#chancesspent

[panamastayed]

@chancesspent–––––STARTER CALL ( accepting )

HE LEANS back, legs kicked up on the table as he sifts through the pages of the research he’s been presented with a SMALL hum escaping him as he blinks a few times, head cocked to the side as he squints before he speaks quietly. 

“So––––WHAT exactly’re we lookin’ fer?”

[luckydcvil-blog]

@chancesspent​ / movie line s.c.; the breakfast club

❛ bein’ bad feels pretty good, huh ? ❜

[methdrip]

@chancesspent // continued from x

         Jesse was too sensitive. Even after everything he’d been through– That Walt put him through– he was just too damn sensitive. It was a PROBLEM.  “ You need to try right now. Pretend, for all I care, just do it. Feelings need to be nonexistent to move forward in this. ”

     “How can you say that?” His tone wasn’t accusatory -- Jesse wasn’t trying to blame Walt for something, or draw attention to his near SOCIOPATHIC capacity for violence -- he was genuinely asking. Like it was something he could learn. Jesse HATED his emotions, hated that they CONTROLLED him and his actions, hated that he wasn’t able to just abandon them on a whim like Walt could. It just wasn’t how he did things. “Like, seriously. How can you just... pretend this shit never happened? How do you SLEEP?”

[tormundbearfucker-blog]

 @chancesspent // Rogue

“What?” he asked, mouth full. “Your apple?”

[newsiesking-blog]

@chancesspent​ ; continued from x 

Jack’s either too drunk or not drunk enough for this kind of conversation. He’s not in the correct mind frame— At least that much he knows. And Spot… Who can tell really? The kid’s so good at hiding behind the same mask. Even a walking con like Jack can’t read him— And that says something.

He sighs, shakes the thoughts from his head, and lifts the bottle of rum he stole to his lips, his breath humming across the opening for a pause.

         “ Well, yeah, of course. Who else we gonna practice an’ hone our skills on? ”

DRAGGING THE TIP of his switchblade knife along the wood floor beneath their bums, the Brooklynite admired his handiwork where he’d been carving his name in bold letters. Then he halted long enough to briefly eye Jack, who was, in his opinion, well oiled. Spot was pretty half cut himself, but he was proud at his ability to hide it. When he turned his attention back to what he was doing, he swiftly stuck the blade into a plank so that it was standing upright on it’s own. 

Extending his reach, the Newsie snatched the bottle right out of the boy’s hands. ❝ Point taken, Kelly. ❞ He breathed, and bit at his bottom lip, considering. ❝ So’s after a hard day of hawkin’ headlines, how ‘bout we drink to inactivity, hmm? Mother of inebriation? ❞ With that, he whispered a toast under his breathe, before taking a greedy sip of the stolen rum. He hated it –– whiskey was far better, but he wasn’t about complain.  

[insomniacscanons-archive-blog]

mental mentors

@chancesspent

Seventy third Hunger Games. Two years of being a victor (ha, was she really the winner? she thought not.) and one of being a mentor. The kids from her district had died during the last Games. Of course they had. This would be no different so she tried to ignore them for the ride to the city, and did not even know their names. (Blocked them. That was it.)

The seventh floor was nicer than the fourth, they thought the kids deserved more luxury than they would ever experience otherwise, before they died. So she went down to the fourth after dinner, a bottle in her hand. She’d made one friend last year. One and she wanted to come commiserate with him about the shit they had to trudge through. She pressed the button to go to his floor and stepped out into the foyer, waited for the sound of his footsteps. When she saw him, the first half-genuine smile since she’d arrived turned her face from plain to sort of pretty. She lifted the bottle. “The roof?” was all she said, her tone not so gruff now, and hopeful. Jo just wanted someone that had been through it to tell her she could do this again, and again, until it ended one way or another. “Or do I have to drag you up there by that over-processed hair?” she deadpanned, lips pursed. 

[insomniacsmuses-a]

paying up

@chancesspent // BuckyJames

One thing and then another kept popping up. Preventing Gabi and James from taking their dinner together after his modeling gig. But, the book was out now. A success. And the press tour, whirlwind as it had been, was calmer now. He’d have to do some more talks to groups about it, but the daily struggle with it was over with by now. 

So, a quiet evening, Gabi knocked at his door, the hotel they were in this week, and waited. She’d sent a text, inviting him out, not really giving him the option to say no, and told him she’d be there in half an hour to pick him up. She’d only given him twenty eight minutes. Plenty of time, she thought. When the door opened, Gabi grinned wide. “You ready for that giant steak dinner that’s gonna make me have to roll you out the door after? They have apple pie...”

[tormundbearfucker-blog]

worse odds

@chancesspent // Finnick 

Tormund nudged the tray over towards Finnick in the loud dining hall. He’d left it untouched and they all knew that strength was needed. He had to eat. “Eat, boy. There’s nothing good about it, but you need to eat it.”