#always brushing my fucking waves out and blow drying it and using a shit ton of product despite me asking specifically to not do that

[the-piss-witch]

waaaaa i need to trim my hairrrr but i know imma fuck it up >_< i wish salons and barbershops weren’t such a sensory hell

[vizhi0n]

Sawney - Part 28

Chapter Masterlist

If u wanna be tagged or untagged, let me know!          –                     

@i-am-negan-trash @flames-bring-a-ton-of-ash @crzcorgi @kellyn1604 @fatedwisp @neganswinchesters @jeffreydeanneganstrash @ladylorelitanyfanfiction @mypapawinchester @heartfulloffandoms @my-achilles--heel–heel @jasoncrouse @romeomontvgue @lucifers-trash-stash @kijilinn@genevievedarcygranger @superprincesspea @collette04 @toxic-ink @backseat-negan @rapsity @strangersangel9 @hannibalssweaters @gremlinfuck @negans-network @melodicdolls @mcnegan @nycktmcginn @itstotalyblue @vinylmadwoman @embracetheapocalypsewithme @darkangel66 @curlyhairedblueeyedangel @deviousginga @moonypetyr @imjustmakingsuffupagain @orchiddingme @chiwawha @ironictrickster @negans-shtten-pants @lovingzombiechaos @castielwinchester22

Warnings: hella smut.

They had a visitor.

Much to Desa’s dismay, Gregory was waiting for them. His suit was pressed and unwrinkled, although his formal outfit didn’t distract from the obvious air of nervousness around him. He was escorted by Regina, who looked just as unhappy.

“He wants to speak to you,” Regina said. Negan bypassed him, Desa in tow.

“Get him and room or some shit. I’m too tired to fucking deal with this shit right now.”

Shooting one last glance back at Gregory, and ignoring his pleas, Desa followed Negan up the stairs while Simon wrapped an arm around Gregory, seemingly happy that the older man had arrived. Desa wasn’t going to question it — Gregory and the Hilltop were Simon’s responsibilities. She was under no real obligation to care, no matter how much Gregory’s presence irked her.

“Do we have an particular plan?”

“Fight,” Negan replied simply. He shut the door to his room, running fingers through his disheveled hair. After pacing for a bit, he said, “Listen, I’m giving you a fucking job. A fucking big one.”

Desa stiffened, but said nothing.

“The people here — the fucking workers, the other Saviors, they trust you. They know what you’re capable of, where the fuck you came from,” Negan cradled Desa’s head between his palms, sighing. “From here on out, you’re my fucking right hand.”

“What?”

“You heard me,” Negan smirked. “Simon isn’t going anywhere. Once all this shit blows over, he’ll still be in charge of the Hilltop. But you’ll be the person I go to.”

“I’ve never been promoted before,” Desa licked her lips. She peered over Negan’s shoulder, eyeing the bathroom. Making a faux noise of disgust and wrinkling her nose, she said, “You need a shower.”

“Really? That’s what you say after I’ve fucking promoted you?”

Once again, Desa stood on her tip toes so she could lightly bite Negan’s ear. One hand palmed his crotch and she murmured, “I’ll thank you in the shower.”

“Oh, oh,” Negan snorted. “Fucking right. I get you, now.”

Desa ducked beneath his arm, darting into the bathroom and stripping before Negan could even get his hands on her. She turned the shower knob, yelping when cold water struck her skin. It only took a few moments for it to heat up, and she raised her arms over her head, stretching sore limbs. She chuckled when she felt Negan’s arms wrap around her, his lips latching onto her neck, his hard length pressed against her back. The dirt and grime washed from their bodies, disappearing down the drain.

Turning, Desa murmured, “Thank you.”

“I know you can get that shit done better than anyone else,” Negan said. His breath hitched when Desa brushed her knuckles across his dick, eyes traveling downwards as Desa kissed from his jaw to his neck, down his chest and past his navel.

Desa’s slick hand wrapped around his cock, thumb swirling over the swollen head. She nipped on his lower lip, kissing him once more before sliding to her knees. The warm water was a stark contrast to the cool tile against her skin. She could smell the faintest hint of body wash as she gently wrapped her tongue around him.

His hand immediately went to tangle in her hair. The thunder of the shower wasn’t loud enough to mask Negan’s grunt. Desa closed her eyes in an attempt to keep out unwanted water, increasing her pace, bobbing her head until the muscles in her neck began to strain. She was attempting to ease him deeper and deeper into her mouth, unused to the feel of him against her tongue. She braced her hands against his trembling thighs, pushing her head forward, resisting the urge to gaga. Her nose brushed against the coarse hairs at the base of his dick, and she stopped.

“Holy fuck.”

Desa pulled her head back, going slowly, lightly scraping her teeth against the skin. She sucked on the head before repeating the movement. In a matter of minutes Negan was a shaking, cursing mess. He came, grunting, watching with wide eyes as Desa swallowed it all.

Negan looked as if he were about to faint. Desa couldn’t help but laugh, standing  and fetching the bottle of body wash from the shower floor.

When they finished, Desa climbed into bed, nude, resting her head against the pillow and groaning.

“I don’t want to have to fucking deal with Gregory,” Negan said angrily. Desa saw him stop next to the bed, yanking on a pair of boxers before drying his hair roughly with his towel. “Can I just fucking kill him…get this shit over with.”

“Tomorrow. We’ll talk with him tomorrow. He probably has something important to say.”

“Doubt it,” Negan hopped into bed. “Tomorrow. I’ll deal with his stupid ass tomorrow,” He lightly slapped Desa’s rear, adding cheekily, “Goddamn you have such a cute, perky little ass.”

“I’ve never had anyone compliment my butt before.”

“Have you ever tried anal?”

Desa lifted her head, and her expression must have been humorous, for Negan burst out laughing. She said, “Could you have possibly been more blunt?”

“I was just fucking curious. Would you rather me beg?”

“Maybe.”

“Please can I stick it in your ass?” Negan massaged her rear with the palm of his hand, cooing. “Please, baby? Can we try it just once?”

“I have no words,” Desa buried her face in her pillow. “You are something else.”

“I have plenty of lube.”

Desa slapped Negan’s chest, groaning, “Maybe one day. I’m too sore right now.”

“Killjoy,” Negan murmured. Nonetheless, he wrapped his arms around Desa, kissing her damp head before flickering off the lights.

“You need to tell him,” Drake exclaimed, pushing off from the wall. “Desa, we could take those bombs, and we could end this. Today.”

“Torching an entire community for one man,” Desa replied. She placed a hand on Drake shoulder, before quickly pulling away when he hissed in pain. She could see a sliver of his bandage poking out from beneath his shirt. Visions of what Father had done hit her, and for a moment, she was rendered speechless.

“Yeah. Torch an entire community for one man, save our people in the process.”

“They have kids there,” Desa snapped.

“We have kids here,” Drake growled. “We have something in our arsenal that no one else has. You said you were saving those bombs for desperate times, right? These are desperate times.”

“It’s not desperate enough. Drake,” Desa stepped closer, steadying her breathing. “Trust me on this.”

“Don’t do something that will get us all killed, please” Drake brushed past her, and Desa sighed. The Negan, Simon, Eugene, Dwight, Regina and Gregory were seated on the other side of the door. Steeling herself, Desa opened it and, without saying a word, went and sat in the empty seat next to Negan. The entire time, Simon was watching her — his lips were pressed into a thin line, and he seemed to be feinting disinterest, although Desa could see something else swirling behind his dark eyes. Eugene was stoic and Regina sat, posture rigid, muscular arms crossed over her chest.  

Negan met her gaze, nodding subtly. Lucille was resting against his shoulder, and he snaked his free hand beneath the table to squeeze Desa’s thigh.

Desa resisted the urge to roll her eyes when Gregory began speaking.

“I’m, uh, grateful that you’re taking the time to hear me out. Especially considering the circumstances,” Gregory laced his hands together, eyes scanning the table. “As you may now, Rick and his gang of crusaders have brainwashed my people. We were farmers — not soldiers. They still listen to me. They still trust me. I think I can top this before it even starts.” 

“But…I thought the widow was in charge?” Negan raised his eyebrows. “I mean, she was the one who led your people to Alexandria. You didn’t know about all that shit, right, Gregory?” 

“It was out of my control…by the time I realized what was wrong, they’d already gone…”

Liar.

Desa said nothing. She could practically smell the cowardice seeping from Gregory’s pores, and it made her sick.

Gregory noticed Desa unwavering stare, stammering, “I can talk my people down.”

“They’re still your fucking people, right?”

“I own the Hilltop,” Gregory stressed, straightening up. “Those people are mine. They’ll listen to me.”

“If things don’t work out, there’s always option number two,” Simon shrugged, head lolling to the side as he looked back and forth between Negan and Desa. “I take some guys in, clear out the whole place, quick. Kill everyone inside—”

Gregory choked on his water.

“—unfortunate, but necessary,” Simon beamed, his face falling when Desa shot him a look of utter disgust, mirroring Negan’s.

“Hey, genius,” Desa barked. “Hilltop is a farming community. They can’t farm if everyone is dead.”

Simon’s fingers curled into fist. Negan’s words were louder, angrier. “People are foundation of what we’re trying to build here. People are resources. Get that shit through your thick fucking skull, Simon.”

“I was just taking precautions—”

“Shut the fuck up,” Negan waved Lucille, huffing. His eyes drifted towards the window, and in a low voice, he said, “What the hell…?”

Simulated, rhythmic gunfire sounded from outside. Desa jumped to her feet, and the others followed. Gregory tried hanging back, but Simon grasped his arm and hauled him forward.

“Showtime, Gregory,” Negan sneered. “Work your fucking magic.”

“Is it them?”

“Rick the prick and his group of hillbilly warriors,” Negan wrinkled his nose, peeking through the blinds. Gesturing to the door that led to the balcony, he said, “Alright. Let’s go fucking deal with this shit — Desa, I want you up top with a rifle. Now.”

Desa nodded. She headed to the armory, yanking one of the sniper rifles from its rack before bounding up the stairs and into an empty room. She rolled up the blinds before sliding the window open. Just beyond the fence, a cluster of nearly a dozen cars were parked. Crouched behind each were Rick’s people — Alexandrian’s, some members of the Kingdom and the Hilltop. All armed. It clearly wasn’t an impromptu attack — they had a plan.

Father was with them. He hung back, but she could see the side of his bandaged face. Her lips twisted into a grimace, and as glanced through the scope, she spotted Rick peering from behind cover. From her angle, she didn’t have a clear shot, unless he shifted just a few feet to the left…

Not that Desa would fire, anyway. Not without Negan’s approval.

Rick’s word were loud, and they carried. Even from three floors above where Negan and the others were standing, Desa could hear clearly.

“If you surrender, right here, right now, you’ll live. All of you — except for one.”

Negan.

“I know you people,” Rick continued. “Gavin. Dwight. Simon. Eugene—”

“Regina.”

Regina’s voice was just as loud, and just as powerful. Desa smirked.

“—right,” Rick shouted. His eyes travelled up, before he extended an arm and pointed straight at Desa. “And Desa. I see you.”

Desa bared her teeth at Rick, and even though she knew Rick wouldn’t hear, she growled.

“I’m giving you a chance to end this before it even starts.”

“So am I,” Negan said. Desa couldn’t see, but she heard shuffling and assumed Gregory had been yanked from the corner. The look on Rick’s face confirmed her suspicions — his face fell, and he pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Any members of the Hilltop that participates in this crusade will be kicked from the community,” Gregory exclaimed. To Desa’s surprise, his voice didn’t waver. “Turn around and go home. The Hilltop stands with Negan and the Saviors.”

“The Hilltop stands with Maggie!” A voice shouted. Desa rolled her eyes and sighed, peering through her scope once more.

Not a single person budged. There was some hesitation, some looks of worry, but everyone stood their ground.

Silence. Below, Desa heard Simon’s strong voice, followed by the sound of a body tumbling down the stairs.

“My offer still stands,” Rick shouted.

“Your offer ain’t shit,” Negan replied. “Your people are going to fucking die, Rick. Just like last time. All because you felt the urge to play ‘my dick is bigger than yours.”

Rick raised his hand, nodding at Negan’s words. In a raspy voice, he shouted, “I’m giving you one last chance — don’t make me count! Three! Two!”

“Go fuck yourself, Rick—”

Rick unloaded a barrage of gunfire that shattered glass. Desa ducked, before angrily grasping her gun and staring through the scope. She squeezed the trigger, and her bullet destroyed the side mirror of the car Rick was using for cover. He fell back, eyes frantically looking for where the bullet had come from.

He pointed, and shouted something. Desa yanked her head away from the window, covering her face with her hands as bullets sailed into the room, destroying the glass and peppering the walls with holes. Sticking to the corners, Desa kept her head down and threw herself from the room, using her foot to slam the door shut.

Slinging the rifle over her shoulder, she sprinted down the hallway. From within the walls of the Sanctuary, the constant gunfire sounded like a rhythmic, distant drum.

She nearly ran head first into Sherry. Without thinking, Desa pushed the woman to the side and shouted, “Get back inside the parlor!”

“What’s going on—”

“Now!”

Sherry didn’t argue.

Desa made her way to the ground floor, frantically searching for any sign of Negan. The workers had disappeared into the higher levels, leaving the place empty. Her boots crunched against broken glass, and she stopped next to the double doors leading outside.

She could see Rick, crouched behind cover, still firing. Again, no sign of Negan — Desa wasn’t ready to fear the worst.

Only one person has to die.

He’s not dead. If he were dead, Rick and his people would stop attacking—

Shit.

Desa pushed through the double doors, gun raised. Before she could fire a shot, a tremendous explosion rattled the entire Sanctuary, filling Desa’s line of sight with a blinding, white burst of light. The concussive force of the blast knocked her off her feet, fire singing her skin. She landed, hard, against the concrete.

She could barely hear the gunfire. Just a high-pitched, ringing noise in her ears. She extended an arm, grasping her gun from where it had fallen, before pulling herself back inside and shutting the door behind her.

“Desa!”

It was Regina. She slid to a stop, holstering her gun before hoisting Desa to her feet. Regina kept an arm around Desa, helping her hobble up the stairs to the higher levels. The gunfire had slowed to a crawl, just a few shots being exchanged, now.

“Where’s Negan?”

“Not sure,” Regina answered. Desa made an attempt to turn back, but Regina’s strong grip stopped her. “Desa! The courtyard is filled with biters—there’s no way you’d be able to go out there and look for him without getting yourself killed—”

“Let go of me—”

Regina was stronger, and Desa was dazed, still wobbling from the explosion. Regina shoved her, hard, against the wall, holding her steady by the shoulders.

Baring her teeth, Regina yelled, “You cannot and will not go out there! You’re no use to anyone if you’re dead, do you understand?”

When Desa didn’t reply, Regina shook her.

“Desa! Do you understand!”

“I understand,” Desa stammered. She glanced back towards the stairs, rubbing her eyes before saying, “Is everyone else inside?”

“Simon, Dwight, Eugene,” Regina said. “Gavin, too. Everyone made it back in. Rick and his people are gone, but the place is flooded with biters. We’re trapped.”

Desa’s shoulders slouched, and she said, “Okay…go get everyone together in the meeting room. I’ll go make sure the workers are alright—”

“Leave the workers--”

“No,” Desa said. She shook herself from Regina’s grip, meeting the woman's steely gaze. “There are children here. Pregnant women. Some of them might be hurt. Just do what I say, okay?”

“Negan left you in charge,” Regina murmured. She closed her eyes, exhaling through her nose. “Okay. I’ll go.”

“Thank you.”

Regina and Desa parted ways. She found the workers on the third floor, crowding the hallways. She picked her way through, ignoring the murmurs and whispers that soon delved into shouts.

“Where’s Negan?”

“Is he dead?”

“Is Negan dead? What’s going on—”

“The bottom floor is clear!” Desa shouted. The noise died down, and she glanced around at the crowd. “You can go back down, gather your belongings. Nobody is allowed in or out. We’ll bring water down for everyone soon.”

Stares. Whispers.

“Where’s Negan?”

“I don’t know,” Desa replied. “The best we can do is work with what we have, and stay together.”

Wordlessly, the workers began shuffling past Desa, heading back downstairs. While the workers went down, Desa went up. She pushed through the door of the meeting room, and was greeted with the sight of Simon, hunched over the table with his fingers curled into fists, Eugene cowering in his seat, and the rest — Gavin, Regina, Dwight — looking…defeated.

Simon lifted his heads, lips curling into a snarl. In an almost sickeningly sweet voice, he said, “So what’s the plan, boss.”

“Plan A is for you to lose the attitude.”

Simon shot up, back rigid. It was Dwight who stepped in front of him, planting a hand on Simon’s chest as he attempted to advance, yelling, “Stop it! Negan left her in charge — that was his decision.”

“The last thing we need right now is infighting, Simon,” Desa snapped. “If you want to discuss that situation, you do it with me. Alone.”

Simon’s eyes never left Desa. He sat, lacing his fingers together and opting for a silent glare.

“Start pulling out any stored supplies — food and water especially. Start rationing things out to the workers. Downstairs is clogged up — we’ll start moving people upstairs, women and children first, two too a room—”

“Desa,” Regina stressed.

“Those people downstairs? They’re resources. Just like you’re a resource,” Desa said. “One doesn’t matter more than the other—”

“She’s right,” Eugene said bluntly. “Desa. She’s right. Failing to provide adequate living conditions for the workers could possibly result in some sort of uprising. Considering our current situation, that is something we would be wise to avoid, no matter the costs.”

“This place is big enough for everyone,” Desa said. “Gavin and Jared can start assigning people spaces. Keep families together. Until we figure out a way to get rid of those biters, keeping our people alive is our top priority.”

“Do you have a way to deal with those undead freaks outside?” Simon said tersely.

She did.

Desa tried to hide the fact that her heart was sinking and her mind was racing. She knew exactly what to do, and she didn’t like it.

It has to be you, then. No one else.

Steeling herself, Desa said, “A few weeks ago, I found some explosives in a crashed train car. Drake and I worked on the schematics — found out that they were military grade missiles. We stashed them in a truck and parked the truck under a tunnel.”

“Military grade?” Regina raised her eyebrows.

“I don’t remember the specific name. But it’s enough,” Desa explained. “If we stage this correctly, I can slip out from here, grab the explosives, and draw the biters away.”

“Just you?” Gavin asked quietly.

“Just me. There’s a gap in the fence. It’s how I got in here the first time and stabbed you, Gavin. Which I never apologized for. I’m sorry.”

“Save it. If getting stabbed is what it took to help make you one of us, I can deal with it.”

Desa ducked her head, hiding her grin. “I’ll get out and grab the bombs.”

“There’s a bridge about six miles from here. If you can somehow detonate that thing while the biters are on the bridge…”

“Take em’ all out,” Simon murmured. “Or, most of them.”

Desa let out a breath, nodding. “Yeah. That sounds like a plan. And it’ll work. I’ll make sure it works.”

[cerastes]

how in the bloody hell did you get so much confidence? i'm currently in depression hell and i really need to crawl out of it

Right, I think it’s important to talk about this earnestly, so let’s turn off the Jokes for a second, and let’s have a talk.

How did I get so much confidence? I faked it till I made it. You, too, can pretend until it becomes real. This probably sounds god damn crazy to anyone deep in depression, but trust me, and the thousands of others that have done this: It works. When you start faking it, when you start wearing that mask of confidence, and acting with confidence, things start moving inside of you, and soon that mask becomes real, and you don’t even notice, because you were having so much fun not being the sad, miserable you, having so much fun being the ideal you that cuts through the waves like the mighty battleship you always wanted to be, that you don’t even realize you’ve truly become that person. “Become” isn’t the right word... You always could be that person, but you were holding yourself back all this time. By simply acting like it, you get a taste of that happiness, and there’s no turning back after you taste it, haha.

Now, words are cheap, I guess, and at the end of the day, I am the internet dude that just says things and can’t really intervene directly in your depression. I want to tell you more than “I tried this! It worked”, so if you think the above paragraph is enough, I am glad, but if it’s not fully satisfactory, I want to share with you how it went for me, so you know I am not just talking out of my ass, so you know how ugly my own depression was, and what I did in my own case to get over it, because depressions are ugly, and while they are all different for each one of us, their ugliness is something they have in common.

But you know what else depressions have in common? That you can overcome them. Beating depression is not just knowing a method and thinking, it’s about taking action. This is a story of taking action. Thinking just isn’t enough, you have to DO.

I am putting this under a read more because the beginning is dry (it’s also long), and I’d rather only people that want to read it, read it. No sense in putting a big fat dump of Sad in front of everyone, but keep in mind, there’s light at the end of it, because that’s the fundamental reason for this: That depression can be made your bitch, and that it isn’t invincible by any means. Warning: Suicide mention.

I entered a deep, deep depression in 2009, when I was graduating high school. Until then, I wasn’t particularly sad, and was in fact well liked by my peers, mostly due to (and I swear I am not throwing flowers at myself here) my natural charisma, which helped a lot to cover for my social anxiety. I was insecure about a lot of things, but I also was having fun with my life here and there, as long as I was out of home or locked in my room. 

But after I graduated and moved out, a lot of stuff happened, and in 2010, it really just went rampant. I was suicidal, depressive as all hell, with a lot of pent up frustration, and in a very toxic environment. I used to own a revolver, and I sat down with it and considered blowing my brains out, but thankfully I didn’t. I moved out to a place where my friends and my best friend weren’t, so I didn’t have my usual support network, and things with my online friends were very turbulent at that point. All of it came crashing on me, and my usual manners of coping with it all were gone, so now I was left alone with my insecurities and a whole ton of terrible things that kept increasing in number around me.

2011, I had enough, I said fuck you to my family, grabbed my shit, and left. It’s always very complicated to discuss my family because I know my mom and dad love me, and I love them, but they made a lot, a lot of mistakes that their pride would not let them own up to, and everyone else in my family that wasn’t those two, and two other aunts, were basically massively toxic and terrible to me. I straight up left, I didn’t fucking care anymore. This was at the start of 2011, and throughout 2011, I was basically at my lowest, since I cut off contact with practically everyone, disappeared, and was a drunkard. More than once, I woke up under bridges or at benches in the park. I was drinking 2 litters of beer minimum daily, and far more if it was a “get shitfaced to forget the pain” day. My father knew where I lived, and he’d come pretty often, and we’d fight. We’d fight so damn much. My relationship with my girlfriend from this era was also becoming very tense. 

2011 was the bottom of it all for me. It was the cusp of my depression. I didn’t shave, I didn’t shower, I didn’t wash my clothes, I didn’t do the dishes, I didn’t take out the trash, I didn’t care. My little apartment was a god damned pigsty, full of fast food and snack bags scattered everywhere, my plates had mold growing on them, and I just really rinsed one plate and used it over and over. I was the bitch in the “damn bitch you live like this?” image. I reeked of alcohol all day, and my apartment, aside from all the trash, consisted of my bed, my computer, my PS3, a TV, and fuck all else. Just a little sad dumpster where I could drink and submerge myself in fiction so I could just forget that my life was out of control and a god damn fucking mess with no coming back. My days consisted of me just waking up, writing, playing games, watching anime, going out, getting piss drunk to forget the pain, and then passing out somewhere. I legitimately wanted to die. 

At around the end of 2011, I once again sat down on my bed, aimed my revolver at my head, and was this close to pulling the trigger. I luckily didn’t have the guts to do so again, and this was the point in which I realized that this was wrong, that all of this bullshit was wrong, that this was no fucking way to live. I used to have fun, I wanted that fun back, I used to enjoy things, I wanted to enjoy them again, to feel the thrill, to feel the joy of doing things again, of accomplishing stuff. I started wondering, how come I used to enjoy things so much, and at which point I fucked up so bad that I became like this? And when you are depressive, you think about this a lot.

I realized that was my mistake.

Thinking wasn’t gonna get me anywhere. It didn’t get me anywhere at the end of 2009. It didn’t get me anywhere throughout 2010. It didn’t get me fucking anywhere in 2011. Scratch that, it did get me somewhere in 2011: It got me the brink of blowing my fucking brains out. No, thinking wasn’t the solution. That’s when I said “fuck thinking”, because sometimes, you have to think, but other times? You have to act.

This was the time to act.

I got rid of my revolver, and I cleaned all of my apartment. Did the dishes, sent the clothes to wash, scraped the mold, I went full Captain Hygiene on this bitch. How was I when I wasn’t a sad sack that wanted to die? I was charismatic, funny, did pranks, and I enjoyed using my imagination. But that wasn’t enough, no, because even when I wasn’t this depressive, I still had several things holding me back, and the me from before ended up being depressive, so I might just set myself for a loop in the future. I wasn’t going to just be happy, baby, I was aiming to become better than I ever was, go BIG or go home, and I always go BIG. No, that wasn’t enough, so what is it that I wanted to be, on top of my good aspects as a kid? I wanted to be confident, to be proud of my skills, to be a dependable leader that people KNEW was going to get shit done, to enjoy life even when it wasn’t going the best, to be mature, and to be just what I wanted to be instead of what I was told to be. Fuck expectation, fuck the status quo, fuck everything anyone else wants you to be, YOU be what YOU want to be. That’s who I wanted to be, so I started acting. I put on the tightest mask I had ever put on, and I went out there not being Dreamer, but rather, being Dreamer EX 9000, the better, cooler, happier Dreamer.

My family always treated me like a weirdo. It is true that I am eccentric, I fully acknowledge it, and not in a “wacky lovable kooky dude way!”, I mean in a “I do have weird aspects to myself that I know can weird people out”, but I still resented them very heavily for always trying to make me into someone I wasn’t instead of just accepting me for who I was. The status quo was always something that I was beaten with. “That’s weird, don’t do that/say that”, “why aren’t you like other kids?”, “you have very weird interests for a boy of your age”, “why aren’t you doing this? Everyone else is doing it, you are strange, Dreamer”, “stop playing games so much and come with us to the family meetings every single weekend”, and a lot more, are phrases I grew up with. I was weird for wanting my personal space, I was weird for not liking going to the country every weekend to meet up with cousins that I didn’t like, I was weird for not wanting to go play football with the kids in my class, weird weird weird weird weird weird all was weird and I was some pariah apparently, man, so I said You Know What Fuck You, and that’s why I left home and cut off my family. A man only has so much patience for that shit, and mine was expended a long time ago. It turns out, now that I was living by myself and engaging with more diverse people, people didn’t fucking care about my “weirdness”. As long as you own up to what you are and are a nice person otherwise, people DON’T FUCKING CARE, and that was a huge point of happiness to me. I wasn’t in an oppressive environment anymore. People would accept me for who I was, and that had its weight in gold for me. Years later, when my family did try to make contact with me, I just brushed them off and told them to fuck off. It took months of them bugging me before I said “Yeah ok I will forgive you but under the condition you NEVER fucking hang the status quo over my head again, and if you do, I am out for good, don’t you fucking try me”. Turns out walking out of your family’s life and cutting them off for years does leave a lasting impression, so they accepted, and now we good. Dreamer EX 9000 was comfortable with who he was, and fuck everyone who had anything to say about it.

My childhood environment, family, school, and internet included, was always this kind of excessively... Bitch ass place, to put it mildly. Like, humility is good, PLEASE be humble, but there is such a thing as being humble to a fault, and forcing that onto others. I never was allowed to feel good about my accomplishments. It didn’t matter that I wasn’t a slimy cocky son of a bitch, and that I loved complimenting others, the moment I felt proud about me being good at something or an accomplishment, it was immediately seen badly. Why? Are we supposed to just fucking self flagellate all our god damn lives? Are we never allowed to feel good about ourselves? Fuck that noise. They wanted to paint that as narcissism? Sure, I was gonna fucking give it to them. That was kinda where the whole “narcissist Dreamer” humorous charade was born from. Whereas before I would just shut up and take it, Dreamer EX 9000 would just fucking go to town with it, and run the whole 9 yards, being fully honest when he was good at something, without being cocky, just taking pride in something that deserved being proud of.

It was at this point that I needed to start rebuilding my social network. Around April 2012, that I said good riddance to the mostly very toxic online community and I began looking for something new, something fresh to get into and give it my everything. I needed this new spice of life, and I found it in something called Touhou. I just launched myself blind into it, after a friend suggested I give the games a spin and the fan stuff a try. I had a unpleasant run in with Touhou before, but I just said “eh, bad first impressions happen, let’s try again”, and I ended up getting really, really into it. Like super duper mega into it. That’s when I started this blog! Haha, ok, so, confession, I started this blog literally just to follow a certain Touhou art askblog, and due to certain coincidences, unexpected accidents, and one self imposed challenged I actually have not ever mentioned to anyone before, I ended up in the RP side of Touhou Tumblr. That was honestly a great thing, because mid 2012 was around the time where things with my ex from then were very, very tense, and we broke up, but it wasn’t a HUGE deal to me because I more or less had come to terms that she was a terrible toxic bitch, and also that I wasn’t as mature as I thought I was (and you gotta accept your bad aspects dude). Tumblr, RP side and just regular side, lead to me meeting a ton of people I love to this day and I consider great friends, and at one point, even someone I loved romantically (and later we broke up, as some of you remember), but even with all the good and bad, with the amazingly fun starts and the sadly toxic end stretch of the RP side, I am very glad it happened, since it helped me grow as a person.

On the IRL end of things, I slowly but surely started regaining contact with real people. My best friend in life, F, accepted my apologies and helped me a great deal with not phasing out of real contact again, and on one occasion, even gave me a very stern talking to when I was starting to relapse a little into my toxic old habits (which can very much happen and you have to be strong and not fall into it again). I cannot thank him enough for this. The friends worth sticking to are the ones that are kind enough to raise a hand at you when you stray from the proper path. I started knowing new people IRL and working on how I wanted to be seen. That’s honestly important and I hate the status quo for vilifying this: It’s really important for you to present yourself in the way you want to be seen. You wanna be seen as an attractive person? It’s fully fucking ok for you to want that and for you to do your best so it happens. Don’t let weak ass social constructs oppress you. Be the fucking excellent person you want to be, but put the effort in it, yeah? And don’t forget to stay a nice person.

The years kept going, and before I knew it, Dreamer EX 9000 didn’t exist anymore, because he fused with Dreamer when I was not looking, creating The Cool Dreamer, and it wasn’t an act anymore, it was legit who I was. It was who I wanted to be, who I knew I could be, and then, it was me.

It wasn’t easy. It wasn’t smooth. I had relapses, I had bouts of I Hate Everything in midst of it, and now and then, nowadays, I still have little periods of time in which I just wake up in bad moods and very sad and bitter with no explanation, but then they are gone and I am back to being The Cool Dreamer. 

Depression hell is hard to get out of, but it’s not impossible. It won’t happen in one day, one week, one month, one year, but it will happen if you act. 

Stop thinking. Start acting. Start doing.

You can either stay where you are and rot for years to come, or you can swallow the bitter pill, go through the painful, difficult first step, and start the progress to recovery, like I did, and like how many people have done.

This is gonna hurt to read, but being a victim is comfortable. Because anything that happens, you can just blame life sucking and then you do nothing about it, as if nothing can be done about it. I know I did before I started acting. It’s bullshit. Something can be done about it. It just isn’t easy, but it’s necessary.

This is my story and my invitation: Do you want to stay sad and rotting where you are right now? Or do you want to take the painful first step now so you can smile later, and see that life has a lot of fucking awesome things, and that the pain was worth it every bit?

Pain is temporary, but glory is eternal.

Take the first step. All of us that already did will wait for you at the finish line with arms wide open.

[vizhi0n]

Sundown - Part 6 (Alt Ending)

If you haven’t finished Sundown - because I kno some of ya have it queued up for later - ignore this and come back bc ya know spoilers (i feel awkward for saying spoilers for my own story lmfao) 

Masterlist

Well, bc I’m a sack of ass and felt bad for brutally murdering off you-know-who in the last part, I thought I’d indulge myself in another chapter where stuff actually doesn’t end up shitty for Negan. I guess, in a way, the ending felt too rushed and I feel like I always kill off my OC’s. But yeah, this isn’t necessarily “part of the story” but just an alternate as to what could have happened had I not been an asshole. Anywho, enjoy!

Warnings: just some violence and a fuckton of cursing and dick references. my aesthetic 

Homies: @flames-bring-a-ton-of-ash @lucifers-trash-stash @i-am-negan-trash @crzcorgi @superprincesspea @strangersangel9 @hannibalssweaters @heartfulloffandoms @negans-network @jasoncrouse @genevievedarcygranger @kijilinn @my-achilles--heel @alyisdead @rickydillon @backseat-negan @wolfhart18 @gremlinfuck @ladylorelitanyfanfiction @kellyn1604 @manawhaat @fairytale07 @fxcking-negan @lovingzombiechaos

I opened my eyes.

Shit.

Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit.

My ribcage hurt like a bitch. Like I’d been hit by a car. No, like I’d been hit by two cars, and then ran over repeatedly by a fire truck.

I sat up anyway, one eye squeezed shut as I surveyed my surroundings. I sure as hell was alive — I recognized the shitty walls of the Sanctuary, the crisp smell of rubbing alcohol. My eyes began following a dizzying light as it flashed back and forth before my vision.

“There you go. Follow the light — doesn’t seem like she’s to badly concussed. Not anymore.”

“You fucking sure about that, doc?”

Oh, jeez.

I groaned, my eyes finally fully adjusting. Negan was sitting in a chair, nestled in the corner. Harlan Carson — the Hilltop’s doctor — was leaning over me, lips pressed into a thin line. I couldn’t tell if that was a good thing. His face seemed expressionless.

“I’m alive?”

“Barely,” Negan grunted. He looked pissed. “Regina put you in a fucking coma.”

My mouth felt dry. I swallowed, nodding at Carson. He hurried away, returning with a bottle of water. He had to help me drink — my arms were to weak to really even lift the bottle to my lips. The entire time Negan watched, dark circles under his eyes pronounced.

After taking several gulps, I said to Negan, “How’s your leg?”

“Been better. I don’t really fucking mind.”

Harlan and I glanced at each other, a bit put off by his dismissive attitude. Harlan looked as if he wanted to say something, eyes raking over my injured form. He recognized me, I knew. I could see it in his gaze. He wasn’t stupid enough to point it out to Negan, however.

“You should be good for now,” Harlan said softly. “Take it easy. Don’t push yourself.”

“Thank you,” I squeezed Harlan’s arm, smiling. Negan watched the exchange before standing, brushing past Harlan as he exited the room. He regarded me with a cool, almost hesitant smile. It was a warm smile, though, the facade he’d been holding disappearing.

“We’re alive. Both of us,” I let out a shaky laugh. “I can’t believe we pulled that shit off.”

“Not to bad for someone with a busted fucking leg, huh?” Negan chuckled, taking a seat next to me on the bed. “Simon and I had a long fucking chat. He’ll apologize. Eventually.”

I absently rested my head against Negan’s shoulder, trying my best not to drift off to sleep. I was even more difficult when Negan softly moved from under me, maneuvering my body so I could lay more comfortably on the bed.

“You don’t have to stay awake.”

“Stay,” I murmured.

“I fucking can’t. I want to, but I have shit to deal with. This whole fucking compound is surrounded,” Negan sounded bitter. “Nobody gets in, or out.”

“Let me help—”

“No,” Negan said firmly. “Stay here. You got two fucking bullets put in you. The last fucking thing we need is for you to get bit.”

“I won’t. I’m a ninja,” I gave a bubbly laugh, peering at Negan through half closed eyes. I wasn’t expecting him to lean down and press his lips against my forehead, but he did, leaving without another word.

I slept for two more days. I was only awake to eat, piss, and occasionally talk to Negan while working on becoming steadier on my feet. The situation outside hadn’t gotten any better. Even if I’d wanted to leave and head back to Rick, I couldn’t.

I was basically stuck with the Saviors. That bothered me only because some of Negan’s men hadn’t taken to kindly to me being spared and not killed or thrown into a cell.

“You shouldn’t be here,” Arat was the one bringing me food this time. I recognized her from Alexandria — I’d watched her blow Olivia’s brains out from the top floor of my town house. Needless to say, I had no intention of getting along with her.

You had no attention of getting along with Negan, either.

Now look where you are.

“I don’t really have a choice,” I replied, taking the tray of food and setting it on the nightstand. I expected Arat to leave after that, but she didn’t. Instead she leaned against the doorframe, analyzing me with a piercing gaze that, quite frankly, made me want to crawl into a hole and never come out.

“I’m just saying what everyone else thinks. You’re an outsider. It’s weird that Negan threw Regina out a window for you.”

“Ya’ll two were friends? You and Regina?” I said through a mouthful of food. “Shit. Sorry, dude. Lady was hella trigger happy.”

Arat glared. She made a noise of disgust, promptly leaving before I could say anything else.

Nice social skills, Rachel.

For all you know she and Regina could have been fucking!

The next day was when I finally mustered up the strength to leave the room. I’d been cooped up for a week, my only company being Negan, Arat, and occasionally Harlan Carson. I had yet to see Eugene or Dwight — I had a feeling both men were avoiding me. They had to know that I was here. Negan had made a big scene out of tossing Regina into the sea of the undead, and I assumed the news had spread like wildfire.    

I still wasn't trusted to walk around without some sort of supervision, so I’d been assigned a, to put it loosely, babysitter. The man didn’t talk much, and when he did, it seemed to be in grunts or nods. Reminded me of Daryl, in a way.

One of the only times I was left alone was to shower, however, this time when I exited, hair still dripping and dressed in an oversized sweatshirt that I suspect had once belonged to Negan, my babysitter was gone and instead Simon was waiting.

He was way taller up close.  And muscular He practically had to bend his neck to look at me, and I felt increasingly self conscious and a bit scared. We were alone. I had no weapon. Was he here to execute me? Kill me in one of the showers so I didn’t get blood everywhere?

Or maybe he was here to apologize. Maybe. I’d almost forgotten that he and Negan had gotten into it over that little…incident.

We stared at each other. There was an awkward silence in the air as we waited for the other to speak. Finally, Simon gave in, pinching the bridge of his nose and saying, “I’m sorry about what I did. It was rude of me.”

“Um, apology accepted? Have you been standing out here the whole time?”

Simon shrugged. He looked around, before admitting, “I guess. I thought it was only going to be a minute, but you take long showers.”

“Can I ask why?”

“I’m escorting you to you to Negan’s room,” I could hear the annoyance dripping from Simon’s voice. “As part of my ‘apology.’ He wants us to ‘bond.’ For the ‘better good of the community.’”

“Why are you putting air quotes around those words? It makes you look like you don’t really mean it.”

“I don’t. That’s the ‘point,’” Simon bared his teeth. “Sorry, girlie, but I don’t take to kindly to people who fire a bullet at my face.”

“I was trying to help get rid of that ungodly facial hair of yours.”

He lunged at me and I shrieked, darting back into the bathroom. I poked my head from around the corner and saw him standing there, eyebrows raised. Then he started laughing.

Asshole.

“I’m not going to hurt you. Negan would be…distraught if I did that,” Simon said. “He’s fond of you. Everyone can see it.”

“Is…that a good thing or a bad thing? That everyone knows?”

“Well, I’m the only one that knows you and him,” Simon gyrated his hips, tongue poking past his lips. I groaned, embarrassed. He stopped, laughing. “Yeah. I know all about that. He told me, in great detail. I didn’t even ask.”

“We were stuck in that trailer, and we got bored.”

“Hey, I don’t blame you. Or him. But not everyone thinks that way,” Simon waved a finger. “So you’d best be on your utmost behavior. There are consequences, here. Negan has to make sure people know he’s in charge.”

I stepped out from around the corner, flinching when Simon came closer. Giving me an almost childlike grin he pinched my cheeks, adding, “I wouldn’t want to tarnish that cute little face of yours. Now c’mon. He’s waiting.”

Carl had mentioned how Negan had a harem of willing women, but I’d brushed it off as Negan and his theatrics. The dude could have been a great actor.

But nope. He had a harem of pretty women and a nice parlor with an even nicer room. And in that room he was waiting, along with a guest.

Eugene.

He refused to make eye contact with me. He was sitting adjacent to Negan, speaking softly. The moment I entered he stood, dismissing himself.

“No. Eugene, sit the fuck back down,” Negan gestured with Lucille. Eugene obeyed, one leg bouncing restlessly. Negan crooked a finger, pointing to the open cushion. “You sit down, too. Thank you for bringing her here, Simon.”

“My pleasure,” Simon wasted no time in leaving.

I reluctantly sat, keeping a good gap between Eugene and I. He had yet to look at me.

“I assume you two know each other pretty fucking well?” Negan lazily raised Lucille, pointing and letting her drift from me to Eugene. When neither of us replied, he rolled his eyes and spat, “Loosen the fuck up. Shit. You’re not in trouble.”

“She and I were acquaintances back at Alexandria,” Eugene said smoothly. “We didn’t talk much. I only admired her from afar, something I now regret.”

Admired — oh, fuck.

Negan raised an eyebrow. “You had a thing for her?”

“Yes, but only because she and are homologous in that we both lack proper social skills and share similar tastes in extracurricular activities. I would refrain from calling it anything but a minor fondness.”

I was staring at the ground, hard. Negan gave a hum of either approval or distaste — the noise was so generic that I couldn’t tell which it was — before saying, “Let’s keep it that fucking way, okay? That’s not what I wanted to fucking talk to you about, anyway. I want you to tell your friend why you chose to stay with us, even after you were given an opportunity to escape.”

For the first time, Eugene looked at me. There was no fear, no facade that he was putting on. “I simply weighed the disadvantages and the benefits. My skills are being utilized to their full capacity here. Yours could be, too.”

“Babysitting and gardening isn’t a skill, really,” I said. “I can’t make bullets or fix shit like you. I can’t do most stuff.”

“Untrue. Your attitude is truculent and you have an aptitude for combat. Rick unfortunately never saw that — I did.”

“With Regina dead, I’ll need someone to replace her. I sincerely hope you consider the offer. It’s a pretty fucking generous one,” Negan smiled. “What I told you in that trailer is still fucking true. You’ll be respected here. Eugene is an example of that.”

Negan dismissed Eugene with a wave of Lucille. He left slowly, glancing over his shoulder the entire time. The moment the door closed, Negan tossed Lucille onto the couch and let out a sigh.

“God, he’s fucking weird.”

“And you’re not? I’m not?”

“You are. Don’t fucking know about me,” Negan smirked. “But I wouldn’t change you. Hell no.”

“I wouldn’t change you either. Well, maybe some minor stuff,” I grit my teeth. Negan licked his lips, staring at me curiously. I said, “Is that all you called me here for? So I could listen to Eugene make a sales pitch?”

“I was hoping I could fuck your brains out, too.”

“You have a bunch of wives out there, all dolled up,” I snorted. I’d never get over the nerve this man had. “I had to walk past them. I don’t know why of all people you would want me—”

“We went over this. I think you’re hot as shit.”

Solid logic right there.

“I appreciate that, Negan, but what happened in that trailer…do you really think its smart to carry that shit over?” I heard Negan stand, coming to sit by my side. “Like, that was then…just the two of us. Alone. This is here.” “And here is where I’m the fucking boss. You saw all those people kneel when I walked by them? I’m a fucking god to them. And god’s can fuck whoever and whenever they damn well please.”

I didn’t push him away when his lips began suckling on my throat. I just groaned, playing into his little game. I didn’t care. He always made me feel so good, each squeeze and kiss and touch sending my brain flatlining into submission. I wanted him, desperately.

“Don’t hold back on me,” Negan murmured. “This is no different than last time.”

“It is. This time we have a bed,” I chuckled, leaning in for a kiss. My mind wandered to a particularly dirty place, and I paused, glancing at the door. “Why don’t you ask Simon to get in here?”

Negan raised his eyebrows. “I didn’t think you liked him.”

“He’s growing on me. So are those muscles,” I kissed the scruff on Negan’s cheek. “I’m kidding, you know. I was a virgin until I met you. I don’t know what makes you think I’m already ready to have two dicks in me.”

Negan, face flushed, looked embarrassed. I pulled away, looking him up and down.

“Are you jealous?”

“Fuck no,” Negan replied. “I’m not fucking jealous.”

“Why don’t we get one of your wives in here, then?”

“Are you trying to piss me off?” Negan’s eyes went from mirthful to hostile. I raised my hands in a placating gesture, still unsure of how far to push him. I desperately wanted to say my piece, especially before I fell into his arms once more.

“No. I’m just saying. If you’re jealous of me and Simon, who’s to say that I’m not jealous of you and your wives? It’s a two way street, you know.”

“Hell, as far as I’m concerned, you’re one of them,” Negan snorted. “Look, I know you have your little crush and all. I know what we talked about back in that fucking trailer. Just because I opened up to you doesn’t mean that I’m going to drop everything and make you my one-and-only or whatever the fuck you want to call it.”

His words hurt, but I wasn’t at all surprised. I was more mad at myself for asking. For ruining what could have been a perfect night of great talks and great sex.

Instead I was siting before him, doubting. Doubting myself.

“Look at me,” Negan grasped my chin with his fingers. “I care about you. I wouldn’t have fucking tossed Regina out that window if I didn’t. But whatever it is you think you feel for me? Throw it away. Get rid of it. I’m not going to be able to return any of the shit you give me, and that’s not fucking fair to you.”

“Have you ever killed someone like that before? Like Regina?” “I’ve killed plenty of fucking people, and all of them deserved it.”

“No. I mean…Regina was one of you. She was a savior. You trusted her,” I swallowed. “I was a nobody. Yet you killed one of your own men for hurting someone on the other team. It shouldn’t have mattered to you whether or not I died, but it did. If I’m no better than your wives or the other saviors, why don’t you treat me that way?”

He visited your room. There were plenty of other injured saviors, yet he spent a majority of his time with you.

Why? 

“Because I invest in people I think can do fucking better for themselves. You’re one of those fucking people. It’s why I’m pushing so hard for you to stay here.”

“The sex is a bonus?” I gave a sad little laugh, feeling Negan’s lips against my own. This kiss was chaste, gentle.

“If that’s what you want to call it. It’s something I fucking enjoy,” Negan purred. He stood, growling lowly. In one swift motion he’d lifted me from the couch, discarding me onto his bed. I squealed, giggling.

“Sex and…what was the other thing?” I beamed.

“Chocolate covered strawberries.”

~ ~ ~

I awoke first. I could feel Negan’s length poke against my lower back, one arm draped across my torso. We were both in a state of undress, and I’d practically moaned at the feel of soft bedsheets. Hell, they were better than the ones back at Alexandria.

I could get used to this.

I stirred, feeling Negan’s grip on me tighten. Before I could try and slip from his arms he mumbled, “Everything is fucking cancelled today. Stay.”

“Don’t I start babysitting today?” I said sarcastically. “Don’t want to be late.”

“I’m too fucking tired to determine if you’re serious or not. Shit. What time is it?”

“From the angle of the sun I’m guessing—”

“There’s a clock right there, smartass,” Negan replied, kissing my shoulder. Quieter, he said, “Shit, you mouthing off gets my dick hard.”

“I can feel,” I grimaced. I checked the clock — almost nine. I flopped back down, groaning and saying, “It’s to early for me, that’s for sure. Shit. I thought it was, like, lunchtime.”

“Even more of a reason for you to stay,” Negan kissed the back of my neck. His arms snaked around my waist, face nuzzled into my shoulder.

“You’re extra clingy today. What’s the deal?”

“Even though everything around us has turned into a shitshow, I’m feeling pretty fucking content right now,” Negan licked his lips as I turned to face him. “You being with me is the icing on the fucking cake.”

I smiled, but internally I was wincing. I still hadn’t forgotten what he’d told me last night.

He wants you to bury all your feelings for him.

You can’t. Not when he says stuff like this.

Maybe I was incapable of just fucking. Years of abuse and neglect made it very easy for me to get attached. Even now, I still had trouble distinguishing actual romantic feelings from platonic fondness.

“Why are you fucking looking at me like that? Did I say some shit wrong—”

“No. It’s not you. It’s me. It’s always me,” I snorted, struggling not to shed any tears. I could already feel them bubbling up inside me, threatening to spill forth. I didn’t want to burden Negan with whatever stupid shit was on my mind.

“Hey — shit. Don’t cry. Look at me,” Negan cupped my cheek with his hand. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s not important.”

“Yes, it is. It’s fucking important to me,” Negan replied. “Start talking.”

“About what you said last night. About…burying whatever feelings I have for you. I can’t. I don’t know how. I can’t tell if I’m in love with you, or if I’m only feeling this way because you’re one of the few people to ever give me attention like this. To care. Or maybe I’m in love with the idea of being in love. I don’t know. It’s all a big, confusing mess.”

Negan took a long pause. His face gave away nothing. I immediately began worrying that he’d kick me from his bed for rambling on.

Before he could say anything, I added, “I’m fucked up in the head, Negan. I have been, way before the world ended. Maybe this isn’t the right choice. Maybe I need to grow up some.”

“If you get any older, you’re going to fucking pass me. You don’t need to ‘grow up’ — you’ve aged enough. Hell, you’ve been dealing with this shit for years? Before the dead started walking around, eating people and shit like that? The fact that you’re alive, even after all that, is a fucking triumph,” Negan said firmly. “I’d trust you with fucking anything, because I know you could get it done. But what you’re talking about now — I’ve said my fucking piece, Rachel. I can’t love. Not anymore. I don’t feel shit — no happiness, no sadness, no nothing. I just…am. I do what I have to do and don’t think about it.”

“What about when Regina shot me? You would have let me die if you didn’t really care. I know you saw something in me. I know that. But you didn’t have to kill Regina. You didn’t have to throw her out the window. She did her job — it was a mistake. If she were alive, I would have forgiven her and moved on. You reacted because  it hurt you to see me hurt.” Negan rubbed his eyes, chuckling to himself. At first I thought he was going to scold me, but instead he murmured, “Shit. I never fucking though about that. I didn’t remember what it fucking felt like,” he threw his head back and laughed. “Holy fuck. That’s what it was. I fucking remember that now.”

“Negan—”

“I felt like I couldn’t fucking move on when Lucille died. I sat in the fucking corner like a pathetic fucker, numb to the core. Couldn’t even put her out of here misery,” Negan said. “I told myself I’d never feel that way again. Couldn’t even keep my own fucking promise.”

“You,…felt that with me?”

“Fuck yes. But I wouldn’t have been able to put you down myself after you turned. I knew I would. Seeing you as one of them would have fucking broken me, and I guess I know why.”

You can say it now.

“I love you.”

Negan met my gaze, smiling. His face was flushed, and I could tell that he was embarrassed, like a young kid approaching his first crush. It amplified his boyish charm, tenfold.

“Shit—”

“Try and say it without cursing.”

“That’s no fucking fun. Besides, you curse just as much as me,” Negan leaned in for a kiss, murmuring, “I fucking love you, too.”