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I think by eighth grade I knew I wanted to be an actor. I’d done church plays and stuff, but my first actual acting class was in eighth grade. I was obsessed with it.

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       ... fuck.

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Family isn’t always blood

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illbeyouryoda:

                    “Don’t make me laugh.”

       "I sell dank."

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Please. Help me feel something again.

(via lassets)

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illbeyouryoda:

                    “———— alright. Why’re you                      in Beacon Hills, Jesse?”

       "I wanna join the lacrosse team."

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hillsidegravestone:

     The motion of Jesse’s hand reflected in the mirror backing the liquor shelves visible in Raylan’s peripheral. A suspicious motion towards windows, then suddenly stays clear of that spot — ? Did the kid think he was new at this — ? His initial reaction to the gesture at his chest was merely arching an eyebrow before he joined him on the stools, removing himself from the direct path.

     "I don’t think so."

     And with that, the marshal hauled Jesse onto his feet, grip tightly curled into the back of his shirt. He kept the dealer in front of him en route to the door, head dropped briefly to mutter. “You have someone you’d like to introduce me to, son — ?”

       "Might have to introduce you to a new bartender, yo."

       A second flash through the pane, and a laser was fixated on the unsuspecting bartender. "You think I wouldn't know that you'd try to throw your weight around and try to arrest me for something I said? I got some weight to throw around, too." His tone was low, serious in his speech as he fidgeted slightly, trying to move out of the way of any incoming rounds. But he hasn't given that signal yet.

       "Let me go out the door, alone and unfollowed, everyone's fine. Unlike you, Raylan, I ain't got nothin' to lose. And you got nothing to gain from arresting me for some bullshit I said. We go on about our days, and maybe when you're in a better mood and up to talk, we can get some Waffle House. Sound good -- ?"

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illbeyouryoda:

                    “No one asked you who said it, they just said it.                      ——— what’s your name? Don’t lie ; I’ll know if                      you do.”

       "Jesse."

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hillsidegravestone:

     His voice deliberately rose for the bartenders on shift and half of High Note’s patrons to hear. “You just admitted to a Deputy U.S. Marshal that you’re gonna go kill somebody. With a record like yours — ? Better safe than sorry.”

     Maybe he twisted and shoved the younger man a little rougher than necessary. As recompensation, he didn’t tighten the handcuffs too tight.

     "Hey, Kent. Get that door open for us, would ya?"

       "Smart. Real smart."

       Without putting up much of a struggle, Jesse was in cuffs and shoved up out of his seat. Not an unfamiliar scene at all, if he had to be honest. A small motion of his hands to the window and he turned to face the Marshal again.

       "Hey, Givens. You might not want to leave that drink all alone -- some fucked up people might try to drug ya or somethin'. I suggest letting me out of these cuffs and finishing your drink." It was deliberate as he pointed directly to the other's chest -- a red laser beaming through the window. With where Jesse was standing, no one else would notice.

       "Kent, it's alright, yo. And hey, get him another drink, would ya -- ?"

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illbeyouryoda:

                    “…— nah. You give me that bacon dinner,                      and then answer at least f i v e questions                      if you wanna get in my Jeep. As they say,                      ——— look alive, Sunshine.”

       "Who the fuck has ever said th -- never mind.        Fine. Ask away, sweetheart."

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screamxr:

        she stares at the cash, frowning deeper         now and shaking her head —— obviously,         if the male is so willing to throw the five         hundred dollars at a stranger, he’s got         more somewhere else —— it seems          strange to her, and seeing him with that         money really is a strange sight. she          unlocks the car, pulling her door open         and waiting.

                        ❝ ——- i don’t want your money.                          and i’ll stop asking questions, then. ❞

       "I wasn't askin' you to take it."

       his words were rather demeaning and harsh,        but it was necessary. after scanning the inner        workings of her car, jesse puts out his cigarette        and enters with a slight reluctance. who doesn't        take five hundred dollars without a second thought?

       "Gas money. A new pair of... what, Gucci? Yeah. Take it."

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hillsidegravestone:

     Without a second thought, Raylan was standing and pulling the handcuffs tucked at the small of his back beside his second gun.

     "Jesse Pinkman, you are under arrest. You wanna bitch n’ moan about your Google searched rights as we walk outside — ?”

       "Oh, yeah -- ? ' Under arrest? ' Funny. I don't feel under arrest."

       His sneer painted across his face wasn't deterred, carefully paying attention as the other man reached for his handcuffs. His brow furrowed, hands a little jittery but he kept his composure. "On what grounds, exactly?"

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illbeyouryoda:

                    “Wow, you’re just adorable, aren’t you?                      Give me bacon, or give me death. I need                      carbs in my life, s t a t .”

       "... my close friends call me Sunshine.        Alright, you get a bacon dinner or whatever.        Just don't ask any questions."

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illbeyouryoda:

                    “——— as long as you don’t have fleas or something,                      I’m leaning towards a ‘maybe.’ Possibly even a yes                      if you buy me food.”

       "Yeah, no fleas. I got my shots.        As long as you aren't one of those        freaky health nuts that needs organic        horseshit in their salad or whatever, yo."

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hillsidegravestone:

     A long past couple weeks on top of an even longer past few months. If Jesse had delayed approaching Raylan ‘til a different day or, at the very least, ‘til another glass or two was finished, he might have been easier company.

     "— either this glass is goin’ through your hand or I’m puttin’ a gun to your temple n’ sendin’ you whichever direction you’re bound t’go. Eight seconds.”

       "Answer me this, yo -- if some U.S. Marshal bitch attacks a civilian when he's unprovoked, does he get a slap on the wrist or does he have to bend over and take it until he isn't in trouble anymore? 'Cause last time, it was a DEA Agent who fucked me up for no reason, and I would have had his ass as my own personal pool boy if it weren't for... unfortunate circumstances."

       Maybe there was a little provoking. But Jesse was simply exercising free speech. There was nothing he had on him, and he had nothing better to do anyway. If the Marshal wanted to play, he could play. "I think that's now... five seconds? Lost count."

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screamxr:

           her lips part in slight surprise, eyebrows            pulling together with slight confusion as            she looks at the male before her, hand            slipping into her handbag to retrieve the             keys to her car. fishing around, she cocks            her eyebrow again, curious.

                        ❝ you’re going to the waffle house                         at ten o’ clock ? ❞

       "What can I say? I like their waffles."

       truth be told, there might be something worth checking out.        but the last time he got into bed with some dude who owned        a food place, he woke up with dead bodies on the floor.

       "Look, sweetheart... how's about you stop asking questions and -- "        after lighting up the last cigarette in his pack, he removed a large wad        of greens from his pocket, fingering through the bills until he had five        hundred bills to bribe her with. "Five hundred. You be quiet, don't complain,        and you'll be five hundred richer than you were an hour ago."

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hillsidegravestone:

     "Ten seconds."

       "Oh, what -- no sass left under the hat, yo? Thought you were a fun guy, Givens."