ssundries

[ssundries]

"The emphasis is on former, not jewelry," he says, with a smile which no doubt would have been devastating a few short decades ago; unfortunately age hasn't touched that urbane confidence, and it's still exactly as charming as he thinks he is.

If also just as infuriatingly blatantly evasive.

"I'm afraid I don't know anything to tell, my dear." His hands spread, more like a stage magician than an innocent man. "The only rumors I hear these days are from my granddaughter's preschool."

@assundries said: i haven't stolen a piece of jewelry in fifteen years. (archie)

The blonde brushes her hair behind her shoulder. "And I should believe you because you're a former jewelry thief?" Behind a black mask, she rolls her eyes. "There's no such thing!" Dinah would know, considering she's no longer a former vigilante. Technically, this is just a favor for a friend.

Even if he were out of the business, which she doubts, he'd have his ear to the ground. "Archie, tell me what you know."

TO CATCH A THIEF PROMPTS

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// knocked off my ass by covid rn, but mutuals know that i am thinking of you

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re: five + the season drop // i'm not particularly trying to avoid spoilers or anything, but it is gonna be a hot minute before i have time to watch season 4

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btw whether you're a fast replier or a slow replier, whether you use icons or not, whether you write giant paragraphs or just a few sentences... it doesn't matter to me. if i'm following your blog, i want to write with you!!!!!

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we'll play for keeps || waiting for my body to stop working

[ mags flanagan ] feat.

when the ship comes in — bob dylan

the fisher king blues — frank turner

running up that hill — feed the biirds

never love an anchor — the crane wives

apès moi — regina spektor

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open starter ⇓

"It doesn't have to go this way."

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open starter ⇓

"Oh, I'm just watching the faces in the crowd. Allowin' myself a few old-fashioned flights of fancy."

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open starter ⇓

"Sooner or later, I suppose, we all have to decide which of our values we really care about more than the others."

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open starter ⇓

"You'll have to excuse the mess— I haven't had a proper office in years, and I'm afraid the maid service hasn't been by this week."

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icfb i slept through benoit's birthday yesterday

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ALAN WAKE II SENTENCE STARTERS

potential spoilers ahead.

sometimes, it would be better to live with that hope, without ever knowing the full story.

the trick is not to end up as either.

the devil on your back, it's in you.

I bear the torch of knowledge.

not a bad place to get murdered.

I liked how dangerous the work was.

you're not the only one deciding these things anymore.

something about morgues, they always cheer me up.

I'd love to blame this on a mass hallucination caused by inhaling volcanic gas, but we both know that's bullshit.

this was supernatural.

I've only been lost once in my life... the years I spent with my ex.

you're not gonna get what you want.

you're gonna get what's coming to you.

is it over?

you keep opening doors. peeking in. reaching through to get what you want, and that puts you in my path.

the next time we meet, the circumstances will be very different.

we are one.

we belong together.

welcome me back home.

don't be the story; make the story.

now that is drama.

the word's a mouthful, so you know it's serious.

earth is a cyclical song.

it's fucking awesome!

you know what happens to cops who say this is their last case.

where did you come from?

I should be taking notes here, this is great stuff!

there's a lot I don't understand.

I'm never getting out of here, am I?

that is by your own choice.

I'm in control now.

the second you try anything, I will shoot you in the head.

I wouldn't go that far.

I don't think you even know who's under your mask.

show me the terror.

who the fuck puts a tree in the middle of the road?

fuck the government!

you're a clown in a mask.

the tough part is hiding the bodies.

you're blocking out your traumatic memories.

you're in my story.

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open starter ⇓

"I see myself for who I am now, which is… less, quite a bit less than what I was."

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That tugs a bit of a laugh out of him, a wry huff as he runs a hand through his hair, shaking his head. "Yeah," he agrees gruffly. "Let's avoid that."

Got enough trouble without some English broad calling the police on him. Speaking of which —

He drops the bow back in its holster, lets his shoulders slouch a way that makes him look a little less... six foot three and broad as a brick shithouse. ( It does make him look a little like a lost dog. ) "Y'should probably get back where you came from, anyhow."

Worse things 'n me around here.

"I don't know, he was a cartoon the last time I saw him. Or he was in tights. Actually, he was in tights the both - this isn't helping my case."

And she thinks perhaps both of them were singing. This one looks three dimensional, though.

"I don't know, do you want to follow me around and see if it happens?" a frown. "Don't do that. That would be so incredibly creepy."

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I was furious at my hands. At myself. At my history. At my inability to do anything with those hands.

Victoria Chang, from Dear Memory: Letters on Writing, Silence, and Grief; “Dear Daughter,”

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The problem —for both of them— is that diversion is exactly what she's good at. ( Very, very good at, even if government organizations across the board had overlooked that just because of actually perfectly-reasonable cautious choices that any reasonable person would make, too, in —- )

"Keying a car isn't 'big.' It doesn't even remove the driver from combat," she answers with a sharp shake of her head. "In a real situation you would need to disable the vehicle."

"well, i'm working with what i got. s'not like i could -- key his car, do something big like that, or whatever," he protests. "not unless i had--"

hope enters his eyes, pathetically.

"a diversion."

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"-—sorry," he says, almost on the exhale, wide guilty eyes softening out his face. He should know better sighs and looks away again, not at anything in particular. Sorry.

After a moment, he stands to pick up the pillow, and tucks it under his arm to right the contents of the bookshelf. His hand lingers against the side of it. Y'know, I've been thinking about telling Effie my Talent is home repair, just to I can make you let me fix up some of this place, he considers saying, but the joke feels wrong on his tongue even without making it out loud.

The pillow finds a temporary home on a coffee table, and Peeta disappears behind the rickety door to the kitchen.

"That is what you told us." It's quiet, but his voices echoes a little as he sifts through the cupboards. Empty —well, almost empty— except for what he's brought over himself and fresh meat, but Katniss must have been by recently enough that nothing in the fridge looks dangerous.

He rolls his sleeves up to start cooking. To ignore what they're both saying.

"...I listened."

Haymitch sputters when the pillow hits him, and the surprise of it starles a panicked, strangled little noise out of him. He throws the pillow across the room, and grimaces when it knocks something off the bookshelf across the room. Whatever. Is there anything in this house he hasn't broken at least once? Hell, the whole bookshelf he'd just hit is leaning crookedly to one side.

"I should've." He stares at the bookshelf. "Watching tributes go into the arena year after year, you just keep dying. Twenty-two people died in your games. Forty-nine people have died on my watch. Three of them died in the arena that I walked out of. You're lucky you and Katniss didn't take me seriously as a mentor. I'd've just told you to die quickly if you did. I've been alone in this stupid fucking village long enough that I thought no one'd ever win."