#back on my painkiller addiction bullshit you know it was gonna get in there somewhere

[krikeymate]

Double whammy of the Sam with a 10 year age difference having a conniption cause Tara is trying to go around sleeping with random guys

Sam was NOT prepared for handling a teenager, let alone a teenager with PTSD. She's barely feels like an adult herself, and only two years after finally getting her mother out of their lives, her little sister is nearly killed, all because of her.

Tara's 14 (&3/4) when Amber and Ritchie try to kill her in this AU, so let's not try and make that too 😬... hmm, got it.

In the aftermath, she does not cope well.

Tara's always had moments where she's chafed against Sam's authority, where she's been distant, especially since she became her legal guardian, but nothing like this. Sometimes it feels like Amber had managed to kill Tara after all, and she's left trying to care for a ghost. Sam wishes she could kill her all over again... and again, and again, for the rest of eternity, for the anguish she's caused her girl.

The attack at the hospital and again at Amber's only makes her injuries worse. In the end, it takes her leg 4 months to heal, and she was confined to the bed full-time for a month, with another month of being confined mostly to her bed. Needless to say, she doesn't cope well. Tara's not a baby anymore, and she can't stand to be coddled, can't stand the reminder that she isn't like the other girls in her class. She can't stand the fact she can't even dress and undress herself in this state. Can't stand to think of Amber.

And the pain, it's constant, it's everywhere, in her body, in her heart, in her head. The only time she's somewhat happy these days is under the influence of the painkillers that leave her floating between awake and asleep, where everything is fine and good. Sam can't bear to see her sister in this state, drugged up and absent. It's the only time she sees her sister smile anymore, and it hurts. But it's the only thing that keeps her going, and Tara's constantly in pain, so she keeps refilling the prescription. Later, she'll wish she was stronger, she'll wish she had listened to the part of her that said something was off. But Sam's never listening to herself, to anyone, over her sister.

Tara takes painkillers long after she needs them, and eventually, they stop providing the void she's always searching for. So she finds other options. Tara's newly 17 and lying beneath some guy, drugged out of her mind, in the basement of someone's house. They'd been making out for what felt like hours, when she felt his hand slip down her trousers, and then her sister had stormed into the room, throwing fists. What happens after that is as foggy as what came before that.

They move to New York.

Apparently, Sam is best friends with Gale fucking Weathers these days, because Sam gets a job with her, and that job apparently comes with an apartment. Tara finishes her school career online, in the corner of a studio or in a dressing room or the back of a news van, wherever Sam or Gale go, Tara is stuck being dragged around by them. She knows why. She's not stupid. She kind of hates Sam for it. She hates herself more for thinking such a thing, for being so weak.

She still has her vices, despite it all Sam never took her privacy from her. So Tara still has seedy chats and pictures and videos to distract herself with when she's feeling empty. It feels good to be loved, adored, for a little while. She can't bear to expose the emptiness inside of her to Sam, can't bring herself to talk about what happened to the therapists, to talk about Amber. Or the things she said, the things she did.

She's nearly 18 when they're attacked again. Ethan, Sam's clumsy assistant with the sweet smile and who always had a kind word for Tara, and their neighbour, Quinn, who liked variety in her men. Some of those men had little brothers she would introduce to Tara. They're Ritchie's family, and they want revenge.

Tara begins sleeping around as a coping mechanism after that. She won't go back to the drinking, and the drugs, she doesn't want to do that to Sam again. Her sister already has so much going on, she doesn't want to add to that. It doesn't even occur to her how much this would hurt her as well.

[flatstarcarcosa]

crawling in via your window for numbers 4 and 5 with Slade 👀

4) No couple is going to agree 100% of the time. What is the main source of any disagreement between you? Is it the same topic for all parties, or do you have different sticking points? Has this ever caused a row?

OUGH okay so i've mentioned before 'reese and lester yelling is a love language' versus 'reese and slade yelling means something is very wrong' because slade's not naturally a yeller Like That.

so that being said, one of the nastiest fights we've ever gotten into was actually about joey. (an aside for context: i follow the rebirth story as a main timeline because it's just easier, but largely pick and choose/blend what things have happened prior to us meeting)

i have a whole post about it somewhere but basically it comes from months and months of me trying to discuss with him that like hey. you're aware your son is a massive junkie right?

like i love the kid but he's Not Doing Fucking Good and the shit that he's into with painkillers and benzos isn't gonna end well. body hopping does nothing against acute organ failure because you made a Death Cocktail by accident.

and slade doesn't want to hear it he doesn't want to discuss it, frankly he's refusing to even accept it. he figures "joe's an adult and i'm not going to tell him what he can and can't do, besides he wouldn't listen to me anyway" and i'm like hmmmm no i can promise you no matter the bullshit that's gone on he desperately would want you to fucking help him.

and i'm like, "are you forgetting or just ignoring that i also know what i'm fucking talking about when it comes to addicts like the "child of addict" to "addict" pipeline is very well traveled in my household"

and he just kinda fucking snaps. and it gets. nastier from there until there's enough back and forth that it's the one and only time in our relationship where he is genuinely so fucking mad he has the gut reflex to want to hit me.

he doesn't, and i can't stress that enough, and never has outside of our mutual playfighting or genuine training.

but it's just. it's enough that he took half a step to fucking do it that it shocks him cold.

because he's spent a lot of time and years and effort into telling himself he's NOT his father and wouldn't BE his father and now at the end of it all he's having. to accept the fact that like.

maybe he's a little bit of his own father.

5) Your FO has upset you (perhaps because of the above) and now wants to make amends. How do they do it? And has this changed over time as they’ve gotten to know you better?

barring the above singular big ass fight there's times where his method of showing he cares backfires. sometimes it really feels less like caring out of love and more like lecturing for the sake of lecturing and sometimes he's bad at parsing if i'm whining about it for The Bit or if i'm genuinely bothered until i'm Genuinely Fucking Upset about it.

also, the hilarious-in-hindsight plan he concocted to try to get me over my money trauma by just letting me go shop and pick out things on impulse but then i started hemming and hawing and second guessing and it just ended up with me sobbing in the middle of target.

it's funny in hindsight but at the time it happened because of too many things causing me to get overstimulated and my brain to shut down and me getting upset and loudly announcing that this wasn't fun anymore because "I DON'T KNOW WHAT THE RIGHT FUCKING ANSWER IS AND I WANT TO GO HOME"

which prompted him to realize he took it too far, and a very soft "oh, honey-"

[dawsonscreekwasalwaysbad]

season 6 thoughts

hey quick question why the FUCK did you start with that

like on the one hand i’m glad that now i know what happened right after the end of “that’s too much man!”. on the other hand… ow

the mountain bojack climbs is called “metaphor mountain” God bless Lisa Hanawalt

i LOVE the way the episodes are framed… like you get one flashback to bojack drinking and you think that was the first time then it’s like NOPE he was even younger

CINDY CRAWFISH AKSHDJDSF

AND BABY BOJACK SNUGGLING UP TO HIS MOTHER… TRYING TO FEEL AN EMBRACE SHE WOULD NEVER GIVE… CATCH ME CRYING IN THE CLUB

WHO THE FUCK CAME UP WITH THIS NEW INTRO

AND THE WAY IT HAS ALL THOSE FLASHBACK SCENES BUT IT STILL ENDS WITH HIM FALLING INTO THE POOL AND DIANE AND PEANUTBUTTER CHECKING TO SEE IF HES OK AND THEN HES JSUT LOUNGING IN HIS APPLE SHORTS;;; it’s just,, he’s going back home in the end, going back to the place where he started, as if everything will go back to the way it was before and he’ll find himself stuck in the same cycles he tried so hard to escape… all im saying is, i dont think this season is gonna end well

and how it dwells on his past, everything he did wrong, all the most heartwrenching moments, and there aren’t any changes to the intro (as far as i could tell) until episode 8… nothing changes if all you do is look back.

I am LOVING the Mr. Peanutbutter we’re getting this season. I was never really attached to him before; it’s not that I hated him, just that I liked all the other main characters better. and now that they’ve had him do something really bad and reckon with that,, he’s plumbing new depths, exploring those dark places, questioning if he’s truly as happy as he says he is

and bonding with bojack??? who would have guessed

bojack keeps giving advice that is, at best, the kind he doesn’t follow himself, and at worst, bringing others down into the well of self-pity that he’s been stuck in the whole series

Someone give Princess Carolyn a break…

SHE NAMED HER DAUGHTER RUTHIE IM CRYING

Guy seems like a cool guy but I feel like they’re setting him up to seem nice so that it’s more surprising when it’s revealed he’s not. I’m probably being too suspicious, but also we don’t know much of the details about his divorce, do we? Lakeith Stanfield's great tho

EPISODE 4 WAS COMEDY GOLD

The return of Queefburglar69

I WANNA WRAP PICKLES UP IN A BLANKET LIKE A BURRITO AND TELL HER EVERYTHINGS OKAY

Oh man Pickles talking about how her subscribers will always be there for her… like… it’s not one person, it’s a cloud of people, the contents and shape of which changes, might even be completely different and unrecognizable from one year to the next, but they’re all still there as this nebulous support system. and it reminded me of what bojack said to young sarah lynn about how her fans are the only things she can count on

Todd is babey.

Also him wearing the ace colors under his hoodie!!

I knew Diane’s rationale for going to chicago was bullshit. she said it makes her feel good, but “it doesn’t matter where you are, it’s who you are,” and she still dwells on her bad feelings and hates herself just as much in chicago as she did in LA. moving somewhere else isn’t necessarily gonna change those tendencies, she has to work on it herself.

OH MAN AND WHEN BOJACK GETS DR CHAMP DRUNK AGAIN… THROWING THE BOTTLE OUT THE WINDOW WAS A WAY TO AVOID RUINING ANOTHER LIFE AND HE ENDS UP DOING THE EXACT THING HE HOPED HE WOULD NEVER DO AGAIN

was honestly kinda hoping that Dr Champ was just pretending he got drunk to show how bad bojack could get if he relapsed but at the end when he was like “stay…” that’s how i knew that shit was real.

todd is so fucking stupid i love him

ngl am kinda disappointed that todd’s confirmed white, cause i’ve kinda been picturing him as latino for a long time and i know rbw said he doesn’t want to alienate latino viewers who relate to todd. but it makes a  lot of sense, cause he always gets away with stupid shit and gets to the top of things without even having to try just because he knows a guy. and maybe the reason he’s so positive all the time is because it’s so easy for him to be, he never has to worry about shit bc of the privilege his whiteness affords him. also I love that we got to learn more about his backstory

THE CONTRAST BTWN “all the shitty things I did that I can barely even remember because I was high or drunk or it was thirty years ago” and “I remember everything. I’m sober now.” !!!!!!!!!!!!!

sharona sounds like a cross btwn princess carolyn and margo martindale

I have… mixed feelings about the haircut

Oh man Mr. Peanutbutter had a moment… he finally got that crossover episode… I was kinda hoping for a joke that went “Mr. Peanutbutter and BoJack Horseman in the same room? What is this, Philbert?” or “What is this, a short-lived show on a streaming network that got canceled because the star got addicted to painkillers and strangled his costar in a drugged haze?” but this is SO MUCH BETTER. I've never seen him cry before and the way he reacts to himself crying suggests that maybe he’s never cried before at all, and that’s why he just keeps laughing, almost like it’s forced, cause this is supposed to be his happiest moment and it’s not supposed to make him so sad. fucking,, character development

and the cold open of ep 8… you can forgive yourself and move on from your past wrongs but it doesn’t erase the things you did, the effects they have on people, and the trauma they’ve suffered. and then like, how can you forgive yourself if they never forgive you? how do you maintain that balance? why should you move forward if they can’t?

its weird to have an episode consisting entirely of guest stars but it also illustrates the extensive world they’ve built and i applaud that… also where the fuck is ana spanakopita

GINA RETURNS!!! HELL YEAH

her quote about not wanting to be defined by what bojack did to her has always stuck with me, and i feel like now, that quote has sort of come true. like, her saying that made us avoid reducing her to what happened to her, and thats why i wanted to see her come back this season, hopefully moving past it. but she can’t. it traumatized her. and everyone can see the effects of it but she feels like she can’t come forward, cause if she does she’ll be punished. shit like that changes you.

and it’s another instance on the show where someone chooses to advance their career & preserve their reputation over doing the right thing (like what bojack does with herb & sharona), but bojack does it out of self-interest, and gina does it so she doesn’t have to relive her trauma every time she gets interviewed or recognized by a fan. but even when she keeps quiet about it she’s still reliving her trauma

noah fence but what a waste of the once-per-season fuck word. youre really gonna use it in an episode IN WHICH BOJACK DOES NOT EVEN APPEAR, and not only that, but RECYCLE AN OLD SENTENCE FROM A PREVIOUS EPISODE

netflix places no limits on a show’s use of the fuck word (i think), so… fingers crossed for something better in the second part?

OH MY GOD PETE REPEAT INTRODUCED HIMSELF AS PETER ITS ALMOST LIKE HES TRYING TO FORGET THAT TIME & THAT PERSON HE WAS (im probably reading into it too much, I’m sure it’s mostly so we wouldn’t figure out who it was immediately. maybe im just like the kid with the coffee cup.)

and just… ppl describe this show as “family guy or the simpsons except the protagonist faces consequences for his actions” but bojack has gotten away with everything.

you ever just like… you ever watch a scene and feel the cliffhanger vibes creeping up and you just know it’s gonna end there and leave you unsatisfied and begging for more but at the same time that’s what makes it such a good place to end it. that was me with this. (and also the ending of undone)

the thing about this show is, it illustrates what it’s like to be a toxic person. and sure, he has it hard, but the show never asserts that he has it any worse than his victims, even if bojack himself does so. and he only does it so he can feel better about himself. he deserves a reckoning, he needs to pay for his bad deeds. but then, when you know what made him this way and what goes on inside his mind and that he wants to get better, it makes you feel for him, and forces you to ask if he deserves to get better and forgive himself and move forward. but even if he does, it doesn’t change the things he did. it doesn’t fix the lives he’s ruined.

anyway sound off if you think bojack’s gonna die at the end. hopefully not by suicide

[arse-blathanna]

Hnn make me cry bb ♡♡♡ Felix and maybe Locus. It's up to you You can scream all you want, mind games, sensory deprivation, addiction/withdrawal and hope is scary.

This is late. I hope you cry.

There were a lot of things that Felix had been preparing for after he’d been flung off of a cliff on Chorus. 

Well, mostly he’d been preparing for an impact and that had happened, sure. But it wasn’t the only thing that happened. 

For starters, he was definitely dead for a few minutes. Legally dead. Not dead enough that anyone would have gone ahead and buried him, but dead enough that they could say “yeah he’s not breathing anymore and his heart has stopped.” 

The months after had been agonizing, him surrounded on all sides by enemies who all hated him. 

The space pirates had scooped him up from where he’d fallen, taken him off of Chorus and then straight up to Hargrove. None of them knew a word of what happened to Locus, and if anyone did know they were less than willing to give that information up. Why they would all be so keen on protecting the bastard, Felix didn’t know. 

Recovery was slow and painful. Felix was pretty sure that Hargrove was getting him addicted to some sort of experimental painkiller that made him feel like he was underwater half the damn time. Otherwise he felt pretty damn good on it, good enough that he didn’t feel bad about it when he was hoping for his next dose.

It made him worry about what came next, when Hargrove decided that it was either time to put him to use or to cut him loose because he was past the point of usefulness. What happened when he was on some other backwater planet without Hargrove’s designer UltraMorphine to keep him going for a little while longer. 

“Hey.” Felix tried to get his doctor’s attention one day. Total asshole, definitely wanted him. “When do you think he’s letting me out of here?” Felix asked the question mostly because he wanted to know what came next for him. “Because if Hargrove keeps on supplying—”

“You’re a part of an experimental drug trial.” The doctor replied, with a way too calm tone that only really pissed Felix off. “You’re lucky to survive this at all.” 

“And?” Felix slurred, leaning forward in his seat. He barely felt it. He’d been numb for days and sometimes they cut him off from people and everything else entirely for the sake of their little experiments. Felix wasn’t like Locus though. Locus could have handled that shit, but Felix couldn’t. Felix hated having to go too quiet for too long, and he hated having to pretend like he was happy in his own isolation.

Not that anyone really gave a shit about it either way. 

“At some point the testing will be intensified.” The doctor said, too clinically for Felix’s liking. “To see whether you can withstand serious injury while on the medication.” 

“Serious injury.” Felix scoffed. “Like what? Gonna take off my fingers? Skin my arms? Oh, this is always a good one, take out a few teeth?”

“You doubt our methods?”

“I doubt all of you.” Felix told the doctor. “Spineless fucking assholes.” 

The doctor sighed. “Very well.” He said. “I will inform Hargrove that you are ready for the next phase of testing.”

And then he was gone, and Felix was left strung out in a hard bed in a cell for as long as his captors deemed to be fit. 

So what if he started to go a little crazy. Between the drugs and the quiet and the sheet lack of stimulation on any front there wasn’t much that he could do for himself. And then soon he was getting shivers and he always felt cold and there wasn’t anything that he could do about that either. 

When he started vomiting, Felix realized that it was full on withdrawal, nobody was coming for him, and he was fucked. 

Maybe that was part of the trial, Felix tried to reason when he couldn’t stop shaking or shivering. He felt like he’d died, and it was worse that it felt like he’d died when he had died for a bit and had been pulled back from it. He hadn’t felt nearly as shitty when he’d actually died. 

It was all a supremely fucked up game. That had to be it. Hargrove would eventually get him back on the drug, maybe they were trying to test if their SuperVicodin would be addictive. If their goal was to avoid that then they sure as fuck weren’t doing a very good job of it. 

 The shakes and the shivers got worse and worse, and after three days of suffering Felix was pulled from his hole, set down in front of a doctor, and offered another dose of the miracle drug. 

If he took it, the withdrawals would stop for a little while and he’d be able to breathe and live his damn life again. 

If not, then Felix had to look forward to things only worsening until they decided that he needed to be on the drug for the sake of his own safety. 

“You should take it.” The doctor said as he presented Felix with the option. “For your own sake.” 

“Why?” Felix moaned. “So that you can cut my fingers off?”

“So that you will feel some relief.” 

He let out a bitter, angry laugh. Felix could see exactly the game that was being played with him. Hargrove definitely intended to put him through this cycle over and over again until Felix’s body just couldn’t take what was happening to it anymore and he had no choice but to fold and die. 

Any idea of hope that he’d once had was horribly tainted. At best he could look forward to being dumped unceremoniously somewhere on a planet where nobody would ever recognize him. He’d be left addicted without a hope of ever getting another hit, he’d waste into nothing or he’d find himself sharing dirty needles in a gutter somewhere because it was the next best thing he could come up with. 

“You know that you have the power to change this.” The doctor said, like that actually changed anything. What a load of fucking bullshit, Felix thought as the little white tablets from hell were shoved closer and closer into his line of sight. 

Fucking MegaPercocets or whatever the fuck Hargrove had him on.

Fucking Hargrove. 

Fucking Locus for getting Felix caught up in there in the first place. 

There wasn’t any hope of getting out of there, so Felix figured the best thing that he could do for himself was play along and hope that Hargrove was feeling charitable about things. 

It sure as fuck wasn’t like anything else was going to be working anytime soon. 

He took the pills, knowing that he was speeding himself along to a bad ending but also knowing that the alternative somehow managed to be a hundred times worse. 

After he swallowed the pills down and washed them away with water, Felix lasted barely five minutes before he was drifting and slurring his words and falling apart to chemical bliss.

[dead-gay-bitxh]

The Black

Really angsty shit

Warnings: suicide mention, suicide attempt, drug abuse

I needed to do this really badly. I don’t feel better but I don’t know if I fucking care either.

Bullshit. No matter when he went down to the lab, they were always fully stocked. Painkillers, depressants, sedatives, sleep aids, everything he wanted was in those cabinets. No more than a shadow’s drift away. And if they really got on his ass about it, hell, Reaper just grabbed several bagfuls and went out to some abandoned, secluded spot to lie around and pretend he would OD any minute.

No, he’s tried too many times. He knows it’s impossible. No matter how much he wants to some days, it’s impossible for him to drift off into the endless sleep he craved.

Damn Angela for denying him that.

Damn Ana for trying to make him think there was anything under the mask worth saving.

Damn McCree for his snide comments whenever they met in the field.

Damn Jack for…everything else.

Reaper reclined in the ratty sofa that he’d settled into while he downed pill after pill. Jack was the real root of his problems. Some days he denied it, told himself that he had a hand in his own demise, but that never lasted more than an hour at a time. It just couldn’t. Nothing was all his fault. Parts, sure. His rational mind wouldn’t let him blame it <i>all</i> on the rest of the world. But most of it would never be his fault. No, it was everyone else who drove him to this. Angela who brought him back to life after he’d already died. Ana who tried to talk him down from killing. Jack who told him it was all his fault.

He lightly chuckled, throwing back another handful of drugs to dull the ache beginning in his chest. At this point he was just dumping them out without any real thought given to dosage or anything else. He wasn’t worth that kind of time. All he wanted was release. Nobody would let him have that again. This was as close as he could get.

The majority of his vision is starting to go fuzzy. If he’s lucky, he can pass out. That lets him rest for a little while without the constant ache of his body bugging him. Just to get himself there faster, Reaper lifts a bottle to his lips and tips his head back, almost like he’s taking a shot. He’s got alcohol, too. He reaches for it, pries off the bottle cap, then slugs the whole thing down in a few quick gulps. It pushes him closer to happy darkness. Something that tastes utterly awful starts to surge into his mouth. Reaper barely has the care to turn his head over the back of the sofa before he realizes he’s vomiting.

Not in his mask, thank God, he left that with Talon, but it doesn’t take long for the stench of bile to fill the room as it has many times before. It’s not like anything will happen if someone else smells it too. They’ll assume he’s another drunk or druggie out for his fix. Fine with him. Any dignity he had died with Gabriel Reyes at Zurich.

Finally, he stops. He can barely keep his eyes open now. Won’t be much longer. To speed along the process, Reaper grabs three more bottles, all about three-quarters of the way full, and dumps them down his throat in quick succession. He’s vomiting again, but the blackness is pulling at him. It’s so close… So close.

When Reaper wakes, the right side of his face is sticky. His own sick. He’s laying in his own sickness. Unsanitary, but he can live with it. It washes off. In front of his face, he’s got the last bottle still clutched in a gloved fist. He doesn’t care to move. Just lays there, wishing for the comforting black to return.

He doesn’t realize someone else is with him until there’s a hand on his face. Reaper doesn’t have the capacity to care much, so when his gaze slides up to see the much-hated white hair, white-and-blue jacket, and scar-covered face, he can’t really make himself do more than lowly grunt. “Can’t believe you’re doing this to yourself…” He doesn’t want to respond, doesn’t need to. Doesn’t even care to think about how Jack’s found him or why when even Sombra would have trouble finding him.

“Gonna get up or am I going to have to do that too?”

“Fuck off. And where’re my damn pills?”

“Got rid of them. If we’re doing this, I want to do it when we’re both fully awake.” Reaper has to laugh at that, turning his gaze back to blankly stare at the hole-riddled walk across from him. The place he’d found suffered badly from the Crisis. Which was why there was nobody living there. “Try. I won’t die, no matter what you do. You should do it, though. I might actually feel enough to fight next time you see me.” Glancing up, he can see the smug half-smile Jack had kept up until then had fallen. Now he just looked pitying. Fair enough.

Reaper supposed that had been his intent. A pitiable state of a futile suicide attempt. “Why?” He’s back to not caring. Would there really be any point in telling him? However, before he can answer his own question, Reaper’s talking, tongue loosened by alcohol and drugs. “Because how else am I supposed to get a break from this bullshit? Unlike you, I hurt every second of my…rrgh, it’s not even life, what I endure every day. And it’s not death. Some abominable spot in between the two.” Reaper weakly clenches a fist, fitfully wishing Jack would move his hand from where it had remained on his face.

“So this is what you do?”

“Oh fuck off. You can’t tell me that I can fix this with a morning pep talk, unlike your shit. I don’t want to fix it. There’s nothing that can be <i>done</i> to fix it. So if that’s what you plan on saying, then you can go right back to your dumbass base and tell everyone that one of the most feared mercenaries on Earth is a damned hopeless drug addict. It’s not like I’ll stop. It’s not like I’ll slow down.”

Reaper chewed his lip, sending lines of dark red down onto the sofa. They soaked in, making pretty near-black spots to further scar the torn furniture. “Gabe… Just don’t.” He scoffed, finally finding the strength to bat Jack’s hand away from him. “Make me, Morrison.” He still laid there, sticky with sweat and vomit. Dead things held no dignity. Somewhere off to the side, the clinking of metal made it clear that Jack was making to leave. Reaper still made no move to get up.

“It hurt.” Jesus, when was he going to give up? If everyone had just given up, there would be no Reaper. No lingering pain. No broken hearts. “It hurt when you did this before, but you listened to me then. It still hurts to see you like this, Gabe.”

“I’m sure it does.” Reaper rolled his eyes. Sure, Jack hated seeing him so compromised and unable to escape. He was sure that as soon as he moved, there would be an unbearable sting on his ass. “Gabe, please… Take this seriously. You’re-” reaper had had enough. In a movement too quick for the rest of him, he swung off the sofa and closed his talons around Jack’s bare neck. He swayed, but otherwise remained upright. “I’m already <i>dead</i>, Jack. I’ve <i>tried</i>. I try to do this on a weekly basis. You can’t tell me not to. You can’t…undo my pain. Now stop <i>acting like it.</i> You aren’t my white knight anymore. You don’t bring me anything but pain. If you see me like this again, I suggest you pull some kind of trigger. I don’t care if it’s on yourself or on me, but fucking do it. See who in the world cares for either one of us.”

Reaper released the old soldier, just barely cognizant enough to notice streams of wet from Jack’s pretty crystal blue eyes. He hated himself for doing it, but he wiped them away with a clawed thumb. He staggered as he stomped off, though he honestly couldn’t say he cared. Let Jack think what he wanted. He didn’t care.

He would never care again.

[lovingzombiechaos]

The Price We Pay-Chapter 3

Summary: Negan makes his return. Word Count: 3130

NAYNA

Nayna smoothed the crinkled photograph over her thigh. She traced her fingers over the outlines of William's rumpled face. Creases in the paper hid his once kind eyes and parts of his chin. Every time she glanced at the picture, which was less and less as time flew by, a sense of guilt overwhelmed her. They'd been so happy at the beginning. So in love, floating on top of a cloud. She couldn't figure out where it all fell apart.

A slight rap on the door made Nayna start and then scramble to stuff the picture back into the nightstand. “One moment.”

She smoothed the top of her hair down and straightened her clothes before opening the door to Carl. She resisted the urge to brush the hair from his forehead and away from his bandaged eye. As much as she wanted to be his mother, she never would be.

He stuffed his hands in his pockets and rocked from side to side. “Can I come in?”

Her brow twitched, but she stepped back and gestured to the bed. Carl scuffed past her and sat down. Nayna shifted between the balls of her feet as she watched him over her shoulder. After a single moment of hesitation, she closed the door and turned to him. “What's this about, love?”

He lay his palms on the edge of the bed and leaned forward. His dark stare bored into her face. “What are we going to do about Negan?”

Nayna bit her tongue to keep from laughing. Looking at him, all she saw perched upon her bed was Mini-Rick. She pressed her knuckles into her lips to hide a smile, though she knew he would see it in her eyes. She wore her heart on her face.

She surveyed Carl as she leaned back against the door, crossing her arms over her chest. “What do you think we should do?”

Carl pursed his lips, the same way Rick did when he lost himself in thought. “I don't know. I don't want you to get hurt. I don't want anyone to get hurt.”

The pain in Carl's voice stung her heart, and so she crossed the room, putting a hand on his shoulder. “Trust me. I can take care of myself.”

He opened and closed his mouth a few times, but she shook her head and bent down so her face was even with his.

“Carl, love. Please trust me. Trust your father. This isn't a problem we can fix overnight. Right now, anything we do would be the equivalent of rattling the beast's cage. For now, we simply have to bide our time.”

He looked down and fiddled with his jacket string. “I just... I don't want to lose anyone else.”

She cupped the left side of his face and tilted his head up to look him in the eye. “There is nothing you can do to stop death. It's a part of life. It's always been a part of life. It's awful and it sucks. You are not alone, feeling the way you do. But you can't be so afraid to lose something that you let it guide your choices. And you can't shut people out either. Somewhere in your heart, you have to find the balance. It's a lesson we all have to learn, love. Hell, I'm almost thirty and I still have trouble with it.”

Carl's face turned to stone. A sigh escaped her lips, but she did not let go of his face.

“Are you and my dad fighting?”

“Why do you think that?”

He shrugged. “I'm not stupid you know. You've been avoiding each other.”

Nayna settled on the edge of the bed next to Carl. She folded one leg under the other and faced him, slipping her hand into his. “I think your father is upset because I didn't consult him before standing up to Negan. And he had every right to be angry. What I did was stupid and irresponsible and very much out of desperation. Tensions are high. They're going to be high as long as this is going on. Everything will be okay once we all cool off a little bit. Don't worry, we're all gonna get through this together, okay?”

“I just want things to be the way they used to be.”

She patted his hand. “Nothing will ever stay the same. Change is part of life. Gotta get used to it.”

Carl's lips twitched. “You're one to talk. You still wear your hair in the same braid, you still wear the same earrings every day, you sit in the exact same place for every meal and when you're patrolling you take the exact same path all the time.”

“Listen you little turd,” Nayna said, a grin spreading across her face, “I am old and set in my ways. Don't become me.”

He squinted at her, and then shook his shaggy head. “Whatever. Look... Keep me in the loop, okay? I know I'm young, but I'm old enough.”

She nodded. “I know... It breaks my heart. I wish you'd gotten to be a kid for a while longer.”

“I don't mind.”

She smiled at him, remembering the self-importance that came with being fifteen and newly responsible. Carl wore that same look of distinct pride, knowing how much everyone counted on him. Unlike Rick, who hated it and fumbled quite often, Carl would be groomed for the role. And when the time came, he would be prepared.

He stood up, still holding her hand. She squeezed it.

“We’re gonna get through this Carl. All of us. In one piece. Trust me. Trust your dad.”

Negan came to the gate at precisely ten in the morning, the exact time he’d told them the previous week. Or he’d told Rick after she’d walked away. Everyone amassed at the town entrance, waiting as Eugene and Rosita dragged the massive gate open.

The tall, broad man himself sauntered in with a thousand watt smile and that goddamn bat swinging from his right hand. His men filed in, armed to the teeth with rifles and guns and swords and other bullshit weapons.

Her stomach clenched as she fingered the bow, the last gift William had given her before he’d gone on cruise. The last time she’d ever seen him.

“Hello, hello, hello all you motherfuckers.”

She could feel the collective grimace of the crowd, though she only wanted to roll her eyes at his over enthusiasm.

A few steps ahead, Rick stood, fists clutched to his sides as Negan strode up to him. “So, this is what’s gonna fucking happen. My men are going to fucking go through the houses, take half of everything and then we should be good to go.”

Negan’s eyes searched the crowd until he found her and he grinned, clapping Rick on the shoulder. “I’m gonna make myself better acquainted with Nayna in the meantime. The rest of you can get back to whatever it is you fucking fucks were doing. Scamper along.”

When the crowd had dispersed Negan turned to her with an almost friendly smile on his face. He hoisted his damned bat over his shoulder and gestured along the road. She fell into step beside him, staring ahead with her jaw locked.

“So, Naaaayna,” he said in a slight singsong voice.

She decided it was best not to respond. Instead she pressed her lips together and kept her eyes glued to the horizon.

“Were your parents hippies or something?”

“No,” she said, stuffing her hands in her pockets. “Why?”

He studied her through half lidded eyes. “Trying to figure out where the name Nayna came from.”

She half-shrugged. “Who said it was my given name?”

“What is your given name?”

A twitch on her lips betrayed a smile. “If I won’t tell Rick my name, why do you think I would tell you?”

“Because if you fucking don’t I’ll bash your brains in.”

Laughter burst from her throat at the ridiculousness and earnest sentiment of his statement . “No, you won’t. I’m the only leverage you have over the community.”

His beard twitched, betraying a tiny smile that he tried to mask as a scowl. “One of your fucking friends, then.”

She snorted. “No, you won’t.”

He raised a brow at her, but didn’t push the subject. “Fine, I fucking won’t. But you owe me an answer then.”

“An answer to what?”

“What were your fucking parents?”

Nayna stopped and tilted her head back to stare into his handsome face. She sighed. “My dad was a drug addict and my mom was a shrew. Happy?”

“Drug addict huh? Coke, meth?”

“Narcotics. Painkillers…Look, why do you care?”

“Oh, I fucking don’t. Not really. Just making conversation.”

She said nothing, instead watching as his men wandered in and out of the houses in Alexandria taking what they thought was theirs, what they thought they were entitled to. It made her heart burn hot, but she forced herself to look anyway, to make a mental note of everything they were going to take. After a few pensive moments Negan cleared his throat and she slowly turned her attention back to him with a solitary shake of her head.

“Ah, I see what you’re doing, Negan. You’re trying to make me uncomfortable, anxious, upset. You’re trying to get into my head and manipulate me emotionally. Sorry, I grew up with all that bullshit. You can’t fuck with me. Not like that.”

He twirled Lucille over his shoulder, his eyes over her head, gazing at his men. “Funny, I seem to be getting a fucking rise out of you anyway, doll.”

“Of course you’d say that, asshat. Any tone, warble or quiver to my voice and you’ll assume I’m emotional or sad or what the fuck ever. As long as we’re on that page, I give no fucks how you feel or what you think of me.”

Negan smirked and his fingers curled into the nape of her neck, sending shudders quivering down her spine. She stiffened at the unexpected contact and her toes curled in her boots. Nayna resisted the urge to shove him off. Instead she let him steer her towards the infirmary.

“So,” he began and paused both in speech and movement. He watched her with the intensity of a starving man looking at a buffet. A completely different look than he’d been giving her just a moment earlier. The hairs on the back of her neck stood on edge as he dragged his calloused thumb back and forth at an achingly slow pace. She wished he would either stop or continue, though her mind was not so easily swayed.  “I figure we’re going to fucking be spending a lot of time together, seeing as how I need to keep my fucking eye on you. Make sure you’re not fucking me over or anything. How about we fucking get to know each other, doll?”

“I’d rather not,” Nayna said with a sniff.

“Too bad you don’t have a choice, sweetheart. Lucille here wants to fucking know all about you,” he said, a soft, malicious grin curving on his lips as he ran the very end of the bat down her leg.

She furrowed her brow up at him as she drew her leg away, causing her to stumble a bit. The hand at her neck kept her steady.

“Why don't you give me the fucking grand tour of this shithole?”

Nayna forgot to curb her temper. She forgot she was supposed to play nice. “Shithole? Fuck you.”

He went on unperturbed, chuckling at her indignity. “You know, because it's the hole where you're storing half my shit—shithole.”

“That's beyond unfunny. Worst joke I've ever heard in my life."

He shook his head as if his sense of humor was lost on her. “That's the fucking joke, doll.”

She shoved his hand off her and stepped back. “Look, I get you need to keep tabs on me to make sure I haven’t run away. I get you can’t take my word for it. Whatever. But you’ve seen me, I’m here and now I’m going to fuck off. Over there. Alone.”

With that she stuck her nose in the air and swiveled about. Behind her Negan started laughing, a great big belly laugh as she stomped down the road towards Daryl’s blue truck.

“Later, doll!”

As tempting as it was to flip him the bird, she didn’t want to push her luck. There was only so far she could push him before he flipped out. Truth be told, she wanted to put as much distance between her and Negan as possible. There was something more than his brutish nature that made her insides squirm. His wolfish smile? That knowing gaze? Whatever it was, she wanted no part of it.

Daryl stood in the bed of the blue pickup, his eyes following her until she reached the truck. She also felt Negan’s eyes boring a hole into her back, but she tried to ignore it. Daryl wiped the sweat from his forehead, however, all he managed to do was smear the dirt across his face. Their eyes met and she tossed her head. One of the things she loved most about Daryl was that he knew when to keep his mouth shut. She climbed up in the bed of the truck and sat on the tailgate with her legs dangling over the edge.

Without a word Daryl dropped a bottle of frigid water into her lap. Nayna took a long drag from the bottle and handed it back to him.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

“You wanted rabbits,”  he said, gesturing to the empty cages as he set the water bottle on the edge of the truck bed.

She smiled. “ I can’t believe you remembered.”

“Naw, that was Rick.”

She studied her fingernails. “Oh.”

“Y’all still fighting.”

He didn’t phrase it as a question which made Nayna glance up at him. She half-shrugged.

“You were right and he knows it. Both times. It’s hard being leader and admitting you’re wrong.”

Nayna swiped the back of her hand across her nose. “We’re lucky Negan accepted my deal. What would have happened otherwise?”

She was purposely ignoring Daryl’s mention of Rick. The last thing she wanted to talk about was Rick. He occupied enough of her mind…and heart.

Daryl shrugged and his eyes cut over to where Negan was talking to one of his men, laughing and slapping him on the shoulder. “A whole flying shitfest, that’s what.”

She pulled her knees up to her chest, resting her chin on them. “What am I supposed to do?”

“What do you mean?”

“With Negan. He said he wants to get to know me. He makes me feel…weird.”

Daryl’s brows knitted together in a heavy scowl. “You’re askin’ the wrong person Nayna.”

“It was more of a rhetorical question,” she said, blowing out a puff of air.

“I don’t know. Fuck him?”

She burst out laughing. “Daryl!”

“Everyone saw the way he looked at you.”

It was her turn for her to scowl at him. “The way he looked at me? Like he wanted to kill me?”

“Or fuck you. Or both.”

She rolled her chin side to side, allowing the dizzying effect to wash over her. “Ugh. Not you too.”

He snorted, much like an impatient horse. “Not me too, what?”

“Abraham and…Abraham was teasing me earlier saying I needed to get laid.”

Daryl couldn’t hide his smile. “If the condom fits…”

She stopped moving her head and squinted at Daryl. “You’re such a dickface.”

“The best way to a man’s heart is his dick.”

She wrinkled her nose, but said nothing. There was nothing to say. Not when her belly was a pit full of wriggling snakes.

Daryl shrugged. “Maybe he won’t be so inclined to kill you if you fuck him a couple times.”

She wrinkled her nose. “Great.. Just what I always wanted to be when I grew up. I don’t want this.”

He sighed. “You’re Nayna. I don’t think it matters what you want. Not to you at least. No, you’re going to do what you feel like you have to do.”

“What’s that?”

“Protect us. And if it means fucking Negan, you’ll do it. Because you can’t protect anyone when you’re dead.”

A crisp chill slithered in the pit of her stomach, settling atop the writhing snakes. She began to regret drinking all that water.

“Somethin’ else I’ve been meaning to say, though it’s not my place.”

“You’re talkative today,” she said, stretching her legs out again.

“Yeah, I’m Mr. Fucking Chatterbox. Look, it’s about Rick.”

She pressed her cheek to her shoulder. “I don’t want to talk about him.”

"Nayna…Everyone knows.”

The cold water coiled in her stomach, threatening to make a sinister reappearance. She suddenly felt like she had been thrust into a dark, deep tunnel. Daryl’s voice warbled and echoed in a far off place, stretching into long, unrecognizable syllables. Two words and her whole world came crashing down around her.

She didn’t know how long she’d been in love with Rick. Since before the prison. Definitely when Lori was still alive, which made the guilt in her heart only worsen. He’d never returned her feelings, so it had always been a moot point.

But everything she did, she did it for him.

She swiped the tears from her watery eyes. Her voice came out high pitched and fast. “It’s my own fault, really. I kept waiting for him to be ready to move on and then I wanted to wait until we got settled in Alexandria. And then Jesse came. After she died, I wanted to give him space. I did. Too much space.”

Daryl came and sat beside her. He placed one hesitating hand on her shoulder. She made a face at him and he dropped his hand, hurt.

After taking several deep breaths she finally glanced over at him. “Why are you bringing this up now?”

“You need to let him go.”

“Why, so I can fuck Negan?”

“Nayna…”

She swallowed hard and squeezed her eyes shut again. “Michonne. Does she know?”

“Yeah.”

A whimper bubbled past her lips. She felt a sense of betrayal on Michonne’s part, but Nayna couldn’t blame Michonne for loving Rick. It was only natural for her to love Rick because Nayna loved him and she loved Michonne too.

An aching loneliness pumped her heart and filled her body with dread. All her life she wanted to be loved. Now she never would. Nayna stared over her shoulder at Negan. She was a marked woman.

He looked up as if he’d felt her gaze and grinned, giving her a wink before turning back to his men with Lucille propped on his shoulder.