Lady with a Laptop

A home for all my thinky thoughts and random blurbs

28 notes

Anonymous asked: Loss

Carol sat on the floor of the enclosed back porch of their house for the night. The cicadas were out in full force, filling the woods beyond the small yard with that familiar hum. They had broken the wooden rocking chairs to burn in their campfire, but the wooden floor was comfortable enough. It was comfortable enough for Maggie, who had wordlessly joined Carol on the back porch and laid down beside her, using Carol’s lap as a pillow.

Carol could see Hershel’s pocket watch clutched between her fingers, and she pursed her lips through a grimace, running her fingers through the young woman’s hair. Maggie had seen her father be executed right in front of her. One minute he had been alive, and the next, he was gone.  She hadn’t gotten to say goodbye any more than Carol had. She needed to be held.

Maggie had no tears tonight; she was too exhausted. Carol didn’t coerce her into conversation, and the two women sat quietly together on the porch, listening to the sounds of the woods beyond the mosquito nets.

She combed Maggie’s bangs over her forehead, back behind her ear, and then over her forehead again, eventually rubbing her arm to try and soothe her. Her own eyelids were growing heavy, but her friend was in pain. She couldn’t do something so selfish as sleep now.

After a while, the screen door opened just enough for Daryl to poke his head through. Carol lifted her head to look at him. He took in her and Maggie, grieving together over the watch and feeling Hershel’s loss, and he wordlessly held up a bowl of food.

Carol offered a small smile, gesturing to the windowsill beside her. Daryl leaned over, not actually stepping out onto the porch, and deposited the bowl on the sill, along with a bottle of water. He gave her a nod and retreated, closing the screen door quietly after himself.

Maggie began to curl into herself a little more in her sleep, and Carol rested her hand on the crown of Maggie’s head. She reclined against the wall at her back, the ache in her heart growing.

Goodbye, my dear friend, she whispered to the clear night sky.

Filed under caryl caryl prompt operation angst Anonymous

42 notes

Anonymous asked: prompt: fetish

Carol loved Daryl’s shoulders. A lot. They were broad, sturdy things that she could hold onto when they hugged or huddled together at night. She liked to hold onto them when he was on top of her in their private moments, to wrap her hands around his bare skin and feel the coiled muscle moving underneath.

Her hands took their time roaming down where his shoulders connected to the thick ropes of muscle around his upper arms, and she’d left her share of imprints where she’d hung on a little too tightly. However, she always ended up at his shoulders again.

A man with a broad back was a man who could carry a lot of weight, her mother used to tell her. He could lift away your burdens and carry you away from danger. That all sounded well and good and romantic in theory, and Daryl had definitely carried her away from danger his share of times. Carol would never say that he had lifted her burdens. He had enough of a struggle carrying his own. She had carried her own problems on her narrow shoulders, and to say that someone else had simply lifted them away felt like an injustice to them both.

She was relieved of that weight, and every day that passed, she could see some burdens lightening the load on his back.

Carol found herself leaving hickeys all across his neck and collarbones, wrapping around his rotator cuffs but never extending beyond what his shirt would cover.

Even with the rest of the group, she didn’t mind if he took the lead up with Rick and Abraham. It was a lovely view from where she was. With that unique, accidentally graceful gait that was all Daryl and inimitable, the miles of walking seemed to pass without squabble, so long as she had a good view of that sharp V-shape from his shoulders to his hips.

“I can SEE see your lady boner from here,” Rosita quietly chided once. “Keep it in your pants.”

Carol snorted, her cheeks reddening as Daryl heard her and glanced back.

“Can you blame me?” Carol whispered back to Rosita, giving Daryl a little wave that everything was okay.

Rosita’s only response was a snicker, and Carol went back to wondering where she was going put her hands on him tonight.

Filed under caryl operation levity caryl prompt Anonymous

43 notes

Anonymous asked: Prompt ---> It's okay

Their nightmares had changed as the months had gone by. Just after the Turn, they were dreams filled with fear of catching the illness and becoming one of the staggering corpses. Then they were dreams about being eaten alive and ripped apart by them. Then they were about ending up alone and defenseless. Then they were about facing Turned loved ones. Then they were about losing everyone. Sometimes their nightmares wore faces.

Lori’s face. Sophia’s face. Andrea’s face. Merle’s face.

They all came out of the boiling darkness at some time or another.

Lately, Daryl could hear Glenn comforting Maggie when she woke up crying for her father and her lost sister. Tara would cry in her sleep for her sister and niece. Michonne would murmur some unintelligible syllables that Daryl comprehended without understanding.

It had been a while since Carol’s nightmares had had names.

Daryl was familiar with Carol’s nightmares. They used to be Ed. Then they were about Sophia. Then Lori. Then Judith. Sometimes they were about him. She cared about all of them, and she hurt for all of them. Now that they were back together again, away from Terminus and en route to Washington, names were crossing her lips in her sleep again.

“I’m sorry…” she choked in her sleep one night.

The crack in her voice was a lance through his chest, and Daryl remained upright, sitting beside her as the embers of the campfire glowed in the pit. He waited to see if she would pull herself out of it and drift back to restful sleep. Her disturbed stirring continued.

“Lizzie…Mika…No…Please…” She trembled.

Daryl reached out and grasped her shoulder. “Carol. Hey, you’re having a nightmare.”

Carol twitched, opened one eye blearily, and then bolted upright, gasping for breath.

“Hey, easy.” He held up his hands, corralling her wild eyes to his face. “It’s okay. You’re okay.”

“Th-they were…It was…” Her face crumpled and she covered her eyes with her hands, breaking down.

Daryl folded his arms around her, cupping the back of her head and letting her cry it out.

“I gotcha. It’s okay.”

Filed under caryl operation angst caryl prompt Anonymous

36 notes

love-is-drowning asked: One word prompt: wine

The voices of the others chatting and relaxing filled the church along with the warm glow from the candles. Carol couldn’t bring herself to join them. Just days ago, she had ended a child’s life, and now she was sitting in a house of God, surrounded by scripture that reminded her, in no uncertain terms: thou shalt not kill.

She swilled the wine in her cup idly, watching the red drink roll around the glass.

Take and drink…This is blood of my body…shed for you.

She could see two small, blood stained hands, holding a knife and begging for her to wait and let Mika turn.

Carol flinched, looking up at the rafters of the church.

The sound of the single gunshot was still reverberating in her ears on an endless loop, and the unbidden image of those little yellow flowers still haunted her when she did manage to sleep. She wanted to forget…to put it behind her…but God didn’t forget.

Was she damned? What forgiveness was there for killing a sick child? What mercy could she possibly deserve?

A few feet away, Daryl had made his seat on the floor, picking at his own bowl of food. He had respected her wishes and not pressed her to tell him what had happened, merely taking a spot beside her in quiet camaraderie if and when she decided to talk.

Abraham stood to speak, but half of his speech didn’t register in her mind.

She didn’t know what the others had done to survive when the prison fell. What depths they had sunk to or the heights that they had achieved to stay alive. They were affected by it, she could see, but it wasn’t keeping them awake at night. It wasn’t preventing them from enjoying this meal. It wasn’t building a wall between them and their loved ones.

Daryl was right there, an arm’s length away, so willing and able to listen or to just be with her. His embrace and seeing the Grimes reunited had kept her thoughts warm for a day, but now the chill was creeping back in. She still felt isolated from these people, from her family.

How often had she come to her hometown church, so similar to this one? For some peace and quiet, for an escape, for that sense of calm that she couldn’t feel anywhere else. She had brought Sophia to church with her every Sunday and to every church function that she could, just to get her out of the house and away from Ed, who wanted nothing to do with her faith but had allowed her that freedom.

Now here she was, a year since she had last set foot in a holy house, and she felt like a stranger. The angels weren’t protecting her now, they were condemning her. The altar wasn’t welcoming her to worship; it was staring her down. How dare she even think of forgiveness?

Unconditional: that was what she had learned of God’s love. For the repentant soul, there was always the promise of salvation.

She wasn’t even sure if she believed in God anymore.

Carol grimaced and looked down at her wine again. She could feel Daryl watching her, but she couldn’t look back at him and see that concern and care in his eyes. He didn’t know what she’d done. She never wanted him to. It was her burden to bear.

Filed under caryl caryl prompt operation angst love-is-drowning