#thef2ll

[perfectfoil]

this isn't a family , it's a repressive regime . / from stella @thef2ll

When Vera’s gaze slants downward, peeling itself from the television’s screen to find Stella’s perfectly sculpted profile, it takes her a moment to realise that the proffered observation - or judgement, more like - is indeed directed at the screen upon which some sordid case has been unfolding. Though Stella’s eyes are still riveted on the papers spread out on the coffee table, her words are meant for other people than those inhabiting the pages and haunting the glossy photos Vera is trying her best to avoid looking at. She looks back at the television without a word. Beside her, Stella shifts, turns over a page, retreats back into a silence neither woman seems to find uncomfortable. After sparing a glance in Stella’s direction, Vera leans forward, picks up the remote and mutes the news. It’s a statement of its kind. Not as aggressive as turning off the television but potent, meaningful enough in its intentions. If it perturbs Stella, she doesn’t let it show, choosing instead to extend a hand to retrieve her glass of wine and sip.

“I know a thing or two about that.” About families that aren’t that. About repressive regimes. It’s her turn to turn to the wine, drinking from her glass for a moment in silence as though more to say can be found in the red liquid she watches swirl as the stem of the glass between the tip of her fingers. Stella doesn’t move. Doesn’t speak. Vera knows better than to assume she’s not heard her. She takes another sip then refills her glass but when Stella does move, her glass suddenly invading Vera’s field of vision, she almost startles. Their eyes meet. Vera’s fleet. She tops up Stella’s glass, clears her throat, discards the bottle. “You never ask,” she remarks. Vera doesn't either. Stella carries herself with ease and poise, wearing a facade like a finery, the front she presents to the world always so elegantly draped over her, like an expensive shawl made out of silk. It commands respect, forbids trespasses of any sort and warns, in a near nonchalant fashion, anyone who might entertain that very notion. “My mum raised me.” Mother. My mother raised me. Mother. She ought to nail that word into her vernacular. Mum never earned the name and the love it encompasses. With a cant of her head, Vera nods. “It’s your turn, Stella. Tit for tat.”  

[scatcrccio]

@thef2ll sent: [  CHEEK  ] :  sender and receiver are leaning in to kiss each other, but at the last moment sender dodges their lips and kisses their cheek instead. 

NATALIE REMAINED QUIET AS SHE LOOKED AT THE SUPERINTENDENT, a hint of sadness behind her eyes. She was tired, emotionally exhausted from everything. There was some hesitation even in just the way she stood there when the blonde stepped forward, eventually closing some of the distance between them. Eyes wandering over her face for a brief moment to gage the next move, that silence still lingering. Their fingers brushed, as if to be somewhat comforting before they both began to lean in a bit closer. Natalie's bottom lip nearly quivered in that moment of anticipation, until Stella changed the course of her direction by placing a light kiss upon cheek instead. Head bowed in defeat, the want to scoff just resting without being fully released. Of course, everything involving the brunette was always one sided or maybe the detective was just still attempting some semblance of professionalism. Not that she could entirely blame her. ❝ You can drop the act, you know? ❞

[archivedmulti]

@thef2ll, sc.

“ oh, ouch... i think you hurt my man-feelings with one that. ”

[rectoress]

❝careful there, someone might think you’re actually starting to care.❞ / @suhspiria - @thef2ll / prompt

The statement, all sharp edges and pointed corners under the soft cover wrapped around it by Stella's voice, garners a reaction if only in the rather terse pursing of Tissaia’s lips as she keeps reading. Yes, it is a reaction. One that manifests itself briefly though long enough for a seasoned observer like Stella; a fact (a fact!) that Tissaia has been aware of for quite some time now, in spite of her initial reluctance to acknowledge the very notion to herself - that Stella is now capable of reading such signs as the tightening of her mouth or the swift squinting at the corner of her eyes. It is unsettling to a degree though perhaps not as unsettling as what she just said out loud.  Not so much because it is, in fact, true but because it sounds like something so extraordinary, so out of the realm of possibilities that Sella felt it necessary to say it. 

“Why, Stella Gibson. If I didn't know any better, I'd say you sound surprised.”

Now, you see, the arching of her right eyebrow as she looks up, is yet another sign of her reaction but this one is entirely manufactured and means to be seen. 

“Is it that much of a shock?”

[pvnkshooter-a]

@thef2ll said: what do you need ?  —  what can i do ?

she hesitates, frustration taking over her body and that's never a good sign. breathing deeply, inhale and exhale letting go of all that bullshit before taking a seat finally, she needed to walk away. her head tilting to the side, nat eyes off the woman before speaking. "lady, i'm fine okay? i got this..." she doesn't need help. she's never needed it.

[up1on]

the deterioration of righteousness is something she turns over inside of herself. how honour was replaced with results. it's been the bottom of many glasses of whisky's. the steam of a hot shower. burned her esophagus, her insides, and left her charred. * i told myself it was all in the name of dealing with it. she understands this method, thinks when it is attached to her name its only interest is more suffering. impulse is a funny thing. a sick thing. it lives inside all of us, doesn't it? somewhere between midnight and four am she thinks she can hear the moon whisper: does it matter? it lives inside of you.

amber liquid swirls as she necks back what remains, tongue pressing behind teeth at the sting. stella isn't wrong, stella isn't right —— the warmth fills her belly to know there are some things in the world that still can be both. ❝   is that what you do?   ❞ her eyes lift, meeting opposite pools of blue. the question's origin is subtle. whether mere curiosity or the flickering embers within are responsible for its airing from between her lips remains unknown. a talent she learned many years ago to shield herself. pretend you are an open book and the world will read for surface value. she diverts her eyes once a beat of silence unfurls. a light shrug emits a more casual demeanour while a half-laugh greets the tail-end of her words like a foe, ❝   well, it's a good thing i like whisky then, huh.   ❞

⁽ ¹ ⁾ @thef2ll / ⁽ ² ⁾ scandal sentence starters ... put another glass of scotch on top of it and just deal with it.

[nctafraid]

@thef2ll​ ||  ❝ don’t jump to conclusions here. ❞

“I’m not jumping to conclusions.” Tim replied as he stopped what he was doing, his trace still running as he looked at the other. “I’m simply saying that we can’t rule out the fact that maybe she had something to do with it.” Joint investigations weren’t really something Gibbs enjoyed, and even more so when they were with people the team didn’t know that well. But when their case turned out to be related to Stella Gibson’s case, a joint investigation seemed to be the only other option. “We can’t rule out anything right now.” 

[magaprima]

@thef2ll sent:  we’re all stories in the end.

“And some of us are stories in the beginning,” Lilith replied drily, thinking on not only her own history but many others. Those who were remembered almost entirely from books, even if the details were...irritatingly erroneous. 

“But I suppose,” she continued, “if we are all stories one way or another, then we need to decide just what story we wish to tell.” She looked at the other woman, her head cocked slightly in a quietly piercing curiosity, studying her intently. “What, in the end, would you want yours to be?”

[halechief]

don't ask questions , you don't wanna know .

don't smile at me : @thef2ll

"given your profession, that seems like an odd piece of advice." her clasped hands rest behind her knee, a look of slight confusion coming to rest on her features as she looks the other woman over with her head tilting steadily to one side. there's a long moment in which neither of them move to speak, until a smirk eventually begins to lift the corner of claire's mouth, and she settles back more fully against the sofa.

"are you setting double standards already, stella?" the insincerity of her earlier confusion is prominently exposed, traded for the teasing raise of brows given to her now. "that doesn't bode well."

[kendulls]

@thef2ll: have you ever thought that you don’t scare easily enough?

❝ you say that like it's a bad thing? ❞ kendall meets her gaze, brows lifting as voices surround them at the restaurant. it's uncomfortable, the feeling of someone looking through you as if you're transparent glass. the resemblance of an outsider peering through a window. all his life, he's felt scared — scared of being a roy, scared of never living up to the expectations set for him, scared of becoming his father. the revelation had become clear to him, though: there was never any expectations set for him. (you're spoiled, you're curdled cream, you're nothing — the sentiments echo throughout his mind, his father's voice reverberating.) he was always meant for failure. kendall's whole life, the path was aimed towards failure and losing the game. (because, after all, this was all a game at the end of the day. the prey vs the hungry beast.)

digits moving to the liquor glass resting in front of him, he brings the rim to his lips and swallows the remaining golden whiskey, grimacing as the harsh liquor trickling down his throat. ❝ it's hard to be scared when there's nothing to be afraid of. ❞ his own voice rings out in his head: pass me the fucking shotgun.

❝ enough about my shitty life, though — what about you? is there, uh, something that scares you? ❞

[scatcrccio]

@thef2ll sent: ❛ is this the part where you kick me out? ❜

HEAD LULLED AND ROLLED A BIT AFTER THE QUESTION, shoulders scrunching in a stubborn sort of manner as she remained silent for a moment. Lips pursed, she could easily have asked the other to leave and she knew that she should. But there was a part of Natalie that didn't want her to. A conflict of interest, one might say. ❝ No. ❞ Natalie says with some attitude to tone, moving towards the cupboards and procuring two glasses before opening the freezer. Few cubes of ice placed in each glass and then pouring a generous amount of whiskey for the both of them. Handing one to Stella, she takes several steps back and leans up against the counter. ❝ Sorry, it's not the fancy stuff you're used to. ❞ As if she knew the detective's whiskey of choice. ❝ I'm not always such an asshole, you know? ❞

[enginire]

@thef2ll: you know, you're a lot cooler smashing the system than being his dick.

ATTENTION ALL PASSENGERS. NEW EDEN IS A FICTION INVENTED BY LAYTON. HE AND HIS CREW HAVE NEVER BEEN THERE. HE LIED TO YOU. GOODNIGHT SNOWPIERCER, AND LONG MAY YOU ROLL.

she's lived many lives. one in east pennsyIvania, digging through reams of carrots and wild seed. another, digging chapped fingers into what's left of wiIford and being the face behind the mask. digging into the guts of the engine, retrofitting bogie motors and crimping each live wire before it has the opportunity to harm. digging in and out of suspension, dark, cold, alone — she has dug, dug, dug and the more she presses her fingers into the lie of hope, the less it makes sense to her.

they have survived this far on order alone. discipline. reason. science. they have made do under wiIford's iron fist — rations, electricity and water... that's the legacy she lives behind. not splendour and luxury. wiIford reveals his face and people see him for who he truly is: a fraud. but not her.

but this one? this one cuts deep.

her fingers are tapping on the console, and the bit-through edge of her cheek is more blood and copper than anything else. for all the things she's lost, this will be the worst attack.

"— hope unchecked is dangerous. the science doesn't support it. and people cannot make a decision if they don't have the facts. i'm not smashing systems. i'm — finally letting them look up."

[haethcliffs]

@thef2ll: you’re the real boss, aren’t you?

you don't like me. i mean, i'm not an idiot. i can read. and you open yourself like the leafs of a book. you are blonde. and i don't mean that in a derogatory dumb blonde way. i mean it in the blond way. you look like the type of woman that girls see on tv, behind static and warped speech, and think i want to be like her when i grow up. because you are smart. cunning. you plan, and you watch — don't think i haven't seen you watching.

i've done my homework. your name is stella. and, for once, you were surprisingly hard to find online — old news clippings, awkward group photos where i manage to trick myself into seeing past the uniform. you are a gemini. or maybe a taurus. okay, so maybe my precursory search was less fruitful than i'd like it to have been, but i've seen you. you go from your car, for coffee, to work, back to the airbnb you've rented out for the next month.

and the worst part? you, for all my fucking sins and anguish, are a fucking cop.

"i don't — know what that's supposed to mean, detective." a fucking detective. that's not — beat cop, run-down, donut-smothered pig-cop. that's... oh, you're actually not bad at your job cop. fuck. fuckfuckfuckfuck. why'd you have to be a fucking cop, stella?!

"mooney's upstairs. i think he's better to talk to than me. i just — run the book store."

[consumare]

( STELLA GIBSON ): IS THAT ALL YOU HAVE TO SAY? amusement dances along the lines of his lips, in the depths of his eyes, as does the forever underlying curiosity that propelled the doctor forward. what happens next... what happens in this room, after their conversation? what will stella do when hannibal either lies to her, or tells her the truth? will the outcome be the same, either way? fork and knife are placed back beside his plate, having only been able to take a single bite before she brought up her concern. shame, really - the meal was delicious. ' i can't help but to think you expected me to say something more, detective gibson, ' doctor lecter watches her from across the table, giving her nothing at all, neither with his words, nor with his calm demeanor. ' point me in the right direction, and i will try to satisfy this... appetite you have for whatever information you seek, ' @thef2ll.

[up1on]

𝙻𝙴𝚃 𝙼𝙴 𝙰𝚂𝚂𝙸𝙶𝙽 𝚈𝙾𝚄 𝙰 𝙻𝙾𝚅𝙴 𝙻𝙰𝙽𝙶𝚄𝙰𝙶𝙴.

a knife called grief. you have left your house, you have left those people behind, but what are you going to do about the memories which have taken root in you? you can run but not without them. you want someone to sit with you on this cool marble floor while the sun burns everything. you want them to cut your rotten heart and theirs too. you want to sit with it in front of you, let them see you with all your flaws, which haven’t been your fault but you have been made to believe so, and you want them to love you anyways. because you know you’d do that for them.

⁽ ¹ ⁾ tagged by: @warbyrds ty ily / ⁽ ² ⁾ tagging: @seres1n, @belayadeath, @thef2ll, @croftborn <33

[magaprima]

@thef2ll​ sent:  where’d you come from?

Lilith smiled. It didn’t quite reach her eyes, not in any real way of any genuine amusement, but with something dangerous and mocking. It was gone as quickly as it appeared. 

“From there,” she said simply, gesturing with a dismissive nod of the head in the direction of the corridor. For a moment it looked as though the shadows were a little darker than they normally were. Turning to the woman, Lilith made her blue eyes wide, blinking prettily. “I hope I didn’t frighten you.”