#conticuit

                           ‘   i   don’t   know   any   more   than    you   do  ’     𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐑   upon   tongue   as   he   speaks,    ‘     agent    starling    if  i   could   catch   this   guy    MYSELF    i    would  ’    𝐛𝐫𝐨𝐰     𝐤𝐧𝐢𝐭𝐬    and   he    WONDERS   why   he    hasn’t    ,    ‘   i’m   simply   saying    the   gotham   PD   isn’t   cutting   it  ’    YES   he’s   seen   the   corruption    that   rots   the  PD   from  the  inside   out,    ‘    they’ve   got   their   reason  for   not   sharing   what   they   call   ‘sensitive’   information  ’   A   LOW   laugh   as   𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐬   𝐠𝐨    𝐭𝐨 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐡   𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧    𝐩𝐨𝐜𝐤𝐞𝐭𝐬,   and   he   shrugs   shoulders.   ‘   they   can’t   even   solve   who   shot   my    parents  ’    BITTERNESS   breathes,   ‘   they   got   the   GUY   who   held   the  gun    but   ?  ....  ’   trails  off   as   he   the   extracts    car   keys,   ‘   can  i  trust   you?  ’     TRUST   a   five   letter   word   that  in   HIS   world   was   UNRAVELLING   fast.    he   now   knows   that   people   have   their   own   INTENTIONS,   that   𝐡𝐨𝐧𝐨𝐫   &    𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐞   had   no  place   in   gotham.   /  @conticuit​

𝐦𝐚𝐲𝐛𝐞 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐚 𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥 𝐢𝐬 𝐚𝐧 𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐨𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐨𝐬 ,     the snake which cannibalizes itself , the keep the dark hollow of her belly full.     a girl in a half-dark room with half of her self , a girl who swallows her own silence to spit it back at her shadow.     a girl sits first upon a bed , not hers , just a bed , then she closes her eyes , to make it more dark  , until darkness becomes a place.     darkness is the bruise that spreads from inside-out , darkness is all she needs to enter herself.     

psychologically , metaphorically , the descent of girl into underworld , the underside of the body  , the girl inside her body , or the mind , then the mind rattles its cage , until the door opens , swiftly , but silently , as cages often do :     & 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥 𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐩𝐬 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐚 𝐩𝐚𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐞.

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭 𝐫𝐨𝐨𝐦 𝐢𝐬 𝐚 𝐡𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐰𝐚𝐲.     if the light changes , the hallway is the pathway to an altar — but clarice will leave the lights off , & she will follow down the hallway with silence in her mouth , the words losing their taste , until she finds a door.     in the next room , she finds herself. 

this is no mirror , just a memory ,   or  @conticuit​ ,   the tender-stained clarice fresh out of academy.     but a girl is a girl is a woman , or something else , depends on the story , or on the time of the day — a body is a prelude to a wound.      this is the inbetween thing which is the realm of dreams.     the thing which is the body remains in bed  , but the mind is a constant haunting.     the mind steps into itself , &  is both the palace and the creature which inhabits it.  

❛  well, look at you all self-righteous... don't look at me like that. i didn’t do the killing and... and he was kind of an ass, wasn’t he ? we never liked him, mr. krendler , that is. never liked him.  ❜ 

     he finds solace in the woods.  Maybe it was quiet , maybe it was because no one would come looking for him out here. He could unravel his scarf and his bandages and no one would look at him like he was a freak. They had been out here for a little while. ( a good part on Arthur for building this place ;; one thing he could thank the result of his social anxiety for. ) Even before the beast he liked to not be around people. 

The shared pair had just gotten done killing some deer ,  ( it was an easy meal -- even if Maw just complained about how it wasn’t organs or brains or whatever it was that they were always complaining about. ) They’re making their way back to the cabin , sticks and leaves crackling under their feet , Maw is about to take a nap. ( he can tell from the way the large lounge starts to loll out of it’s massive mouth. As much as a monster as he may look , there’ s no threat right now. 

What he didn’t want was to run into someone all the way out here. But here he was , standing like a deer in headlights like he wasn’t the monster that they should be afraid of. 

deeper conversation starters || ACCEPTING

"True, I think most monsters in this world are created, not born." He thoughtfully rubbed his chin with the end of his pen before pressing it to click it open on the other end, then twisting it and clicking it closed again. "But then again where does that leave room for personal responsibility, you know?" He pulled the pen away and shrugged. "We can't just pin all the serial murder victims on all the absent dads and abusive moms, can we? Plenty of people have an abusive or neglectful childhood and never grow up to harm a fly."

"we don't have to, but the world makes us." there is a bitter edge to abigail's voice, but it's not directed at clarice. she thinks about how the people in their town looked at her like she's just as guilty of the crimes her father committed, and she thinks the world will never allow her to forget whose daughter she is. it's true, her hands are bloodstained because of what she's done, but none of them knew what it was like. none of them had the right to judge her. she had been so afraid, day after day. she only wanted to survive.

and she has, hasn't she? she's not just alive, she's safe. her slate has been wiped clean and she can start again, with people who care about her. abigail had to die so she can live, had to exchange her name for another so she can re-integrate herself back to society. and she knows, knows with a certainty that should be alarming, that hannibal will never harm her the way her father wanted to, the way her father did, but she can't help but worry, nevertheless. if law enforcement caught up to him, if by some twisted turn of events, the fbi finds out he's been keeping her safe, will she have to carry the burden of his sins, too? will clarice?

abigail's doe-like eyes flick to her company, the glimmer behind them resigned. "we don't have to, but we might not have a choice. we'd be guilty by association."

❛❛     i am a flawed human being     -      ❜❜     its a budding musing     ,     one that comes at length     :     drawn out     &     exhaled on a heavy breath into the stagnant air     filling the space between them .     like fanning smoke except words don’t evaporate     -     they linger .     so different from the carefree show he puts on     ,     from the dazzling     [     if not impish     ]      grins     &     easy jokes often made at other’s expense .     an act so believable most days he can even fool himself     .  .  .

❛❛     a far more FLAWED human being than you realize .      ❜❜