#@cstarling

[fearfled]

@cstarling plotted for a starter

The justification in her worries was thin at best, and mediocre and vile at worst. "You don't fucking know anything," The words slipped past him in a frustrated growl. He hadn't meant them to sound so fucking aggressive, truly, but the past was the past and the last thing he wanted to do was relive any of the shame that moved alongside him in a dense fog.

Tom left that town for a reason. Being there for only a few days had filled him with near insanity. He was pushed, abused, yelled at, and misunderstood... the level of scrutiny... nothing compared to returning to one's hometown to find that in the end, nobody and nothing had changed.

Moving along had been the only option. The constant wading through a torrential downpour was growing tiring, though. Finally, he told himself to try and make things work, try and meet a girl. That went to hell fucking early, apparently. "I didn't kill those people! Why do you think I left town?! No one ever believes me, you're my girlfriend and you don't even believe me!"

[spookyagentfmulder]

@cstarling liked for a sentence starter!

"Now what brings a pretty thing like you down to my shadowy little basement?"

[heuretourne-moved]

𝒊.    𓄄༘   ⊳ @cstarling .

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ𝐓𝐇𝐄   𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐆   𝐈𝐒   𝐅𝐋𝐎𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆   𝐈𝐍   𝐀   𝐏𝐎𝐎𝐋   𝐎𝐅   𝐁𝐋𝐀𝐂𝐊𝐄𝐍𝐄𝐃   𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐃.   Twitching   as   the   last   drops   of   life   are   so   cruelly   bled   from   its   heart,   disrupting   the   otherwise   stilled   surface   that   surrounds   it ...   ⸺   a   ripple   effect   that   interrupts   every living and decaying thing   (   even   in   its   dying   moments.   )   The   teacup   has   shattered.   𝐖𝐈𝐋𝐋   𝐆𝐑𝐀𝐇𝐀𝐌   𝐇𝐀𝐒   𝐒𝐇𝐀𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐃.   As   he   sinks   below   with   the   raven   -   feathered   stag,   he   hears   it   calling   ⸺   telling   him   to   wade   into   the   quiet   of   the   stream.   Drift,   with   all   your   broken   pieces.   (   ᴺᴼ   ) His   eyes   flutter   open   ﹠   he   is   gasping ...   the   sudden   intake   of   air   sending   a   sting   into   his   ribcage.   𝙸𝚂   𝙷𝙴   𝚂𝚃𝙸𝙻𝙻   𝙳𝚁𝙴𝙰𝙼𝙸𝙽𝙶   ?      His   body   is   aching,   cradled   by   the   hospital   bed   beneath   him,   monitors   form   a   tower   -   like   structure   on   either   side   of   him,   ﹠   his   mind   …   slowly   but   surely,   his   mind   catches   up   with   the   present   moment.   The   hospital.   He’s   in   the   hospital.   Eyes   flitter   towards   a   wall   clock,   numbers   dripping   ﹠   sagging   as   his   vision   strained   to   adjust   to   the   harsh   fluorescents   above.   It   was   late.   The   man   glances   downwards   at   the   layers   of   gauze   protecting   his   abdomen   ﹠   the   memories   trickled   back   in   slowly   ⸺   feelings   of   betrayal   settled   in   his   stomach,   churning   itself   into   nausea   as   Will   scans   the   rest   of   the   room.   ❝   …   ᶜˡᵃʳᶦᶜᵉ   ?   ❞   he   whispers   out,   his   voice   is   hoarse   ⸺   rough.   Speaking   felt   like   swallowing   sandpaper.   She’s   nestled   in   the   corner   with   a   jacket   for   a   pillow,   dozing   like   she’d   been   there   for   hours.   (   …   𝑆𝐻𝐸   𝐻𝐴𝐷   𝐵𝐸𝐸𝑁   𝑇𝐻𝐸𝑅𝐸   𝐹𝑂𝑅   𝐻𝑂𝑈𝑅𝑆.   )   

[aranostra]

@cstarling // i'm not usually this direct, but… what is wrong with you? - dennis rafkin, my beloved.

Dennis blinked at her, then laughed despite the chaos that was going on in his mind. This ghost was loud.

"So much. I wouldn't even know where to start. Just--" He flinched, putting his hand to his head. The wailing had started up again. Dennis wanted to shout back I'm the only one who can hear you, and I'm trying to do something about it. PLEASE STOP. But he knew this one was beyond listening to him.

When he spoke again, his voice was loud so he could hear himself. "Can you just take my word for it that someone died here, and it was bad. I know it probably looks like nothing happened here to you." He glanced around at the blood he could see splattered on the walls and soaked into the carpet. "They must've bleached the hell out of this place."

[shilohgreen]

@cstarling liked for a starter.

it's been a peaceful sort of day, both of them meandering through the hours, sometimes together, sometimes apart. here, with her in his arms, a book in his lap, he thinks a life full of simple nights like this could be enough for him. his nose presses to her temple and a kiss presses to her cheekbone.

"tell me what you want to do tomorrow." a gentle request. "the world is..." how could he possibly tell her? that when she speaks of tomorrow, he'll feel hope, courage? "it's more alive when i see it through your eyes."

[ephemaera-arch]

@cstarling gets an ardelia starter!

"i'm just saying that there isn't a set timeline, you know. to heal." she sighs, shakes her head. "i know you know that, i just... worry, sometimes. you work yourself very hard, and that's great for the bureau, and it's great for crawford, but it's not necessarily great for you." she purses her lips, debates saying the next part even though it's the entire reason she started talking. "i just want to make sure you're not avoiding dealing with it."

[spiritdreamt]

you fired something in me, and when i look at you now, i must have you again. @cstarling

"you know this doesn't work like that." if only her tone was as certain as her words—but truly, the agent is baffled. if she'd been trying to get clarice's attention, maybe this... obsession would make sense. but percy had been nothing but herself, plain and simple and strange. why should that be interesting to a woman like clarice, beyond some initial curiosity? "this is nothing more than a passing interest," she adds, though it rings hollow.

it strikes her, very suddenly, that while she may not have underestimated the killer who now stands before her—no bars or glass between them, nothing but persephone's unwavering pistol—she had deeply underestimated herself. therapy has yet to undo the worst of her self-esteem issues, it seems, because whether or not she believes it it's clear that she is interesting enough to capture the attention of the singularly most dangerous woman she's ever encountered. god damn it, jack, she thinks furiously, and then: i should've gone into white collar crime. at least then she wouldn't be in this moral muck, forced to admit at least to herself that no, she doesn't necessarily think clarice's killings had been wrong. "still, i suppose i'll bite: how do you think this ends?"

[frightesa]

@cstarling

hands fish into his pockets. it takes charlie a moment as he rocked back on his heels. "we gotta give it up." he said. "the trial has run cold and we're no good to this case if we freeze out here." he was used to cool washington winters. seasons where the flakes billowed around them like a snow globe upturned. it was nearly ten and they should head back into town anyway. it was cold, and would only become colder in the coming days. there was a storm coming.

"you're shivering." charlie said. it only takes him a moment to slip off his jacket and offer it to the other agent. "i'll be all right ." he assured "there's a diner that's a little closer than the station. we could walk there to warm up, i've gotta charge this as well." he motioned to his flip phone before looking over at clarice. "if that sounds all right with you, that is."

[murkyhazed-is-archiving]

@cstarling gets a thing

               he   was   by   her   side   in   a   moment,   kneeling   down   to   grab   her   arm   and   help   her   to   her   feet.      it   was   a   stupid   thing   she   did,   going   after   the   unsub   before   backup   had   arrived.      now   they’ve   all   done   some   stupid   things   in   the   field   before,   himself   included,   but   that   doesn’t   mean   he   can’t   reprimand   her   for   it.      unfortunately   for   her   it   was   rossi   that   was   here,   and   not   hotch.      hotch   probably   would’ve   spoken   with   a   little   more   compassion,   but   david?      he   always   told   it   like   it   is   and   didn’t   sugarcoat   anything.      ❝   what   the   hell   were   you   thinking?      you’re   lucky   the   unsub   didn’t   shoot   you,   he   had   the   means   to.      now   he   got   away   because   you   didn’t   wait   for   backup.      we’re   back   to   square   one   now   clarice.   ❞

[spookyagentfmulder]

📞

send me 📞 and a ship and i’ll tell you…

Contact Photo:

Name In Phone: Clarice💚 Ringtone: These Boots Were Made For Walkin' - Nancy Sinatra How Often They Text: I would say fairly frequently. What They Text About: Mulder reaching out to her to send her cheeky little messages. Maybe something flirty. I also imagine he asks for her assistance sometimes with profiling. Maybe asking how Scully's doing if the two of them are with each other for a while (the codependency of these two i stg)

Last Few Texts:

[SMS]: Saw you walkin down the hallway. [SMS]: Would have said hey but you looked kinda busy. [SMS]: Feel like coming down to the basement a little later? ;)

@cstarling

[roseguided-arch]

@cstarling LIKED for a starter ! ft adam stanheight

𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐈𝐓𝐒 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐁𝐀𝐂𝐊 𝐀𝐆𝐀𝐈𝐍𝐒𝐓 𝐏𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐎𝐖𝐒, 𝐄𝐘𝐄𝐒 staring at clarice who sits in front of him. the topic of work had come up, some vague mentions of a case the BAU was working on presently that she was involved in. while adam could listen to her talk about her work, to which he knew clarice was passionate about, it made him wary of speaking about his own. not because he was afraid he’d get into some kind of trouble for it, but for her reaction. ( as a child he grew up in an environment where he didn’t get much encouragement to do things. he wasn’t supported in things he wanted to do, so he rarely ever got to do them. photography was something he discovered in high school that he was good at & he ran with it. ) fingers pick at the hem of his jeans, fingers pushing back longer strands of dark hair. ❛ my job isn’t nearly as cool as yours, ❜ he says, ❛ & you probably won’t like it. ❜ his mind says tear off the band-aid ! ❛ i get paid to . . take pictures of people, secretly, to catch them possibly doing sketchy stuff. like cheating of their wives or skipping out of work. it’s almost undercover work . . ❜

[breathetender]

@cstarling liked for a starter!!

geoffrey doesn't let himself HOPE for much. he had connections, knew how to play nicely, and had a keen eye for the strengths and weaknesses in others. he could lead, pull the potential out of them, and is so deeply respectful that they'd thank him for it. but that is a far cry from humbling himself and allowing anyone to see behind the composure. intimacy requires that, the shedding of armor and the invitation into what was once private.

he's got no expectations for a blind date. a friend of a friend thinks so highly of him to recommend him to a woman— clarice. ferocious and beautiful. geoffrey wonders if he'll be able to keep up with her, but the silver lining of moving through the world with no hope is that he can't disappoint himself here. she's KIND and he'll give her the best night that he can, but that's all he can expect: his own efforts. someone walks in, and she matches the description he's heard, the picture his friend had shown him while digging an elbow into his ribs.

geoffrey swallows thickly and lifts to his feet. stay in the moment, mccullum. an easy smile washes over him. she delivers everything they'd said about her, already, in the way that she walks towards the table. her chair is pulled out for her, a proper gentleman in every way he knows to be. "clarice? a pleasure t'meet you." he takes his seat again, allows her a moment to get settled and takes a nervous deep breath. "you reckon this place'll be alright for you?" it's a proper restaurant, and though he frequents places a bit more CASUAL, this is far from fancy. he won't pretend to be someone he's not. "—s'posed to be good, but you say the word, we'll get outta here and get you somethin' that speaks to your cravings."

[murdaughter]

@cstarling said: "there's nothing you can say to convince me otherwise."

"well, what if it's not a matter of convincing?" emily asks, voice thin, wavering with half-shed tears. "what if it's just the truth?" she's afraid that she's fishing. that she really just wants to be told that it wasn't her fault, that she's not evil. it's like her soul is ripped in two, one half that feels so desperately guilty and one half that... doesn't. and that feeling of innocence taste like iron in her mouth, makes her stomach turn with hate for herself-- that she could ever think she deserved to be excused for the things she's stood by and let happen. for the things she's done.

but still, like a child, she wants it. and a part of her feels sure that clarice is impartial enough to draw the line. an unfair responsibility to put on someone else, she knows. but if she keeps trying to carry it she's sure she'll break.

[brutlist]

she's caught him towards the tail end of clean up , the water and broken glass , and the corpse of the little fish that had once taken residence in either when both had been whole , and wholly cradled , either somewhere in the recycling bin or fragmented in a wet cloth also disposed of the very same . the fish , at the behest of his guilt logged daughter , has been wrapped up and lain there in a jewelry box , the soft cotton that had exchanged it's task for cushioning glittering goods now a bed of a different kind . she wouldn't tell him why she did it , that angry little girl , ruddy eared and blushing hard with the magnality of her actions . that was just fine , he'd told her . when the words found her , she could come to him . she'd stomped on it . he can't stop looking at the damn thing . " she'll wanna pick out where to bury it . "

@cstarling // one liners

[frightesa]

@cstarling

hannibal leaned back in his chair. the pull toward clarice was something that he found himself mulling over. once he had freed himself from that prison he discovered his path forward still led to her. he glanced toward the phone, hands laced together in his lap. "i'm a wanted man. i've got blood on my hands." he studied her face, trying to make sense of it. it was not a question, but an admission. part of him wonders how deep her morality runs.

i'm a wanted man by royal deluxe

[klarsynt]

@cstarling sent: a cornfield next to a country road ↳ liminal space meme

a thin sheen of fog clouds the horizon, the mist clinging in small droplets to the pine hued jacket wrapped around broad shoulders. the stillness in the air might be comforting to some. in fact, under different circumstances, emil might agree with such notions. crowds have rarely been a subject of enjoyment for the agent. the seclusion of nature and sleepy towns could provide a break from the onslaught of energy and foreign consciousnesses which plague him daily. but he does not find solace in the silence today. no, this is the kind of morbid quiet which settles only when preceded by brutal violence.

wind rustles through the tall stalks surrounding the barbaric scene. emil is barely aware of his companion beside him. instead, his senses are drawn towards the corpse ( if it could even be called that anymore, butchered as it is ). there are memories there, screaming, demanding, begging to be witnessed. a long breath is drawn in. it's puffed out in a huff. his eyes scan around a moment, hoping to see a hint of life. even a locust hopping between corn husks. the earth does not seem to deem him worthy of granting this small mercy. ❝ you believe in ghosts, starling? ❞ though his voice rumbles out in an almost hushed tone, he notes how startling it feels to break the aforementioned stillness.

knees bend as he slowly lowers himself into a squat beside the victim. ❝ most skeptics of the paranormal dismiss it with claims people only want to believe to give themselves hope or comfort of life beyond what we know... ❞ reaching into his jacket pocket, emil produces a pen. carefully, he uses the metal tip to overturn a leaf beside the body's head. a brooch lies beneath in, fallen loose from their hair and now bloodied. he doesn't have to touch it to feel the sentimental energy rolling off the piece. ❝ any fucker unfortunate enough to experience this kinda shit probably wouldn't find the notion all too fluffy. ❞