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@prcblemdog
an independent, semi-selective portrayal of jesse pinkman from amc's breaking bad as a transgender man. 18+. a study in: masculinity, codependency, addiction and shedding a new skin.
as depended on by david. 18. gmt-3. he/him & xe/xir.
multimuse can be found at @sstaysoft.
google doc.
banner credit
ok so im like... seldom able to get on my laptop nowadays but i still really want to roleplay. mutuals, you can add me on discord smallredboy#6534 and we can continue or start new threads there! i hope to have some of yall there. miss you!
anditwasmylove·:
Emilio wasn’t sure whether or not he was relieved. Jesse not knowing who he was was refreshing, but that also meant he would have to tell him everything. All over again. It was like when he’d told D.W. he was bisexual; he’d assumed that would be the last time he had to do it.
Obviously, he was wrong.
Turning back to the wooden cup and the coins, Emilio stared at his hands in the braces for a moment before he said, “Forty years ago, I went with-with my family to another planet.”
He swallowed. Calling the Jesuit party his family had just slipped out, but it was closer to the truth than calling them his colleagues.
You see, Meelo? Your family came for you! I found you for them!
Emilio flinched and sucked in a sharp breath, his eyes shutting momentarily, before he added, “I’m the only one that survived the mission.”
Jesse then remembered hearing about the mission to the new planet --- it never was given a name in the news, as he saw them so long ago. Then he remembered, vaguely, the news that came after: a man was the only one to return, the linguist of the mission, something or other about a child and about whoredom. He sucked in a breath. “Wait. I think I remember the news about that. About --- aliens and, and a linguist priest being --- you know.” He looked at Emilio, really looked at him, all wide eyes. “Me too. Not.” He cleared his throat. “Not, like, the whole other planet thing, part, more like, the whole, uh, sex slavery part? I just --- look, I’m not judging you for anything, my point is. I’m so sorry for... all that shit you went through, which I only know about like, vaguely, I’m not really a news guy.”
anditwasmylove·:
At first, Emilio thought Jesse’s nervousness in speaking to him had more to do with the fact that Emilio was popularly known as a murderer and a whore than anything else, but then the truth of it dawned on him and he found that he still had it in him to be amazed.
“You don’t know who I am…”
The words came out quiet and dumbfounded and all Emilio found himself able to do was stare in shock. How long had it been since he’d met someone that didn’t know who he was since returning from Rakhat? Had he even met anyone that didn’t immediately recognize his name? He didn’t think so, and he found himself cherishing the acquaintanceship already.
Jesse blinked, confused. Of course, everyone in a retreat house was running from something or other, but the way Emilio spoke was like if he was a celebrity (or rather, someone infamous). He had not seen anything that he could connect to him, couldn’t recall any Emilios in the news. Not that he ever looked at the news.
“Um, no, I don’t, really. I mean, shit, have we both been on the news? You don’t look like the type to be like, a criminal, though, so...” He shrugged.
anditwasmylove·:
Of all the expected things Emilio had lined up in his head as possibilities of what the boy would say next, this one hadn’t even been on the list. Jesse didn’t say it outright, but the meaning of the words was unmistakable: he was running from something or someone too. And more than that: if anyone saw his face, they’d recognize him right away.
For a moment, all Emilio could do was stare at Jesse and blink. Maybe he’s right after all, he thought as he tried to formulate some semblance of a response.
Nothing came to mind, and in the intervening silence, he blurted out words that seemed beyond his control, “Who’s coming after you?”
Immediately, he turned away, closed his eyes, and mentally swore. He knew better than anyone how those kind of questions came across and yet he’d still asked it. He swallowed hard and drew a hand across his face as his eyes opened again.
“I’m sorry,” he added quickly. “I shouldn’t have said that. You don’t have to answer that.”
Maybe in another time Jesse would have scoffed, rolled his eyes, said something derisive and all in all mean. But things had changed, and all he wanted in the world was to be understood. For someone to forgive him for everything he had ever done, and to condemn the people that had wronged him. He needed to tell someone, even if it killed him.
“The law,” he said, quietly. “I doubt you’ve seen it in the news, I mean, it was transcontinental but there was no Italian part of it, I think.” He cleared his throat. “Anyway. Jesse Pinkman. Meth slave.” He took a long, shuddering breath. “The works. You can look it up.” He didn’t think he had said his last name in years. Sometimes he let himself be Jesse, but never Pinkman. That was too dangerous.
anditwasmylove·:
Emilio was still staring out towards the waves. He was thinking of Galatna and the tiny dark cell he’d been confined to for the vast majority of his time there. He thought of the guards and drawing of the VaRakhati from the harem that he still had upstairs in his room in the retreat house.
He tried very hard not to think about the door of light from his dream and the real door it would one day mirror. He swallowed hard and closed his eyes and that was when Jesse spoke.
Emilio went rigid in response. How much did this boy know? And if it were all of it, then what did he think of him? And what was his purpose speaking to him?
Still he wanted to give the boy the benefit of the doubt and answered with a curt nod. “Yes. That would be putting it mildly.”
“Well, me too, dude,” he said, trying for reassuring, looking at the table. He had drawn a lot lately, starting to get into the habit of trying to get his thoughts out in a way that wasn’t subconscious. It was often Todd --- he was easier to draw than Mr. White, for some reason. He had a half-done sketch of Todd grabbing at a nondescript body, trying to get the memories out, before it made him panic, spiralling at the memory. He didn’t know just how similar he and Emilio were.
“Me too, dude,” he repeated, propping his chin on his hand. He sighed. There was something that drew him in to Emilio, made him want to spill his guts out. He wasn’t used to it. “It’s kinda good that I’ve changed so much, face-wise, otherwise I probably wouldn’t have gotten here.” The scars and the shaven head had helped a lot when it came to flying under the radar: no one would see him and think first of Jesse Pinkman, fresh-faced and with messy blonde hair.
❛ what , no , are you shitting on my dick ? ❜ gaze fixated upon @prcblemdog cautiously before finger flew from his lips as his body beckoned into the table –––––– clasping 𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐥𝐲 in berate , ❛ what , i said to give it to my brother , not the other lame brother , jesus , he’s gonna fucking like sex machine &. ken can’t even ejaculate ! ❜
❛ hey, dude, maybe specify before getting mad at me, yo, ❜ jesse snapped, puffing his chest. ❛ maybe, like, i don’t know, i thought the brother who’s a junkie wasn’t all that into pills, man. if he did he wouldn’t be getting ‘em from me, yeah? ❜
anditwasmylove·:
Emilio watched the way Jesse’s hand passed over his face, tracing his scars. Ah, Emilio thought, I see we are both marked by more than what others can physically see. He only just managed to keep himself from flinching as Hlavin Kitheri’s face flashed through hit mind. He saw Galatna next. That one was a little harder to control. He let out a soft breath, trying to disguise it as an exhale as he, at last, responded, “Yes. I’ve been here for…going on two years now.” He looked away, towards the direction of the beach. He could hear the roar of the waves from where they sat. For a moment, he seemed to lose himself in the past. Then he blinked, forced a smile, and said, “Sorry. Old men think about the past a lot.” But he couldn’t look at Jesse as he said it.
“Young men, too, sometimes, I think,” Jesse said. He had been entrenched in his demons, demons he could not fight, he could do nothing about except have nightmares and panic attacks, his brain haywire at the sight of dogs because they reminded him of himself, of what he was like in that compound, Todd smiling at him, petting him as he---
He sucked in a breath. He did a worse job than Emilio at pretending he was fine, and that was pretty bad to begin with. “You’ve gone through some shit, haven’t you?”
anditwasmylove·:
Emilio gathered quickly that the man had to be American judging by his accent and phrasing. It struck him for the first time just how little time he’d spent there. He’d lived his life all over the world as a Jesuit and yet somehow, one of the largest countries in the world had been one of the countries he most often avoided. He was telling himself it had nothing to do with his parents, but he wasn’t sure he even believed that; his parents hadn’t been American, but they were overwhelmingly white and Emilio was very much not.
This young man seemed different in comparison to other Americans he’d met. He nodded in assent to his statement. Distantly he remembered when he’d first arrived at the retreat house. He tried to remember what he’d said them, but the words escaped him, so he did the best he could: “I’m Emilio. And you?” His English was accented with the Puerto Rico in him.
He thought long and hard on the answer, unsure what name to give him. “Jesse,” he replied finally. “It’s, um, a pleasure to meet you, Emilio.” He fiddled with his hands and then passed a hand against his own face, his scars, trying to remind himself where he was, what he was doing. “What’s... I mean, um, I don’t really like, talk to the people that have come and gone in here. I’ve been here for like, two weeks or something. I swear I’ve seen you around for a bit, though.”
anditwasmylove·:
At first, Emilio thought the younger man understood him because he came over to sit next to him, but when he responded to his statement by asking if he spoke English, Emilio realized he’d been wrong. Briefly, he choked and his eyes widened as he tried to remember how to reply. With as many languages as he knew and after all he’d been through, speaking a language that wasn’t Spanish or Ruanja or K’San or Italian or English took conscious effort. It should have been one of the easy languages, which was what prompted Emilio’s moment of panic.
He calmed when the words resurfaced and he forced a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes, saying, “Yes. I know a lot of languages. I’m a linguist, you see.” Now even the false smile faltered. “At least I used to be.” He returned his attention to the wooden cup and the coins. Once he’d had dreams of traveling to other star systems, learning other alien languages, falling in love with all of God’s wonders on another planet all over again.
That dream had been quickly and brutally shattered when he met Hlavin Kitheri.
Jesse nodded when he heard him speak in English, happy to have a language in common with the man, even if he seemed to struggle lightly with finding the words. He knew not to prod into other people’s business, as that meant they could prod into his, and God knows where he’d end up then. He had nightmares, a lot of nightmares at the retreat house where he was back in the compound, and most often he would wake up terrified, not because of the memories but because maybe someone overheard him calling for someone, something that could make them piece it together. But it hadn’t happened. So far.
“That’s cool,” he said. “I can barely speak English and it’s my only language so like, props to you, man.”
status: closed –– @prcblemdog
location: the retreat house
verse: main verse
Emilio had stopped keeping track of time after the Jana’ata raid on Kashan. It seemed irrelevant to try to remember what day it was when he was being tortured daily and only wanted to be dead anyhow. But the habit had carried over to his return to Earth and he realized as he sat at the picnic bench in the garden behind the retreat house that he didn’t know what the date was other than it had to be summer. It didn’t matter where he went; everywhere felt so much colder on Earth than it did on Rakhat and he found he was always shivering; he was always cold.
As per usual, he stayed away from the others that inhabited the retreat house and remained at the table, picking up coins and dropping them in a wooden cup, trying his best to regain further control over his ruined fingers in the upgraded braces he wore. They’d been a gift from the Father General, but Emilio ignored that part. He was just thankful to be able to take care of himself again for the most part.
He blinked when he felt eyes on him and looked to his left: standing there was a short white man with a buzzcut and scars on his face. He didn’t have to ask to know the origin of them was painful. If he were undressed, the man would be able to see Emilio’s own collection of scars. “Want to sit?” he asked at last, surprising himself with the question; when was the last time he took the initiative with a stranger?. “You can watch me play pick up sticks by myself. Or…pick up coins I guess.” He spoke Italian, ignorant of the man’s language of origin.
Jesse couldn’t pay the Disappearer, so he kept himself on the run. He moved around frequently, tried not to have panic attacks, tried not to consider everything that had happened to him too often. He moved continents, eventually, as the search for him died down --- he had paid a man handsomely to get him to Italy without all the airport mumbo-jumbo and so he was there with a fake EU passport, able to go wherever in there. He had stumbled upon a retreat house, full of people in various states of trauma, including a man whose hands were so long it sort of freaked him out.
He was sort of hovering around him when he started to talk in Italian. He blinked. He was still trying to pick some of it up, and he thought maybe he had asked him if he wanted to sit. He slowly settled down on the chair next to the man --- he looked vaguely Hispanic, but that was pretty much it --- and cleared his throat. He had not seen some of the insane news about aliens and a ship and a man being a whore in another planet or whatever the fuck, but he wasn't exactly thinking about that, and hadn't watched the news since he had been on the run much, so he didn't know who he was. At all.
“Um, do you speak English?” he tried.
but it was my body. it was my blood. and it was my love.
indie emilio sandoz roleplay sideblog
bio | full / rules / verses / connections
no minors ; no smut
promiiiscs·:
almost shyly a hand raises, giving a soft wave with fingers spaced. before she can speak, the static of the walkie chimes in, and the gesture is disregarded. alicia, you there? there’s panic in her face because she doesn’t want to scare this new person off, she doesn’t want him believing this is some kind of trick. quickly, she answers, ❝ i’m here, i’m with someone. ❞ who? ❝ i’ll get back to you. ❞ alicia, d– petite fingers turn the walkie off before the man on the line can continue, and, slowly, she puts the walkie back on her hip. ❝ – if you need something, ❞ she begins, gesturing with a nod of her head towards the box, ❝ you can take whatever you need. just leave some for someone else. ❞
she can only imagine how sketched out this person might be– she would be– especially if she was in the mentality she was weeks ago before morgan and everyone pulled her out of it. ❝ what’s your name? ❞ she’s prodding, albeit delicately; she wants to know if he’s alone, if he needs help. that drive to help others as her mother did, she was scared it was gone, but the flame has ignited once again tenfold. ❝ i’m alicia. ❞
“jesse,” he replies as he starts to walk toward the box, slowly. there’s cans of food, non-perishables, water. before he can think twice about it, about poison, he grabs some water and takes a long, long sip from a water bottle, letting out a breath of relief. his eyes flutter shut. “oh, god. thank you. that’s --- it’s very, like, nice of you to do this for other people. i wouldn’t do it.” it’s a bit embarrassing as soon as it comes out of his mouth, to openly admit that he would not be charitable --- but he wouldn’t. he hopes she understands.
“i’m, uh, alone,” he says. “my partner kind of died almost as soon as all this started. he was a fucking nerd with lung cancer so i shouldn’t have been surprised he wasn’t exactly good at zombie apocalypses, right?” he flashes her a nervous grin. he does not quite realize what the implication of the word partner is to people who are not manufacturing drugs. “anyway. uh, you mind another mouth to feed? kinda shit out of luck here. i do have the keys to an RV though if that would be, um, useful.”
starter for @prcblemdog because they liked ❀
she’s taken it upon herself to go off on her own today. the others are working diligently to gather more people, build something better, and she’s rather set on doing the same thing just in her own way. she sets another one of their boxes down by a mile marker, pulls out her sharpie to write on the top flap: take what you need, leave what you don’t. on the bottom flap, she writes out: if you need help, VPH channel 4. for a moment she stands back, pushing the marker back into her pocket, reading over her writing to make sure everything looks okay.
❝ let’s just hope you do someone good. ❞ she speaks it into the air, at a box full of inanimate objects, no less, but the objects in that box could easily animate anyone these days. hell, the bottles of water alone could bring someone back to life of their worst day. a sigh escapes, she turns on her heels, and she bends over to pick up the bucket of paint and brushes she’s brought along with her. yeah, that’s the second half of her ’self-mission’. she goes down onto the warm asphalt, and begins another mural. there’s the box of necessities, but close by will be an art piece; something to fulfill physical and mental needs.
minutes easily turn into an hour, and the thousandth upstroke of the brush isn’t what makes her pause– it’s the rustling of a bush close by. ❝ hello? ❞ she speaks up, pushing herself onto her knees then completely upright, and she brings her gun from its holster on her thigh. ❝ i’m not going to hurt you.. you can come out. ❞
jesse has been alone ever since mr. white died to the zombies. it was fine, really, he didn’t like the guy anyway (or so he told himself after seeing something that reminded him of him), and had abandoned the rv a few days later after seeing how it wasn’t going to do him much good, to be in such a big vehicle, to be observed by friend, foe and zombie alike. he’s alone and he’s been walking around with his gun, trying to find something, someone that wasn’t dead.
he sees a woman painting a mural. it’s an actual one, not graffiti spray telling everyone this is what humankind deserves or whatever the fuck. he tries not to be loud but of course he stumbles upon a bush letting her know his location. he sucks in a breath. she’s next to a box of what seems to be supplies, and maybe he could take some after she leaves, but it’s not like she’s leaving after knowing that there’s someone there.
he takes his gun and slowly rises from the ground, one hand in his gun and one hand raised to the sky --- half-peace, half-war. “hey,” he says quietly.
PRE - ESTABLISHED RELATIONSHIP MEME .
send a ♡ and i’ll fill this out for our muses ! i’ll bold what i want for their relationship, italic what i could see and strike out what i don’t .
FRIENDS. childhood friends / work friends / family friends / recently friends / turning antagonistic / turning into something romantic / stable / falling apart / friendship of need / friendship of circumstance pen - pals or internet friends / coworkers / partners / other .
ROMANCE. childhood sweethearts / newly entered / soulmates / skinny love / unrequited from my muses side / unrequited from your muses side / friends with benefits / awkward / fading / turning toxic / toxic and destructive / other .
FAMILIAL BOND. sibling bond / older sibling figure to your muse / younger sibling figure to your muse / parental figure to your muse / parental figure to your muse / guardian figure / legal guardian / other .
ENEMIES. dangerous to themselves / dangerous to others / unpredictable / passionate / rivals / petty / developing into a sexual tension / developing into a romantic tension / based off family matters / based of circumstance / based of professional matters / based of misunderstandings or lies / other .
❛ good afternoon , mister pinkman . ❜ shelly states with a professional smile as she stands from her seat , holding out a hand for him to shake , ❛ shelly gravano . i’m pleased you chose to meet with me today . ❜ he could be a major supplier for her budding criminal empire , and she intends on playing nice as much as she can . doesn’t want this to go sideways , though she does have a weapon on her and men stationed around the area .
@prcblemdog // sc .
jesse was taken aback by the fact there was a nineteen - year - old girl posing as a mob boss (well, not really posing, she was one, but you get the point), and by the fact that she was interested in having them as distributors. she had reached out to him and not to mr. white --- although of course he had let him know, fifty-fifty partners and all that --- and he didn’t really understand why. heisenberg was the whole thing. was he just more approachable because he was younger? he wasn’t sure.
“i’m, uh, pleased to meet you too, ms., uh, gravano,” he says as he settles down on the chair. “not to be like, all rude, but why me and not heisenberg? he’s kind of the whole, uh, face of our thing. a celebrity ‘n shit.”
