at you, only focusing her attention on your ass that was now only covered with you thin panties.

She gave the smooth skin a sudden slap that made you clench your thighs together tightly, your body fooling itself by thinking that would make any sort of difference against Carol's plans.

The captain then wandered towards your closet, leaving you to watch the empty doorway in anticipation as you lay waiting.

Your eyes widened in shock mixed and undeniable fear as she reappeared, holding a dressage horse whip in her hand. She wouldn't really use that on you...would she?

Carol chuckled darkly as she saw your fearful gaze. Your plans of continuing your bratty acts were jeopardized as soon as you saw the whip.

You whimpered as she arrived at the side of your bed and looked down at you with a now stoic expression.

Holding the whip firmly in her hand as she towered over you was enough to make you want to beg for forgiveness.

The captain radiated power and control, making you start to realise her threats weren't empty and that everything you had done you really would regret.

"Carol..." You whispered as you gave her a pleading look, ashamed that you already wanted to give in and make everything right.

"I've been saving this for a long time, you know? It's only for punishment when my main rule is broken. I always thought I would never have to use it on you. But you're starting to be too much of a brat, a brat that needs to learn her place as a whore." She explained stoicly as her hands wandered over your ass, dipping under your panties.

"I'm sorry." You whimpered as she moved onto the bed just behind you.

"Maybe you are, but that's not enough. You need to learn your lesson." Carol taunted. "If you want to prove you're really sorry you're going to take your punishment and thank me for it. Then maybe I'll stop once I've broken you into a begging, shaking, pathetic mess." Poison dripped from Carol's tone that filled you with dread.

"Tell me, how much of a slut have you been while I was away? I just don't believe you've only disobeyed me once." Of course you contemplated lying. You knew the more she knew the more she would punish you, but if she found out you were lying to her...

"A few." You whispered, afraid of how Carol would respond.

"Specify."

"Maybe...5 times?" You knew how many orgasms you had brought upon yourself, but you were so afraid to tell her.

"Maybe?"

"6?" You started to tremble.

"Don't lie to me." She gripped your hips harshly, her nails digging into your skin, before lifting them up so your ass was lifted up and displayed to her.

You automatically pulled your legs under you, knowing the position she wanted you in and hoping that by coorporating she would have some mercy.

This was proved wrong when she brought her hand down harshly and smacked your still clothed ass, despite the barrier there was still a present sting.

"13." You admitted and clenched the sheets beneath you in a tight fist in hopes of having something to help you through what was to come.

It was a number you had taken some form of pride in before Carol had forced you out of your bratty state. Now you were filled with embarrassment and despair, wanting nothing more than to take it all back and be praised for being a good girl for her.

"Such a slut." Carol growled before a sharp crack sound echoed throughout the room.

It took you a moment to understand what she had done, your body automatically registering it as shock to protect you. But the pain soon made its presence known and you burried your head into the pillows to muffle you cry.

She had whipped you. It hurt more than any other punishment you had ever received and you knew it could only get worse.

Carol's hands ran over the stinging skin before pulling you panties down. You bit your lip and closed you eyes as tight as your grip on the sheets.

"Then I think 13 strikes will suffice."

She had barely finished her sentence when Carol struck you again. This time you lurched forward and cried out loudly into the pillows while pulling the sheets close to you.

"Th-thank you." You whimpered, tears brimming in your eyes as you turned your head to the side to speak audibly.

You couldn't see her of course, but Carol was grinning sadistically at the sight of you. Your clear signs of pain encouraging her to struck again, and again and again.

You struggled to speak after each strike from the whip, but forced yourself to between sobs, not wanting to prolong the punishment or make things worse for yourself.

As much as pain always turned you on, this was a new kind that was almost unbearable. You needed easing into this level of pain, yet you felt as though you had been thrown in the deep end with no ladder to help you out. You would later figure out that was what made the punishment so effective.

After 6 strikes Carol paused to admire the stripped skin on your ass. It was already raw and sensitive to the touch. She almost felt sorry for you, having to endure the pain for a lot longer and being shown no mercy. But brats had to be put in their place. You had to learn.

"Only 7 more." Carol chuckled. Tears streamed down your face as you felt Carol's hands brushing over your broken skin.

"I'm sorry." You sobbed, lifting your head slightly. "I'll never do it again...just please...I can't take anymore." You begged pathetically beneath her.

"You're going to take this punishment or I'm going to be even more disappointed in you. This is all your own doing." Carol spoke without empathy or any emotion, making sure you knew she wouldn't stop.

She picked up the whip and brought it down on your broken skin. The intense sting felt different and told you these strikes would be etching deeper into your flesh, drawing blood to the surface only to be slapped away by the whip when it returned.

It was an unbearable pain. When you weren't thanking Carol or crying in pain you were begging her to stop, everytime thinking the next strike would hit your soul.

When Carol had finally struck you for the last time you collapsed into the bed, your legs no longer able to hold you.

You hadn't noticed her leave, but she must have as you became aware of more objects being placed near the end of the bed. You wanted to peer down in curiosity, but also knew whatever she had was for your punishment and would only bring you more dread.

Carol held your waist and moved you onto your back so you were looking up at her. The feeling of the sheets against your broken skin made you flinch in discomfort but was almost forgotten when Carol placed her hands on you cheeks to wipe away your tears. It was the only loving gesture you would get for the time being.

"Do you still want your Captain's forgiveness?" She asked, knowing the answer but wanting you to say it.

"Yes." You breathed out. "I'll do anything, I'm sorry I-" Carol cut you off by placing a finger over your lips.

She grabbed a pair of black, leather cuffs from her collection on the bed and before she could even reach for your hands you were placing them at the headboard for her.

She showed no signs of consideration of praise for the act or even recognition, but on the inside Carol was gleaming at everything you did. Your desperation to please her made her want to praise and pleasure you for hours. She had to remind herself of what you had done to end up in this situation. Reminding herself to give you the punishment you deserve for being a dirty slut.

Next, she spread you legs wide apart and cuffed each ankle to each side of the bed, stopping you from closing you legs or even rubbing your thighs together for friction.

It was then that Carol brought your attention to the vibrator in her hand. Without a word, she turned it on full and pressed it against your folds. Your leaking arousal and wanton for the vibrations allowed your lips to part for the toy and quickly engulf it into your needy pussy.

You moaned in pleasure and closed you eyes, surprised Carol was giving you this pleasure but not going to question it.

She watched your facial expressions with a satisfied smirk as she pulled her sweatpants down to reveal the sizeable strap on you hadn't yet seen.

She thought you looked so beautiful blissed out from the toy, your back arching to present your breasts and peaking nipples to her as your thighs strained against the restraints.

Her gaze was especially focused on the wetness seeping out of you, telling Carol just how much you wanted her.

"You don't get to cum until I give you permission." She stated before going to straddle your stomach.

Your eyes flickered open before widening at the sight of a new strap on just inches away from your face.

It was the largest one you had ever seen on Carol and figured she must have bought it on her trip as you had never seen it before.

However you weren't given a chance to ponder on this as she was instantly pressing it against your lips.

You opened your mouth for her compliantly and were quickly made aware you were going to struggle with the girth as well as the length.

You had your mouth as wide as you could manage and yet the strap still struggled to fit, stretching your mouth in an uncomfortable way you hadn't experienced before.

Carol watched every feature of your face as you struggled to take the strap. Not missing the look of hopelessness of getting it in as well as fighting back the distracting pleasure building between your legs. You wouldn't last long with the vibrator and you would never be able to fit the strap on in your mouth.

"I thought you wanted to make it up to me. If you can't even suck my fucking cock how will you manage it in you other slutty holes."

You tried to protest against the strap, assure Carol you could take it and try not to worry over the stretch you would experience in other body parts later on.

Carol smirked at your attempt to communicate with her, not being able to hold back further comments to provoke you.

"You really think you can take this?" Carol asked with a smirk and mocking tone. You tried to nod your head in response, painfully aware you barely had the tip in and was already struggling with it and the buzz between your legs.

"If you insist." Carol bit back a laugh as she thrust her hips towards you, the strap forcing itself into your mouth and surpassing you gag reflex in an instant.

Your eyes pleaded with her as you realised you really couldn't take the strap.

"You wanna keep going?" Carol taunted, knowing you were now physically incapable of shaking your head no.

The more you pleaded the further she sunk the strap in. You gagged and choked around the toy, eyes watering as it hit the back of your throat.

Your arms and legs desperetly struggled against the restraints as Carol finally pushed the strap in entirely.

She locked eyes with you the whole time, especially when she pulled the strap out slightly only to ram it back into your mouth to make you gag violently in protest.

Meanwhile the vibrator never faltered in its buzz that was electrifying your whole body. You knew you were edging closer and closer to that sweet release and that Carol would put you through the torture of having to hold your orgasm at bay, something you almost always failed at.

Your mouth and throat ached and you were vaguely aware of the trail of saliva travelled down your chin and either side of your mouth, you body attempting to lubricate your mouth and toy to ease the process but only adding to your humiliation.

Carol continued her bruising pace of fucking your drooling mouth as she smirked down at you sadistically, memorizing every detail of your blissed and pained face. The two sides of your battled against each other, not knowing which to give in to.

When your body finally fell limp in defeat you heard Carol chuckle as she pulled the strap out of your mouth, which apparently hurt just as much as it going in.

The moment is was out you gave a loud whorish moan, telling Carol you so desperetly needed to cum.

"What do you say?" Carol teased as she started to rub your clit in tight circles with her fingers, relishing in how much your wetness had spread.

"Please may I cum, Captain?" You begged and whimpered, desperate for your release.

"Hmm," Carol mused as she fiddled with the vibrator while listening to you struggle to hold off your orgasm. "No." She said simply before pulling the soaking vibrator out and turning it off.

Before you could whine in protest Carol looked at the vibrator in annoyance.

"Look at the fucking mess you've made, slut. Getting your whorish juices all over my toys and bed. Disgusting." She stated bitterly in an attempt to hold back how much she was internally gleaming at the mess while being able to humiliate you.

"I'm sorry." You apologised as Carol moved over to you again, slowly spreading your thighs as she positioned herself between them.

You looked down in silence, as to follow her lead, and watched the huge toy attached to Carol wander up your thigh.

You both knew you needed preparation for something that size. That on any other occasion Carol would have whispered sweet nothings into your ear as she introduced you to new sizes and girths.

But you were being punished. Everything was different. There would be no preparation for you.

"Captain..." You whispered as she lined up the strap to your still soaking entrance.

Carol ignored you as she placed her hands firmly on both of your thighs, keeping them spread for her merciless attack that was to follow.

"Be a good girl and take my cock, baby. Then maybe I'll start thinking about forgiving you." She said as the strap stroked your folds, nudging at your lower lips and separating them.

You held your breath as Carol pushing the tip inside you, instantly reminding you of the substantial girth.

You attempted to move your legs in response, automatically wanting to close them to prevent any more of the strap entering you. But Carol's grip on your thighs tightened and she held you down firmly.

In a silent concentration, she pushed her hips forward and the strap followed, stretching your walls for its entrance making you moan out and pull against every cuff restraining you.

"Ah! Captain!" You protested as she thrust further inside you, not being able to see that she was entranced by the show your wet pussy was giving her. Your outer lips opening more and more for the intruder, almost folding back on themselves as your wetness was heard around the toy, there being no space for it to leek out but still being present on the outside from earlier.

Your pussy ached as the strap sunk deeper, pushing against your walls and you having no way to stop it.

Just when you thought maybe it was in entirely, Carol gave one final thrust and the strap thrust against the back of your pussy with so much force it was bruising.

The girth and length was still clearly too much for what you were built for as it continued to push against every side of your cunt, especially at the back where it was threatening to rip through.

You moaned over and over, struggling to form words and accomdate the brutal strap. You were overwhelmed with pleasure and pain, hardly able to handle either never mind both.

You panted and drooled, not having any control over any of your body, only being a puppet for Carol to command.

She pulled the strap out slightly, only to slam it back in with force that made your whole body jerk and shudder. She pulled out more the next time, as though giving you a moment to prepare before thrusting the toy back into your still unprepared cunt.

It was as though your walls retracted every time she pulled out, making her re-entrance just as painful as the last.

Despite this, in the brief moments the strap left you your whole body yearned for it back, feeling completely empty without it.

"Your cunt's taking my cock so well, so desperate to be filled up by me." Carol chuckled to hide her moans.

Her pace never faulted, never giving you a break. Every thrust was just as hard as the last, leaving you a moaning and shuddering mess beneath her.

Her nails started to dig into your flesh as she pounded the strap into you.

In a flash, her left hand left yourself thigh and planted itself next to your head, gripping the sheets tightly and taking her fucking with a new vigour you didn't know she was capable of.

You were practically screaming everytime the strap hit the back of your pussy. Somehow Carol was able to tilt the strap at the last moment to slam against your g-spot, like it was trying to break through a barrier.

"You feel how deep my cock is inside you, slut? You want more?" You could only moan in response, not being able to vocalist with words how much you needed her.

You desperately wanted to cling onto her back as you approached your high. The feeling in your lower stomach increased and you could only moan louder in response to it, your pussy clamping down on the strap as it prepared itself for its release.

"C-Captain!" You wailed as your whole body tensed up.

You came with a scream of her name, clenching around the strap and gasping out for air. Your hips rolled, your back arched, your eyes clenched shut as you saw blanks and your pussy shuddered as it squirted your cum out of it, your now stretched hole allowing some of it to dribble down around the strap and onto the bed.

Carol could hardly contain her moan as she felt your cum spreading on both of your thighs.

She didn't give you a chance to recover. You were still being punished and Carol was far from done with you.

Her pace was unrelenting and merciless, fucking you through your high and into another orgasm.

"You clench so nicely around my cock, so needy. Do you want more?" She taunted, knowing you could barely respond and not caring if you did - unless, of course, you called the safe word.

Your body was at war with itself. You squirmed beneath but also bucked your hips up to meet her thrusts. You could focus on nothing but the intense pleasure between your legs, the pain there being long gone but Carol's nails still dug into you.

You didn't know how many orgasms she had ripped from your body. You were hardly aware of the drenched sheets beneath you. You failed to notice the hungry, lust filled look Carol was giving you through every single one of your orgasms she tore from you.

"Too much...I...can't..." You tried to say as you moved against the restraints. You were being overstimulated and it was beginning to become too much for you for you to handle.

She finally slowed her pace to a stop and pulled the strap out completely, leaving you panting on your back while she adjusted the restraints at your ankles. Even wiping some of your cum off her thigh and sucking it into her mouth when she had her back to you and you weren't looking. Not that she had to be secretive of course, your mind was blank after the fucking you had just gotten.

You only realised Carol had undone the restraints at your ankles when she flipped you onto your stomach, back into your previous position. You whimpered at the vulnerability as Carol lifted your ass into the air and spread your legs as wide as they could go before cuffing them in place again.

You had hardly gotten your breath back went you felt Carol behind you, pressing the strap against your ass.

You gulped as you realised her intentions, knowing the stretching you received prior would be nothing compared to this.

"I'm sorry Captain!" You pleaded. "I'll never touch myself again, please! I'm sorry!" You cried in a final attempt to avoid the punishment or at least have it eased.

Carol ignored you and placed a hand on both of your cheeks, spreading them for the strap that inserted itself into you.

You whined and stared down at your pillows as you felt the strap penetrate your ass, thankful for the cum still on the strap acting as a kind of lube.

The ache and stretch become apparent almost straight away. You whined louder as Carol pushed on and held you in her hands.

You tried to squirm away but your attempts were futile and you could only endure the pain of the strap breaking down your barriers.

She continued pushing onwards deeper and deeper inside you as you body betrayed you and started to clench around the uncomfortable intruder and make yourself tighter.

You continued to plead, beg and whine when Carol pushed the strap half way in.

"What's that? You want more?" Carol chuckled darkly before thrusting the strap in entirely and making you scream in protest as the pain shot through out your body.

There was a moments silence before Carol pulled the strap out and rammed it back in mercilessly, giving you no chance to adjust.

The sound that followed with each thrust made you blush in embarrassment and moan loudly, hearing your cum mixing around your ass.

"Captain!" You cried out as she pounded the strap into your tight ass and even gripped a handful of your

hair in one hand making you yelp.

You moaned and screamed into the air as she continued her onslaught, punishing you at a bruising pace you wouldn't forget anytime soon.

The sadistic blonde then forced your ass down so you were laying flat on your stomach on the bed before Carol thrusts into you again, her pace instantly picking up where it left off.

Your sounds were now muffled by the pillow under your face from Carol continuing to grip your hair and as a result, keep your head down.

You could feel your high approaching and with no way to speak this to Carol you only moaned louder into the pillow.

With a few final, harder, deeper thrusts, Carol ripped a final orgasm from your body that had you go limp on the bed.

When she let go of your hair you turned your head to the side and closed your eyes to focus on your breathing.

Meanwhile, Carol undid all of cuffs and put the strap on the floor before crawling up the bed to lay down on her side facing you.

"You did so good for me, baby. I'm so proud of you." She cooed as she stroked the hair away from your face and tucked it behind your ear.

You were moments away from falling asleep but you still managed a weak smile at the words made your heart fill with joy.

"Such a good girl for me." She whispered as you closed your eyes. "I'm going to apply some cream while you sleep, baby." She assured as her hand rested inches away from your wounded ass. "And when you wake up we'll take a nice, warm, bath." She promised before kissing your forehead lightly and watched you fall asleep.

#captain marvel #captain marvel imagines #captain marvel smut #captain marvel x reader #carol danvers #carol danvers imagines #carol danvers smut #carol danvers x reader #marvel #brie larson

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havin-fun-imagining-twd · 3 years ago

Text

A fu---n’ great Christmas

Daryl picked the title ^

When - Hell of a day is the story published directly before this, but it’s not taking place right after that one ended. That’s right, we’re making a time jump! And it’s Christmas! This one takes place during that long swathe of months in between the Greene’s farm and the Prison. In the series, it’s about a month and a half after Slowpoke. Here’s the Masterlist for more background.

Perspective - 2nd person, then one teeny part in 3rd person Daryl POV

Relationships - slow burn Daryl x Reader, but don’t admit it to (yourself,) Glenn, Maggie, Beth, or Carol, they’ll be too satisfied. And as always, you and the gang!

Genre - Christmas! Specifically, you and the gang are trying to make sure Carl has some kind of normalcy for it. He’s just a kid. Also Daryl shares his poncho.

Pronouns - decided to avoid specifics again, so used they/them at one point.

TWs - some language including Daryl using the f-bomb thrice, and our aforementioned redneck unlearning some causal racism.

Word Count - settle yourself comfortably.

(Apologies for missing all 12 days of Western Christmas plus Orthodox Christmas on Jan 7th, but we can technically say it’s still Christmas all the way until this thing called the Presentation at the Temple. So we got until Feb 2nd to keep the part going, y’all.)

______________________________________________________

Dec 15th

Glenn rubs his hands together. “So, we can risk a fire in the fireplace and a party, right?”

“Yes,” Maggie agrees. “A smokestack from a chimney won’t draw them to us and we won't be that loud.”

“The big group of 'em passed by days ago,” you echo. “Plus we blacked out the bottom floor windows.”

“I’ll talk it over with Rick, but here’s hoping, man.”

The herd had passed, but it was a close call. When there were too many walkers, you avoided making big fires, even for cooking or sanitizing. There’s been a lot of avoiding fires the past three days.

The thought right now is that there’s a bigger hoard someplace relatively close from which those smaller groups are straying.

T-Dog holds out his hands. “Friends, we’re gonna have a fire, a’ight?” Then he straightens his posture, stating “We’re gonna have a fire, presents, and I’m gonna sing Christmas hymns, come hell or high water. That kid is gonna have a good holiday this year. We all are.”

A kind smile warms Maggie’s face. “Beth and Daddy will be singin’ right there with you.”

“So, might should we find you that Santa suit you wanted, Teddy?” you giggle. “Oh, and make sure to sing the Hanukkah song in Dale and Jim’s honor, and we can do the candles if we can find a proper menorah!”

“Well now, I’ll sing that song and I’ll accept just a hat if that’s all y��all can find,” he winks. “But I do got the belly for the full suit, is all I’m saying.”

“Beard ain’t really workin’ out, though,” Daryl teases under his breath.

“Oh-ho, bold words coming outta you, brother,” T-Dog dishes right back.

They have a little running gag between them about shaving (or the lack thereof). Neither of them can grow much facial hair, likewise Glenn. The same cannot be said of Rick and Hershel, however. It’s as if someone is putting Miracle Grow on their faces at night, you swear.

Everyone’s been looking a little, um, let’s call it ‘unkempt.’ And don’t even start on hair elsewhere such as underarms or legs.

“Daddy used to do Santa at the church’s Christmas bazaar,” Beth softly tells you. She always sounds so shy and sweet when she pipes in. But why is she frowning? “Hey, guys?”

“What’s on your mind, little sister?” T-Dog asks.

She glances over her shoulder down the stairs and speaks very, very quietly. “I ain’t sure that Carl still, um…you know. Santa. I-I mentioned him the other day to Carl and he looked annoyed.”

Oh man. Your little Carl.

Right as you’re fixing to inwardly mope about him growing up (and doing so too fast due to the new nature of the world), all eyes turn towards you.

Sighing heavily, you grumble “Makes sense. Back at the quarry, the kids got to talking about holidays, and Luis – Maggie and Beth, Luis and Eliza were the other two kids at the camp outside Atlanta,” you remind them. “Luis was chattin’ to him about Santa and los Reyes, and Carl just sorta gave me this look.”

“Isn't that the worst, guys? Like,” Glenn considers sadly, rubbing his neck and sighing just like you had. “For kids, the world ended and their friends and families died or were killed because monsters are real. Yet Santa Claus isn’t.”

“H-he technically was real, and he technically is in that we act as Santa for each other. Get with it, man,” you sniff, lower lip already wobbling. Thinking about the kids sometimes leads to you welling up a bit.

Leaning closer to you and putting a comforting hand on your arm, Maggie asks “How about last year?”

You shrug. “Carl was on the fence. I gave him my little ditty about historical St. Nick and everythin’.” You can’t possibly slouch in defeat any further as you bite your lip and consider that “He did, um, well, he’s 12 now, anyways. Lori said they was gonna…”

But you trail off and lose the urge to cry when you see that Daryl is ever so slightly smirking at you.

So…it’s possible that on the run the other day, T-Dog had mentioned how he wanted so badly for everyone to have a good holiday season this year that he’d wear a red suit for a month if that’s what it would take to cheer you all up. Or at least the red hat. (“If y’all just so happen to find one, of course.”)

After which, Daryl might’ve commented something along the lines of: “How does a Black Santa make sense?”

To which you then, um, possibly sort of potentially got *just a little* huffy with him and snipped about how, “The actual St. Nikolas was Mediterranean, so a blue-eyed, pasty Santa ain’t suddenly accurate, come on now!”…and such…

“Was that the same ‘little ditty’ you gave me the other day?” Daryl directs at you, arms crossed as he turns his body to face you.

There is something about the way he looks when he’s got his arms crossed and does that squinting thing that makes your pulse speed up and gives you great difficulty in keeping a straight face. Such as right now.

Holy Moses, this little crush that’s been building really gets on your nerves sometimes. And Glenn really needs to stop smiling all ‘knowingly’ at T-Dog-- you’d told Daryl “I could kiss you!” after he found the lollipops because you were excited. It was just an expression!

Mirroring him, you cross your arms and face him head-on. “Similar, but,” you clear your throat, “I was a tad less huffy with him, Daryl.”

He’s hiding a smile as he murmurs in reply, “Mm, let’s hope.”

After holding a stare for a beat longer than is usual between you two, you snap out of when Carol or Lori squeal out from downstairs.

Shouts follow. Dread surges.

Shit. No, no, no, no, no –- in an instant, you’re all scrambling from the upstairs lookout, prepared for the worst.

“Beth, keep behind us!” Glenn yells.

But the rush of dread and adrenaline is quickly ebbed when you next hear…laughter?

As your group finishes rushing down the steps – knives, screwdriver, hammer, bolt cutters, and crossbow at the ready – you’re met with a scene of Carol, Lori, Hershel, Carl, and Rick doubled over and laughing their asses off.

Glenn is stonefaced. “Guys. Almost peed my pants and had a heart attack.”

Through his belly laughs and simultaneous coughing, Hershel attempts to apologize to him while Rick explains something about a mouse (?), Carol finishes with something about a dust bunny (?). Carl and Lori seem to have their own little joke going before Lori finally gets up, kisses Carl and Rick on the forehead, and does a little potty dance as she jogs away, citing the desperate need to use the toilet (which is actually clean in this house).

The rules y’all have in terms of the toilet, by the way, are basically “if it’s yellow, let it mellow.” But for #2s: outside only, unless you have a good water supply, in which case you can go in a toilet and pour some down there to force the flushing mechanism. And maybe light a candle if there’s one in there.

Anyways, you haven’t seen Rick laugh this hard since…shoot, maybe all the way back during supper at the CDC. He’s smiled since then, of course – but genuine, full-on, it’s-hard-to-breathe laughter? Not for months. Things haven’t been very, um, easy. After what happened to the farm. To Shane.

Shit, you’ve been trying to avoid thinking about your big brother. What he did, what happened to him. Then what Rick did.

Focusing your attention back on the group, you don’t notice at first that you’ve reached into your sweatshirt and pulled out Shane’s necklace.

It’s only when you see Rick staring at your neck while his happy expression fades that you realize you’re fiddling with it. So you meet his stare, share a ghost of a smile with him, and continue on as you were.

Sometimes, you think that you hate him. Hershel and T-Dog remind you that you don’t.

You’ve forgiven him, and still love him like a brother. He is your brother. Fully letting go of the anger, doubts, and confusion is simply something you’re still working through.

Speaking of T-Dog, he is looking mighty relaxed and happy as he calls out “Carol, would you join me upstairs?”

“Sounds like he’s got candles and a bottle of wine up there,” you whisper to Maggie. He even said it in a huskier tone of voice!

It was Glenn who first noticed how T-Dog was all smiles around her. Later, there was less room for interpretation after the two of them parted from a friendly conversation and he looked you straight in the eyes and shook his head, declaring, “If I ain’t careful, I’m gonna fall hard for that woman.”

“Join us! Meant ‘us,’” T-Dog quickly corrects himself, complete with a cough and an awkward grin. “Just some things we’re going over, it’d be best if you were on the same page.”

“What’s goin’ on, T-Dog?”

“That thing about the perimeter we discussed, Rick.”

“The perimeter? I – I’m sorry, I don’t even remember whatever it was,” he says, brows low as he struggles to recall it. He looks ashamed.

“Come on up, too, man, we’ll refresh your memory.”

Dec 19th, afternoon

The Greenes and T-Dog headed out to grab some firewood and pine boughs a good half-hour ago, according to Dale’s watch. You’re all determined to give Carl a good Christmas, he’s just a kid. Heck, you all want a good Christmas. So, dressing up the living room is a step towards that.

And as it happens, this house had an artificial tree (there’s nothing quite like plastic to say ‘holidays!’, you reckon) in the attic, but pine boughs will make it look and smell better. And you can technically boil the boughs later, if necessary, pine is full of vitamin C.

It’s insane the things you’re all eating and drinking without a second thought these days. (Christmas tree tea, yummy).

“Are they in view yet, Glenn?” you worry.

“It’s okay, them and T-Dog are maybe a block away. I don’t even need the binoculars anymore,” he answers with a sigh of relief. “No geeks following them back by the looks of it, either.”

“Thank God.” You turn back to Daryl and your stack of pillows. “Our people are gonna love this. Snow for Christmas!”

“Kinda messy when it’s made of pillow fluff, though,” he comments. “But um, keep an eye out for bedbugs,” he then cautions, ripping open the pillows with his (recently cleaned) knife. “There…might could be some in these.”

“Ah, smart. Good idea,” and you cheerfully begin to sift through the fluff with your screwdriver (also recently cleaned). No one has gotten bites in this house yet, so here’s hoping. “Wait a minute, Daryl.” He just used a ‘might could.’

His eyes don’t leave the floor where he’s casually examining the filling for any crawlies. “Hm?”

As innocently as you can, you gather a few tufts of pillow fluff in your left hand. Your lips are pursed when you dryly ask him “Might could somebody be poking fun?”

But Daryl stays quiet and proceeds to rip open the next pillow as if he doesn’t know what you’re talking about – except for that little twitch of his mouth that just gave him away!

“Might could Y/N be about to throw a snowball in your face?” Glenn muses nonchalantly from his spot at the window.

In an instant, you’re almost cackling as you yelp “Might could be!” and immediately toss a ball of pillow fluff and watch it bounce off Daryl’s forehead. You aren’t sure what kind of expression you have on but it’s most likely the dumbest little self-satisfied grin you’ve ever worn.

After a pause, he suddenly springs into action with a delightfully wicked look on his face as he grabs two giant wads of the stuff and scoots back before taking aim. “Oh, I’m gonna whup your ass, troublemaker,” he taunts.

But the second as you begin to snicker back “Oh, bring it on, redneck!” Glenn, bless his heart, decides to pipe in, “Geez, Daryl, at least buy ’em dinner first.”

You and Daryl freeze. Turn your heads towards Glenn. And quickly glancing at each other, you shout “Get him!” before letting loose your ‘snowballs’ right at him.

Dec 19th, evening

Folding up the stethoscope, you can confidently agree, “I only heard wheezes earlier, but yeah, nothing now, Mags. Most important, no crackles for the fifth day in a row! Let’s keep it up with the NSAIDS and the smacky-smacks and the positioning.”

“Okay,” she says, exhaling the breath she was holding and giggling at the phrase you used to make yourselves feel better about the respiratory percussion thing you’d begun implementing the other week.

Hershel hasn’t been able to shake his cough for a good three weeks now. Half the problem was that he dislocated a rib when it was really bad, so couldn’t cough deeply without pain for a solid two weeks. Carol did what she could to help, but PT and pain management were al y’all could really do for it. As for the percussion (that's the 'smacky-smacks'), postural positioning, and breathing exercises, they were keeping him from getting worse, but...

You’d already given him a full round of antibiotics, but there was still fluid in his lungs, simple as. If only you could find a peak-flow meter and some guafenesin. No drug store or pharmacy seemed to have one of those handy meters thus far. But hospitals were no-go zones, and unfortunately, that’s where most of them were kept.

“Wanna jump into the deep breathing exercises now or later, Mr. Greene?”

With a warm smile, he assures you and his daughter "Later, I’m exhausted at the moment.”

“It stops your condition from gettin’ worse,” Maggie reminds him, saving you from doing it. “Doing it now while everything’s loosened is best, you told us that to make sure we’d insist.”

He rests his head back against the bed frame and sighs, grinning. “I suppose I was dragging my feet, as it were. I’ve got no intention of getting pneumonia for Christmas this year, Margaret, I can promise you that, sweetheart.”

“Good,” she announces. “Now take another spoonful of honey and no complainin’.”

“A cough is a sight easier to cure than diabetes,” he tries to protest, even if half-serious. He isn’t the fondest of being babied and just about everybody’s been babying him.

Winking, you remark “Doctors do make the worst patients,” which elicits a smile from them both.

“Well now, troublemaker,” he begins. “I am a veterinarian specialized in livestock, not a proper medical doctor. So there.” And with that, he accepts the spoon from his daughter and puts it in his mouth, complete with a slight grimace at the burst of sweetness.

Letting Maggie handle the rest, you excuse yourself. “Glenn’s probably ready with the tea, most likely he’s on his way up, I’ll go check.”

“Alright Daddy, I’m gonna do the exercises with you today. Inhale deeply for 10 seconds to start…”

Dec 20th, early afternoon

After clearing the new crop of walkers from the street, the group can finally bring in everything from the run.

Carl runs outside first to help bring the haul in (“Hope you like pintos and lima beans, punk, we got 6 cans of each.”). It’s getting harder and harder to find food in the area. Nothing too dire yet, but most of what isn’t canned has already gotten either infested with vermin or gone moldy or rancid from the humidity. Your vote is to keep moving further North. But then winters won’t be as mild, and that could be worse.

Beth is thrilled to see that Maggie found a clean pack of women’s underwear and two packs of socks, and that Glenn found some clean boxers for the men.

And thankfully, Daryl located a bulk pack of batteries for the walkies and backup for the emergency crank radio. True, no radio stations are airing anything at the moment, but it’s got a flashlight and some charging docks on it. That’s how you’ve been charging your mp3 player, and the whole group is thankful to listen to music from time to time.

Hershel and Carol take in what medical supplies you were all able to pilfer, among them, potassium iodide, thank the Lord. Hershel’s cough is finally going to get a move on. You still haven’t found any guaifenesin, though, which is way more effective. Or a damn peak-flow meter.

Lori is just happy to see you all come back safe. Maggie and you found some vitamins and folic acid supplements for her. And orthopedic shoe inserts, but those were being saved for Christmas.

But that isn’t all. Rick had almost broken down in relief when Glenn found a clean baby carrier. They were going to set it up in the Hyundai later as a surprise. Even though it was months ahead of need, it would be there as a reminder and a comfort.

It’s gonna work out. This baby is gonna be kept safe and well and very loved.

Dec 21st, morning

“It’s so neat that a watch can work without batteries.”

“Swim-proof, too. Dale knew how to choose a good one,” you say to Beth as you wind it up.

Looks like she’s taking a break from decorating the wreath to choose a new song on the mp3. It’s a pity that the earbuds are only working in one ear, now. And you haven’t found any spare pairs in this house, search as you did.

“Just wait until Carl opens up those pudding cups,” she giggles.

“He’ll inhale two in less than a minute while he zones out in that comic book.”

Her first run and she’d found that little gold mine (“Mama always used to put the sweet snacks she didn’t want us hoggin’ wrapped with the blankets in her closet, so that’s where I looked.”). She’d also found an unopened glass bottle of hydrogen peroxide.

“Your head is all better now, right Y/N?”

She must be concerned because you’ve begun massaging your neck. A migraine hit you a little while after getting back from the supply run yesterday. All gone now though, you simply have regular pain at the moment. “I just can’t believe I slept that long, Beth. Any longer and you’d all have to start chargin’ me rent.”

Having crashed so early yesterday, you’ve been up since 4:26 a.m. precisely, upon which you took over guard duty for a very grateful Rick.

“It’s too bad Daryl’s on watch, now. He could rub your neck awhile.”

“Child, you’re as bad as Glenn sometimes. And may I remind you that Lori was the one who massaged my neck last night?”

“Mmhm.” Oh, is that girl is being sassy right now. “He gave you that shoulder rub two weeks ago. Did it for a long time.”

Yeah, but that was normal. After he’d come back half-dead after searching for Sophia, you’d massaged his shoulders and feet. So now, he helped you out, too. It’s what people who care about each other do. You’re family!

“My shoulder was actin’ up again,” you explain. “Actin’ up like somebody I know.”

“No need to get all embarrassed,” she quietly sing songs back.

You hear the creak of floorboards and the sound of light footsteps ascending the stairs.

“Maggie’s rubbed my neck when I’ve had migraines before, and I’m fairly positive it ain’t because she’s sweet on me,” you respond to Beth. “And your daddy helped Teddy with that charley-horse that time, but they haven’t announced no engagement.”

“Fine, I see your point,” Beth relents, giggling again. “But I enjoy watchin’ the two of you. Makes me feel happy, like when I see Glenn and my sister.”

“Ah, you enjoy watching us bicker? Anyway, you should be rootin’ for him with Carol, she actually flirts with him and doesn’t annoy his butt off.”

The footsteps reach the top of the stairs, and you turn to see Maggie.

Beth huffs. “One day, y’all are gonna be hitched, and I will require a proper thank you. There,” she says, attention now toward her creation as she triumphantly holds up a very nicely shaped and decorated wreath to you and her big sister. “See? All it takes is a wire hanger to keep the branches in! Used to sell a whole bunch at the Christmas bazaar.”

“Oh, Beth!” Maggie sighs. “I’m gettin’ all nostalgic.” She then crouches. “Ready for the birthday party? Glenn just woke up and he still has no idea we found marshmallows for him.”

“The birthday boy is finally awake? Let’s go!”

Dec 22nd, afternoon

“Okay. How many at the stream?”

Rick is pacing back and forth. “After 10, I stopped countin’. It has to be that they’re coming from some bigger hoard someplace nearby, I-I have no other way to explain why we keep gettin’ so many big clusters of them roaming around.”

“Are we still safe in this house?”

He presses his thumb and forefinger to his brow as he angrily mutters “We’re not safe anywhere.”

“Rick, don’t. Please.” Willing your voice to soften, you ask again, “Are we safe to stay here, or is it time to pack?”

“Let’s…” and he shakes his head. “Let’s get our people packed, but we’ll go out and take care of what walkers we see, maybe we can still…” Rick then exhales, and eases himself down onto the bottom step and places his head in his hands. “I know there are more important things, but…havin’ a happy, relatively normal Christmas was somethin’ I hoped we could give them. Give Carl.”

You sit down next to him and lean your elbows on your knees. “We will.”

“Might will, you mean?”

“No. No mights about it.” You then chuckle quietly to yourself. “Lori told you how we decided to insist Santa and the Wise Men brought the presents?”

“She mentioned Santa, but I don’t remember the…” Stress will do that. His memory hasn’t been the greatest and the man knows it. “We’re doin’ the, uh, the Three Kings, too?”

“It’s three times the fun, and that means if Christmas day doesn’t end up workin’, we have until the 6th. Figured it would entertain him in the least, to see us so insistent.” You stop your nervous babbling and frown upon seeing Rick subtly pressing his temples. “You got a headache?”

“Nothing compared to the ones you get.”

“Hush, that don’t make yours not painful. C’mere,” you order, repositioning yourself so that you can massage his head.

Even as he relaxes at the sensation, he protests, “Y-you don’t have to –”

“ – Ricky, you’re my brother,” is all you reply as you continue to gently knead your fingers into his scalp.

If you knew Beth could see you now, you’d stick your tongue out at her. There is nothing romantic here in the slightest, it’s just something you’re doing because he’s in discomfort and you care about him. He's your brother.

Nothing further is said between you, but that’s okay.

A few months back, a day or so after Rick and Shane had, um…after what happened between them happened, Rick told you with no small amount of emotion that he was still your brother.

Now, you didn’t throw it back in his face but you also hadn’t been in the best place when he said that. And he’s still holding onto a lot of guilt. A lot.

Confirming with him that you are still family is something that the both of you need to repeat.

After a few minutes, you hear the side door open. “Dad?”

“Carl, is everything okay?”

“Yeah, just, I saw you guys out here. What are you doing outside? It’s cold.”

“Would be warmer if you didn’t walk outside in only a sweatshirt,” you tease.

Rick turns his head to look at him. “You need a hat, scarf, and gloves. Maybe a big old snowsuit and some boots.”

Carl has a shy little grin on his face. He knows what his dad is getting at. They adore that movie, they know it top to bottom. “But with all that on…‘I can’t put my arms down!’”

Except growls interrupt the light moment. You all whip your heads towards the trees to see from where the walker is going to shuffle out.

There are two – no, three of them.

Rude-ass walkers.

“Carl, inside now,” his father quickly directs.

“Honey, go inside.”

To you, he says, “Y/N, I’m takin’ out the two the right, you take the one on the left.”

One more shuffles through while you’re dispatching the others, at which Rick angrily storms over and hits several more times than is necessary to put it down.

Once he finally stops, Rick kneels there in silence. Then he stands up, puts his hands on his hips, and closes his eyes. You wipe your weapons on the grass first before quietly leading him to the outside water barrel to rinse and wash.

One more walker joins the party, so you deal it with while Rick dries off. Still quiet, he then wraps an arm around your shoulder and you both head inside together.

Lori is right at the door, opening it once you’re close. “Hey,” she murmurs.

He clasps his hand in hers for a moment before letting go. “Lore. It’s not a definite yet,” he tells her, “But you, Hershel, and Carl should start packin’ up. Just to be ready.” He then turns his gaze to you. “Please tell the gang to get ready to head to the creek, see if we can’t nip that problem in the bud. Maybe we can do a sweep of the surrounding streets, too, and if we run into that hoard, we’ll vacate. Carol, you get the rifle, you can be on watch here while we’re gone.”

“Only if I get to use the pink walkie,” she says, easing the tension somewhat and handing you the yellow one. Rick has the third one, your green one, already.

“And Beth, you can use the binoculars to keep watch on the opposite side, okay?”

“Alright, Rick.”

“Dad, why can’t I help?”

“You are helping. In the most important way, son,” Hershel cuts in. “Assisting your mother and listening to your father. Carl, let’s make sure the medical supplies are all packed.”

Dec 23rd, nighttime

Daryl’s down to seven cigarettes per week. You’re so proud of him.

And yes, it’s still shockingly easy to find intact packs these days. Not too many smokers left alive to share them with, you suppose.

He sees you’ve joined him out on the second-floor deck and moves downwind so the smoke doesn’t blow on you.

“Tomorrow’s the big day, Daryl. You excited?”

“Ain’t it Christmas Eve tomorrow, not actual Christmas?”

“I always liked the Eve better, personally. You?”

“Never really thought about it much, I guess.”

Yeah, with his unhappy, unwholesome childhood and equally unhealthy adult life thus far, you can understand where he’s coming from. You do pray this year will somehow warm him up, lift his spirits a little. The collapse of civilization notwithstanding.

“The day has become awful stripped down from its purpose, anyways,” you concede.

“Got annoyed with all the damn music, too.”

Chuckling, you nod and acknowledge, “It’s terrible commercialized, too.”

He takes a slow, long drag, savoring it before he puts it out. He’s taken to smoking in short increments to keep the nicotine high consistent, even if small. He also extinguishes it in between drags to not waste any of the tobacco. “This your favorite holiday?”

“I enjoy it a whole lot, yeah. But my favorite is Easter.”

“Mine’s the Fourth.”

“May the Fourth?” you deadpan, raising your eyebrows. “Never knew you were a Star Wars fan. Have you told Glenn?”

He coughs a little as he snorts, “Such a damned weirdo.”

Cracking up at your own dumb excuse for a joke, you extend it just a touch to add, “What, you’re the one whose favorite holiday is May the Fourth.”

One more cough. “4th of July.”

Still smiling, you shake your head and assure him, “I know, I know,” then you cough a little yourself (from the chill, not secondhand smoke). “Gonna take a wild guess and suggest that you totally would bring a illegal fireworks over state lines, you lived so close to Tennessee.”

“Hell yeah. Fireworks, hotdogs, a shit ton of beer. Best damn holiday.”

“Ooh, what’d you put on your hotdogs? I’m hungry, man.”

With a hum, he admits, “I could guzzle those things plain out the fridge. Sometimes I did, straight from the package.”

“Mangy hick.”

As it were, his stomach growls. His eyes glaze over and he hums again, then describes what he’d eat in a low voice. He sounded almost reverent as he detailed, “Chili, spicy pickles, and a shit ton of raw onions, if I was doin’ ’em fancy. Maybe some sweet relish with mustard, too...”

The way he just slipped into a food fantasy struck you as hot, so you do your dumb thing where you make a dumb joke, ughhh. “Raw onion, that must’ve been a hit with the ladies.”

He then coughs again, but a little over-forcefully, as if...nervous?

You hadn’t meant to cause him embarrassment, just to joke around as friends do. He usually just brushes that sort of thing off or gets a little quiet. You do love it when he blushes, though, oh my gosh it’s nice.

It’s one of the reasons you feel so comfortable around him, to be honest, he seems safe that way. Sometimes you wonder if he’s asexual, or if it’s simply that there’s no one in the group he finds attractive in that way. Either way, he feels so darn safe.

Oops, and now you’re staring at his lips. Again.

Crushes are so irritating. You’d meant it as a simple joke about onions and smelly breath, that was all.

“How ‘bout you?”

(You’d want pickle relish and raw onions, too, everything sounds good right now when you’re hungry, but no way are you owning up to that after your little razz about kissing.) “Corndog,” you reply simply.

He actually groans and closes his eyes at that one, tilting his neck ever so slightly. And you’re definitely not swatting away deliciously adult thoughts when he does so. Why is his neck so sexy?

“Aw shit, I miss corndogs,” he breathes.

“A hotdog in a hushpuppy, ain’t nothin’ better.” Now your deliciously adult thoughts are being chased away by purely delicious thoughts of eating a giant corndog. Until you turn your head in the corndog fantasy and see Daryl strolling next to you at the fair, eating his onion-laden hotdog. Good Moses, you can be weird. Thank God no one else is in your head.

“Hey, I forgot to tell you what I found for T – wait a sec.” He looks around and asks “T-Dog is off duty right now, right, he ain’t up here?”

“Yeah, he and Hershel are downstairs doin’ something, um, Bible study maybe?”

“Good,” and he wraps up his ¾ finished cigarette in the little bit of tinfoil he keeps in his pocket just for that. “Come with me,” and he lightly cups your arm to lead you inside.

Ignoring Glenn who looks at you with eyebrows raised and a smug little grin at his hand guiding you along, you watch Daryl rummage through his bag to fish out a…crumpled red t-shirt?

But then he holds it open so you can see the logo.

You clap your hands in glee, but remember to whisper when you ask, “Is that a Dawgs shirt?”

He holds up a finger to his lips (Come on, man, give me a break. I’m trying to not stare at your mouth!) to remind you “Shh!”

“That’s where he played college ball!” you excitedly whisper.

He’s got the cutest damned smile when he murmurs shyly “S’where he got his nickname, too.” He even appears proud of himself, for once.

It takes a whole lot of effort for you to not repeat,“Oh Daryl, I could kiss you!”

So, you praise and talk up his find instead, feeling a warm, radiant sort of joy settle within you. That man has come so far and grown so much.

Which, apparently, makes now the perfect time for Glenn to toss a snowball of pillow fluff in your face. Both him and Daryl snicker like schoolboys.

“Ha! Payback!”

“Carl! Beth!” you screech. “Grab some of the pillow fluff and come upstairs, it’s war! Rhee’s the target, Dixon, too!”

Dec 24th, morning

You’ve been humming carols and Christmas songs all day.

Maggie took to singing Grandma Got Run Over by a Reindeer under her breath to tease Glenn, who h-a-t-e-s that song. He retaliated by singing Dominic the Donkey, at which point you obviously had to join in. Except now, the song is in everyone’s heads and most of you have been unwittingly mumbling the lyrics.

Snowball fights (fluff fights) have been going off and on a lot more today. People are excited! Carl especially looks excited, and that’s as much as you could wish for.

Presents are ready and wrapped. There was only birthday and baby shower wrapping paper in the attic, but that was fine, both of those are technically appropriate for Christmas. T-Dog and Beth are hard at work writing “Jesus” on the birthday paper.

And the food is…well, there’s not much to prep, per se. It’s rice and beans flavored with onion grass, one can of potatoes that Carol plans to spice up and drizzle with non-rancid oil that she found in the kitchen cabinet, cattail and watercress foraged by the stream the other day, with two squirrels and a rabbit that Daryl snagged last night/earlier this morning.

Then for toasting, there’s a mostly full bottle of bourbon, plus some canned peaches and pineapple for dessert. And a massive jar of peanut butter, just please keep it away from Daryl, he hates that stuff.

But see? Christmas dinner just like mama used to make. Almost.

This is gonna be an almost-normal holiday!

Dec 24th, afternoon

“Carl’s too young!”

“He’s with Rick and Daryl; he’s in safe hands,” Lori calmly tells you. Yet something about the way she said it suggests that she may have been repeating that for her own sake as much as yours.

“He has a radio and a walkie. We’ll know if anything goes wrong,” Carol reminds the two of you. She also appears to be saying it more for her own benefit.

“’Going wrong’ means getting bit these days!” you angrily throw back at her and immediately regret it.

Before you spat that out, you’d been thinking about how little Sophia had the pink walkie when she went missing. It hadn’t done her much good when she was running from walkers and it fell out of her pocket.

But Carol, of all people, knew that.

What you said was unkind and rude. And on Christmas Eve, of all days! Damn your temper.

Tucking your tail between your legs, you apologize straight away. “I’m sorry, I’m very sorry, Carol, I g-got a touch rude and dramatic, there. And I’m sorry, Lori. Carl’s in safe hands, you’re right.”

“You were honest, Y/N,” Lori mutters to herself as Glenn jogs over from down the hall.

“Hey, you seen Hershel?” he asks the three of you.

Your brow furrows even more. “He ain’t with Mags or Beth?”

He shakes his head. “Not with T-Dog, either.”

From behind you, you hear Lori tap her finger over the radio speaker and the walkie a few times. That was the way you contacted somebody if they were out. If little taps answer back, that means they are trying to stay quiet. If a voice answers back, all is well. Carol puts her arm around you in a silent gesture that she isn’t upset with you.

“Homebase, this is Rick,” crackles back over the police radio.

“Y/N, is that you?” Carl asks over the little walkie, which means they are within a three-mile radius.

“It’s me, my loves,” Lori answers into both. “Rick, Carl, is Hershel with you?”

“I-I thought I told you he was – wait, Lori, is everything alright? Is something going wrong, are you in pain, or –”

While she calms Rick’s nerves, Glenn rants under his breath to you how: “They took Hershel out? What the hell, man? Maggie isn’t gonna be happy. Hell, I’m not happy. And why didn’t they tell me – I could’ve gone to keep him safe!”

… later that afternoon

Hershel just cracked up when he got home to see how much he was being fussed over. To everybody, he reminded that he was a grown man, but that he was sorry he didn’t tell anyone that he was going out. In his words, “We had some errands to run, so went out at a time we thought no one would miss us.”

Carl, on the other hand, was quietly indignant at people thinking of him as a little kid. As for Rick, he tried to find a balance between being authoritative, authoritarian, and apologetic.

And as for Daryl, well, he was just Daryl. He didn’t listen to the commotion for a minute before heading off to another room for some quiet.

Dec 24th, late evening

You, T-Dog, and Daryl are currently on watch while the festivities are going on. But it’s all good, three bowls with dinner set aside are awaiting downstairs and you can hear the fun, at least. You’re eager to see that pillow fluff snowman you heard them say they were making.

The shifts tonight are shorter and more staffed to allow everybody to enjoy some time together, and Hershel gets the evening off from his breathing treatment.

And according to Dale trusty old mechanical timepiece, your shift is over in 9 minutes and forty-one…forty…thirty-nine seconds…

You’re so hungry that you’ve been watching the seconds time down since there was a half-hour left to your shift. You can’t wait to go downstairs, eat, and hug Carl as tightly as you can until he complains!

All is clear in your area where you’re looking, thankfully. Not one straggler in sight. There is a rabbit you’ve had your eye on, though, nibbling on something. Wait! – oh darn it, it just scurried away.

That means something spooked it. You focus and try to pinpoint any observable movement in your eye view, but there’s...no, there’s nothing…

Then you notice that T-Dog has stopped singing Oh Come All Ye Faithful.

The adrenaline starts to trickle. “Teddy, how many of ’em do you see?”

“Radio Daryl, a’ight? I got eyes on four, five…eight…no, there’s…shit.” He licks his lips and shakes his head. “I got eleven coming from the front right of the house, but there are more outside of my view.”

As you press the button to ask Daryl what he can see, he rushes over from down the hall. “Shit, people, we got a herd.”

8 minutes later

“Leave the fire, it’ll burn out on its own.”

“Shh, quiet now.”

“Have we got everythin’?”

“Everybody ready?”

The herd is big enough that T-Dog threw the egg timer as far as he could from the top window in the back of the house. That gave you all five minutes to get ready to run out the door and get to the cars until the timer went off and would draw the walkers towards that direction.

After the timer starts ringing, he’ll throw a Molotov (Daryl’s idea) in the same direction, and then you’d wait 30 more seconds before opening the front door and rushing for the cars.

“Remember: after that, Daryl, T-Dog, and myself will clear enough of the dead away so that Glenn and Y/N can sprint ahead and open the cars. Hershel, Maggie, Glenn, and Beth in the Chevy. Carol, Y/N, Daryl, and T-Dog in the Dodge. Lori, Carl, and myself in the Hyundai,” Rick instructs you all, voice commanding and firm.

He continues, “Follow the Dodge, it’s got the best suspension. They’ll be leading us to that small Water Department reservoir, the one near Chattahoochee-Oconee State Forest. That’s the one we marked on the map we went over together last week. Keep seatbelts, walkies, and radios on.”

Dec 24th, near midnight

The little building at the reservoir is clear, with two cots in the closet, one bench, and some folding chairs. It’s quiet here. Best of all, it’s removed from the town.

Tomorrow the group would see about setting up in there, meanwhile, you’d all stay in the vehicles for the night. Just in case.

Looking out the back view of the truck (the only window not fully covered), you worry. It’s dark so you can’t see much, but there is a plume of smoke out there. “Is that the smoke from the Molotov, you think?”

Carol squints as she gazes out the window and frowns. “Hope we didn’t start a brush fire.”

“Ain’t gonna spread far if we did,” Daryl states.

“Too much moisture in the area, in the ground,” T-Dog agrees, nodding.

The truck is warm enough, at least. Chilly night. The food is cold, too, but thankfully Carol saved your meal(s) in a sauce pot, so now you, Daryl, and T-Dog are trying to finally dull the ache in your stomachs since you three hadn’t eaten supper. That herd had very inconsiderate timing. And on Christmas, of all days, how rude.

Oh, that reminds you to check the time. Is it midnight yet?…

“Hey y’all, Merry Christmas!”

Carol raises her eyebrows, chuckles, and shakes her head as she politely returns, “Merry Christmas, everyone.”

But T-Dog, no, his reaction is joyful as he booms, “Oh-ho, Merry Christmas people!” while his mouth is still full, then takes the radio and wishes the other two cars the same joy-filled wish.

Daryl grunts something incoherent before whipping out two nips of brandy from his pocket.

“Aw, see? I knew he’d get into the Christmas spirit,” you giggle, snuggling further into your coat. Moses, it’s chilly tonight.

He tuts but smiles when you say that, handing the other nipper to T-Dog to share with Carol. After cracking open his, he glugs half before mumbling “Merry Christmas” and giving you the rest.

Drinking it down in one go (you’re cold and want that warming sensation brandy gives ASAP), you listen as T-Dog again cheers, “Merry Christmas, everybody! God bless!” over the radio.

After this, a barrage of similar cheers all compete for air time until the noise dies down just as quickly. Which is fair. There’s not too much ability to celebrate now.

Might as well get some rest, right?

“Anyone even able to fall asleep yet?” Carol asks wryly.

“Beat as all-get-out, but too wired,” T-Dog answers, urging everyone to help finish up the food in the pot.

“Least we have accommodations with meals right in our rooms,” you joke. If only there was space to stretch out in the truck bed, but there’s no cover for it even if there was room. It’s too cold, anyway.

“Daryl, you gonna be warm enough in that?” you softly check. You suppose he does have a leather jacket underneath the poncho, but...

“M’good. It’s warmer than it looks,” he assures you.

“Not to mention he got that cozy little crossbow for a blanket,” T-Dog cracks. “At least rest it on the dash, brother.”

You huddle closer to Carol for warmth in the backseat and try to get comfortable. Daryl and T-Dog settle themselves into their seats in the front. Carol and you end up sharing one coat and using the other as a blanket to more effectively transfer body heat.

And, eventually, you all fall asleep.

Dec 25th, early morning

The sun hasn’t risen yet, but the horizon has a faint glow to it. According to your watch, it’s 6:41 a.m.

And you. Gotta. Potty. NOW.

Un-tucking yourself from the shared coat, Carol wakes briefly to put it back on properly and zip it back up before relaxing back to catch at least a few more minutes of shut-eye.

Oh, Daryl’s awake, good. He catches your eye and gestures with his thumb to silently ask if you were heading outside. Nodding, you softly apologize to a mostly-asleep Carol and T-Dog that it would get cold(er) for a moment. Then, quietly and slowly, you both open up your doors and peek around for any uninvited guests.

After deeming it safe, you can hop out and shut the doors as quietly as can be done with a car door before you bundle yourself back into your coat.

Okay, time to find a shrub so you can pee in peace.

Before you can say anything, Daryl unexpectedly groans “Gimme a sec, m’bout to piss myself,” before hurrying off to one of the thicker trees.

But not before stopping, turning, and telling you “Oh right, um, Merry Christmas!”

… 4 minutes later

The little building didn’t have much of a mouse problem, if any mice problems. No broken windows, roof looks great. You hadn’t noticed last night, but there’s a little wood stove, too. You cannot believe your luck!

You and he are starting a fire in it now. There’s an old pile of mini logs already in here, plus a bunch of papers in and on the desk.

And a whole bunch of differently sized boxes and shipping envelopes under it, oddly enough. But those, you can open up later to see if there’s anything useful.

“Hey. You’re shivering.”

“How are you not? We just slept in a car and had to expose our giblets to the cold so we could pee, Daryl.”

Why did he just crack up? “‘Giblets,’ Y/N?”

“It’s what Gramma Jean called--well, also it’s Christmas, turkey’s on my mind,” you say, lips pursed but still smiling. “But really, how ain’t you shivering, too?”

“This thing is really damn warm, I’m tellin’ ya,” he insists, nodding towards his poncho.

“Maybe you just run hot. You do have very prominent veins, so good circulation.” If only you’d blushed enough to warm yourself after commenting about his ‘running hot,’ but alas.

“Huh. I forgot all about that day,” he mumbles, taking off his poncho – wait, why is he doing that?

“What are you doin’, baby? You’ll freeze!”

“C’mon, switch coats with me, it’ll warm you up. Take off the hoodie underneath, too.”

Begrudgingly unbuttoning the coat, you have to question, “Why the hoodie, too?”

“Trust me.”

“Won’t you get cold?”

“Nah, I’ll only get cold if you leave me hangin’ like this, now come on, off with it, slowpoke.”

Huffing, “I ain’t no slowpoke,” you unzip it and quickly shrug it off, upon which Daryl swiftly wraps his the poncho around you, helps you zip-up your hoodie next, then puts his leather jacket on you, too.

“Holy Moses, it is warm!”

With a little hum, he razzes, “Mmhm,” then puts your coat on himself and buttons it up. Suits Daryl nicely. That old barn coat had been your dad’s actually, then Shane’s. It fits you oversized and boxy, not very flattering, but you don’t mind.

“Thank you,” you tell him, feeling your shivers ease and your smile widen. “So, we doing this Santa thing or what?”

20 minutes later

Beth grabbed two of the wreaths she put together during the mad dash to the cars last night, can you believe it?

Well, yes, you can, actually. It’s Beth. She’s sweetness and innocence itself. Maggie found them in the trunk of the Chevy while grabbing the supplies from the two trucks with you and Daryl.

Carol is outside heating up food with T-Dog, you are inside the little building with Maggie trying to get things moderately comfy, and trying to get some coffee boiled on the hot part of the wood stove.

Daryl lightly taps your forearm. “Y/N, can I borrow your bowie knife? It’s bigger than mine.”

“Yeah, knock yourself out. Need some help with somethin’?”

“Nah, other than a giant cup of that coffee when I get back.”

As soon as he’s gone, Maggie turns to you, swallows her smirk, and teases, “Wearin’ each other’s clothes now, are we?”

“We switched coats, Mags. I tell you, you’re as bad as your man, sometimes.”

As if awaiting the perfect cue, Carol opens up the door and walks in with T-Dog. He merely comments, “Ooh, nice and toasty in here!”

She, on the other hand, lilts, “And what a nice poncho and cool leather jacket, Y/N.”

All they get out of you is a little huff and a groan. And a pout.

“Simmer down, friends. Now, what are all those boxes under the desk? Office supplies?”

“Dunno, Teddy, but they sure look fun,” you answer.

Hershel strolls in next, at which point you forget everything else in order to check how he’s feeling before running to the car to grab the stethoscope and med bag.

5 minutes later

Hershel opens the door up and in comes Daryl, who’s got a pile of thin branches in one arm while using the other to drag in a – a tree?

He actually went out to whack down a Christmas tree?

Granted, it’s one of those thin, scraggly fir trees that someone could bend with their pinky as opposed to a nice, thick pine, but regardless…you again have to quell the urge to exclaim that you could kiss him.

“It’s like that Charlie Brown one,” is all he says. “Thanks for the knife.”

6 minutes later

“It’s first light y’all. Ready to wake that kid up?”

“Wake his butt up!”

“I can’t wait to see his smile.”

Mid-morning

Everybody is warm and happy.

T-Dog and Beth have been singing or at least humming carols together all morning (plus the Hanukkah song in Jim and Dale’s memory, even though Hanukkah was over two weeks ago, so says the calendar in here. Still, you and Carl lined up and lit eight of the little mismatched candles from the group’s fire and flashlight bag).

Hershel read the Christmas passages from his Bible, then read more from the missal you’d picked up before you even left your home for the Atlanta safe-zone.

Carol revealed a sealed, unopened can of cocoa powder with which she made everyone mocha coffee or plain hot chocolate.

And for every gift given, you all made sure to state (very obnoxiously) in Carl’s direction that Santa or one of the Wise Men was responsible. Your sweet boy turned so red and rolled his eyes initially, but eventually was grabbing his stomach from cracking up too hard at how silly you all sounded.

Among other things (like fresh undies and socks!), your gift was a pair of earbuds and a camouflage scarf. Glenn and Carol found them for you.“Santa Claus knows you well.” They must remember all the dumb jokes you made about your camo tent and walkie. Naturally, the first thing you said when you were given it was: “...There’s nothing in here.”

T-Dog burst out in excitement when Daryl handed over the Dawgs t-shirt (no, he genuinely just flopped it over to him. “Obviously my main man Balthazar found me this one, right Daryl? Aw yes--and a Santa hat? Brother, you found a damn Santa hat!” In an instant, the shirt and hat were on him and he was playing it up very well.

Beth loved her Tom Waits cassette so much she started to cry. “Shawn used to play this at home. Santa found the same one, and, and he knows I can play this in the Chevy, it has a tape deck!”

Lori was in tears, too, after being given the shoe inserts as well as the baby carrier the night before. Like T-Dog, she immediately began to use them, and Maggie attributed the craftsmanship of the insoles she found to “Santa’s elves, I hear they’re very good shoemakers.”

For Carol, you and Rick gifted her with two really nice knives from a bait and tackle shop, of all places. “So she’ll feel safe and never forget that she can fight back, Ricky. Will she like that, you think? Is, is that an okay gift for her?” In response, he’d gone and chosen for her this really expensive switchblade that military and law enforcement used. You’d chosen her this cool (even if smaller) knife that came with four holes for her fingers to go through.

Upon receiving them and her eyes going wide, she seemed distracted at how fancy (and sharp) they were when she ad-libbed, “This must’ve been Malachi – sorry, what’s the Wise Man’s name, T-Dog? Melchior, that’s it! Melchior must’ve found these little guys for me, he’s a...knife man, as we all know.”

Maggie had enlisted you to break into a GameStop a few weeks ago for the sole purpose of finding one of the Portal games for Glenn. Useless without electricity and a matching console, yes, but she also nabbed the player’s guide so he could reminisce. He loved it. “Gaston nailed it!”

“Glenn, I love you, the third King’s name is Gaspar.”

And true to the predictions, Carl immediately inhaled one, then two of the pudding cups, and was working on a third by the time Rick held out a hand and advised, “Maybe wait a few minutes, kiddo. Mrs. Claus worked hard on them.”

“Dad, come on, it says ‘Kozy Shack’’ right on it.”

“She and Santa have a ‘cozy shack’ in the North Pole, my love,” Lori insisted with a self-aware grin at her son.

After gifts were all opened and appreciated, everybody was marveling at how you’d all managed to pull off a relatively familiar Christmas.

And Carl’s cheeks hadn’t stopped being red since it all started, and he’d been back and forth making faces, pretending right along with you, and cracking up every time you all declared which of the figures was responsible for the gifts.

It was a good morning.

Actually, no, it was (is!) a great one – overnight, Hershel’s cough got really productive!

1 minute later

Glenn rubs his hands together and says, “Okay guys let’s check out those boxes.”

“Ooo, yeah!”

“And yes, I know it’s just gonna be like pens or something, but what if it’s a Christmas miracle and Santa actually came?” he adds.

A few voices of assent pop up, but strangely enough, Carl yelps “Wait!”

“Baby, what’s wrong?” Lori asks, concerned.

“It’s just, um…here, I’ll hand them out. Everybody can open one of them.”

“A mite scrawny to be St. Nick,” you tease.

Somehow reddening even further, he shyly walks over and grabs each box, sometimes shaking them a little before looking around and handing them out in a very deliberate manner.

“Don’t open them until everybody has theirs.”

“Theirs?”

Confused but intrigued, you all wait in anticipation until all of the boxes…exactly 11, one for each of you…are distributed.

Cheeks still flaming, he goes back to his seat by his parents and says “Okay, go ahead.”

“Tell me mine is a cool water department logo baseball hat!” Glenn jokes.

But the room falls silent when you see that these are presents. Personal ones.

Lori sobs out in pride as she reveals a stack of old soap opera magazines and one homemade soap opera comic that Carl put together with Beth and Maggie’s drawing help.

Rick grows quiet and has tears in his own eyes because Carl gave him a picture of him, Shane, you, and Carl together. It had been in Shane’s Jeep over the dash before the car was abandoned and you’d packed it up. It’d been in under the backseat of the Hyundai ever since.

So that’s why Carl asked you for it, to give to Rick.

Lori had snapped that photo at city hall after Rick got an award for valor years ago. You’d been holding a very young Carl in your arms, and photobombed it together. That was right after you’d gotten your braces off, in fact.

When you open your present...you cannot believe your eyes. You blink over and over, and turn it around in your hands.

“Carl, baby, I-I...where did you find a peak-flow meter? How did…oh my g – and guaifenesin?” you choke out in relief. It’s perfect. You cannot have imagined a gift more perfect, and it’s all you can do to not blubber like a baby. “Mr. Greene, here, t-take two –”

“ – I already took my morning dose.”

“What?”

“Carl enlisted me a while ago to help him find gifts for you all. He worded it, I believe, as ‘wanting to be Santa’ for all of us. We snuck the boxes in here last night.” Hershel smiles. “Yesterday afternoon, when Rick got a tongue lashing from you all, that was the only time we’ve been caught. Carl found the expectorant yesterday, along with the meter.”

“Th-that’s why your cough and lung sounds improved last night.” Not a question.

With a pat on Carl’s head and a sip of his hot drink, he concedes, “I imagine so.”

40 minutes later…or an hour? Maybe an hour and a half. Possibly two hours, but who cares? It’s Christmas!

You’re on the far right side of the reservoir with Daryl, warm in your new scarf (“And invisible, Daryl. It’s camouflage.”).

Carl gave him three different types of hunting calls and a baggie of quarters. “You swear under your breath a lot, so here’s an advance,” were the boy’s exact words.

It’s been months since you’d done that, charged a quarter per swear or lewd/rude comment.

Yet without missing a beat, Daryl grunted under his breath “Shit, little man, you can hear me when I do that?” and immediately paid up.

Right now, you’re both awaiting those turkeys by the rocks way over there to smell the canned corn you’d left as bait and waddle closer.

Earlier, he’d explained “The deer call might work this time of year if I use it to imitate a baby deer. Could send a doe runnin’ to help it, but…” then he’d glanced at you and mumbled “But I ain’t doin’ that today. It’s Christmas.”

If that hadn’t been enough to send the butterflies in your stomach into a frenzy, the fact that now he was pressed up next to you behind a big rock while silently guiding you to use the turkey box caller appropriately would do it.

“Three short calls is what they do when they’re lost,” he whispers into your ear. “Be gentle.”

Your mind doesn’t intentionally go anywhere untoward when he says that, you swear. You forget to scrape the thingy, too.

He clears his throat, bless his oblivious heart, and makes your flustering get a bit worse. “Gentle, now, Y/N, I’ll show you…”

Within 5 minutes

“Holy Moses, Dary-bear, you got the fat one!”

“Damn it,” he curses. “Got it in the gut. Was aimin’ for the head.”

“That’s Christmas dinner and a half right there!” you cheer, then just as excitedly tell everyone over the walkie to “Look out the window on the right side of the water to get a look at this bird Daryl just bagged! It’s massive! He got the big old tom!” To him, you urge, “Dare, go on now, hold it up, they’ll flip!”

“I ain’t holdin’ it up.”

“Aw, is my mangy hick is too shy?” you coo, then play-pout into the walkie, “He’s too shy to pose with it, everybody.”

“Stop,” he snorts. “C’mon now, help me clean it.”

One plucked and cleaned bird later

“Hey, I found you somethin’ I thought you’d like.”

“Hm?”

He’s holding out a…he got you a Christmas present.

The thing is, you got him one, too, it’s in the truck, you were just...nervous. Silly, right?

Which is, of course, why you waste no time making a silly joke at what he’s holding in his hand for you. “I don’t see nothin’ there,” you say with as serious a face as you can.

Inside, ohhh, your heart is racing.

“Such a weirdo,” he grunts before placing it on your head.

It’s a camo baseball cap. Vintage military cap, actually, by the looks of it, complete with ear flaps for wearing under a helmet. Inside it, a bag of (partially melted) gummy sharks.

“Carol showed me the scarf they found,” is his simple explanation, and he starts to walk back toward the group’s campfire with the turkey.

“This is fantastic. I’ll never lose at hide-and-seek again!” Will you never stop making really stupid, lame jokes about camouflage? “And the, the gummy sharks, how’d you--how’d you know I love these?”

“You mentioned them a while back.”

You listen to the crunch on the near-frozen ground as you step in time with him. “I did?”

“Yeah. That day with the tootsie pops. You might not remember, it was awhile back.”

Of course you remember that day. That’s when you’d first fallen victim to this damned crush. And it was the day he’d christened you ‘slowpoke’ for the first time.

“This is fantastic,” is all you are able to repeat, and you will yourself to not stare into his eyes for longer than normal. “Look at this giant blob of gummy shark! C’mon, let’s have some right now!”

“My hands are all nasty.”

“It’s okay, I scrubbed off good. If you’re cool with it, I’ll feed you, it’s the least I can do,” you say, tearing open the little package of candy and peeling back the plastic that’s stuck to it.

“Just save room for this guy,” he gestures to the bird. “Should be loads better than the Canada goose was.”

Daryl

He’s chewing on a mouthful of melted gummy shark (pretty tasty, he has to say) and is leaning against the Dodge while Y/N rummages through their messenger bag. Jacqui’s originally.

Y/N got him something for Christmas, too. Made his belly feel all funny, when they told him.

“Here’s it is,” they mutter to themselves, then turn to him, eyes bright while holding a brown paper lunch bag. “Merry Christmas, Daryl.”

He hopes he doesn’t look as nervous as the schoolboy he feels like when he reaches inside to pull out a – “Oh, fuck yes.” Nicotine patches?

“Don’t go too hard with them, hear. Use ’em sparingly, maybe cut them smaller? But it’s a darn sight better than them death sticks, I-I really hate seein’ you smoke – I mean, sorry,” they apologize, “I mean: I’m so glad you’ve whittled it down to once per day. That’s amazin’, dude.”

Y/N tended to nag voice their concerns about his smoking habit, but not in a, y’know, bitch way. They seemed genuinely worried about it.

“Here, I’ll open up the box, Daryl, you just go ahead and grab the other little thing out of the bag.”

Okay. He peeks into the bag to find a – “You serious? I’m eatin’ this shit right now, fuck yes,” he exclaims as he rips the bag open with his teeth, narrowly avoiding getting vinegar all over. Been too damn long since he’s had a pickle-in-a-bag!

“Found one in the cupboard our first day in the fancy house we just vacated,” they told him, still smiling big, almost like they were being bashful.

He had that tugging feeling in his chest again when he looked back at them. That kept happening. Wasn’t no big thing, just annoying sometimes.

For some reason, it happened real hard the other day when Y/N was talking to Lori’s stomach. The was reading the little guy in there a story. His own stomach did flip flops when h saw it and he imagined the two of them having a ki – never mind, he was gonna quit while he was ahead and not think about those tugging strings in Y/N’s direction. Or about how it was especially hard if he got distracted looking at their mouth.

That kept happening, too. Real damned annoying. Felt weird, too.

Shit – speaking of staring at their lips, he was doing it right now.

Quick, say somethin’ to cover your ass!

“You got some gummy shark on your lip there.”

Which was the incorrect thing to do, because now they’re licking their lips and rubbing a finger over them to try and get rid of it.

“It’s gone now, Y/N, you’re good.” It would be easier if they hadn’t just called him ‘my mangy hick.’ They did say, that, right? Maybe he heard wrong.

“It’s gone? Cool. Let’s head over to the fire, man,” Y/N contentedly chirps.

As soon as they get close, Y/N takes a spot next to Carl, per usual. They love that kid like nothing else. “Hey, punk. Enjoying your new Invincible comics?”

“Yeah, I haven’t even read this one yet! Check out what’s happening with the…”

As bull as Daryl initially thought this whole thing would be, today and yesterday ended up being really…he isn’t sure how to describe it. The word ‘nice’ sucks, so that one’s out.

But seeing how everybody banded together to give each other and especially that boy a good Christmas? How excited he felt when he found that army hat for Y/N, the shirt for T-Dog? And the Santa hat, too, by way of apology to both. And T-Dog made a good-ass Santa, he had to admit.

And then after Rick brought him along to help Carl, he didn’t know it was because he was trying to “be Santa this year” for everyone else. But Rick trusted him to protect his kid right alongside him. And that kid did something real damn sweet for everyone.

It made it easy to feel…not so hopeless, and lonely, about the future. Like maybe this really can be a family.

“Right, Daryl?” Y/N interrupts.

Huh, what? “Uh, yeah.”

Smiling, they check “Do you need me to repeat it?”

“…Yeah.”

“We was saying this was an almost-normal Christmas, considerin’.”

Aw, hell yeah. Better than one he’s had in…maybe ever.

So he reaches into his (oh right, it’s Y/N’s) coat pocket to fish out a quarter. Holds it out to Carl. “Today’s been a fuckin’ great Christmas.”

congrats on making it all the way through! A moment of silence for IronE Singleton (T-Dog) and Laurie Holden (Andrea) staring at nothing in this pic.

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