#tocook.

[flmed-archived]

svelte brows are furrowing altogether whilst a deprecate scoff emitting from his lips–––––shaking his head in the unexpected incertitude upon the other's innocuous question, debating whether he was genuinely befuddled on implied accusation, or rather feigning to be granted with freedom he wants. perhaps it is the latter, because nobody truly wants to be in the other's position; informally interrogate with someone he barely knows, yet seems to know him better than anyone

saul did provide enough, without force as maurizio would have expected–––––violence isn't the answer, even the war has started 'tween the cartels &. mafias; for the indulgence @tocook cooks, or is he just a bystander that doesn't know the aftermath?

❝  that means you're willingly aiding the massacre by providing the goods, ❞  shrugging, johann loathes to repeat himself, however it seems the other person is truly mystified by the indirect position he puts himself in. it isn't his fault that the substance he brewed himself had caused unwanted conflict that shouldn't have had happened if only the black sheep didn't indulge himself into competition, which cost him his own life; both of them are following the demands &. the market, but one has monopolized market .. it is no longer capitalism they are talking about, but the consequence of its greed,

❝  that's how my insufferable boss see you. maurizio is an old-fashioned guy, he doesn't like how people turned up just like you, just like his dead son. take my advice, it's for the best that you stop the production for awhile, so my family won't throw you to the fishes. i know that the cartels would probably hunt you down, but maybe i can provide you some protection .. without my people knowing it, obviously. ❞ 

jesse said, ‘ what’s that supposed to mean ? ‘ from    𝑴𝑶𝑹𝑩𝑰𝑫 ᶜᵘʳᶤᵒˢᶤᵗʸ .   : accepting.

[flmed-archived]

svelte brow is lilted within concealed amusement upon @tocook forthright retort to johann's passive acumen over the situation they have found themselves to be–––––their arrangements have benefitted them in some occasions, however it is inevitable that some start to wonder about their veiled identities; the rebellious imagery johann has created upon jesse to the people within the organisation to convince that jesse has become independent without a leash that would hauls him from their transient peace . . . it is within their advantage that a little deception would keep him alive, rather than to be thrown to the wolves once more: johann has become his companion, begrudgingly.

❝ hm. small-time isn't the word i would use. to them, it doesn't matter whether you're reckless, or irresponsible; as long as you prove your ' loyalty ' ––––– that must be earned, since now, they think you've betrayed your associate for your safety, which is partially true, yes? ❞

a scoff, he approaches the other man as his hand instinctively reaches for the beanie jesse wears; pensively adjusting it to a certain angle that doesn't bother him initially . . . his presence is looming, almost intoxicating, &. johann fathoms that it can appalls jesse if he decides to be attentive, of which johann does, with a palm engulfing the man's arm within feign encouragement, ❝ loose yourself. i won't bite. i'll take care of you, as long as you allow me to be. heisenberg never asked you, didn't he? ❞

JESSE SAYS, " YOU WANT ME TO BE LIKE SOME SMALL-TIME ASSHOLE? ' FROM THE PENGUIN, EPISODE ONE.

[thyvein]

saltburn prompt, @tocook, "fuck, that's kind. are you serious?"

a shrug and a blush, tucking your chin in the opposite direction as you hold out the bag to him. a full meal, paid for painstakingly with counted out coins. food is hard to come by, needs to be treasured and savored, but a pair of glasses came tumbling out of your backpack when you went for your plastic bag of quarters, and your hunger retreated back at the memory of how they were acquired. "my eyes were bigger than my stomach." you're pleased to be described in that way. kind. no one who knows you describes you as kind, not that anyone ever gets to know you. mama always carefully walked around using the nice adjectives to describe you and only ever peppered in the bad ones in sighs and warnings. ( there were never congratulations for the times you were good because good was the default for everyone but you. ) you loiter beside him, shoes partially hanging off the curb, too intrigued to leave without being told to. he smells acrid, tangy, tinged with something that makes the nose want to cringe. and under that, the usual. salty and metallic and achingly human. you need to be moving on, should be finding a park bench or bus stop, and you shouldn't be talking to someone. but your impulse control leaves a lot to be desired and something tells you the man on the curb is of the same ilk. even if you couldn't smell the drugs on him, you have eyes, and you're sure you're not naive. "are you from here?"