#newlywidow

to say kevin is tired would be a gross understatement. his entire body aches ( some places more than others ), having been physically and mentally pushed well beyond its limits in such a short amount of time. there are heavy bags beneath his bloodshot eyes, his hands shaking from both lack of sleep and the insane amount of caffeine in his system as he rubs at his temples. his head is pounding, and the hot, bright light of the sun is doing no favors; he squeezes his eyes shut, sighs deeply, and slowly opens them again.

❝ 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.

❝ i know, bry, but… ❞ a beat as he searches for the right words, a sharp exhale upon failure to do so.

but WHAT? after all the demands and the tantrums and the games and the cruelty, how is it that whizzer still finds himself looking for excuses for marvin? there must be some redeeming quality, something he doesn’t recognize or can’t put a name to, to make all the shit worth putting up with. it can’t be his looks or wealth alone ; there have been others since their breakup, some just as good-looking and/or rich as he was, but they’ve all been so ( not marvin ) dull.

it isn’t just the excitement of their relationship that whizzer misses, either, but as he looks up from his glass to find older brother just staring at him ( very critically, he’ll add. bryan must be nervous of some sort of impending reunion. he never did like marvin ) he realizes how long he’s been lost in thought. shoulders bounce lightly with a dry chuckle / he downs the rest of his wine before finally continuing.

whizzer WANTS to believe his brother, but a chorus of flirtatious comments –– all ( or most ) presented under the guise of being a joke –– reverberate in his skull. hard as he tries, it’s borderline impossible for him to believe mystral, who only ever seems to change for the worse, is suddenly, miraculously, going to change his behavior. he wants to believe mystral but he can’t, and he can’t help the way his eyes narrow, his head cocks to one side, and his arms fold over his chest.

❝ really, ❞ is said in the flattest of tones. ❝ is that a promise to drop it altogether, or just not do it in front of me anymore? ‘cause i’m not an idiot, and marvin tells me everything. ❞ there’s a hard emphasize on the last word, almost like a warning : i dare you to try something. i will find out. confidence falters for all of a second ( he’s sure trina felt the same at some point ) but he gives his head a small shake, flinging intrusive thought from his mind. whizzer sighs ; weight shifts from one foot to the other as hands come to rest on his hips.

it’s been a nearly consistent struggle, getting arnold to focus on anything mission related for more than a couple moments at a time. the problem started at the airport and has only worsened since their arrival in africa– specifically, since they were introduced to nabulungi. she’s friendly, and sure, she’s cute, and it isn’t really her fault that arnold is so enamored with her, but as he struggles to retain the attention of some villagers and turns to his companion for help, just to see him looking at her, he can’t help but scowl.