@cstarling liked for a sentence starter!
"Now what brings a pretty thing like you down to my shadowy little basement?"
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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. )
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@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."
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@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."
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@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."
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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?"
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@cstarling
A quiet and rarely-uttered truth: "I am my father's daughter."
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@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. ❞
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❛ you look like you work for someone better than someone on wall street. do feed in to my curiosity, i would be most grateful. ❜
@cstarling liked for one line starter.
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@cstarling encounters the ranger!
"Sounds like you have an interestin' case to make. But what exactly do you need the help of the rangers for if you have so much knowledge on this case? Don't get me wrong, more than happy to help. But I'd like to know just how I can be of help to you." Cordell crossed his arms, looking thoughtful. Go figure the chief would put him on a case like this.
Then again, he was one of the best rangers on the force. And one of the few who were currently available to help out if needed. He couldn't help but find the whole thing interesting. It wasn't often he got the chance to be involved in something like this.
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📞
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
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@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."
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@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 . . ❜
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@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."
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@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.
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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
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