ALL YOUR SCREAMING — WHAT’S IT WORTH?

HE WAS JUST‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎‎A PROBLEM DOG.

[pinkman]

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[5anctified]

» BOTH WAYS IS THE ONLY WAY I WANT IT. dialogue and action prompts pulled from and inspired by maile meloy’s short story collection, both ways is the only way i want it. change as you see fit.

dialogue.

i’ve never done anything so stupid in my life.

i wanted the job, i was so afraid of the loans coming through.

how come you never eat anything?

you could fly to hawaiʻi or france in less time than it took to do that drive.

i just knew that if i didn’t start driving, i wasn’t going to see you again, and i didn’t want that.

you’re doing that spacey thing again.

you think i don’t know who corrupted me?

i’ve seen the way they look at me.

no one can drink like that forever.

i don’t remember anything. it’s like a big eraser came through that part of my brain.

there are other ways to get money.

is that why you didn’t want me?

when you see her, would you tell her to knock that shit off?

slow down, you’re going to hurt yourself.

we’re not fighting, we’re talking.

there’s no gene for bravery that you have and i don’t.

you can bait me or you can protect me, but you can’t do both.

i think she’s always known about the bad things.

you act like i want to push you off a cliff.

you’ve done enough for one lunchtime.

you think you’re always right about everything, but you’re not.

we should do this every year.

i wouldn’t imagine it if it didn’t seem true.

there's nothing i can do to you to match that.

you have no heart, you're rotting. do you see that?

there will be enough danger in your life without you seeking it out.

are you going to ask me in?

i don't want to impose, but do you have room for me?

i'm going to rake them over their proverbial coals.

i've been so unhappy in your house.

what news do you bring me?

i'm very much alone, these days.

i know exactly how difficult my work is.

i'm not strong enough to be alone and hated.

oh, please stay for dinner.

you should be more selfish, like i am.

i never would have asked you to do it.

your heart's going crazy, i can feel it.

what do you do when you wake up?

you seem very calm now.

do you have to talk about this here?

say you won't go.

actions. switch sender and receiver’s places as you please.

squeeze. sitting in a car, the sender crawls into the receiver’s lap, squeezing into the space between their body and the steering wheel.

climb. the sender goads the receiver into following them onto a rooftop.

diner. the sender and receiver dine at a cheap restaurant for a late night meal.

last chance. the sender unexpectedly shows up at the receiver's place of work.

saddle. sitting on a steed, the sender helps pull the receiver up to join them.

respite. right before a social event, the sender and receiver take a moment to talk privately.

afternoon tea. the sender and receiver prepare warm drinks after a long day.

hotel. the sender and receiver rent a room for the evening.

stranded. the sender and receiver can’t find the car they arrived with, a heavy snowfall coming down.

lecture. the sender stands in the back of the room as the receiver gives a presentation.

boil over. the sender and receiver end up tumbling down a hill together as they physically fight.

grill. the sender stands before and looks down at the receiver, who remains seated.

surprise. the sender shows up at the receiver’s residence despite the sender being dead on paper.

breakfast. the sender attempts to make breakfast for the receiver using the meager means of a motel room.

woodsmoke. the sender and receiver drink at a bonfire.

[rvolving]

given context clues, he'd figured as much. doesn't dampen his professional sympathy. ❝ i'm sorry to hear that. ❞ sure, cancer's a bitch. grief is too, as is loneliness, and abbot's personally aware some days it's easier to stomach than others. he assumes the broken nose doesn't help. nor would withdrawal, for that matter.

                   but he's merely hypothesising, not jumping to conclusions. all medicine boils down to is a sophisticated guessing game. while he's an exceptional guesser, he's no oracle.

                   abbot briefly wishes samira hadn't given up night shifts entirely. he's confident she'd have a decent guess or two, not to mention the means to get jesse to open up.

                   all abbot's got is prolonged eye contact and a questionable sense of humour. ❝ depends. anything else you need? ❞ frankly, he's loath to let jesse disappear back into the night. might as well: ❝ become somewhat of a regular round here, we don't get a lot of those. could throw in a tetanus shot on the house if you like. ❞

[pinkman]

the cacophonous soundscape of the ward makes it hard to concentrate. the sudden jolt of pain lancing through his skull makes it even harder. abbot’s condolences fall on deaf ears. crank-sick and shivering like a newborn foal, jesse grinds his teeth. wallows in his self-inflicted misery.

god, he should’ve gotten some of that morphine. he should’ve delivered an award-worthy performance, all downcast eyes and shallow inhales and expertly timed sniffles. (where does it hurt, an imaginary version of abbot asks, guiding him through the usual script. i don’t know, man, an imaginary version of jesse admits — ‘s kinda, like, everywhere.) but becoming a regular at the emergency department has its downsides. as far as any competent medical professional is concerned, he’s nursing a death wish. as far as jesse is concerned, he’s having the time of his life.

or he would be, were it not for the daunting prospect of medical bills. speaking of: “whaddya mean, on the house?” generosity, jesse has come to learn, is seldom unconditional. seldom reliable. “you’re not gonna tell me to fork over more cash for the premium package?”

[388s]

Micro-shift in his brows delineates a something;　nameless,　shapeless,　impelled only by the rigid structure’s wrinkling,　horizontal lines embedded at his nose’s bridge.　The act is juvenile,　perhaps　⸻　he is prepubescent the last time swimming is an act to find joy in and not another tick in the ledger of Father’s most brutal hopes　⸻　but he doesn’t anticipate the pushback.　It might even piss him off,　should the downturn of chapped lips offer any substance.　Not really,　no.　There is little to smile about and even littler that he finds worth it　/　you are a man,　son,　and you do not weep nor scream nor wax poetic.　

❛❛　Dumbass.　❜❜　Unimaginable.　Like they’re two dipshit progenies at a summer birthday party,　indulging in foul stench of over-chlorination after a long afternoon of decadent chocolate cake and tearing through the dinosaur-patterned paper embellishing the latest and greatest gifts.　This is no such celebration,　no.　Respite more than anything else,　hours after his blade-sharp stare has torn through soft tissue of his mind.　An ache,　throbbing,　exacerbated by the water too artificial in its coloration for comfort.　Action carries out in hurried motion,　its playback doubled in post-production of doubt and insecurity:　hand dips down into the pool,　with all the precision of robot off the assembly line,　and he scoops up just enough of the water to splash at Jesse.

Outlandish display warrants outlandish reaction.　He smiles,　at least an approximation of one,　and cranes his head to the side.　A switch to breath through his nostrils,　through barely-parted lips,　and he comes to no reasonable conclusion on which is more tolerable.　❛❛　You’re scared.　❜❜　Then the emittance of a scoff,　laugh with its layers peeled back and pared down.　❛❛　Bet you have to have to plug your nose underwater.　❜❜　Rough fingerpads move in over the breadth of his nose in a demonstration:　isn’t that just embarrassing?　(Audacious man with soaked fingers hauls the spotlight off of himself,　feels the stinging nettles dead-set on reminding him how he hasn’t swam recreationally in the better part of a decade.　It’s just not his style,　he rationalizes.　Those bastards on TV look like hairless chickens.　It’s stupid.)

[pinkman]

he’s starting to suspect that @manenuf doesn’t get out much. the playground bully act feels like a relic of a bygone past. most other dudes his size would have resorted to showing off their combat skills. their uppercuts, their roundhouse kicks, their chokeholds. “i ain’t scared of shit.” jesse gives him a reflexive shove and stands back up. shimmies out of his jeans. yanks at the collar of his t-shirt, tugging it over his head in a mockery of a drunken striptease. save your applause, amigos. his boxers aren’t going anywhere. but if one of jesse’s socks just happens to land in dae-ho’s lap, we’ll chalk it up to the inviolable laws of gravity.

cutting a small figure against the glimmering blue backdrop, he could almost be mistaken for a porcelain statuette. a thing that’s coveted precisely because it’s breakable. because noticing it on someone’s shelf is bound to spark a conversation. (believe me, this item is pricier than it looks.) to compensate for his fragility — his coltish limbs, his perpetual slouch, the mottled bruises circling an old injection site in the crook of his elbow — he levels dae-ho with a defiant glare. “watch me, bitch.” without further ado, jesse cannonballs into the pool.

and emerges seconds later, bolting to the surface with a breathless, shuddering laugh. it’s cold as an icebox. he’s a fucking idiot. “you really wanna go swimming, huh? wanna cross it off your lil’ to-do list?” he taunts between mouthfuls of chlorinated water, moving closer and closer to the pool’s edge. “so c’mon.” when he grabs onto dae-ho’s ankle and pulls, every single muscle in his body protests the strain.

[toeat]

it's an old wound. scabby at the edges but ultimately unhealed. if she prodded it from the right angle, really dug her fingers in, she wondered if he'd cry.

he looks away, gluing his eyes to the marble in that kicked-dog hang that probably stirred something in most women. olivia remains where she was, arms faintly tightening for every ounce of irritation she wouldn't permit anywhere else. it won't be much of a fight, not really, but even the performance of it is exhausting.

"I'm not your guidance counselor, jesse. I don't want honors, just results." it's a business deal. she studies him—the proverbial ball in what ultimately amounted to a daedalian game of keep away—and exhales an overcooked sigh. "can't say I'm not a little disappointed, I really see something in you... but if you really don't think you're up to it," she trails. lifts her shoulders in a whatcanoyoudo shrug.

"I won't force the matter."

[pinkman]

let’s be honest:  jesse’s behavior warrants a harsher sentence. a wwe-style verbal smackdown, capped off with a reminder to respect his elders. nothing he hasn’t heard before.   (is there a problem, pinkman?  have you been listening to me?  in that case, would you mind telling us what constitutes an ionic compound?  then, blocking his long-awaited exit from the classroom, adjusting those intolerably nerdy glasses, staring at him as if he were an endangered animal in captivity—   are your parents aware that you’re struggling?)   instead, olivia says she’s disappointed.  it stings worse than antiseptic on a freshly scraped knee. 

jesse wills himself to re-establish eye contact, somehow resisting the urge to shrink inward.   “i can, um, think about it.”   but the suggestion is followed by the humiliated flush in his cheeks.  the tense set of his jaw. the persistent tap-tap-tap of his foot, like it would kill him to stay still. 

“it’s just that they make you do all these tests ‘n stuff.  to get in. and they’re not even useful in the real world, you know?”   he sweeps a skinny arm around her living room. this world. this spotless, palatial prison.   “i mean, who needs to remember everythin’ that happened during the great depression?  it ended, like, seventy years ago.”

[pinkman]

hello esteemed mutuals, welcome to my crib. i’ll be keeping things like verse tags and formatting unchanged, but here are some updates:

from this point onward, i won’t like starter calls. responding to them is something i struggle with, so i’d rather send prompts

my pre-canon verse is going to be the default setting for new interactions. this doesn’t apply to previously plotted scenarios that take place during the events of breaking bad or alternate universes

i’m trying to accept the tragic fact that longer replies aren’t my strong suit. please refrain from throwing tomatoes and banana peels at me if i don’t match your length for whatever reason

last but not least, usfw stuff will be written on main and thrown under a read more. it seems like the era of sideblogs is behind us

[driscolls]

daniel lavery and cecilia corrigan, let your father die energy drink. vince gilligan, breaking bad.