#My idea is Dwight might be checking this out as a favor for his school who also got reports

[chaosmultiverse]

 “What’s your favorite scary movie?” (Dealer’s choice)

☆I got Blair Witch Project☆

Gerard had heard that there were odd things within the woods of this small town, so he had booked a motel, checked out the town a bit and then had headed out in the evening to investigate.

He had been walking though the woods for a hour and a bit, using a night-camrea to get a better lay of the land around him. It was when he heard a noise that he turned without a second thought and noticed Dwight even without the camera.

"Why are you out here?" To Dwight Gerard juat looked like a random birtish goth man with poorly dyed blsck hair, likely in over his head.

[negans-network]

Pull My Hair Part 5 - Introspection and Conversations

Summary: For @flames-bring-a-ton-of-ash and her 2nd Negan Writing Challenge, this is for the hair-pulling kink prompt introducing OFC Susan.

Word Count: 6429 (Sorry, I got carried away)

Warnings: Foul language, Sexual References, Slight Gore, Depressing Thoughts

Author: @genevievedarcygranger

Author’s Note: Sorry for the delay and lack of smut! I always over-do everything and I’m fully fleshing this out even though it’s a smut prompt. 

As Dwight and Susan travelled further into the factory, Susan’s escape plan started to be fully formed. Sure, she had her doubts because it felt like she was wandering a catacomb, but Susan was smart and good with directions. That was one of her best skills when she was out in the world trying to survive, because she only got lost twice, and once was when she was ill and the other was when she was starting to go crazy. For the Sanctuary, she could make a mental-map easily enough.

Besides, Susan was very interested in what all this community could offer. This building used to be a factory, and as she passed by some rooms she saw that there was a locker room offering showers. This must have been a chemical or industrious factory to offer that. There were several closed doors marked with numbers, and Susan thought briefly of the red 6 on her own bedroom door. She doubted that these rooms were for the common workers, they probably belonged to the Saviors as part of their perks for the job. It was quiet for the most part, the place smelling of cleaning supplies, a pleasant smell compared to the usual rot and smell of bodies Susan was used to on the outside.

 Further in they travelled, and Susan started to lag behind, her heels hindering her progress. She was forced to walk slower or risk tumbling down with a sprained ankle. Dwight didn’t notice, and Susan didn’t say anything, not wanted to come off as a whiner. Thankfully, so far, she hasn’t tripped, though she was starting to miss her old, reliable boots more and more each time she heard her loud heels click-clack on the tiled floor. Her heavy backpack was also slowing her down, but Susan was used to carrying this much normally, so she wasn’t about to complain about that either.

Eventually Dwight slowed down his pace and stopped in front of a door. He looked back at Susan, and waited with a bored look on her face for her to catch up to him. Once she was close enough, Dwight explained, “This is my room, you can just wait outside right here.”

 Susan nodded her understanding, and Dwight slipped inside his room. He left the door open, though, and Susan hovered at the threshold. She knew it wouldn’t exactly be wise for her to be in Dwight’s room; and just like earlier where he gave her respectful space by waiting outside her room, she was going to be pay him the same courtesy. Still, she was going to look around his room.

 It was interesting, everything he had compiled in there. The room was cozy, with a full-sized bed and cabinets, there was even a fridge. Susan’s beliefs that the Saviors stole furniture from a Rooms-To-Go was starting to solidify in her mind. This furniture wasn’t the cheap kind one could buy from a Walmart or Target and assemble on their own. She noted with interest the mounted bass fish on his wall, something she didn’t think Dwight – or anyone with taste really – would decorate a room with. But she supposed that in the apocalypse, one couldn’t exactly be picky. Dwight had a TV with a VCR, and Susan couldn’t remember the last time she used one of those – probably in elementary school to watch Bill Nye for their science lesson. Out of everything in the room, though, one of the most surprising items had to be the chess board with hand-carved pieces. It was quaint, and Susan was beginning to think that Dwight had hidden talents. He was someone she should watch out for.

While Susan swept her gaze curiously around his room, Dwight had stuck his beer in the fridge and shoved his bag of pretzels in the back of one of his cabinets behind an unopened jar of peanut butter. Once he finished with that, he looked back at Susan, catching her guilty start for looking around his room. He didn’t comment, though, having expected her to snoop. “Let’s go.”

Wordlessly, Susan nodded, but just as she pulled away from the doorframe, she heard a scrape and the definite sound of heavy footfalls from boots. The sound echoed down the hallways, so the origin was hard to tell what direction exactly it was coming from. Dwight’s eyes widened and he frantically pushed Susan out of the door way and slammed his door shut behind him as he stepped out. “Just stay right here, and don’t say anything.”

 Bewildered, Susan watched as Dwight collected himself again. Part of her was shocked because that was the first-time Dwight had laid his hands on her. He did it quickly, not too rough, but Susan was under the impression that touching a wife was a definite no-no. If anything, Susan expected him to drag her inside his bedroom to hide; but again, if they were found that way, people might get the wrong ideas. Dwight was taking a risk just being around her, even if it was under Negan’s orders. She had so many questions, but he told her not to speak. Susan had no idea of what exactly to expect. So, when the origin of the noise finally rounded the corner, Susan could do little else but gasp in both shock and horror.

Four men were dragging an unconscious man, bloody and obviously beaten, brown hair greasy and long. He wore a filthy sweatshirt with matching pants, the color once gray but now brown with grime and – orange from paint? The four men each had him by one of his limbs, but despite that his knees and part of his body still scraped the floor, leaving a trail of blood. The man wasn’t dead or surely, they would have stabbed him through the brain by now. No, no, why go through all the trouble unless he was the prisoner. Susan suddenly realized that this was Daryl, and he must have been brutally punished for trying to escape. Even though, it seemed like they made it deliberately easy for him to escape. It was a test.

As the men passed, Susan avoided eye-contact with all of them in favor of looking at Dwight in question. Dwight in turn avoided eye-contact with her, his gaze riveted on the prisoner Daryl, his look flat. He didn’t seem surprised at the treatment at all, and Susan could almost swear that Dwight looked … sympathetic? Pitying? “Let’s go, Susan.”

Surprisingly, Dwight started after the men, and with no other choice Susan was forced to follow, stepping carefully around the fresh red blood trail they carelessly left in their wake. Her heels and Dwight’s own footsteps joined the scraping sound and the clatter of their boots. None of the men were speaking, huffing and puffing. They reached a door with a crude piece of paper attached. Susan tried to read the paper – ‘Dipshit Training Center’ – but then they ripped open the door and tossed the man inside. Susan coughed, the smell of feces, vomit, and urine over-powering her once the door was open, but the men, gagging too, quickly (thankfully) shut the door, pushing the button on the handle to lock it afterwards.

That seemed to be that, and three men dispersed. One of the men, a black guy, stayed. “What are you doing with the new wife, Dwight?”

A little annoyed that he asked Dwight rather than herself, Susan spoke up, “He’s taking me to the laundry. And my name is Susan.”

The man had the audacity to look Susan up and down, uninterested, before turning back to Dwight. “She didn’t need to see this,” he continued to talk about her like she wasn’t there.

“But I do,” Dwight argued, stepping toe to toe with the man. “He’s my prisoner, Gary. Negan gave him to me to break.” Despite Gary being taller, Dwight tilted his chin, unintimidated.

 “Negan may have assigned you to the prisoner, but we were the ones to beat the shit out of him – under Negan’s commands. Negan planned his escape Dwight. Clearly you aren’t watching him closely, because you didn’t notice he was missing.” There was biting silence as the two men exchanged glares. Gary’s voice dripped dangerously lower as he continued, “You aren’t breaking him well enough for Negan’s tastes. Take it up with Negan if you have a problem, but I’m following orders.” With that, Gary muscled past Dwight, following after the other men.

At a loss, Susan watched as Dwight took a deep breath in. He glowered at Gary’s retreating figure and then the cell door for moment, before walking away quickly. “Stay right there,” Dwight called back over his shoulder before he disappeared into a nearby room. Susan awkwardly stood there for a moment, nervously eyeing the door. There were going to break that man, but why? What could possibly be the reason for his punishment?

Glancing to see if Dwight was coming back, Susan took a step toward the cell door, holding her breath out of fear just as much as to avoid inhaling the rank smell. She carefully pressed an ear to the door, listening closely. Nothing could be heard at first. Then there was a blast of obnoxious music.  

“We’re on Easy Street,

And it feels so sweet,

‘Cause the world is 'but a treat,

When you’re on Easy Street.”

 Immediately, Susan yanked herself away from the door as if it burned her, and she nearly collapsed into Dwight. He just gave her a dirty look before he double-checked to see if the door was locked. “I thought I told you to stay right there.”

“You did, but you didn’t say I couldn’t touch anything,” Susan countered, trying to calm her racing heart, “I didn’t go anywhere, D. I did just as you asked.”

 “No, you didn’t. I told you not to say anything,” Dwight was outright glaring at her now before he rapidly walked away from her.

“I didn’t want you to get in trouble, and I wanted to be treated with respect. I may be some trophy wife, but that still makes me human. I’m not a thing to flaunt and objectify for the male gaze,” She spouted the feminist manifesto she hadn’t had to use since college in order to keep the frat boys off her ass like the pesky flies they were. Hitching up her backpack and smoothing down her dress, Susan carefully followed on her wobbly heels, not able to go as fast as she wanted without fear of snapping an ankle every time she wavered for a moment, off-balanced. She tossed one glance back toward the door, catching the too-upbeat lyrics as they rounded a corner, leaving.

“Yeah, we got a front row seat,

Oh, to a life that can’t be beat,

Right here on Easy Street.”

Dwight only snorted at her rant, but otherwise didn’t argue with her further. He was back to giving her the silent treatment instead, ignoring how she was once again falling behind. Maybe, Susan’s words expressing her concern about not getting him into trouble really touched him in some way. He made it hard to tell, though.

They lapsed into silence, but Susan found that unlike before, she couldn’t stand it. She had too many burning questions bubbling up inside her throat, begging to come out. So, she asked one. “What did he do to be treated that way?”

Turning to look at her, Dwight’s scarred face and green eyes didn’t reveal anything that he was feeling. Again, Susan was struck by how hard he was to read sometimes whereas other times she could clearly see the invisible weight of – something – of the world he carried on his scrawny shoulders. He surprised Susan when he started to explain, “He was part of a group. They killed a lot of us. So we killed two of theirs – an example. It was originally just supposed to be one, but Daryl, the prisoner, he acted out. Negan warned them not to, but he did it anyway. So, Negan killed another. But he admired Daryl’s anger, so much he decided he would become a Savior. But Daryl is stubborn. We have to break him first.”

Thinking it over, Susan now found another reason she didn’t stay in communities. Group dynamics with other groups never went well as there is a constant competition for supplies, a battle for territory. It’s like the animal kingdom again. “And Daryl’s group?”

 “They collect supplies for us now, and in exchange we offer protection.”

“You mean in exchange you don’t kill them all,” Susan clarified, going straight to the point, the truth, the heart of the matter whatever it was – part of her was baffled about why she was asking. Sure, her curiosity was rampant, but why should she even care so much when she isn’t involved?

 “No, Negan believes life is precious, a valuable resource. It’s a commodity. We do protect them.” Dwight looks surprised by his own words, and he touches the side of his face that’s burned before he yanks his hand away.

Of course, Susan caught the movement out of the corner of her eye. Though Tanya and Frankie told her that Dwight was threatened with death, it seems like death wasn’t Negan’s first choice anyway since Dwight was branded. Unless, Negan was going to execute him through fire rather than through Lucille. Instead of choosing to comment on the burn, Susan pushed, “Like the mafia offers protection?”

But Dwight only shook his head at her. “No. I’m serious. People are a resource.” It’s like he’s quoting Negan directly, reciting some kind of community motto, but Susan is still unsure about the matter. However, she drops it, not wanting to argue with him any further before he gets really mad at her. They continue to walk, now in silence.

Soon Dwight was pushing open a door that led to the outside, and Susan had to squint into the sun, blinking rapidly so her eyes would adjust to the light. As she stepped outside, the heavy door slamming behind her, Susan’s skin warmed up and she remembered what it was like to be out here again. Instinctively, she tensed up, catching the smell of rot that signaled the Dead, and when she caught sight of them wandering the perimeter outside the fence, she only marginally relaxed. She caught another smell – soap – and spotted what the Sanctuary considered its laundry service.

There were several workers washing clothes and sheets in storage tubs, filled to the brim with water and soap. They had actual washboards and brushes, and behind them a few more workers were hanging the freshly washed clothes on laundry lines with clothes pins. The more laundry they hanged, the less of the Dead that were visible. Despite Dwight stepping outside with Susan, the workers kept their heads down and continued washing. The scrape of their brushes and the splashing of water couldn’t drown out the never-ending groans of the Dead just beyond the fence, though.

It seemed like an oppressing job, if only for the reminder that while the Sanctuary was exactly that – a sanctuary from the Dead – they were still trapped here, working endlessly. Again, though, Susan had to remind herself that it was better to be a prisoner here, in some sense at least (not like Daryl, though), than to be surviving out there. Out there, there was no assurance for anything, food or life itself. Out there, one was only biding time before death would come. Still, Susan knew that she would be going out there again soon. Nothing could change her mind about that. She’d rather take her chances and die out there no matter what because… because… Susan tried to remember her reasoning.

Because inside, in a community, connections to people would be formed and her allegiances would shift and instead of dying on her own terms she’d throw her life away in an instant trying to save someone else who would only die later. Being part of a community was pointless. They were all going to die anyway. Why die for these people? None of them meant anything. Not the workers, not the Saviors, not the prisoner, not Dwight, not even Negan.

Negan.

Inevitably, Susan’s mind turned to him. What could compel this man to create the Sanctuary and bring in these people? Sure, he lived like a king, complete with a harem and everything, but why bother support others? Susan couldn’t see the appeal of owing anyone anything, be it providing service or protection. On top of that, why would he shoulder the protection of other communities? Here, he would know and grow close to some of these people, care about them. But other people? They could be monsters. Like Daryl’s group that killed many of the Saviors. Why bother protecting them when they could get revenge? Seems like they had enough power to subjugate them. Negan was a mystery.

“Susan,” Dwight’s voice broke into her reverie. Susan blinked and looked at him, eyebrows raised in question. Dwight stared at her hard in return. “It’s okay. They can’t get to you.”

At first, Susan was confused, wondering if Dwight was saying something meaningful, saying that no one will matter to her. Then she realized that he was talking about the Dead, reassuring her that she was safe. It was sweet of him, but Susan could handle herself. “Yeah,” she numbly replied, at a loss for anything else to say. It’s not like she could explain what she was thinking. She herself barely understood it as it was.

“Well, we’re here. Give them the laundry, and then we’ll go.” Dwight impatiently shifted from foot to foot, motioning towards the workers. He looked over to the fence, scanning it. Susan looked too, and noticed that there was a woman walking the inside. The woman was short and dark skinned, the ends of her curly hair bleached blonde. She looked tough despite her stature, even without the pistol strapped to her thigh. Susan couldn’t tell if that Savior woman was there to keep the threats out or to keep the workers in.

Pulling herself away from that train of thought, Susan looked back at Dwight. “Which one of them should I talk to? They’re all busy, D.”

With a heavy sigh, Dwight looked away from the woman and headed over to the workers. Again, Susan was forced to follow him. “Gordon,” Dwight barked, and a miserable but otherwise healthy looking man snapped to his feet, still holding a soapy shirt in his hand. “You’re going to wash something for Susan,” Dwight began to order Gordon.

“But after its washed and everything,” Susan cut in and took over, “I want it to be put into the clothes circulation or something. I don’t want it anymore.” As an afterthought, Susan added, “Bad memories.” She didn’t know why she bothered to explain that. It was cryptic and eerie, especially since she wanted Gordon to wash a pair of panties. Besides, everyone has bad memories now in this new world.

But Gordon and Dwight only looked at her expectantly, neither one asking for a further explanation, thankfully. “Give it to him, then, Susan.” Dwight, again impatient and imperious, commanded her this time.

Realizing her mistake, Susan quickly shrugged off her backpack and rummaged through it for the panties. Once she found them, she blushed, wishing she asked Dwight for a female worker. Still, this was who she got stuck with. She quickly shoved the panties at Gordon, and it startled Gordon so much that he dropped the shirt back in the water with a wet plop as he forced to accept the panties.

The water sloshed on Dwight’s jeans, and in retaliation, he snapped at Gordon, “Jesus, be more careful next time!” Gordon flinched away, not saying anything, not apologizing. With that kind of reaction, Susan was expecting Dwight to strike Gordon, but he didn’t. Dwight looked like he was about to say something else, but the distant sound of a woman’s voice called for him instead. “You wait over here, Susan. Don’t help him,” Dwight told her before he moved away to go towards the woman guarding the fence.

Distantly, Susan heard as the woman asked Dwight to cover a shift only for Dwight to ask why she was minding the fence more than the workers. The woman was starting to say something about a weak point in the fence – not enough of the Dead ones to cover the area. Then Gordon unexpectedly spoke to Susan, “You should have never come here.”

Forced to look into his sad eyes, Susan couldn’t find her voice. His statement was just ominous enough to leave her uncomfortable, but it was more than that. Gordon looked like he had his soul sucked out.

“Here, there,” Susan found herself speaking without really thinking about her words, “Makes no difference. Dead outside or dead inside. Dead is dead.” Before Gordon could say anything else to her, Susan moved away deliberately signaling that this conversation – if it could be called that – was over.

She was upset with herself. Despite her words, despite everything that she’s seen here, Susan didn’t think she believed what she said anymore. Now, she had lived in many communities, but this one had the best protection, the best supplies. The people seemed miserable, but Susan believed they were spoiled. In every community, there would be those on top that hogged a few good supplies for themselves, but still anything was better than out there alone. Susan only preferred it out there because she hated people, because…

Because she wanted to die alone, not a burden or a reason to grieve for anyone else. Being part of communities temporarily would only keep her temporarily sane, temporarily alive. But now, this place was different. It forced too much introspection from her whereas with others she was put to mind-numbing labor, and when she was alone she was too busy trying to survive. So much for a vacation.

Just then, Dwight came back. “Are we finished now?”

Looking up at Dwight, Susan nodded, zipping up her backpack and slinging it back on. She didn’t bother to ask about the Savior woman on guard just like she didn’t bother to tell him about what Gordon said either. Just by looking at the broken, soulless worker, Susan could tell he wasn’t long for this world. Early after the end of the world, when people started looking like that and talking like that, they found death somehow. And it was true, they found death, actively sought it. Death didn’t have to go looking for them, they made it easy.

Without further preamble, Dwight headed back inside, and Susan hitched up her backpack and followed after, keeping her head down. She didn’t look back at Gordon or anything else.

As they made their way back out to the main factory floor, Susan concentrated, testing to see if she remembered the way. The further in they got, the more she was reassured that she could navigate successfully. They came to Daryl’s cell, that same song still playing, and it teased Susan with its lyrics.

“It’s our moment in the sun,

And it’s only just begun.

It’s time to have a little fun.”

She walked a little faster, hoping that the beat wouldn’t get stuck in her head, actively trying to not think about the prisoner passed out in his cell. Dwight caught up to her after he checked to see if the door was still locked and Daryl was still there, unconscious. They passed by Dwight’s bedroom, and didn’t say a word about that either. They skirted around Daryl’s blood trails, Dwight muttering something about getting some workers to clean this up. Susan didn’t comment on it. She knew they were nearing the factory floor as the noise level gradually started to increase.

Now it was a matter of seeing if she knew the way back to the parlor where her bedroom was. When she got back, she had plans to sort through her supplies and dine on Jolly Ranchers alone. She didn’t want to deal with the other wives. But she’d also rather not be left alone with her thoughts.

Instantly, though, her plans were foiled because as she and Dwight stepped out onto the main floor they both looked up and saw Negan casually resting his elbows against the railing, overseeing everything. Instantly, Negan saw them both, and Susan was magnetically drawn to him, unable to look away. She was somewhat aware that Dwight was shuffling around behind her, but her feet were leading her to Negan. He was smiling at her again, a beacon of happiness compared to all the misery of everyone else and Susan was attracted like a moth to a flame. Negan was quite the attractive figure after all, just so entrancing, just…beautiful.

Before she knew it, she was beside Negan on the landing, and she had nearly made it into his open arms when her heels stumbled on the uneven floor. Clumsily, she ended up collapsing against his chest.

“Damn, Susan, I know I’m fucking irresistible, but you don’t have to throw yourself at me.” Negan joked, making sure she was steady on her feet before he pressed a kiss to her forehead.

He had one hand buried in her hair, wrapped around the back of her neck. The other arm was slung over the top of her backpack. Susan, happily crushed against his warm chest, nestled her cheek against the soft fabric of his white shirt, thankful that he let his black leather jacket flop open. She could smell the same soap from outside on his shirt, and she forced herself to forget Gordon’s stupid, dismal face and foreboding words. “I missed you,” Susan admitted, and she was surprised at herself for meaning it. She chalked it up to being left alone to her morbid thoughts too much. And, partially, she was missing sex right now, too. That was something that kept her mind too occupied to think depressing things.

Almost as if he knew what she was thinking, Negan chuckled. “You miss my big, fat, fucking swinging dick is all, Susan.” Again, he kissed her, though this time he pressed the kiss to the crown of her hair. “Don’t worry, I miss your crazy, fucking pussy, too. You won’t have to wait that long before I’m buried balls fucking deep inside you again.” He squeezed her to him tighter. “I’m guessing Dwighty boy once again cannot fucking provide for a woman’s needs.”

Unsure of where Negan was heading with that comment, Susan shifted around until she was pressed against his side, both of them now facing a sullen Dwight who stared at his boots. In that moment, he looked like a child in the principal’s office, waiting for his parents to be called. Susan’s heart spasmed, and once again she surprised herself. Out of all the things she had seen today, between Daryl’s bloody body and Gordon’s hopelessness, as of now she really only felt sorry for Dwight. “He was just showing me around, helping me get some things,” Susan explained to Negan, looking up at him. “Look, I got the heels you wanted.” She stuck out one foot to show one of that black, tall heels off to Negan.

Again, Negan chuckled at her. “Yeah, I could see you got the shoes since you can barely walk fucking straight in them.” He bent down and whispered hotly in her ear, “Don’t worry, Susan. After I’m finished with you, it won’t matter if you’re wearing fucking heels or not. You’ll still not be able to walk fucking straight.” Straightening back up, pretending that he hadn’t just whispered that to her, he somewhat innocently asked Susan, “So what other goodies did you get down there? Something for me too, I hope?”

Susan blushed, remembering the yellow negligee, but then she instantly remembered all the other suspicious items she had gathered. “Um,” she nervously laughed, avoiding the eyes of both men, hoping she was coming off as coy, “yes.”

It seemed to work because Negan smiled, accepting her short answer to be out of embarrassment due to present company – namely Dwight. “Well, Dwighty boy, thank you for watching over my Susan today. She didn’t give you any trouble, did she?” Negan’s arm clamped down on Susan tighter, still managing to apply a lot of pressure despite her backpack acting as a barrier.

“No, sir, she didn’t. It was no problem,” Dwight dutifully answered Negan, though his gaze was still directed at the floor. The more Susan studied his visage, the more his face reminded her of Gordon’s; and she didn’t like that.

Satisfied with Dwight’s answer, not seeming to notice the man’s downtrodden demeanor, Negan nodded. “Fucking good. I’d hate to punish her,” he teased Susan, but Susan only looked away, red-faced and too shy to openly flirt back.

“Well, on to other fucking business matters, Dwighty boy.” Negan loosened his hold around Susan, and she took that as an unspoken signal for her to step away while they talked. So, she did. She didn’t go far, just back to the railing, overlooking the factory floor much in the same manner as Negan did earlier. Negan continued speaking to Dwight. “Daryl, he is going ape-shit.”

Nodding shortly, Dwight confirmed, “Yup.”

“And you? You are hustling,” Negan blithely continued, leaning back on his heels.

 “It’s working.” Dwight’s tone seemed a little desperate to Susan’s ears, as if he was forcing himself to believe a lie.

 “It’s working slow,” Negan amended Dwight’s statement pointedly, “but, hey man, some people are harder to break than others.”

 “Yeah, he’s close.” Dwight was still maintaining that desperate tone.

 “Yeah, he is,” Negan said, and when Susan side-eyed the two she could tell that that was all Dwight needed to hear for him to relax.

 Negan bit his lip before he spoke again. “Since you’re doing such an awesome job, you want to have a little blast from the past with you-know-who?”

Susan’s eyebrows shot up in surprise – Negan didn’t strike her as the type to share unless he had an orgy in mind. She didn’t have to look at Dwight to know that his brow must be furrowed in question, too. Was Negan testing Dwight’s loyalty?

Soon, though, Negan chuckled again, and both Dwight (and Susan who didn’t even register that she had tensed up) relaxed once again. Well, as much as anyone can really relax in Negan’s presence. “I’m kidding, man,” Negan reassured Dwight, “lighten up.” He wet his lips, and then surprised both Dwight and Susan once more. “Pick whoever you want, as long as she says yes.”

Susan couldn’t help but turn around now at this point. Did that offer include her? Negan looked back at her, and again it was like he read her mind because he then answered her question. “Except for Susan here. Susan and I haven’t gotten to know each other fucking well enough before I let another man make an impression on her like that.” He reached out and combed his ungloved fingers through her hair, and Susan leaned into his touch, his words soothing her.

“Hell, I think Susan would be too much for you anyway, Dwight,” Negan bragged. “She’s my dominant girl. Michaela, she’s flexible. Frankie has magic fucking fingers, as you would figure. Tanya is adventurous, open to pretty much anything, even anal, filthy girl that she is. Amber is sweet and innocent, good for cuddling, does whatever you tell her to. Sherry, well, you know how Sherry is,” Negan bluffed about Sherry, and Susan knew just from that that he and Sherry haven’t done anything.

“But Susan here?” Negan whistled lowly. “Damn is she a little spitfire when she fucks, and I fucking love it.” For emphasis, Negan tugged a little on the ends of her hair and immediately Susan’s mouth fell open on its own accord. She didn’t make a sound, but her eyes were rolling back, nearly watering. Susan clenched her thighs together under her dress, a slave to his touch, and she didn’t even care if Dwight was here to witness it. This was just the kind of contact she had been craving.

“You know what?” Negan began as he watched Susan’s cock-hardening reaction. “Maybe I will let you take a fucking roll around in the fucking hay with Susan here. She’s insatiable enough. But only if you let me watch. I gotta teach you about what she likes, right, so that you can satisfy her ra-fucking-pacious needs. Or maybe you’d prefer a firsthand demonstration, Dwighty boy, before I let you have her. Gotta get her all wet and shaking and needy and just fucking ready for you, after all.” While he spoke, Negan gently tilted Susan’s head back, and Susan was surprised to find that his words were getting her wet just as much as the hair-pulling was.

“Well, it’s like I said, you have to be agreeing to it Dwight, and Susan here has to be just as fucking amiable. Seems she’s wet and willing enough now, but what do you say, Dwighty boy?” Negan shot a dark look at Dwight in question, and he tugged just hard enough on Susan’s hair for her to release a low moan.

Dwight, on the other hand, bearing witness to the interesting interaction between Susan and Negan, looked petrified. He had blanched white, not exactly out of horror or disgust, but just something else. The man remained mute, not giving Negan an answer.

Of course, Negan was having none of that. He released Susan, and coolly turned back around to face Dwight fully. “Oh, crap.” Negan rubbed his hand through his stubble before he asked, “Are you okay down there?” His eyes flicked down to Dwight’s crotch and he pointed his gloved index finger at it, too. “Your penis?” He needlessly clarified his question, “I mean, that guy, he uh…” Negan snapped his jaw shut with an audible click of his teeth as he teased seriously, “clomped on it. Or is it…” He made a whistling noise like a deflating rocket falling out of the sky, his finger mimicking the movement, “down for the count?” He laughed again, obviously having fun at Dwight’s expense.

Meanwhile, Susan was using this as an opportunity to recover. Catching her breath, she willed herself to calm down, knowing that Negan would satisfy her needs later. Part of her wondered, though, what it would be like to have Dwight as well as Negan. Immediately, she shook that thought out of her head. That had to be all for show, just another way to dig under Dwight’s skin and get her all hot and bothered in the process. While her arousal simmered down, Susan dimly registered that what Negan was saying, while the teasing a little cruel for Dwight to endure, was funny, and she had to stifle her giggles.

Finally, Dwight spoke up for himself. “I’m fine, but I’m gonna pass.” he didn’t sound too bothered by Negan’s teasing. He was keeping his voice purposely light and level, attempting to be agreeable. “Man, I’m cool.”

Suspicious, Negan tilted his head at Dwight, gnawing at his bottom lip. “Huh,” he uttered as he released it, “Are you cool, though, Dwight?” He stepped closer to the subordinate. “I mean, I just said that it was happy hour at the Pussy Bar and Dwight eats for free.” Jerking his thumb over his shoulder at Susan, he continued in that same dangerous voice, “Susan over here was wetting her panties at the thought of being double-teamed by us, and you’re telling me no? Is that cool to deny either of us like that?”

“I haven’t finished the job,” Dwight explained his reasoning in a quiet sort of voice. At first, he had avoided Negan’s gaze, but now he lifted his chin and looked at his superior dead-on. “I,” He stuttered a bit. “I haven’t earned it yet. Right?” He still sought Negan’s approval.

Bewildered, Negan shook his head. “The hell you talking about? You earn what you take.”

Just then Dwight’s walkie-talkie crackled and clicked as a woman’s voice interrupted them. “We have an orange situation.”

Dwight lifted the walkie-talkie to his mouth to answer, but Negan quickly snatched it out of his grasp. “Gimme that.” He gave Dwight a dirty look, obviously showing that this conversation wasn’t completely dismissed yet. “Arat,” he addressed the woman on the walkie-talkie, “what do you got? Grab-and-go?”

Arat answered promptly, “Yeah, he could’ve only gone three ways: the moth, the angel, or the hard way.”

The walkie-talkie was passed back to Dwight and he quickly replied, “It’s D. I’ll meet you at the gate.” He strapped the walkie-talkie back to his belt, but Negan wasn’t finished with him yet.

“I mean,” Negan started, “I want my shit back, but that is grunt work. Why don’t you have Fat Joey go and do it? God knows he needs the exercise.” Susan shot Negan a look at that. Though her interaction with Fat Joey earlier had been brief, she thought he was too sweet to be bullied like that. Negan, not noticing the look on her face, continued to address Dwight, “You? You don’t have to do it, Dwight.” Negan sounded genuinely confused by Dwight’s actions.

Dwight’s response was only all the more confusing. “I’d like to do it,” he assured Negan.

In response, Negan chuckled, the sound short but real. From where he had been leaning back on his heels, he shifted forward, clamping his hand on the back of Dwight’s neck. Gently, he bumped his forehead against Dwight’s for a moment, tilting down towards the shorter, smaller man. Negan had closed his eyes, took a breath, Dwight unconsciously mimicking the movement. Negan’s nose had crowded out Dwight’s. From where he held Dwight in place, Negan’s fingers flexed, combing through his stringy, blond hair a bit at the ends. All the while, Negan was smiling softly.

The moment was so intimate, Susan felt like a voyeur seeing it happen. Then, Negan pulled away. “Good boy,” he told Dwight proudly, and to reassert his masculinity, he clapped Dwight hard on the shoulder twice, sniffing. Dwight just stood there and took it. And Susan just watched, enraptured with it all.

And in that moment, she wished she was Dwight and that Negan would call her a good girl. More than that, though, Susan unconsciously found herself admiring Negan for more than his sexual prowess. She was in trouble. 

[dhgfashe]

           Through their training, scientists are equipped with what Sagan calls a “baloney detection kit” — a set of cognitive tools and techniques that fortify the mind against penetration by falsehoods:    

                   The kit is brought out as a matter of course whenever new ideas are offered for consideration. If the new idea survives examination by the tools in our kit, we grant it warm, although tentative, acceptance. If you’re so inclined, if you don’t want to buy baloney even when it’s reassuring to do so, there are precautions that can be taken; there’s a tried-and-true, consumer-tested method.            

           But the kit, Sagan argues, isn’t merely a tool of science — rather, it contains invaluable tools of healthy skepticism that apply just as elegantly, and just as necessarily, to everyday life. By adopting the kit, we can all shield ourselves against clueless guile and deliberate manipulation. Sagan shares nine of these tools:    

Wherever possible there must be independent confirmation of the “facts.”

Encourage substantive debate on the evidence by knowledgeable proponents of all points of view.

Arguments from authority carry little weight — “authorities” have made mistakes in the past. They will do so again in the future. Perhaps a better way to say it is that in science there are no authorities; at most, there are experts.

Spin more than one hypothesis. If there’s something to be explained, think of all the different ways in which it could be explained. Then think of tests by which you might systematically disprove each of the alternatives. What survives, the hypothesis that resists disproof in this Darwinian selection among “multiple working hypotheses,” has a much better chance of being the right answer than if you had simply run with the first idea that caught your fancy.

Try not to get overly attached to a hypothesis just because it’s yours. It’s only a way station in the pursuit of knowledge. Ask yourself why you like the idea. Compare it fairly with the alternatives. See if you can find reasons for rejecting it. If you don’t, others will.

Quantify. If whatever it is you’re explaining has some measure, some numerical quantity attached to it, you’ll be much better able to discriminate among competing hypotheses. What is vague and qualitative is open to many explanations. Of course there are truths to be sought in the many qualitative issues we are obliged to confront, but finding them is more challenging.

If there’s a chain of argument, every link in the chain must work (including the premise) — not just most of them.

Occam’s Razor. This convenient rule-of-thumb urges us when faced with two hypotheses that explain the data equally well to choose the simpler.

Always ask whether the hypothesis can be, at least in principle, falsified. Propositions that are untestable, unfalsifiable are not worth much. Consider the grand idea that our Universe and everything in it is just an elementary particle — an electron, say — in a much bigger Cosmos. But if we can never acquire information from outside our Universe, is not the idea incapable of disproof? You must be able to check assertions out. Inveterate skeptics must be given the chance to follow your reasoning, to duplicate your experiments and see if they get the same result.

           Just as important as learning these helpful tools, however, is unlearning and avoiding the most common pitfalls of common sense. Reminding us of where society is most vulnerable to those, Sagan writes:    

                   In addition to teaching us what to do when evaluating a claim to knowledge, any good baloney detection kit must also teach us what not to do. It helps us recognize the most common and perilous fallacies of logic and rhetoric. Many good examples can be found in religion and politics, because their practitioners are so often obliged to justify two contradictory propositions.            

           He admonishes against the twenty most common and perilous ones — many rooted in our chronic discomfort with ambiguity — with examples of each in action:    

ad hominem — Latin for “to the man,” attacking the arguer and not the argument (e.g., The Reverend Dr. Smith is a known Biblical fundamentalist, so her objections to evolution need not be taken seriously)

argument from authority (e.g., President Richard Nixon should be re-elected because he has a secret plan to end the war in Southeast Asia — but because it was secret, there was no way for the electorate to evaluate it on its merits; the argument amounted to trusting him because he was President: a mistake, as it turned out)

argument from adverse consequences (e.g., A God meting out punishment and reward must exist, because if He didn’t, society would be much more lawless and dangerous — perhaps even ungovernable. Or: The defendant in a widely publicized murder trial must be found guilty; otherwise, it will be an encouragement for other men to murder their wives)

appeal to ignorance — the claim that whatever has not been proved false must be true, and vice versa (e.g., There is no compelling evidence that UFOs are not visiting the Earth; therefore UFOs exist — and there is intelligent life elsewhere in the Universe. Or: There may be seventy kazillion other worlds, but not one is known to have the moral advancement of the Earth, so we’re still central to the Universe.) This impatience with ambiguity can be criticized in the phrase: absence of evidence is not evidence of absence.

special pleading, often to rescue a proposition in deep rhetorical trouble (e.g., How can a merciful God condemn future generations to torment because, against orders, one woman induced one man to eat an apple? Special plead: you don’t understand the subtle Doctrine of Free Will. Or: How can there be an equally godlike Father, Son, and Holy Ghost in the same Person? Special plead: You don’t understand the Divine Mystery of the Trinity. Or: How could God permit the followers of Judaism, Christianity, and Islam — each in their own way enjoined to heroic measures of loving kindness and compassion — to have perpetrated so much cruelty for so long? Special plead: You don’t understand Free Will again. And anyway, God moves in mysterious ways.)

begging the question, also called assuming the answer (e.g., We must institute the death penalty to discourage violent crime. But does the violent crime rate in fact fall when the death penalty is imposed? Or: The stock market fell yesterday because of a technical adjustment and profit-taking by investors — but is there any independent evidence for the causal role of “adjustment” and profit-taking; have we learned anything at all from this purported explanation?)

observational selection, also called the enumeration of favorable circumstances, or as the philosopher Francis Bacon described it, counting the hits and forgetting the misses (e.g., A state boasts of the Presidents it has produced, but is silent on its serial killers)

statistics of small numbers — a close relative of observational selection (e.g., “They say 1 out of every 5 people is Chinese. How is this possible? I know hundreds of people, and none of them is Chinese. Yours truly.” Or: “I’ve thrown three sevens in a row. Tonight I can’t lose.”)

misunderstanding of the nature of statistics (e.g., President Dwight Eisenhower expressing astonishment and alarm on discovering that fully half of all Americans have below average intelligence);

inconsistency (e.g., Prudently plan for the worst of which a potential military adversary is capable, but thriftily ignore scientific projections on environmental dangers because they’re not “proved.” Or: Attribute the declining life expectancy in the former Soviet Union to the failures of communism many years ago, but never attribute the high infant mortality rate in the United States (now highest of the major industrial nations) to the failures of capitalism. Or: Consider it reasonable for the Universe to continue to exist forever into the future, but judge absurd the possibility that it has infinite duration into the past);

non sequitur — Latin for “It doesn’t follow” (e.g., Our nation will prevail because God is great. But nearly every nation pretends this to be true; the German formulation was “Gott mit uns”). Often those falling into the non sequitur fallacy have simply failed to recognize alternative possibilities;

post hoc, ergo propter hoc — Latin for “It happened after, so it was caused by” (e.g., Jaime Cardinal Sin, Archbishop of Manila: “I know of … a 26-year-old who looks 60 because she takes [contraceptive] pills.” Or: Before women got the vote, there were no nuclear weapons)

meaningless question (e.g., What happens when an irresistible force meets an immovable object? But if there is such a thing as an irresistible force there can be no immovable objects, and vice versa)

excluded middle, or false dichotomy — considering only the two extremes in a continuum of intermediate possibilities (e.g., “Sure, take his side; my husband’s perfect; I’m always wrong.” Or: “Either you love your country or you hate it.” Or: “If you’re not part of the solution, you’re part of the problem”)

short-term vs. long-term — a subset of the excluded middle, but so important I’ve pulled it out for special attention (e.g., We can’t afford programs to feed malnourished children and educate pre-school kids. We need to urgently deal with crime on the streets. Or: Why explore space or pursue fundamental science when we have so huge a budget deficit?);

slippery slope, related to excluded middle (e.g., If we allow abortion in the first weeks of pregnancy, it will be impossible to prevent the killing of a full-term infant. Or, conversely: If the state prohibits abortion even in the ninth month, it will soon be telling us what to do with our bodies around the time of conception);

confusion of correlation and causation (e.g., A survey shows that more college graduates are homosexual than those with lesser education; therefore education makes people gay. Or: Andean earthquakes are correlated with closest approaches of the planet Uranus; therefore — despite the absence of any such correlation for the nearer, more massive planet Jupiter — the latter causes the former)

straw man — caricaturing a position to make it easier to attack (e.g., Scientists suppose that living things simply fell together by chance — a formulation that willfully ignores the central Darwinian insight, that Nature ratchets up by saving what works and discarding what doesn’t. Or — this is also a short-term/long-term fallacy — environmentalists care more for snail darters and spotted owls than they do for people)

suppressed evidence, or half-truths (e.g., An amazingly accurate and widely quoted “prophecy” of the assassination attempt on President Reagan is shown on television; but — an important detail — was it recorded before or after the event? Or: These government abuses demand revolution, even if you can’t make an omelette without breaking some eggs. Yes, but is this likely to be a revolution in which far more people are killed than under the previous regime? What does the experience of other revolutions suggest? Are all revolutions against oppressive regimes desirable and in the interests of the people?)

weasel words (e.g., The separation of powers of the U.S. Constitution specifies that the United States may not conduct a war without a declaration by Congress. On the other hand, Presidents are given control of foreign policy and the conduct of wars, which are potentially powerful tools for getting themselves re-elected. Presidents of either political party may therefore be tempted to arrange wars while waving the flag and calling the wars something else — “police actions,” “armed incursions,” “protective reaction strikes,” “pacification,” “safeguarding American interests,” and a wide variety of “operations,” such as “Operation Just Cause.” Euphemisms for war are one of a broad class of reinventions of language for political purposes. Talleyrand said, “An important art of politicians is to find new names for institutions which under old names have become odious to the public”)

           Sagan ends the chapter with a necessary disclaimer:    

                   Like all tools, the baloney detection kit can be misused, applied out of context, or even employed as a rote alternative to thinking. But applied judiciously, it can make all the difference in the world — not least in evaluating our own arguments before we present them to others.