⁎ ꙳ ☆ 𝐴𝑁𝐷 𝐹𝐿𝐴𝐼𝑅 ‼

truthfully, whizzer is finding it difficult to not actually get upset about this. nobody forced him to fight; nobody forced him to fight to win. winning used to be nothing to him, but he wasn't about to lose a fight he only started to impress entertain marvin. whizzer wins, but his opponent gets a few good kicks in, and whizzer leaves with marvin looking less than his best. on top of that, the bartender was sure to snap a nice picture of both whizzer and the man he was fighting for the establishment’s wall of fame. and marvin makes jokes. it isn’t surprising behavior- normally, it’s cute- but right now, it only makes it harder for whizzer to not get angry at him.

wouldn’t it be nice if, just for once, michael could mind his own fucking business? instead of feeling the need to make his bullshit opinions known to anyone that will listen (or even to those that won’t; the fat snake loves to hear himself talk), is it too much to ask that michael simply appreciate how hard trevor tries to be a good host to him, despite their tricky situation? letting mike crash at his place instead of forcing him to stay at a fleabag motel, happily providing food and drink and asking for nothing in return, but no, it isn’t good enough for him. it’s too hot, too dirty, too meth-riddled and blood-stained. too trevor. the city has made michael into an ungrateful fucking snob. trevor turns his attention from the leftovers he was in the middle of preparing– again, for michael, the dickhead– and shoots his friend(?) a dirty look: eyes narrow, nose scrunches, split lips curl into a snarl.

〝 oh, that’s fuckin’ rich, coming from you. don’t act so high and fuckin’ mighty, alright? this– 〞 trevor pulls the spoon in hand from the concoction in bowl before him, bits of the visceral stew dripping off the utensil as he waves it about idly. 〝 this– the desert, and this lab, and my life– maybe ain’t your cup of tea, but it’s mine, alright? it’s all mine. and i didn’t have to sell out my friends to get any of it. 〞 gaze returns to the blend of meats and organs trevor calls food but attention really remains on michael, tone remaining bitter as he continues talking. 〝 you ain’t better than me, mike. just a different kinda sick. 〞

"well, nothing's changed since the last time you asked me..." a roundabout, backhanded way of saying absolutely nothing, ask me a third time and i just might explode. this job and everything, everything about it continues to suck the life out of him. he would leave it behind, take all his unfinished songs and unwritten ideas and tell bungee to shove it as he leaves – if he didn't need it so desperately. he could at least tolerate the berating if his work were acceptable, but if it fails to meet the standards of a goddamn kids' show, it must really be unlistenable.

...but none of that is roger's fault. what right does he have taking his frustrations out on a man so effortlessly perfect, inside and out? ( he stands as a striking contrast to gordon's short temper, his even shorter stature and pudgy stomach. if nothing else, they stand to prove that opposites really do attract ) time and time again, he pulls gordon back from the edge, and time and time again, gordon bats his kindness away. why is he such an ass? he groans, presses his palms to his eyes before dragging his hands down his face.

the honest answer comes to him first : if he doesn’t care, it could cost him his job, his rep, his life – or worse. ( bless her for keeping him from a shallow grave but why, oh god, why did kim have to get herself wrapped up into all this? for reasons unique to themselves, lalo and kim are both outside of jimmy's control. he can hardly keep himself out of the maw of the beast ; how is he supposed to keep her safe from this lunatic? ) a soft exhale of a laugh, hardly audible as his brain scrambles to come up with a more acceptable answer – one less likely to result in bodily harm.

“because! i... like any good lawyer, i care about my clients! and as long as you’ve got me on retainer – as long as you stay one of my clients – then your problems…” words suddenly catch in his throat, his body fighting tooth and nail to keep any further sound from escaping. ( once the words are said, there’s no taking them back. he's making his trek to golgotha, fitting a crown of thorns for his head, willingly hammering himself to the cross [ it seems kim's efforts were for naught, his martyrdom was inevitable ] – )

❝ yeah! yeah, of course! i mean – y'know, mrs. nguyen, she owes me. my being here, my business? brings her more business. so, don't worry about a thing. this is all on the level, as they say. but, uh... oh, ❞ jimmy claps, holds up an index finger on each hand as he moves to the setup, pulling one of the chairs from the table. ❝ sit, sit! take a load off! god knows hamlin's working you down to the bone – bet he doesn't even give you a full hour for lunch, huh? what a jerkoff. ❞ latter bit is muttered to himself, a small huff of a laugh follows. once kim is sat he circles the table, sitting in the chair opposite her. jimmy smoothes out his tie, brushes his hair back, crosses his arms over the table, and smiles.

❝ so, ms. wexler, your menu for tonight includes – ❞ only now does he lift the lid off of the tray sat between them, revealing a neat pile of plain hot dogs, along with a single to-go container and a few packets of various condiments. ❝ and... you know, we’ve got relish, mustard, ketchup – a classic – and they even threw in some chili for these dogs, free of charge! i tell ya, the dog house – their strategy for customer retention, it’s certainly working on me! ❞ his hands wave wildly as he speaks, gesturing to the food on the table, maneuvering vaguely before coming to rest flat on the tabletop. he sighs.

❝ no! ❞ carrie jerks, tears herself away from tommy. a framed photo on the wall falls as she moves, bringing about another flinch as it hits the ground and the glass of the frame shatters. trembling hands rise to hide her face, blue eyes barely visible through the spaces between her fingers, shoulders shaking in tandem with each ragged, panicked breath.

it isn’t that she doesn’t want to stay

( o how she wants to stay here with tommy, beautiful tommy, perfect tommy who doesn’t mind spending time with her, doesn’t care about the looks he gets or the way people talk, would never hurt her, wouldn’t ever treat her the way mama says he would )

but more that she can’t. carrie can already envision the fit her mother will throw– not only is she spending all this time with a boy, but now she’s staying overnight at his place? oh, what would the church say? what would god say? she sneaks a peek at tommy from behind her hands and god, how hurt he looks. she’s ruined everything. she throws herself at him, wraps her arms tightly about his middle, buries her face into his chest.

jason lets out a long, slow breath, closes his eyes, lets his head fall back.

if he had known ryan would be like this – he had hoped ryan wouldn’t be like this. he thought ryan would at least understand, ryan said he understood, so why is he acting so shocked and appalled now? if he had known ryan would be like this, he would’ve been more careful in taking out the fight club. he would’ve left ryan out of it entirely, or he at least would’ve been more discreet in his planning and execution. but he didn’t, and he wasn’t, and now ryan is asking him questions like that. he brings his head forwards with another sigh.

❝ how many people have i–? why are you asking me this? i’m not some sort of psychopath, ryan, i only kill people that deserve it, and those assholes… ❞ a beat, then brows pinch together.

❝ don’t look at me like that. they were never going to change – you said it yourself! i don’t even think they really cared about you at all. they certainly didn’t care about your happiness or well-being. they would’ve happily beat on you until you were in the ground. i mean – ryan, darling, ❞ jd doesn’t even realize he’s pacing until he comes to a stop before ryan. he huffs out a laugh, the corners of his mouth lifting into an unnerving smile. he slowly holds a hand out to ryan.

❝ anything we want. ❞ echo comes uncharacteristically quiet, more to himself than to michael. almost his entire life, he's been able to do anything he wants : goes where he wants, takes what he wants – eats, kills, fucks whoever he wants – whenever he wants. with michael, there's always been something in the way, be it the wife or lester or the risk or any combination of the previously listed. but this "whatever we want" feels different.

lester has little to no control over them now ( as if he ever had any real control over them, or at least trevor, in the first place ), the wife and kids are gone ( for now ), the risk is practically nonexistent. for what feels like the first time in twenty years, they truly can do whatever they want. the realization brings trevor to his feet and before he knows it, he's standing over michael, chest rising and falling with slow, measured breaths.