#and now BOOM! four months until marriage goddamn

[hanaasbananas]

im getting married this year. what the f-

[andcurioser]

So. Let’s talk about Veronica Mars. *deeeeeeeep sigh*

Ok, friends. It’s been a goddamn whirlwind for me. I actually went to the Veronica Mars panel at Comic Con, which I thought was a highlight at the time. They screened the first episode before the panel, and I was all ready to report back to you all that it was real good and to get excited for the new season, but then Hulu had to go and drop the whole damn series during the CC panel, which was a STUPID thing to do (or, at the very least, an extremely stupid thing to announce to the panel at Comic Con - the exact people who would not be able to watch it until after Comic Con, putting them at risk for some really big fucking spoilers. It’s genuinely surprising to me how little the people who are in charge think about these things. If you want to do a surprise drop (which, why, but whatever), sure, go and do it, but definitely don’t announce it to a room full of people who can’t enjoy it and expect them to be excited??). But regardless. That was just a wtf moment. I was still filled with enthusiasm and excitement and happiness that this show was back and seemed to be in good form. 

Oy. 

Cut to Tuesday morning. I got back from Comic Con on Sunday night, and life goes on, so of course I hadn’t watched 8 hours of TV by Tuesday at 7AM. Which is precisely when my dear friend, whom I adore, but who is apparently an idiot, texted me about how terrible that VM ending was and how upset she was. Now, because I’m a good friend and I know what she likes and we’ve discussed VM at length, it took me all of four seconds to know the gist of what happens in the end. I didn’t know the how or why, but I certainly knew the what. Cue fun spikes of anxiety and random bursts of rage, because what the fuck. Truly, what the fuck. But I placed my certainty at 99% and hopelessly clung to the 1% chance that I was wrong, knowing full well that I wasn’t. This obviously completely stymied any excitement I had for the show, and I dragged my heels for a full month before finally finishing the goddamn show just to get it over with. And now we’re here. 

I’ve had a month to ready myself for what I knew was coming. It was both a blessing and a curse, since while it pretty thoroughly ruined my good time, it also meant that I wasn’t totally blindsided by that ending. And man, I would have been blindsided, because there was Z E R O reason for that. None. And now I’ve read all the articles in which Rob Thomas tries to explain his reasons, and they’re all nonsense. Absolute idiocy. All I see is a guy who always, always resented the fans for loving a character he didn’t want us to, who tried and tried to redirect us to one of his preferred creations without success, and just when I thought he’d finally accepted defeat, he pulls the most nonsensical of fuckery just to finally win the battle. Fuck you, RT, forever and always. I can’t fucking believe that I allowed myself to think you’d finally seen the light. What a ridiculous fool I was for giving him the benefit of the doubt. 

Since I knew what was coming, I could look for the signs all throughout the season. So I searched for foreshadowing, or at least a narrative through-line. And let me tell you: there isn’t one. The season finally, rightfully seems to address Veronica’s deep-set trauma and trust issues but treats them like a problem and not a secret superpower, and it seemed like the show might expect Veronica to grow up along with the viewers who’ve aged 15 years since the first season? I was excited to finally have Veronica be the problem in a relationship, frankly. It was hinted at with Piz, but glossed over because there was only so much time in the movie, but it was realistic for her to have some trouble adjusting to a long-term, committed relationship, and I was excited to see that journey! I thought it was such an interesting path to go down, watching Veronica grapple with what she wants (or maybe just thinks she wants) vs. what she’s always known, or thought she knows. Lots of stuff there! Good stuff! And you get all the way to the end, when she’s finally decided to try. It isn’t fixed, it isn’t perfectly, she’s definitely got a long way to go, but she’s taken a few tentative steps into an uncertain future. And all of a sudden, quite literally, boom. It’s all gone. 

Listen. I was never going to be a fan of getting rid of Logan. However they chose to do it, it would always feel wrong. I have never trusted Rob Thomas to handle Logan well, because he’s always had this undercurrent of anger in every interview I’ve read, this frustration that people love and respond to Logan when he wanted them to love Duncan! Then Piz! Then anyone else! His creations took on a life of their own, and RT hated it. RT was one of the ultimate examples of writers/show runners who were simply watching a completely different show than the rest of us. I could never understand how he wrote such interesting stuff for Logan but didn’t want us to root for him. It never made any sense. But I didn’t think he would sabotage his own show this thoroughly. 

Because here’s the thing: I was never going to like him getting rid of Logan, but I could have understood it. I could have gone along with it if it had been done right. Frankly, the way it was building, it wouldn’t have been a surprise, nor would it even have been a bad choice, to have Logan break up with Veronica at the end of the season. And if RT couldn’t handle Veronica not being the aggressor, fine, make Veronica do it. She decides she isn’t willing to put in the work to change that Logan needs from her, and she ends it. Fine. Could work, at least for a few seasons. Let her deal with the loss, knowing it was something she chose, and see how it affects her priorities as she continues on. Certainly could be interesting! 

You know what isn’t interesting? This. This is the only - the ONLY - plotline that’s a watered down repeat of a previous story. Veronica Mars, traumatized and hardened by the shocking loss of someone close to her? Quite literally, been there, done that. I know RT has been trying to recapture the magic of season one for every season and iteration since, but just repeating the storyline? Really, really missing the mark. There isn’t anything new that can be added to this. We’ve done this. This will only ever be a pale imitation, a tacked-on sequel hitting the same beats with less force. Lilly was a fantastic inciting incident that yielded a tight, well-thought-out season arc. But why would we want to start over 15 years later? What’s to be gained from this? Literally ANY other ending would have yielded multiple storytelling options, branching out with so many possibilities on where the characters could go. This is the only one that simply slams doors shut. 

The few supporters of this ending I’ve seen around the interwebs keep saying things like “this show wouldn’t work if Veronica was happy!” Hell, Rob Thomas is saying the same thing. And to that idiocy, I can only say 1. of course it would, if you write it well, dumbass, and 2. if you think Veronica getting married immediately = happiness, well, what the hell show were you watching? The marriage, much as it could represent a step forward, was still VERY CLEARLY a huge, impulsive jump that was more a reaction than a measured decision. And that was something I was looking forward to seeing. Fresh off of a near-death experience and a renewed assurance of her love for Logan, Veronica marries him thinking that’s the end of their troubles, only to realize that it’s just another complication. Now Veronica has to deal with the new experience of having no quick exit strategy. All the problems they had throughout the season still exist, thinly covered by the veil of newlywed bliss, and she has to reconcile her happiness with her frustration and uncertainty. Logan still disappears at the drop of a hat because of his job. She still puts herself in danger for the case and uses loved ones and acquaintances alike to her full advantage. They hide things from each other. They love fiercely, they trust the other with their own lives but can’t trust each other to take care of themselves. Doesn’t this sound like a complicated, tumultuous relationship full of narrative possibilities? 

Well, forget it, because why break new ground when you could retread old storylines? Yeah, that’s what we all want. Great job, RT. So smart. 

Something that keeps bothering me is that if RT didn’t want Logan around as the happy husband at home but didn’t want to write more relationship drama between them? He already had the perfect excuse to ship Logan off for entire seasons at a time. Look, Logan’s deployed, oh no, he can’t even skype, he’s undercover! Cool, problem solved. No more Logan, but in a way that still maintains possibilities for the future should we want them. Ideal. Again, options. All you want are places for your narrative to go. Multiple roads it could take so it doesn’t become predictable. 

This is predictable. This is boring. This is trite. Our heroes, struck down in their highest moment of happiness. Holy fuck, it’s dull. It doesn’t feel edgy. It feels derivative, a tired rehash of a narrative structure that should have gone out of vogue ten years ago. The whole thing just exhausts me at this point. 

And I’ve read Rob Thomas’s justification for why he did it. They’re all flimsy, but if he wants to go do a Sherlock-style, Ms. Marple mystery series, flitting in and out as he pleases, fine. It won’t be the worst show in the world. Veronica’s still a fun and interesting character, and I’ll always enjoy watching her. But removing her from Neptune, and more importantly, removing her from all of her meaningful relationships, takes away what made this show special. The new version RT is pitching could be fun enough. But it’ll still be just one in a long, long line of mystery shows that don’t have much claim to my emotional investment. I might watch, but I’ll forget about it the second it’s over. It certainly won’t be the kind of show with a fanbase that will still be interested in watching more 15 years from now. Rob Thomas won’t be getting one of those again. 

So yeah, that’s that. I have much more to say, but really I just wanted to get this rant out so I can put it all behind me. I learned long ago that I can’t trust shows and showrunners, and it’s a lesson I learned partly, if significantly, from Rob Thomas. I suppose it’s on me for letting my guard down, but I guess my hope got grandfathered in from an age when I didn’t immediately mistrust the things that were supposed to make me happy. I’ll know better next time. 

[saccharii]

How to Win Back Your (Villain) Ex Boyfriend

A guide by Hawks

Fandom: My Hero Academia

Summary:  Arresting Dabi and putting him in prison has put quite a big of strain on his and Hawks’ relationship, but Hawks is determined to work through it.

AO3 Link

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“Hey,” Hawks says and sits down at the table that Dabi — no, not Dabi; his real name is Touya, Todoroki Touya, and hadn’t that been a ride? — is handcuffed to. “It’s been a long time, huh?”

Dabi (Touya?) glares at him flatly, his head propped up on his hand. His orange prison jumpsuit clashes with his purple scars and now red hair. His hollow cheeks and pale skin serve to make him look more sickly than usual.

That’s fair. Hawks probably wouldn’t be very friendly towards the guy that arrested him either.

“So... what have you been up to?”

Dabi’s expression doesn’t change. Hawks winces. God, why is he so awkward? What has he been up to? Prison. Prison is what he’s been up to.

In front of a camera Hawks is as smooth as silk, but sit him down across from his (ex?) boyfriend that he’d arrested and all of a sudden everything that comes out of his mouth is pure idiocy.

“I’ve been good. Doing hero stuff,” he forges on, bravely or stupidly, he doesn’t know. “Arresting bad guys, posing for pictures, the usual.”

Dabi’s glare sharpens.

“I’ll cut to the chase. Are we still dating?”

“No.”

“Cool, cool. Totally understandable. Do you want to get back together?”

“No.”

Hawks clasps his hands in front of his face and braces his elbows on the table, giving his best puppy dog eyes.

“C’mon, please?”

“No.”

“How about friends with benefits? They have conjugal visits at this prison. I checked.”

He wants more than friends with benefits, but it’s a start. He can work from there. That’s how it happened the first time, after all.

Ex boyfriends to friends with benefits, back to boyfriends, then in a few years when Dabi’s out on parole: Boom. Marriage. Maybe they can buy a house with an actual, walled off yard. It’ll be expensive as hell in this area, but between Hawks’ salary and Dabi’s trust fund they can pull it off. Married with a dog, not a cat. Cats always try to attack Hawks’ wings.

His plan is foolproof. This sort of thing happens all the time; he’s seen it on those rom-coms that Rumi hates but agrees to watch with him anyway because he’s her only friend.

Dabi’s mouth drops open slightly, and he furrows his eyebrows. “Hawks, what the fuck.”

“That’s the idea. Us the fuck.”

Haha. Why did he say that? ‘Us the fuck’? That doesn’t even make sense.

“Do you proposition every villain you arrest?”

“Only the hot ones — both literally and figuratively.” Hawks winks and shoots finger guns.

Finger guns. Why. Why did he do that? Holy fuck, he has to get out of here before he humiliates himself further. Lesson learned. Next time he’ll practice what he’s going to say in front of the mirror.

Dabi says nothing, presumably stunned into silence by Hawks’ finger guns. (Why finger guns? Why is he like this?)

“Anyway,” Hawks says quickly. “I gotta get going. Want me to bring some of that strawberry shortcake you like so much next time?”

Dabi mouths the words ‘next time’ with an incredulous look on his face.

“What the fuck, Hawks? You fucking tricked me and arrested me. Now you’re here asking me out and offering me cake? Why do you think I even want you here?”

“I’ll take that as a yes.” Hawks raps his knuckles on the table and stands up. “I’ll bring some cards next time, too.”

He signals the guard who escorts him stiffly from the room. As they pass through the heavily armored door he gives Hawks some serious side-eye before he realizes Hawks saw him and looks away.

Oh yeah. He just witnessed the whole ‘begging his felon ex boyfriend to take him back’ debacle. Complete with finger guns. (That’s something that’s going to haunt him for the rest of his life, isn’t it? He’ll be eighty and lying in bed and it’ll pop into his head. He won’t be able to remember what day it is but he’ll remember the goddamn finger gun incident from when he was twenty three.)

“So, uh, I don’t suppose I could pay you not to ever tell anyone about that?”

“We are bound with a strict confidentiality clause,” the guard says, staring straight ahead, determinedly looking anywhere but at Hawks. “Nothing you do or say here will be released to the public.”

Hawks nods. “Gotcha.”

Confidentiality clauses don’t do much from Hawks’ experience. Sure, the guard won’t run to the presses or blab on his blog, but once he gets home there is no doubt that he’ll immediately tell his spouse or call up his best friend or someone, and who knows who’ll find out after that. Before you know it one of Hawks’ sidekicks will pull him aside and ask him if it’s true that he shot finger guns.

Hawks claps his hand on the guard’s shoulder. “Good to know.” He looks at the guard’s name tag. “Officer Naya. I’m trusting you.”

Lay the guilt on thick enough and maybe he won’t tell anyone.

“Right, right,” Hawks mutters. He grips the edge of the sink until his knuckles turn white. “I can do this.”

Dried toothpaste flakes under his hands. The sink hasn’t been cleaned since Dabi last scrubbed it months ago, before Hawks arrested him. Hawks’ lackadaisical attitude towards wiping down counters drove Dabi nuts. Who knew someone who looks so much like an unwashed hobo would be such a clean freak?

Yet every night Dabi would put on thick rubber gloves, wipe down the bathroom, wash the dishes, clean the kitchen, pick up the living room and bedroom, and vacuum the carpets, complaining the whole time.

Hawks was shocked by how domestic Dabi is, nothing like the twenty something disaster he expected him to be. (Well, he was a twenty something human disaster, just not when it came to chores.) Hell, Dabi had even packed Hawks’ (very delicious) lunch everyday. Damn, he misses that. KFC has nothing on Dabi’s homemade chicken karaage.

It probably has something to do with his scars. Dirty sheets and open wounds do not go well together. Every day Dabi disinfected the entire apartment, and every night he doused himself with antiseptic and bandaged along his seams with sterile gauze. Hawks hopes they’re taking good care of his scars in prison.

He takes a deep breath, holds it for four seconds, then breathes out to quell the anxiety twisting in his gut. It doesn’t work. He’s such a disaster without Dabi here. He was a disaster with Dabi here too, but he was a disaster with a clean apartment and home cooked food.

He slicks his hair back with water. He can do this. Hero monthly voted him the hottest single hero in the country; he can seduce his ex boyfriend back.

(Dabi had grinned and waved the magazine in his face, then proceeded to prove just how single Hawks wasn’t.)

He can do this. He runs his fingers through his hair one more time. “Hey,” he says to the mirror in his most seductive voice.

He can’t do this.

“Goddamnit, why am I so bad at this?”

He slaps his cheeks and stares at himself in the mirror.

“Let’s try this again.” He smiles his best TV smile. “Hey Dabi,” he says. “I just want to talk more about what we discussed last week. You know, things didn’t end well between us. Honestly they ended terribly, so, uh, I want to fix that. I think we had something good going on, before I arrested you and you set yourself on fire trying to get away.”

Shit. This isn’t Hawks. He isn’t the planning type. He’s more of the ‘winging it’ type. (Heh. Winging it. That’s a good one.) Alright. One more time.

“Hey! I’m back. I, um, brought you flowers.” Hawks grabs a toothbrush from the holder and mimes giving it to the mirror. “I don’t know if you like flowers, since I’ve never given you flowers. I’ve never given anyone flowers.

“I know that things ended badly between us, but I’ve never felt this way about anyone else before. So I was thinking, maybe, we could try again? God this is so stupid it’s never going to work.”

Hawks rubs his face, almost accidentally stabbing himself in the eye with the toothbrush. Okay, maybe he should start small. He said he was going to bring cake next time, so he’ll start with that.

“I brought that cake you like so much, just like I promised.”

Hawks groans. He has no idea what to say. Looks like he’ll be an awkward mess, but  he’ll be an awkward mess with flowers and cake.

At least his makeup is on point. You can’t even tell he has bags under his eyes and a stress pimple coming in. His eyeliner is amazing. Wings sharp enough to kill a man. He looks good.

He checks his phone. He’s got an hour until he needs to be at the prison. That’s just enough time to run to the bakery and the florist. He takes a deep, fortifying breath.

He can do this.

He lied. He can’t do this

The flower shop is so small that every time Hawks turns around he nearly knocks everything off the shelf, and that’s with his wings tucked close. The overwhelming fragrance makes his head spin.

He doesn’t know anything about flowers. Apparently some have certain meanings and others have different meanings and if you choose the wrong ones you accidentally end up saying ‘I wish you were dead’ instead of ‘I like you.’

“Can I help you, sir?”

Hawks starts and spins, knocking vases off the shelves. Only two feathers and quick reflexes prevent disaster. How did some florist sneak up on him? He’s the number two hero, for god’s sake.

“Yes, thank you,” he says with practiced, disarming charm. “I don’t know anything about flowers. Maybe you could recommend something?”

“Of course.” The florist’s voice wobbles. Ah, she recognizes him. “What do you need them for?”

He scratches his chin.

“Hypothetically, if you were a spy,” he says slowly, “and you fell in love with your mark, then arrested him, what kind of flowers would you give him to apologize and ask him back out?”

“Oh,” the girl says, her eyes wide and her mouth open in a perfect ‘o’. “Um. I... I’ve never encountered that, uh, exact situation before. Maybe some sort of apology bouquet? Or something to indicate, that, uh, you’ll wait for him? To get out of jail?”

“I like that second one. I kinda had to arrest him, and I’m sorry, but not really sorry, You know?”

She nods, her eyes wide and glazed. “I understand completely.”

What a trooper. Hawks is pretty sure she doesn’t understand, but he appreciates her putting up with him anyway. It’s not everyday the number two strolls into your shop and makes such a bizarre request.

This is going to be all over the tabloids tomorrow, if not tonight, isn’t it? His PR team is going to kill him. Oh well, it’s bound to get out eventually. No way is he going to be able to marry a convicted felon without someone cottoning on.

After a half hour of back and forth over the pros and cons of what various flowers mean and how they would look together in a bouquet, they finally decide on a bouquet of forget-me-not (for true love), white anemones (for sincerity), and camellias (for waiting) tied together with a blue ribbon the color of Dabi’s eyes. It looks kinda like a bridal bouquet. Hopefully it isn’t coming on too strong. He doesn’t want to seem as desperate as he actually is.

“These flowers look nice,” Hawks says idly as the florist lady (Okumura, he found out. Her quirk is making no noise when she moves which is how she snuck up on him. Thank god he isn’t losing his edge.) rings him up. “Maybe I’ll get some of them next time.”

Okumura glances at the flowers in the vase next to the register. “Those are yellow tulips. They mean ‘unrequited love’ in hanakotoba.”

“Ah, I don’t want those flowers.”

“No, probably not.” She hands him the bouquet. “Three thousand yen, please.”

Hawks pays and bids Okumura goodbye. What a nice lady. She did a great job taking his ridiculous request seriously. If it was him, he would have laughed in his face.

He checks his phone and grimaces. He has less than thirty minutes to drop by the bakery and get to the prison in time for visitation. Hopefully there won’t be a line.

Shit, shit, shit. He’s late. How did this happen? He’s supposed to be the hero that moves too fast.

Hawks hops from foot to foot as the guard, a small woman with a spider web of glowing blue lines around the corner of her eyes, undoes the complicated locks on the heavy, metal prison door. He hates being late. It makes his skin itch.

He fidgets, trying not to drop the pastry box in one hand or the somewhat squashed bouquet in the other. He’s on friendly terms with the baker from his favorite bakery, and the man keeps special reinforced boxes made to withstand flight on hand, but Hawks hadn’t thought of how he would carry the flowers, so he had to stuff them down his jacket.

The prison guard yanks the thick door open with ease, and Hawks nods at her in thanks and enters. (How did she manage that? She’s so petite.)

Dabi is once more handcuffed to the table, reclining in his chair, head back and eyes closed.

“So,” he says, and opens his eyes, piercing Hawks with an intense stare. “You came back.”

Hawks shivers. That look never fails to get him. “I said I would, didn’t I?”

“Did you shave? You look like a twelve year old.”

Good to see that prison didn’t break Dabi’s lovely personality.

“I think it looks nice,” Hawks mumbles. “I brought you something.”

Hawks holds the flowers out to Dabi. He looks at them dispassionately and makes no move to take them. Hawks places the slightly squashed bouquet down carefully in front of him. Dabi looks him straight in the eyes and pushes them off the table with the back of his hand.

Yep. Same old Dabi.

“I have allergies,” he says.

“Noted. Good thing I have backup.” He puts the pastry box on the table in between them with a flourish. He picks at the thick tape, cursing. Goddamnit, why do these things have to be so difficult to open? There’s cake inside, not government secrets. Hawks sharpens one of his feathers and slices through the tape. Dabi huffs out a quiet, amused breath, and Hawks’ cheeks pinken.

He gingerly lifts the slice of cake out of the box. “Tada! I got strawberry shortcake for you and chocolate cannolis for me. And-” He pulls a thermos out of his coat. “-I remember how you feel about cake without milk.”

Dabi resists for all of two seconds before he takes the cake. Hawks tosses him a plastic fork before he can start shoveling it in his mouth with his hands like the heathen he is. Dabi doesn’t thank him, but he’s never thanked anyone for anything before, as far as Hawks is aware, so it’s not like he was expecting it.

“Here. Check this out.” Hawks unscrews the thermos and places the lid on the table. “The top doubles as a cup. Neat, huh?”

Dabi takes the thermos and drinks directly out of the container. Alongside the whole Dabi-is-a-Todoroki-holy-shit revelation was the realization that Dabi came from money and probably had a rich kid’s upbringing. Which means that Dabi knows how to use his manners, he just chooses not to. It’s such a Dabi thing that it makes Hawks smile.

Hawks snags one of the chocolate cannolis. He got two because he knows Dabi will steal one. He takes a bite and sighs with pleasure, his eyes fluttering closed. The crisp shell contrasts perfectly with the creamy filling. Watanuki’s pastries really are the best. (And the most expensive.)

He misses this. He misses eating in silence across from Dabi. He misses the comfortable stillness that comes with familiarity. He misses Dabi.

He slowly opens his eyes and his gaze meets Dabi’s. For a moment he sees his own emotions reflected in those eyes before the walls slam down again.

Dabi snorts and wipes his hands on his prison jumpsuit. “Nice try, birdy, but it’s not gonna work.”

“I brought cards, too.” Hawks slips the deck out of his pocket and takes the cards out of the box. “I thought you could use some entertainment.”

“The cake was a better bribe.”

Hawks shuffles the cards with a perfect riffle and bridge. Dabi can’t do it. Every time he tries he sends the cards flying. It drives him crazy. He pretends it doesn’t bother him, but Hawks knows.

“Do you know how to play bullshit?”

“No.”

“Damn. Neither do I. I saw some people on TV playing it and it looked fun. How about egyptian rat screw?”

“That’s a three player game.”

“Is it? Maybe guard lady can join us.” Hawks turns in his seat to face the guard. Huh. The glowing spiderwebs around her eyes are gone. “Hey guard lady, you wanna play egyptian rat screw?”

Guard lady regards him solemnly then shakes her head.

Dabi snorts. “You’re not going to get anything out of her. She’s got a giant stick up her ass. All about ‘professionalism’ and ‘protocol.’ At least the other guards will talk to you or crack a joke.”

“Fine, fine. Poker, then?”

They play the world’s most boring game of poker. With only two people and no stakes, there’s no risk or room for scheming. When Hawks suggests strip poker, guard lady finally says something for the first time — a sharp ‘no’.

The hour passes too quickly. Dabi’s parting “Fuck off and die” is less venomous than last time, but he’s still shut off. More so than before.

Hawks is going to need some outside advice.

[redwine-house]

Golden Years Ch.16 (Negan x Reader)

Sympathy for the Devil

Summary: You explore the infancy of your relationship with Negan as your drug operation takes off. Life is good until the satellite outpost is attacked. 

(Ao3) (Wattdpad)

(Masterlist)

Words: 1,945

As a recovering drug addict, it was obscenely ridiculous for you to be driving down an empty road with a few grams of heroin left in your bag, just itching to be shot into your bloodstream. However, this was the end of the world and you had to fight for every scrap of food and every sip of water that kept you alive. The old rules were a thing of the past and you had to do anything that kept yourself breathing.

You and Dwight had been sent out on the first heroin run and had been on the road for two days. Already the flatbed of your pickup truck was filled with canned goods, water, and even weapons. People had given up protection for drugs. Not a single bullet or drop of blood had come from either of you, and you were just under 20 miles from the Sanctuary, which meant that you were within radio distance.

Dwight picked up the two way radio, making sure to keep one hand on the wheel. “We’re about out. I think we’re going to head back and see if we can push the rest on our way.” There was a beep as he let go of the button. The response was almost immediate.

“See, I knew you two would kick ass!” Negan’s voice was static-y as he shouted into the speaker. “Come on back and we can talk shop. Now how much are we hauling?”

You took the radio from Dwight. “You’re gonna need a bigger truck.”

There was more static as Negan laughed. “Now you’re just whispering sweet nothings into my ear, sweet girl.”

Your cheeks dusted a light pink as you felt Dwight’s eyes briefly fall on you, and you were acutely aware of their scorn. It had been four days since you had first kissed Negan and it had been far from a one-time occurrence. The sudden outburst of emotion had spurred a romance between you and your fearless leader and it was both overwhelmingly exciting and bizarre. You quickly learned that Negan had invented PDA; he had absolutely no qualms with pouncing on you in the hallways. But for how tarnished his reputation was and how roaming his hands were, he never did anything without your permission.

You remembered your first day at the Sanctuary, when he showed you the rapist who had been condemned to the walkers’ yard and how disgusted Negan had been. It was confusing, how someone could be so adamantly against something while coercing five women to marry him.

You had decided to focus on his soft touches.

The part that had truly shocked you was the reaction of your peers. Suddenly there was an air of fear around you. Conversations would hush when you walked into a room and eyes were adverted when your gaze shifted.  Evidently, being the object of Negan’s affection put you in a place of authority. If anything happened to you, Negan would be furious, and no one wanted to step on your toes.

But what had changed the most was Dwight’s attitude towards you.

You slammed the radio onto your thigh. “Okay. What is your problem?”

Dwight looked back at the road. “Nothing,” he muttered.

You barked. “No. You have been glaring at me like I pissed in your cereal. Either knock it off or tell me.”

The Savior’s grip on the wheel tightened. “He’s a monster.” Dwight’s voice was dark.

One of your hands clenched into a fist. “You don’t know him.”

With a screech, Dwight stomped on the break, sending you flying against your seatbelt. He turned to you and you immediately shrank. There was a fire in the man’s eyes that you had never seen before. “I don’t know him? You’ve only been here a few months and you think you know Negan? That man is the devil.”

A need to protect your more-than-friend was overwhelming and Dwight’s words made you grind your teeth. “Why, because he kills people?  Just because he’s more…flamboyant about it-”

“He likes it.”

At that, you had no justification.

“He took my wife.”

It was as if the breath had been taken out of you. “What?” The truck continued to hum idly as Dwight gathered the strength to talk.

His words started off slow. “My wife's sister, Tina…she was diabetic. Obviously her insulin was hard to come by and it cost a lot of points. She ran out and Negan gave the option of marriage. We decided that running away would be a better option.”

You blinked. “That’s why he burned you.”

“I’d be dead if my wife hadn’t offered to marry him in Tina’s place.”

You turned and looked out the window. “Let’s go home.”

“So you’re just going to sweep this under the rug?”  Dwight’s voice had raised in volume and ferocity.

“Drive!”

You fell into an uncomfortable silence.

Negan and several cronies were outside waiting for your return. It took everything in you not to jump out of the truck like a bat out of hell, but you were able to maintain your composer and slid out onto the tarmac.

“Well, tickle my pickle!” Negan boomed as he crossed the yard. “That is one serious haul!” He leaned over to examine the goods and looked to you. He sent you a charming smile. “Did you find it?”

Dwight and his accusations melted away at Negan’s toothy grin. You sent one back. “Yes, I did.” You stepped onto one of the back tires and began to rummage through the supplies. You felt a pair of hands take a firm hold of your waist. Negan didn’t want you to fall.

It took you a minute to find what you were looking for, so you felt triumphant when your fingers finally wrapped around a jar of apple butter. “I got it!” You hopped down and handed over the jar. “I doubt it’s good.”

Securing Lucille under his armpit, Negan unscrewed the top and smelled the jam. With a gag, he closed it. “It smells like ballsack.”

You held your hands up. “I told you. I don’t know why you want it so badly. It’s a perishable. I’ll keep looking for it, but I doubt I’ll find something that’s edible.”

He wrapped an arm around your waist and brought you to his chest. “Because I’m a Virginia boy. I’d blow Dwight here for some soft serve from Carl’s Ice Cream.”

If Dwight heard Negan, he ignored him as he continued to unload the truck.

Negan pressed a kiss to the burned area of your face. Although you couldn’t feel it, your heart fluttered. “How can you stand it?” you questioned.

“You’re like a goddamn toasted marshmallow.” He lifted your chin, looking sly. “Everyone who’s old enough to jackoff knows those are the best kind.”

You pressed your fingers to his lips. “How many women have you kissed today?”

At this, Negan’s eyes narrowed and the corner of his mouth quirked upward. He looked impressed by your awareness of the situation. “None as pretty as you.” When you still looked unimpressed, he huffed. “Or smart? Jesus.”

“Smooth.” You smiled smally before touching your lips to his. Early on you had decided that Negan had to work for affection. Sure, you could accept the whole package, but you weren’t going to easily be like one of his wives - just another woman, an option he could choose like an outfit off a coatrack.

You slid your arms underneath his jacket and wrapped them around his chest. He was warm from the sun and heavy material. Somehow Negan always managed to smell good and it only made you pull him closer.

Negan sighed into your mouth. “Shit. No one’s kissed me like this in years.” He squeezed your hips.

“You mean I’m doing it on my own free will?”

Negan’s eyebrows shot up as he held you back. “Excuse me?”

Your heart skipped a beat as you desperately racked your brain for a cover. You ran your fingers through his hair, touching the hint of grey. “I just mean that a lot of women aren’t always so confident in their decisions.” You waited anxiously as Negan analyzed you, clearly still suspicious. If he didn’t believe you, he didn’t give any indication.

He ran his knuckles down your cheek. “Calm down, sweetheart.”

“Negan!”

You all turned at the sound of Simon’s roar. With a screech Simon pulled through the gate and jumped out of the van just seconds after it stopped moving. Slamming the driver’s side door shut, he stormed over to you.

Although Negan stepped away, he kept a hand on the small on your back. “What’s going on?”

“My men are gone!” Simon’s face was beet red as he shouted. “They’re dead! Every single one at the satellite outpost!” He formed his hand into a gun and touched it to his temple. “Fucking shot in their sleep!”

You heard the leather of Negan’s glove squeak as his grip on Lucille tightened, but it was the only thing that gave away his fury. “Get Gavin and Regina and go to the conference room. We’ll talk in ten minutes and if you get there after me, you’re late.” He looked at Dwight. "Dwight, follow Simon."

As Simon rushed off, you spoke. “Who would have the guts to make a move like that?” You were truly stunned and from the looks of things, so was Negan. “Certainly not Gregory.”

Negan ran a hand down his face. “Guy’s busy diddling kids or running around in some clothes that make him invisible.”

As stressful as the situation was, you couldn’t help the smile that blossomed on your face. “Hans Christian Anderson.” For a moment you had forgotten just how well-read Negan was and your attraction for him surged. Placing a gentle hand on his cheek, you left a soft kiss to his jawbone.

He pulled you to his side. “You’re coming. It’s a real dick disco in there and sometimes I think it becomes more about who is right than an open discourse about the most effective action.”

“Do you think they’ll be apprehensive?”

Negan snorted. “Perhaps you haven’t seen how things work around here…” he let his sentence trail off as the snarls of the walkers wafted into the air. Stepping aside, he opened the door to the Sanctuary for you. “They won’t even look at you wrong, now that they know we suck face.” He followed you inside, triumphant by your obvious embarrassment.

As you expected, the entire council was present and accounted for and as Negan said, none of the members batted an eyelash at your presence. Silently taking the furthest seat from Negan, you waited patiently for him to settle at the head of the table. Rather than sit, Negan placed Lucille on the table and gripped its edge with both hands. For a few seconds he stood there with his head bowed.

“I can’t think of an easy way to say this, so I’m just going to spit it out.” Negan looked up, making sure to catch the eye of each Savior. “Simon has informed me that someone has mercilessly taken the lives of some of our own.”

Regina was the first to speak. She jerked forward and slapped her palm on the table in fury. “Who?”

Negan sighed and shook his head. “We don’t know. But whoever it was, they’re cowards. Everyone was slaughtered in their sleep. They couldn’t even face us like men!” His shout echoed off the walls. “Now, we’re here to figure out who these people are and how we’re going to make them pay.”

“Well, how we’re going to deal with them isn’t really a debate, is it?” Simon asked. He leaned forward. “They murdered my men! So we kill every last one of these pricks!”

“You know that’s not how we do things here, Simon,” Negan said firmly.

You shifted in your seat. “These people killed a whole outpost of Saviors without detection. We could use them.”

Negan smiled. “That’s my girl!” He looked at Simon. “We make these pricks piss their pants. When they go to sleep, I want them to see this handsome face in their nightmares. When people are scared, they do what you want. It’s basic Machiavellian politics.”

You covered your mouth and looked at your lap, trying to hide your blatant admiration. Whether your comrades knew about Machiavelli and The Prince, you didn’t know, but Negan certainly did.

Simon sucked at his teeth, clearly biting back words. “I’m just…concerned.” Simon’s words were slow and well thought out. He knew he was dancing with the devil by questioning Negan’s judgment so blatantly. “This was a pretty fearless move.”

Negan grinned. “Oh, Simon,” Negan said softly, “everyone’s afraid of something.”

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