#i need to stop thinking about my material desires....... it's fr making me more mentally ill LOLLL

[chooey]

really wanna own a pair of boots but. good quality boots? in this economy?????

[tessatechaitea]

The Invisibles #4

Is this how idiotic social beliefs are purged from assholes?

I don't understand the people who want less politics in comic books. We need more politics in comic books! Except what I don't really understand is using the word "politics" when they're actually angry about discussing social ills. Except I really do understand what they mean when they refer to social issues as politics. Certain people refer to being compassionate and kind and inclusive as "political correctness" because they can't imagine being compassionate or kind or inclusive until the cost of not being those things adversely affects them. So they think people only believe in being that way if it confers some kind of selfish advantage, usually in the political arena. And thus actually being a compassionate human being becomes political to them. Also, can we just stop arguing about how comic books used to be when they've always been about making the world a better place and there have always been comic book fans who found that political because they were terrible people? A terrible person reading a comic book where Batman stops some bank robbers can feel good about the story because they know they'll never rob a bank. But when Batman deals with some social ill, the terrible reader might see themselves reflected back at them in the villain of the story. Suddenly, to them, the story has become political. How dare the comic book company choose the other side which is just a political difference and not a basic human decency issue! And they never think, "Maybe, like Batman, I should also try to do better?" No, instead they send a letter to the publisher demanding that the publisher change the stories they tell so that they don't have to take a long, hard look at themselves. Ideas are political. If you think a story about Batman breaking the bones of The Joker's henchmen because The Joker is robbing banks isn't political, you're kidding yourself. You're just not looking deeply enough into the story and the systemic problems in Gotham that creates a demand for henchmen that are desperate enough to work for a maniac who could murder them at any moment while also having to worry about a man in a bat suit nearly killing them for working for the maniac. How is a billionaire going out at night dressed as a flying rodent to beat up poor and mentally ill people not political? How is any Superman story not political when it's about an immigrant to America embracing his new country and trying to make it a better place for everybody? If you actually think you want comic books to not be political, you're telling on yourself. You're just saying that you're the type of person who doesn't want to read criticism's about our world that might make you feel guilty about your selfish attitude. The Invisibles is an old comic book which came out 26 years ago and it couldn't be more political. But then it's dealing with magic and the irreality of reality, so if you're dumb enough, you can probably pretend it's not political at all.

This issue begins with a Books of Magic trading card.

At the end of the last issue, Tom told Dane they were going to climb to the top of the skyscraper with the magic pyramid on top and leap off. It was going to teach Dane about the finality of life and not really kill him. But when this issue begins, they seem to have put that off for the moment. Instead, they've stolen a sports car, driven it out to some sleepy little UK pasture, and begun a game of catch with a Frisbee. Tom starts rambling on about how his time is up and he's going to die because he's a warrior sorcerer and his time is up and he can see the shape of his life and it's super small and everything sucks but it also doesn't, you know? Dane barely listens to him because he's now full of life again and he just wants to do the things people who feel alive do. I don't know what those things are because I just sit in barely lit rooms reading terrible books from my youth and finding reasons not to begin writing my second module for my role playing game, Places & Predators. I should take a break and call my mother! I'm back! I also ate and watched an episode of Star Trek: The Next Generation and an episode of Community and lay on the couch with Gravy.

Gravy's head is behind mine and not inside mine because we don't own a teleportation device and, if we did, we wouldn't be so careless with it.

The next day, Tom and Dane head off to jump off of a skyscraper. Tom will presumably be doing it for real because he's tired and he's done his part and he thinks Dylan Thomas is a fucking asshole who can't just let a person die in peace when they're ready to go. I mean, lay off me, Dylan! I'm fucking dying here! This isn't about you and your fear of death (which, ironically, is probably why you drink so much and why you'll be dead at 39). Dane smokes some blue mold which will probably allow him to fly or bounce or something. Sometimes I think about the angst of youth and then I think about how optimistic and embracing Quiet Riot was of the youth and youth culture and it just makes me fucking smile, man. That wasn't supposed to be a non sequitur. That was just a reaction I had to Tom telling some bystanders witnessing Dane's drug induced realizations, "It's drugs. Dope. They're all on it nowadays. With their computer games and violent videos and swear words. We had The Bible and a nice apple when I was his age." Tom is being smarmy and telling the adults what they want to hear. And, especially with reference to their video games, it made me think of Quiet Riot who didn't care what adults wanted to hear. They knew what the kids needed to hear. And it wasn't just "Being a teenager sucks and we get it and the world is garbage!" Their message was often "We see how things are different for you and how you cope differently than we did and we fucking get it man and we approve and you're going to be all right. Your doing good, kids." Most of you probably only know "Metal Health" and "Cum on Feel the Noize" so you're thinking, "What the fuck are you talking about?" But some of you also know "Winners Take All" and "The Wild and the Young" so you fucking know what I'm talking about.

This reminds me of The Last Temptation of Christ.

The problem with books that revolve around Jesus is that I truly can't tell if they're making a statement about secular life or if they're truly reinforcing the opinion that Jesus was the son of God and the only truth you need to know about Jesus is that he was resurrected. Was Jesus preaching about being good on Earth because it was the salvation of your soul and your way into heaven? Or was Jesus literally trying to tell everybody to give unto Caesar what is Caesar's because this shit don't matter, bro. Fuck Earth and Earthly conceits. Should every action taken on Earth be concerned with your spiritual self and your relationship with God and getting into heaven? Because I'm tempted to see The Last Temptation of Christ as a parable for secular life. Are we all Christ in the desert being tempted by the devil away from our true calling? But if all the regular trappings of society are illusions and lures away from whatever it is we should do, what is there really? What would a person do if they didn't have a career? Or a spouse? Or a mortgage? Or a child? Not falling for those temptations isn't enough, right? So what's the next step? Sacrificing your own desires for the common good of the world? But what common good would that be if people aren't supposed to fall for any material temptations?! What are we striving for if we aren't striving for everybody to equally fall for the same societal illusions?! What is the magic asking of us?! To just burn it all down to prove that we weren't fooled by any of it?! How is waking up outside of The Matrix better than living within it?! Show me my fucking cards before you ask me to jump off the top of a skyscraper is what I'm saying! You know what? I think that's what Jesus asked God the night of the Last Supper! Jumping off of a skyscraper to get Dane to pierce the illusion of reality and see what lies beneath is way better than giving him a red or blue pill. The Matrix pussed out, even though it had this scene from The Invisibles as a perfect example of what it was doing. Dane survives the leap and finds himself in a four color comic sci-fi pulp novel cover. The world has changed and he's not sure what to do. So he goes to the address of the Invisible College that Tom gave him. He's finally ready to report for duty. Dane meets the other Invisibles: King Mob, Ragged Robin, Boy, and Lord Fanny (which would have gone right over my head in 1994 and possibly only made it into the comic book because the editors didn't know quite enough British slang). As far as drag names go, Lord Fanny is proper good. Meanwhile, some shadowy guy answers a phone call from Orlando (probably exactly the Orlando you're thinking of because why not? He/she was good enough for The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen). They discuss raiding an Invisibles safe house they've discovered. But the non-Orlando guy on the phone can't direct it because he's got British politics to do.

Back in 1994, I also wouldn't have understood what this door with the 10 on it was telling me about the person on the phone.

Dane decides to stick with The Invisibles as Jack Frost and they make their getaway before Orlando and the Prime Minister's Myrmidons break into the safe house. All they find is a chalkboard that reads, "Big Brother is watching you. Learn to become invisible," and a pink grenade with the word "smile" printed on it in ransom letter letters. And that's the end of the first story arc. The Invisibles #4 Rating: A. I'm seriously getting angry at my 23 year old self for not continuing to purchase this series. It's hard to remember exactly where I was at that time in my life that caused me to stop reading it. I'm sure I liked it. Maybe I just had trouble remembering it from month to month. Or maybe I just missed Issue #6 at the comic book store (I never had anything put on hold. I'd just show up on Wednesdays (unless it was Thursday back then? I can't even remember that!) and pick up my books (I didn't even ask the store to hold a copy of the Death of Superman for me. The clerk, Jeff, just happened to hold one for me anyway. He probably thought I was super cool or something)) and so just forgot about the series. Maybe I'll pick up the collected edition whenever my local comic book store reopens. Although if I show my face in there, they may try to get me to buy comics that were placed in my pull box after I cancelled my pull box. See, they weren't getting comics from Diamond for over a month and I just decided it was as good a time as any to stop buying new comics. So I cancelled my pull box. But what if, in their mind, I was still on the hook to buy all the comics for the weeks that Diamond didn't ship?! That would be fucked up and, knowing me, I'd instantly cave and say, "Oh yeah! Okay! Sorry! Sorry! I'll purchase all of this shit I don't want anymore just so we don't continue this awkward conversation!"

[blakelakebake]

Normality (Prologue)

A Natasha Romanoff Story

Summary: Normality has never been in the Black Widow’s dictionary. All her life she was trained in rough conditions and kill from just an order, never having the time for a domestic and simple life. But when she stumbles across a cute guy working in a small coffee shop and her leaving with just a number and a name on a cup, Natasha slowly learns the true meaning of what being normal is like.

Warnings: Fluff, some painful slow burn, okay maybe A LOT of painful slow burn, a bit of angst, language, eventual smut, domestic Natasha (because why not) and some good ol’ wholesome love for the great assassin.

Pairings: Natasha Romanoff x (Trans)Male!Original Character.

Characters: Natasha Romanoff, Azriel Carmel (OC), Clint Barton, Laura Barton, and basically anybody else from the Avengers and some OCs of mine.

A/N: I’ve been reading so much Natasha fanfics to the point where I’m obsessed. This idea came to me a while back, like months ago, but due to being in quarantine with not much to do other than do homework and play club penguin at 2am with friends, I’ve decided - with some encouragement from this really good fanfic that I read - to start this series with high hopes that I’ll be able to not procrastinate on it and actually finish it. Please comment what you think and hope you enjoy!

A Year After The Battle Of New York

"One caramel latte?" The voice, deep and smooth, called out. A woman stood up from her seat near the counter, smiling at the barista while grabbing her small mug of coffee, a thank you leaving her lips. The man smiled back, nodding as he turns back to making a black coffee for another costumer. He grabbed a small mug from the side, putting it onto a white plate as he clicks the portafilter into place, allowing the coffee machine do its magic.

Checking his watch, he sighed, his free hand reaching up to adjust his round glasses. Just twenty more minutes, he thought as the time nears eight o'clock at night, when his shift finishes. He places the cup on the coffee machine, allowing the dark liquid to flow into it. His eyebrows furrowed from a realisation, who's having coffee at this time? Mentally shrugging off the thought, he took the mug once the machine beeped and placed it back on the plate, bringing it to the counter.

"One black coffee?" Just then, a redheaded woman saunters towards the barista, causing him to pause for a bit, taking her appearance in. She was wearing a full black outfit, which wrapped around her figure perfectly, a black leather jacket complementing her even more. He couldn't help it, after all, he is a guy with hormones. But instead of checking her out more, he stopped himself and smiled at her, sliding the mug forward to bring it closer to the woman.

She grabs her drink by the plate, a stiff smile plastered on her face. "Thanks." The man smiled back.

"No problem." She walked back to her table where an open book is placed on top of it. She sat down, sipping her mug before placing it down and picking up her book, her legs crossed and her eyes focused.

The barista couldn't help but stare at her for a bit longer, intrigued and curious about the woman. His head tilted to the side a bit, his light brown eyes taking in her appearance. The woman must've notice, since her own eyes diverted from her book to him, causing him to quickly look away and continue on with his work, his nerves taking over his body as he fidgets around with some equipments.

Natasha looked at him, an eyebrow raised before looking back at her book. She sipped her coffee again, frustration slowly creeping onto her skin as her eyes lose focus from the story she was invested in just ten minutes ago. Ignoring the random thoughts that were trying to invade her mind, she chugged down her cup of coffee, placing her book back down before walking back to the till, her mug and plate in hand.

From behind the till, she saw that the barista had his back to her, his short, curly black hair swishing around as he moved swiftly within the small area, the smell of chocolate making its way into Natasha's nose as he placed the takeaway cup in front of a young girl who smiled at him before rushing out of the cafe.

He exhaled, a crooked, tired smile plastered on his face, his brown eyes slowly moving their attention from the wooden counter to the redhead staring at him with piercing green orbs. Startled slightly, his eyes went wide for a bit before fazing back to normal, his smile never faltering, only lifting slightly.

The barista's feet moved his body quickly to the till with him now facing Natasha once again. He immediately noticed the empty mug, chuckling before he put his attention back onto the redhead.

"Isn't it bad for you to have black coffee late at night." He said with amusement written across his face. She responded with a raised eyebrow, challenging him to talk further. Unfortunately, the man was blissfully ignorant. "Seriously, you won't be able to have your beauty sleep if you drink too much."

Natasha hummed, the corners of her lips moving upwards slightly, but her face still emotionless. "And aren't you supposed to be serving your customer?" The black haired man chuckled nervously, his large hand - not that Natasha noticed, no - moved to scratch the back of his neck.

"Sorry," Embarrassment washes over his face, a slight tint of pink on his light-tanned skin. "D'you want another mug of black?" The redhead looked at him blankly for a second before nodding her head, her hand passing her mug to the barista while her other hand reached into her pocket to grab her wallet.

The man gladly took her mug placing it on the counter behind him quickly before he turned back to face the redhead once again. He saw her waller in hand, and for some odd reason, he shook his head. "You don't need to pay."

Natasha looked back up from her wallet, her eyebrows rising a bit in question. The brown-eyed man mentally winced, almost regretting saying that, but instead of backing out from what he blurted out, he continued on, with less confidence. "Um, it's on the house."

Her face stayed the same. "Since, you know, the cafe's about to close, and there isn't anyone here, and I thought why not make this pretty woman some nice coffee for fr-"

"So I'm just a pretty face?" The redhead cut him off, amused at him nervously ranting in front of her. He was lucky that no one was around to witness it.

"What? No! I mean," His eyes kept on diverting to everything around the cafe except for the woman in front of him. He eventually gave up on whatever he was going to say and instead sighed, his shoulders deflating and his head tilted down slightly. "I'll just go make your coffee."

Natasha smirked, enjoying the fact that she could make any man a stuttering mess. "Two things," She then said, causing the barista to snap his attention back to her. "One, your name."

"Oh, uh..." Surprise was slapped across his face for a moment before he recovered a bit. "It's Azriel. What about yo-"

"Two," She held up two fingers which made the man - Azriel - stop himself from talking any further. "Can I have my coffee to go?"

The black haired man blinked, speechless and confused at the same time. He slowly nodded, his feet twisting him around so that he could continue on doing his work. Azriel placed the mug into the sink as he reached for a take away cup, only to pause, hesitance in his stance.

"Uh..." His light brown eyes met her green ones again. "D'you want a small or medium?" She started at him for a moment, her mind calculating and observing.

"Small." With a nod, the barista went back to work with a small cup in hand. Whilst the black haired man was focused on making her coffee, Natasha began thinking over the conversation. It was weird, strange even, that somehow, out of all the coffee places she could go to and people she could talk to, she just had to stumble across this small, yet comfy, coffee shop where the barista just so happens to be a cute guy that the assassin herself can't help but check out from behind him.

His body was lean, but not too skinny to make him seem lanky. His shoulders were slightly broad, unlike Steve's shoulders, and although his arms were covered by his long-sleeve sweater, she could tell that he had a slight muscle build from the way the material fit perfectly around them.

As her eyes raked over his body, she didn't seem to notice the small detail of Azriel writing some numbers and a few words on her cup once the machine finished making the redhead's coffee. He turned around suddenly, smiling brightly - though his eyes held some bit of exhaustion - causing Natasha's eyes to quickly divert from watching his firm ass (I'm still a woman with desires, she told herself as she forced her eyes to look at the man's slightly round face.

"Here you go." He said, nervously handing her the hot drink. She took it, her lips curving upwards, a small smile plastered on her mouth as she grabbed her drink.

"Thanks."

"Anytime." Azriel nodded, his eyes suddenly interested on the counter in front of him, earning a chuckled from Natasha as she walked towards the door. She opened it, causing a chime to ring through the empty shop, her head twisting around so that she could see the cute barista over her shoulder.

With a grin, she spoke: "See you later, Azriel."

"Y-yeah, see you!" He replied with a wave, his voice sounding a little too enthusiastic for a response, causing him to wince visibly after. Fortunately for him, the redhead was already gone, allowing him to sigh in relief. A content smile graced his lips for a bit before it dropped once he saw the time.

8:22pm.

"Ah crap." Azriel huffed in frustration, knowing that he won't be able to sleep for another two hours if he doesn't close the cafe soon. Throughout the night, from when he was sweeping the floor clean to when he finally got back to his apartment, green eyes circled around his mind, never leaving for just a moment.

[negans-network]

Amazing and Saving Part One

Summary: For @flames-bring-a-ton-of-ash and her 2nd Negan Writing Challenge, this is for a Negan x OC x Dwight prompt (and that doesn’t necessarily mean a threesome). OC Grace is blind, nonwhite, and plus sized – and perhaps too nice for her own good.

Word Count:  7226 (again I’m so sorry for this being a lot y’all.)

Warnings: Foul Language, Sexual Imagery and Language, Graphic Violence and Gore, talk about the Wolves and mutilation, somewhat minimal Negan but I’m getting there.

Author: @genevievedarcygranger

Author’s Note: Don’t ask me why, but this turned into Dwight appreciation and the second part (and end) will be all about Negan so don’t worry!

Sitting on the steps of her old home’s front porch, Grace adjusted the bandages covering her eyes, or rather what was left of her eyes. The bandage scratched, irritating the freshly healed scar tissue. Grace couldn’t understand how Carl could stand his own eye patch, but she supposed it was probably easier for him since he only lost one eye. She wasn’t so lucky.

~

When the Wolves came to Alexandria, Grace had been in her kitchen reading a book she borrowed from her friend Olivia. She had heard the screams and grabbed a butcher knife before she ventured out, wondering why the other Alexandrians were running away. If the wall had been breached by the Dead, they needed to be cleared out quickly. What came through was worse than the Dead, though.

The Wolves were apt in naming themselves, covered in grime from living out in the forest, smelling no better than the Dead. Some of them were just as bloody as the Dead, too, but each of them were branded with a W cut into their forehead. One of them came for Grace, a large machete in his hands that already dripped with fresh red, blood. Grace didn’t want to think about whose blood it was.

On the defensive, Grace waved her butcher knife in the air as a warning. Though she had killed many of the Dead before she came to Alexandria for safe haven, she had prided herself on managing to avoid killing the living. Now it was obvious she wouldn’t have a choice. “Back the fuck off,” she hissed at him, but the man ignored her, leaping up her front steps with a demonic laugh.

He swung his machete at her, narrowly missing, slinging the excess blood off her front porch and flicking it all over her blue sundress. “You’re a feisty one,” he growled at her. His ice blue eyes were red rimmed and contrasted sharply with the rust colored blood stains of the W cut into his forehead and the brown dirt smeared across his face. The closer he got the more Grace could see that he was much taller and broader, his teeth crooked, broken, and yellow. “I love it when they struggle. If it was easy, I wouldn’t have as much fun.” His machete slashed through the air again, adding fresh stains to everything.

“You’re not gonna fucking touch me,” Grace growled right back at him, cautiously backing up out of the machete’s deadly range. Her own butcher knife slashed at the air while she reached behind her for the door. Mentally, she was calculating the odds of beating him back and decided she could win so long as none of his friends showed up. “Get the fuck out of here before we kill you and all your dirty friends!”

The Wolf laughed with cruelty, the sound high and grating on her ears. “I’m gonna touch you all over, missy, every inch of you will be covered in me. And then every inch of you will be covered in blood. And then me and my dirty friends are gonna kill all of you.” Suddenly, he leapt at her, and Grace ran inside. There he caught her by her long brown hair and tackled her to the floor. He didn’t lose his grip on the machete, but Grace accidentally cut her thigh on her butcher knife as it was pinned between her body and the floor.

Flat on the ground of her stomach, Grace squirmed, spitting curses at him. She had not lived this long after the end of the world only to die like this. To shut her up, the Wolf used his grip on her hair to slam her face into the floor, and Grace’s glasses broke off her nose and cut it right on the bridge. Stunned, she struggled weakly while the Wolf easily rolled her over on her back. The butcher knife remained trapped underneath her, cutting into her back from the weight of being forced flat by him. Lazily, the Wolf dragged his machete over his sundress, straddling her thighs to keep her from escaping. The machete blade cut through the blue sundress, simultaneously cleaned by the material before slicing through her skin and getting wet from her own blood this time. It sliced her skin so quickly, Grace had barely registered the pain before the Wolf lifted the blade to her face. “You aren’t a pretty thing, so this won’t matter.”

Snapping out of her daze, Grace grabbed at the machete blade as it came down. It cut her palms as she tried to push it away, but the Wolf used a two-handed grip to force it down. Grace barely had time to close her eyes before he pressed it down. She screamed in agony as he cut a W into her forehead, the bottom points right over her eyes. When he pulled away the bloody blade again to examine his handiwork, she was still screaming at him, her hands hovering useless over her face, too afraid to touch it. Of course, it hurt, but one of the most startling sensations was trying to open her eyes and she couldn’t see anything – and her eyes were already open. “You can cry all you want, girly, but this is an improvement,” the Wolf sneered at her, dropping the machete to the side as he used his hands to rip the rest of her dress open. “Besides, no one will hear you scream but me, and I’ll love every second of making you scream.” He pressed his mouth to her bloody skin, licking it up, and Grace jerked in surprise at the sensation, disgust curling in the pit of her stomach, warring with her fear and her pain.

Her sense of smell was heightened by her loss of sight, the metallic scent of blood overpowering her nose. It made her nauseous, and the heat of her own blood felt like it was burning her already tortured flesh. No, she wasn’t going to die like this.

While he was distracted, shifting down so he could push her dress up over her bleeding and cut up stomach, Grace’s hands flopped to the floor, blindly searching for the machete. One of her cut hands recut itself on the blade, but she didn’t pull away, tightening her grip instead. Taking it in her grasp she lifted it and sliced at the air horizontally, blindly, using all of her remaining strength that was fueled by her pain – and her overwhelming anger.

She heard a gurgling sound followed by the sensation of rain, but she knew it wasn’t rain. It was too hot and it was spraying out rather than coming down and she was inside. It was too heavy, too, something slimy falling on her, coating her in fresh blood. The Wolf collapsed the side, lifting the pressure from her legs so she could pull herself up and curl in on herself. “You bitch!” He managed to choke out before he fell with a thud, and went still.

Grace remained where she was, breathing heavily, clutching the machete to her chest like a lifeline with one hand while she used the other to wipe away the blood. Her head snapped from side to side, listening for more Wolves or the Dead. She heard footsteps approaching and whipped the machete out. “You fucking touch me and I’ll kill you, too!”

“Grace,” came Carol’s voice, one of the new Alexandrians that Aaron found – one of the few of Rick’s group to stay after the others left to lead a herd of the Dead away.

Dropping the machete, Grace started hyperventilating, breaking out in shakes, no longer forced to be on guard. “Check and see if he’s d-dead,” she stuttered.

Listening, Grace heard Carol doubtlessly shove a knife through the Wolf’s head. “He is, now you’re bleeding a lot, we need to get you to the doctor.”

“Wait, wait, what did I do to him,” Grace asked, this burning desire to know what she did to him since she overwhelmingly knew what he did to her. “Carol, Carol, did I kill him?”

“You gutted him,” Carol’s usually soft and bubbly voice was no longer light and joyful. It was hard, bitter with the truth, callous about the situation. Carol’s arms carefully wrapped around Grace’s shoulders and she flinched at the unexpected touch.

Reaffirmed by the truth, Grace nodded and kept nodding. She wanted to cry, but she wasn’t sure if it was tears or blood that was streaming so hotly down her face. “I can’t see,” she whispered, horrified, “I can’t see.” Before Carol could say anything else, Grace passed out from blood loss and shock.

~

It took a while for Grace to recover, but luckily, she managed to get a blood donation from Daryl of all people when he came back and the invasion of the Dead was finally finished. She had meanwhile lied in a coma under Denise – the new doctor’s care. Denise, despite her inexperience was surprised that Grace pulled through, especially since it was a traumatic experience. Of course, Grace was traumatized by it, but after everything she had went through since the world went to shit, she was no worse off – except for her eyes.

She felt like such a burden now, useless to be on watch because she was blind. Her days were listless as she couldn’t even read for pleasure anymore. Eventually, she was moved out of her house to live with Olivia, unable to even cook for herself without catching her food on fire. Luckily, she had avoided burning down the house, but she was all out of sorts. What was there for her to do now?

  In the coming weeks of her recovery, Grace had grown close to Carl. It made sense. Grace was a young woman entering college when the world went to shit, so she was practically a kid going through the apocalypse like Carl. Now, like Carl, they had both loss their vision, him only partially while she lost hers full stop. He was learning how to adapt to it, how to shoot properly, and Grace had to learn how to walk around and navigate Alexandria without tripping over everything.

 Curiously enough, Grace also forged a friendship with Daryl, too. He had donated blood to her, one of the few remaining survivors with the same blood type. Grace remembered waking up and mumbling her blood type to Denise before passing out again. When she had pulled through, Denise told her about what Daryl did. Grace had stumbled through the streets of Alexandria looking for him for hours before she found him and thanked him.

After that, they ran into each other often – sometimes quite literally. Now forced to navigate the world but sound and touch, Grace became very familiar the pattern of angel wings on Daryl’s jacket. He became a friend and nothing more, just like Carl, Denise, and Olivia.

For a while, Grace started to believe that Alexandria could rebuild and she could recover, too. One of her new jobs was to watch Judith, Alexandria’s only child below the age of ten, whenever Rick’s group would go out and scavenge. It was an easy job, despite her being blind because often Judith wanted to be held. Sometimes Olivia would pop over and help, too, and there were often visitors who wanted to play with the baby. Grace didn’t mind being a glorified babysitter, proud that she could watch Judith and put Rick’s mind at easy while he went and found them food. Grace thought he was a good leader and he was a great man, often bearing witness in her own way to Rick’s love for his children and for the members of his group. Rick became a friend to her, too, in a way, thanks to Daryl. It was through Daryl’s recommendation that she got this job, anyway.

Then under Rick’s leadership, a new threat arrived. Instead of herds of the Dead or packs of Wolves, there were new communities – one of the Saviors. Blind as she was, Grace couldn’t help them, though before she would’ve doubtlessly volunteered. Now that she has killed once and lived with it – and it was too, too easy to live with the Wolf’s blood on her hands – Grace was willing to do it again to protect her friends and family. She didn’t want anyone to go through an experience similar to her own.

One day Maggie, one of Rick’s group who revealed she was pregnant, started having problems, so Rick took a small group of his people and left for the Hilltop’s doctor. A few days before that Daryl and a few others had left, too, gone hunting. Denise had died, and all of Grace’s friends had left except for Olivia.

When her friends came back, they were changed. Two were dead and Daryl was missing, effectively a prisoner of war. The Saviors took him. Rick gathered everyone from Alexandria in the Church and told them what happened, choking on the details. Without her eyes, Grace’s mind conjured up some fantastic imagery of what exactly happened, and she cried. A small part her – part of her that refused to tell anyone what she thought – thought to herself that at least their suffering was somewhat quick. Reflecting back on what she went through, Grace knew it would’ve gone on for hours had she not sliced the Wolf open. Still, it made Grace’s blood boil to know that Daryl was one of the Savior’s captives. She could only hope that he didn’t have to go through anything similar than what she went through.

~

 “Grace.”

Tobin’s voice made her nearly jump out of her skin, she had been so lost in thought. Uselessly, Grace tilted her head up towards the direction she heard Tobin, fingers still fussing with the edges of her bandage that covered her scar and prevented infection in her eyes. “Sorry, Tobin, I was just daydreaming and enjoying the sun. It feels like a beautiful day,” Grace apologized and explained to him. “Is it a beautiful day? I bet it is.”

“Grace,” Tobin’s voice was laced with fear, “You better go back to Olivia’s home now. The Saviors are here to collect. They’re going through every house. You need to get out of here.”

“The Saviors?” Grace repeated, using the railing on the steps to pull herself to her feet. She wasn’t sure what they would do to her as a seemingly defenseless blind girl, but she wasn’t exactly sure what she could do otherwise to stay out of their way. Hiding didn’t seem like the best of options since they were searching the houses. “How many are there, Tobin? Do they have a lot of guns?”

“Too many and too many,” Tobin answered her, his voice fading due to distance. She tilted her head, listening to his retreating footsteps, “I’m sorry, but I have to go.”

“Tobin!” Grace shouted after him, frustrated at his cowardice. Ever since Carol left him, he was different. Under her breath, Grace muttered about how he could’ve at least escorted her to Olivia’s house.

Distantly, she heard Tobin call back to her, “They brought Daryl with them!”

At that, Grace caught her breath. She knew the rumors that people assumed she and Daryl were interested in one another when that couldn’t be further from the truth. So, despite her slight irritation with Tobin, she was grateful that he told her that. There was no way she was going back to Olivia’s. Now she had to find Daryl.

Stumbling through the street blindly, Grace reached out her arms and waved them in front of her in a sweeping gesture. Her normally mincing and hesitating steps were braver now in her rush to find Daryl. She journeyed to the gate, following the sounds of commotion. She wasn’t afraid of what could happen, because all she could think about is checking to see if Daryl was alright.

As she neared the gate, she heard Rosita’s familiar voice, exchanging icy words with another man. Grace slowed, concentrating on what Rosita was saying in a tight, quiet voice, “It ain’t here.”

“Well, if it ain’t here, then you know where it is, right? We both know you know where it is,” said the man’s voice, equally as tense and low as Rosita’s. The man was unfamiliar, probably one of the Saviors if Grace had to guess. “Now you’re good to go, so go,” he spoke again to Rosita. Grace heard the slam of a car door, the engine idling, and his voice cut over it, “Don’t take too long.” There was a splashing sound, like running water, and briefly Grace wondered if he pissed on the car. The engine revved, signaling that Rosita had left, and there was rattling sound, the clang of metal signaling that the gate had closed after them. They had gone.

Not discouraged in the slightest, Grace walked forward, towards where she heard them speaking. Maybe they had left Daryl at the entrance as a way to tease him with the view of Alexandria. At least, that was what she figured they would do to him.

Suddenly she collided into something, or rather someone. Immediately, her arms wrapped around the person, careful not to lose her balance or knock them over. She didn’t need to piss off a Savior like that. As her hands made contact with the person’s back, her arms easily able to wrap around the slim individual, she felt the textured pattern of angel wings. Was this Daryl? Grace tightened her grip around the man, hugging him close to her, her chin digging into his shoulder.

Grunting in surprise, Dwight had run into this shorter, plumper woman, too distracted by watching Rosita drive away, tucking her hat in his jacket. Before he could bark at this woman, she hugged him, and Dwight was so surprised by the familiar contact. Part of him missed it, and he remembered Sherry. This woman was a lot more curvier and plumper than Sherry, though, every lump and bump pressed against him. He went limp, pliant, arms hanging low and crossbow in hand loose in his grip. She was nearly squeezing the air out of his lungs, but he didn’t feel threatened at all.

The man gave a low grunt, but didn’t push her away. Grace’s suspicions that this was Daryl was affirmed when she felt something curved like a crossbow brush against her leg. “You’re so thin,” Grace began, lifting her head just enough that she was able to talk into Daryl’s ear. Greasy, long, and stringy hair brushed against her lips, and Grace was sure that this had to be Daryl. “They haven’t been feeding you, have they?”

Part of Dwight wanted to laugh because he hadn’t been eating any better before he joined the Saviors. Over the woman’s shoulder, he saw Laura and Gary watching him. Laura looked a little jealous – she had been trying to hook up him since he had joined the Saviors’ ranks and started impressing Negan – and she also looked partially suspicious about the woman, stepping forward to drag her away. Gary just stood there, muffling his snickers as he laughed at Dwight’s predicament. Dwight waved his free hand at Laura, signaling that he was fine and he could handle this. Gary grabbed Laura and jerked her away, both of them heading in to go raid the houses.

Pulling away slightly, Grace gripped the tops of his arms firmly in her hands as she held him a short distance away. She wasn’t surprised that he had neither hugged her nor spoken yet as the Daryl she knew wasn’t a touchy-feely kind of person or very talkative for that matter. “I’m so glad you’re here, now,” she informed him sincerely.

Once Dwight got his first good look at the mystery woman, he wasn’t sure what he should say. She had a white, fraying bandage over her eyes, but the bandage didn’t cover everything. She had scars, jagged and rough, peeking out from under the bandage, three that reached into her hair line. If it weren’t for the scars, she’d be pretty to Dwight, her skin a pretty brown and fairly clear of any other blemishes otherwise. Her brown hair was cut short to her neck, and her nose was pert above her luscious and generously full lips. The woman was actually smiling at him, a tremulous smile, but one all the same. The only person who really smiles at Dwight anymore is Laura when she was trying to fuck and Negan all the time. It was a refreshing smile for Dwight.

The blind woman dragged her hands up to his face, needing the touch to reaffirm that he was real to her. There Grace grasped either side of his face, the slight stubble of facial hair stinging the sensitive scar tissue on her palms from where she had cut her hands, but she didn’t care. Her hands traveled up further, thumbs on the corner of his mouth and fingertips on his cheekbones, but one side of his face felt wrong. She wasn’t familiar with touching Daryl’s face – she had never done it before – but she knew he had slight facial hair. Grace also knew that he didn’t have any scars on his face, but from her own scars she knew the rigid, bumpy texture of them when she touched one. “What did they do to you?”

Dwight watched her expression fall into one of horror. He was use to the pitying look, but her look wasn’t quite a look of pity. It was rather like one of compassion or the deepest sympathy. He had to wonder who she thought he was.  

“Oh, it doesn’t matter what they did to you. Now that you’re home they can’t hurt you anymore. I won’t let them,” she fiercely added. Gently, she traced her fingertips over the scar tissue, mapping it out over his eyelid, but she could tell that he still had both eyes undamaged unlike her. “We almost match now,” she lightly joked, motioning with her free hand towards her face. Her bandage had slipped down, and she used that free hand to push it back into place. She caressed the scarred cheek before she wrapped her arms around his neck, dragging him down into another hug.

With fascination, he watched as the bandaged had slipped down and revealed a hollow eyelid, deeply mangled, the scar tissue thick knots. Self-conscious of his own burn scars, Dwight found kinship with her. Her familiar touches were soothing, as well, and he was still at a deep lost for what to say to her. He didn’t want to speak, didn’t want her to pull away in disgust once she knew he was a Savior. Dwight was just so…lonely, and tired of keeping of a façade with everyone. This time when she hugged him, Dwight loosely wrapped his arms around her back and patted between her shoulder blades, deeply unsure of himself.

With a deep sigh, Grace said sternly, “You listen to me, no matter what you may think, I want you to know that none of this is your fault. You thought you were doing the right thing, and that’s all that matters. It’s not your fault that they’re dead, it just happens. It’s not you, it’s Negan.”

Even though Dwight knew those words were for someone else, he took them to heart gladly. He couldn’t help but think about how he got himself in this situation, after what happen with Sherry and her sister Tina. Tina was dead because he couldn’t keep her safe, and both Sherry and Tina trusted him to that and he failed. Sherry was married to Negan now, and Dwight knew he lost her as a wife. The woman’s words comforted him greatly, probably more than she knew.

This felt so right, and Grace felt something warm deep within. Even though Alexandria was crawling with Saviors, Grace still felt to safe in this embrace. “I missed you so much, Daryl.”

Immediately, all good feelings were gone. It felt like someone dumped a bucket of ice down his back, and Dwight instantly broke off the hug, quickly disentangling himself.  Off all the people she thought he was, it had to be Daryl. Daryl, who Dwight had been torturing with Easy Street for the past three days, who Dwight fed dog food sandwiches, who Dwight made cry, who Dwight was desperately trying to emulate in order to gain Negan’s approval. Bile rose in the back of his throat, not because he was mistaken for Daryl, but because he felt guilty for enjoying the human contact she gave him no matter how brief it was. He was ashamed of himself.

“Daryl?” Grace said softly, so tender as if she were placating a child, “Is something wrong? Are they not going to allow you to stay here again?” Fear clutched her heart at the thought, but she tried to not let it show on her face. She needed to be strong for Daryl.

 Warring with himself, Dwight considered just walking away, letting her believe that he was Daryl. He also considered smashing her hopes and dreams and re-entering the Savior persona he had crafted for himself, but he just couldn’t manage to do that to a blind woman who was so kind and trusting, her touch a sweet balm. Instead, he found himself telling her in a small voice, “Sorry, but, I’m not Daryl.”

The first emotion Grace felt was embarrassment. Being blind, she often did stupid things without realizing it. She took a step back, blushing, stuttering out an apology, “Oh, no, I’m sorry. I just touched the jacket and the crossbow and assumed…” She cleared her throat rather than finishing the sentence. The next thing she felt was confusion, wondering who exactly this was then and why they would let her manhandle them like that. Grace quickly brushed that aside, though, as she found that often people would let her get away with anything just for being blind now – something she secretly hated. But the most pressing emotion she felt was panic. Where was Daryl then? Was Daryl worse off than this man? “I’m Grace, by the way. Who are you then, if not Daryl? Where is he?”

Shuffling his feet, Dwight thought fast. “Grace,” he reiterated for himself, stalling. “I’m Dwight. I’m a Savior.”

Tilting her head all the way to one side, Grace turned her face in the general direction of Dwight’s voice. He was a Savior, but definitely not what she had expected, or even what she had heard for that matter. When she had made her way here, she could hear the rowdiness of those Saviors as they pillaged and took what they wanted, breaking shit while they did it. “Hey, Dwight,” she greeted him, not sure what to expect from such a confusing man.

 Shifting nervously, switching his weight from one foot to the other, Dwight slung the crossbow back across his back. For some reason, he felt compelled to make things up to her, as a way of apologizing for taking advantage of the identity mix up. “I can show… or take you to Daryl. He may be too busy to talk to you, but maybe not. You can’t speak to him, though. He, he won’t be staying her.”

Jumping at the opportunity regardless of whether anything could come from it, Grace demanded, “Please, take me to him.” She held out her hand in Dwight’s general direction. Grace needed this.

Hesitating slightly, Dwight eventually accepted her hand and marched her at a fast pace deeper into town to find Daryl. Dwight figured that he would be with Negan, so all he had to do was listen for his voice, which shouldn’t exactly be hard since the man loved to talk and hear himself so damn much. He didn’t say anything to her, and tried to take the paths that would have the least number of Saviors around. After building up the tough-guy persona for so long, he didn’t need it all to come crashing down around him over one girl.

Determined, Grace kept up with him, unbothered about holding hands. Since she became blind this was a regular thing for her. “How is Daryl? What has happened to him?” Since she couldn’t exactly see him for herself and she may not be able to touch or talk to him, she needed to know somehow if he was okay.

  “He’s strong,” Dwight reassured her, “We’re… I’m trying to break him, but I can’t. It’s hard, and it’s taking a long time, but he’s holding on.” Thinking back about what she had said to him, Dwight tacked on, “He eats regularly, and he works hard. He’s in mostly the same shape since we got him.” He avoided telling her about the beating or what kind of work Daryl does or what he eats, figuring Grace didn’t need to hear or know that kind of stuff.

Unsurprised by Dwight’s answer, Grace nodded. This is what she figured from Daryl, but a tremendous weight was lifted off her shoulder hearing it from Dwight. She ignored how he said that he’d been the one attempting to break Daryl. Though Grace barely knew Dwight, she could tell that he wasn’t a cruel person. Grace intimately knew cruelty, and it wasn’t Dwight. Besides, she didn’t think anything could break Daryl. He was strong, strong like how she wanted to be and needed to be in this world. Daryl was a survivor. Dwight? She wasn’t so sure about as far as being a survivor.

“What happened to you, Dwight?” Grace asked him about the burn scar. “You don’t have to tell me, but I’ll tell you about mine if you want. Make things fair.”

“The world isn’t fair anymore,” Dwight muttered darkly. Then he sighed, “They burned my face for stealing supplies and trying to run away.”

Mulling it over, Grace could see why that was punishable, though doubtlessly extreme. It seems Dwight was the survivor type after all. “These people invaded Alexandria, the Wolves,” she started to explain to him, “One of the men found me in my home, tried to rape me. He cut a W in my face – a cult thing. Took out both of my eyes. Cut me up pretty damn bad.” She fell silence and the air was thick with tension as Dwight remained silent, too. “It’s like you said Dwight, the world isn’t fair anymore.”

Just as she said that, they both heard a gunshot, and fear pierced Grace’s heart. She tugged urgently at her hand, and both she and Dwight broke out in a trot in the direction of the single gunshot. Dwight rounded a corner, and Grace felt the subtle change of grass to pavement under feet. He slowed, and so did she, breathing heavily both out of adrenaline and fear. Listening intently over her thunderous heartbeat, Grace heard Rick’s tense southern drawl and another man’s louder booming voice. She had just opened her mouth to ask Dwight was what happening when she heard her friend and roommate Olivia stutter, “No, I mean, yes. The inventory is correct.”

“Olivia,” Grace gasped to herself. Not Olivia, not another one of her friends. “Did they shoot her?”

“No, he shot the window,” Dwight whispered back to her carefully, keeping his distance. Daryl was standing nearby, having finished loading up the truck with the guns. He had his head duck down and it was hard for Dwight to catch his eye. Negan didn’t need to see this.

“What’s happening? I can’t hear what they’re saying. Where’s Daryl?” Grace’s voice was frustrated, a high-pitched whisper. She yanked at their clasped hands again, but didn’t loosen her grip, clinging to him tight. Her other hand came up and grasped his elbow, practically hanging off of him.

Part of Dwight wanted to shake her off, but he also didn’t want to hurt her feelings. He could understand why she was frustrated. “Olivia lost two guns, and since we’re taking your guns, Negan’s going to kill her unless your guy Rick can find them.”

“Olivia can’t have lost the guns,” Grace belligerently argued in her disbelief. “They must have been stolen.”

 “It doesn’t matter, Negan will punish her.” Dwight watched as Rick hurried away, calling a town meeting to find the Glock 9 and .22 Bobcat.

“That’s fucking stupid!” Grace commented a little too loudly, and Dwight winced.

 It was too late. Evidently, Negan heard her and beckoned Dwight and Grace over with an imperious wave of his gloved hand. Olivia and Daryl remained with him, but the other Saviors – like Arat – continued about their business. Left with no choice, Dwight pulled Grace over to Negan, and she stumbled after him, though not protesting. She threw out her free hand and waved it in front of her, looking for Daryl in her own way. “Sir,” Dwight began, but Negan quickly cut him off.

“Who the fuck is this?” Negan jerked his chin at Grace, his gaze heavy on her hand’s death grip on Dwight’s hand.

 “I’m Grace.” She turned her face in the general direction of the new man, not sure what to think of him. “Please, please don’t kill Olivia. I’m sure it’s not her fault. Someone probably stole them.”

 Side-eyeing Olivia, Negan saw the woman duck her head at Grace’s words but otherwise say nothing. Negan looked back at Dwight and raised high brows, giving him an incredulous look like ‘Can you believe this shit?’ but Dwight’s face was tight and blank, unresponsive. He was no fun to play with. Lastly, Negan took a good look at Grace. She was dark-skinned, short, chubby, and pretty. Her eyes were hidden by a bandage – blind then, too. No wonder she spoke so freely. This community was just full of oddities and surprises. “Well Grace, ex-fucking-cuse me if you think it’s stupid, but nothing lights a fire under someone’s ass like a death threat and I need those fucking guns. Do you know where the hell they are?” His question was a little bit redundant.

“No, I’m sorry,” Grace answered him. She lifted her chin as she suddenly asked him, “Who are you?”

With a small chuckle, Negan answer her, amused by the woman. “I’m Negan. I know you’ve had to have heard of me.” He watched realization flood her features, but he didn’t see any noticeable signs of fear or anger or hatred. Maybe she lacked a way to express those emotions without her eyes. Licking his lips, he moved on when he didn’t get the kind of reaction he wanted. “What the fuck are you doing here with Dwight?”

“I’m looking for Daryl. You took him and then you brought him back. I want to see him,” Grace explained confidently.

Negan outright laughed at her now, “Very poor choice of words, Grace. You’d be looking right at him now if you, you know, could.” He took Olivia’s hand in his, forcing her to follow him as he went over and grabbed Daryl by the collar of his shirt. He pushed the man in Grace’s general direction before shooting a look at Dwight. “Now technically, my orders were that no one could speak or look at Daryl, but considering you’re, um, situation, I’ll make somewhat of an exception. The catch is that he can’t talk back. Don’t touch him either. Just say what you fucking need to say since it’s so damn important, Grace.”

Unbothered by the audience, Grace took the opportunity, “Daryl, it’s okay, it’ll be okay. You’re a survivor and what happened isn’t on you – it isn’t on you!” She reached out, Daryl out of her grasp, but she reached out all the same.

“Well, that was fucking sweet.” Negan deadpanned. “Now Daryl has to get back to work now, and me and Olivia need to go get acquainted. How about you and Dwighty-boy go and get a little acquainted, too? Dwight!” He jerked his head in dismal, giving Dwight a look that obvious signaled this to be discussed later. Casting one last look on Grace and marking her in his mind as interesting as she was too kind in this world, Negan ushered Olivia away to a nearby bench to sit and talk.

  Doing as Negan asked, Dwight pulled Grace away quickly, wondering if he was going to be punished for this later. The first Alexandrian he found he passed Grace off on them. “Take her to her home.” Dwight motioned to a nearby Savior, too, and commanded him, “Make sure her home has a mattress.” Then he started to leave.

 Before he could go, though, Grace squeezed his hand in her grip. Urgently, she told him, “Look Dwight, what I said to you earlier before I knew who you were? Doesn’t change anything.” She was telling him this because she felt connected to him, both because of the scars and because he just seemed so lost and broken. He was strong when he obviously didn’t want to be, and to her it was like Daryl was when she first started to become friends with him. Dwight was just an abused puppy at this point, and if she could provide momentary solace and comfort, she wasn’t going to begrudge him that. “If whatever I said meant something to you, good, I’m glad it did. It should.”

 Instead of reply, Dwight slipped his hand out of her grasp, the action gentle. What she was saying now almost disturbed him. He hurried away, trying not to think about it. Still, he couldn’t stop himself from affirming that with her blessing, he didn’t feel like such a monster anymore.

~

 Later that night, Grace couldn’t stop thinking about everything that had happened. Over and over again in her mind she replayed the incident with Dwight and her brief encounter with Negan. Since he had lost her eyes, she had been less hasty to make assumptions, she had noticed.

Despite what she had heard about both men for being part of the Saviors, she didn’t feel burning hatred. Before she could dredge up that emotion now problem, but now that she had met them both it was more difficult.

Olivia had told her about Negan that night when they ate dinner together. She described him as handsome, too handsome, with a dazzling smile and dimples and a bad boy look complete with a black leather jacket. Of course, Olivia mentioned how despite being scary at times, he could be disarming with his charm as she’d been forced to hang out with him while Rick finally collected the guns from Spencer’s home. She said that Negan briefly flirted with her, completely calm, too calm, and that is what threw her off the most as she couldn’t tell if he was being facetious with her or not. In her mind’s eye, Grace pictured him, and she couldn’t see a monster at all.

Ever since she had killed that Wolf – the real monster – it was hard for her to think anyone else to be a monster. She had killed someone, but she was doing that to survive or he would’ve done much worse to her before killing her out of pleasure. Grace knew true monstrosity intimately, and she didn’t think either Dwight or Negan were monsters.

~

In the Sanctuary, Dwight and Negan had a discussion somewhat similar to the one Olivia and Grace had over their dinner of canned green beans, only Dwight and Negan were both drinking beer. “What the shit were you doing with the blind girl, Dwight?” Negan cut right to the chase, “Of all the women in Alexandria, you pick the most vulnerable one. It’s because she can’t see your nasty ass scar, huh? Or maybe because she’s got a nasty ass scar, too, and you feel right at home. Still, she is a fine piece of ass.”

Dwight switched his beer to the other hand, picking at the label that was peeling off. He had to be careful about what he said. “I wasn’t trying to do that.” Slowly, he explained, “She’s different than that, she’s…” He hesitated to say special, not knowing where that word came from.

“Shit, Dwighty-boy,” Negan sounded shocked, “I’m not saying you can’t fuck her, I’m just asking why her? She doesn’t exactly look anything like Sherry, you know. That’s almost kind of fucking weird.”

 “She thought I was Daryl,” Dwight admitted to Negan, refusing to talk about Sherry with him. “She just came up and started talking to me like I was him. I figured what’s the harm in letting a blind girl talk to Daryl. It would only break him faster.”

“Oh, she’s Daryl’s girl? I’m surprised he can get good pussy like that,” Negan commented. He tilted his head at Dwight, though, and took a hardy swig of his beer before he asked, “Why were you holding her hand, Dwight?”

Avoiding Negan’s knowing gaze, Dwight wrote it off, “She’s blind. She was clinging to me.” If Dwight were a lesser man, he would have been blushing.

“You were her walking stick, huh? I bet she wanted to use your walking stick. Oh, hell, on you it’s probably not a walking stick. Mine sure as hell is,” Negan laughed at his own joke before continuing, “Shit you can laugh, Dwight. It won’t kill you. And neither would a good fuck. I’m sure she would’ve let you fuck her if you’d ask politely.”

Dwight didn’t say anything, too awkward to come up with something to say. He hadn’t looked at her that way, but not that Negan had mentioned it, the gears in Dwight’s mind started turning.

Since Dwight didn’t respond, Negan kept talking, “Shit, I should ask her for a fuck. Or Olivia. Both are hot as shit. Next time we go to Alexandria, if you don’t do it Dwight, then I fucking will. Abso-fucking-lutely no reason good pussy like that should go to waste or be wasted on fucking Daryl of all people.” Negan was actually being serious. The next opportunity he would get, he wanted to proposition to Grace. She seemed like she would be a lot of fun. Suddenly an idea hit him, and Negan snapped the fingers of his free hand. “You want to break Daryl? You fuck his woman, Dwight. You of all people should know this.” Negan smiled and gulped down the rest of his beer.

Knowing he was referring to himself and Sherry, Dwight again said nothing, taking another small sip of his beer. He stared at the floor, cowed, broken.

“Well, goodnight, Dwighty-boy. I’m gonna Ping-Pong my dick all over Sherry’s titties now. You and your right hand have fun while you’re think about ol’ Graceful’s fantastic fucking ass.”

After Negan left, Dwight was left alone with his thoughts. Yes, Grace was something alright, she was different, she was special. Far too kind and forgiving and strong. Everything Dwight was not. Dwight didn’t know what to do with this information, except know that at least there was someone out there that didn’t despise him for what he did and what he is doing. Rather than going to Daryl’s cell to talk to him about Grace, Dwight went to bed, granting Daryl that one kindness just for Grace.