Welcome to the Grand Prix Final of fic recs: I wanted to be able to include more fics on this list so I did not do long summaries and instead arranged them as to when they were written as certain things (like banquet in ep 10) have a significant effect on our views of the characters. All fics are complete not WIP. Happy reading! (other fic recs: here)
It’s been several years since Carl’s allowed himself to
think of Christmas at all. When the apocalypse had first started, they’d all
been in a sort of limbo phase of thinking which even nearly seven years later
Carl can still remember as one of the most disoriented periods of his life. His
mother and Shane had both spent quite some time trying to convince him that
everything would go back to normal soon, that the walkers were only a temporary
problem, a sickness that would be quickly eradicated, like bird flu, or typhoid
fever. That they’d be back home for Christmas, maybe even for Thanksgiving.
Except winter had come and gone with nothing to mark it. No
tinsel, no lights, no trees outside of the ones Carl and the rest of the group
ran through and slept in, like a bad camping trip that never ended. The walkers
hadn’t gone away, either; they’d multiplied, staggering, infesting Carl’s
world, ruining everything. Gaunt and peeling away at their edges. And then
spring, another summer—Carl’s twelfth birthday in there somewhere, though by
that point they’d stopped trying to mark the days on the calendar—and then
fall, and Shane died, and Carl stopped trying to find the good in anything for
a long time.
So he hasn’t let himself remember Christmas. It was always
more his mom’s holiday than his dad’s anyway, with the tree and the cookies and
making sure the stockings were stuffed full of little racecars and Hershey’s
and, once, memorably, a PS3, laid flat underneath the bulging weight of the
stocking itself. And it’s hard to remember holidays, easier to forget, when
there’s no guarantee the people you love will be around to celebrate them. When
you’ve grown up with a gun in your hand, blood and guts on your shirt. When you’re
only seventeen and you’ve got one eye and nightmares that come every night in
torrents and no way of escaping, not for the rest of your life.
He didn’t think anyone else was really thinking of holidays
like Christmas anymore either, which is why he’s surprised, one morning, to
wake and find Negan draping Christmas lights over the edge of their doorway,
draping them over the bedposts.
my fic for the @pjosecretsanta2016 thank you to the beautiful mods for organising it, you did such an amazing job at such a busy time of year and i really appreciate it!!!!
merry christmas to @tinyamren , i hope you enjoy this 5k words magical percabeth au and are having a wonderful holiday season (✿◠‿◠)
Annabeth came to terms with the fact that she didn’t have magic a long time ago.
If she had to pinpoint the moment, she’d probably tell you it was when she was seven and overheard her father talking about how even when she was particularly emotional she didn’t display any signs of accidental magic, but secretly she knew that she didn’t fully accept it until she was twelve.
She got cornered in an alleyway by some vicious bullies and she still couldn’t summon any magic to help her. Not that she needed it, in the end - she’d found a hammer that had done just as good a job of persuading them to shut up as any spell would have.
Not everyone had magic. In fact, very few people did. Only about ten percent of the population, was the estimate, although of course it was hard to get accurate figures when so many of them chose not to officially disclose their powers.
But Annabeth’s mother had been magical, and she took after her in every other possible way, so it had just sort of been assumed that the magic would come, too. When it didn’t, her father was relieved, glad to have some semblance of normalcy, while Annabeth was immensely disappointed.
If you’d asked, she probably would have told you that she got over it pretty quickly. Normal was fine, normal was easy, normal was as good as it was going to get. She never expected to feel that spark inside her, that tingling at the tips of her fingers, the overflow of energy pulsing through her and out into the universe.