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• If there is only one category, nominated fics can be either Complete or WIP.
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• First Place winners of previous years’ categories are ineligible for nomination. Second and Third Place winners are still eligible.
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Three weeks after burning down the moonshine shack, Beth and Daryl find shelter in an abandoned RV. It’s Christmas. The whole world is full of hope and love now, thinks Daryl. Chicken feathers, rose hips, Boone’s Farm Strawberry Hill. Candle light shining on the furniture in winter. She makes him feel brave.

‘Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the Prison,

Not a creature was stirring, not even the Dead;

The backpacks were full of emergency supplies, 

In case of a herd overrunning their home;

The Family was huddled all together for warmth;

Except for a couple out in the watchtower,

Keeping a watch for Walkers and human dangers;

The Hunter couldn’t keep his glaze off the woman,

And the Babysitter kept scooting closer;

Daryl slowly slid a hand over hers and Beth,

She took the opportunity to kiss him.

The moonlight shown down on the dazed couple,

Daryl pulled back, his face showed befuddlement;

And all Beth could say was “Merry Christmas, Daryl!”

One of my contributions for Ultimate Bethyl Fic List’s “Bethyl Holidays Fest 2022.” Prompt - Pumpkin carving.

The last thing Beth wants to do is go to a Halloween Party, especially not in this way too sexy costume Rosita loaned her. She’s sure things can’t get worse, then she runs into Daryl Dixon at the Quickie Mart.

• Submissions must be a minimum of 1,000 words.
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His breath was warm and wet on her bare thighs, the Soffe shorts rolled up high enough she might not be wearing them at all. She trailed her hand from his hair, letting it drift over his cheek until she’d lifted his head and he stared up at her with burning eyes. The way he looked at her, like he was a general who’d commanded thousands to their death, tightened her chest until it nearly was a physical ache.

“What could you have done different?”

His chin slid from her crooked fingers and he looked towards the blank wall. “I coulda taken the shot.”

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• There is no limit to how many fics can be nominated per category.
• Most categories have one for Completed works and one for In Progress works. Completed works must have been completed between January 1st, 2021 and December 31st, 2021. Works In Progress must have been updated at least once between January 1st, 2021 and December 31st, 2021.
• If there is only one category, nominated fics can be either Complete or WIP.
• Fics can be nominated in multiple categories.
• Authors are limited to ONE fic nominated per category, so choose wisely.
• Winners of previous years’ categories are excluded from nomination.
• Yearly “Exclusive” categories are open for fics from any year, regardless of previous wins.
• Please nominate a specific piece of fan art for the Fan Art categories, preferably with a link to the source. We will NOT count general artist nominations for any category except Artist of the Year.

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Daryl finished Carol’s book of Robert Frost poems well before they even made it to Atlanta. He keeps certain feelings and images in his head, which call him back to his place in the world and remind him of his worth. Beth is not the only survivor who he recognizes at the funeral home. There is Amanda, and the doctor. There are others, too. Somehow, they survive here. Though the memories are cold from that day when it all went black, the fire is warm tonight, thinks Daryl.

Daryl once said to Beth, “I ain’t never got nothing from Santa Claus.” Santa Claus is mythology, but the hope he represents is real. Some days, Daryl still wonders if it’s all a dream, but his gut tells him to believe. He found her, somehow, and that’s all that matters in the end. Whatever comes today, or tomorrow, he knows now that it’s all going to be all right. On Christmas Eve, she sings him to sleep.

“Beth?” says Daryl.

“Yes,” says Amanda. “Beth. Beth Greene.”

“What are you talking about.”

“She’s alive,” says Amanda. “She’s right outside. Collecting firewood. I’m surprised you didn’t see her on your way in.”

Daryl steps outside into the white night. The moon is a bright eye in the sky, so big and full it lights the snowy land. Amanda stands in the doorway, watching, with Dog.

There are many ghosts in Georgia, but none here tonight.

The woman at the house seems to recognize him. She puts her gun down right away when she sees his face. She looks concerned, or like something is wrong. He thinks he knows her, but he can’t place it. His brain was hit by a tornado long ago. Everything is a mess.

“My name is Amanda Shepherd,” she says. “We met, a long time ago, at Grady Memorial, in Atlanta. Do you remember?”

Do I remember, thinks Daryl. “What are you doing here.”

“The hospital fell, maybe like a year after everything…happened. The ones who survived, Beth brought us here.”

Daryl knew that he had been hearing things.

“Beth?”

After camping one night out near the cemetery, Daryl decides to go inside the funeral home. Gotta face it, he says to himself. So he goes in. The place is empty. Or, so it seems. He’s hearing things. He thinks he hears music coming from up the stairs, Christmas music, like playing from a record. He is also seeing things. There are Christmas decorations. Garland and bows. And there are other things, too. Things he cannot rightly explain. After looking around for a while and feeling like he is back in Virginia, right back on that river where everything was messed up, that is when he realizes that he is not alone.

Christmas is the least magical time of year as far as Daryl is concerned. All the overpriced, tacky, commercialism is bad enough, add in the fact that the worst heartbreak of his life happened days before Christmas and Daryl would be more than happy to skip December altogether. Or at least he would except he only sees Beth in December.