#indeliblymarred

[roi-et-mangouste]

indeliblymarred replied to your post “Blows in his ear.”

"What does it look like I'm doing? I'm doing what I do best. Annoying you." He grinned.

How was it possible for one man to harbor so many annoying habits? First it was the pen, then the coke on his shoes, and now this. “I can see that - Is Price not around for you to bother? This feels like a last ditch effort to entertain yourself.”

[heartscfvalor]

@indeliblymarred

(*)

It had taken several days before Corwin was able to piece himself back together. Apparently Zlatko had tired of torturing the RK800 for spare parts, and had left him to rot momentarily in one of the laboratories. Left barely as only a torso with an arm, Corwin had painfully worked to get himself back into working order, taking advantage of every distraction that Zlatko had. He didn’t know how much longer he would have this way; the sooner he was back on his feet, the sooner he could strangle the man into submission and really make the fast bastard pay.

The evening he had finally gotten himself whole again, Corwin snatched some spare clothes to dress himself, before picking the lock on the door and slipping out in search of thirium. But as he did so, he had to hide behind the banister on the upstairs floor when the doorbell rang, and Luther went to open it. Peeking around an opening, he frowned at the sight of an AX400 standing there in the rain, holding the hand of a small shivering YK500 girl. Both of them were wary, clearly deviant, no doubt lured here by that little spider thing in the city.

Ordinarily, they wouldn’t be Corwin’s issue. They could be another distraction, something to keep Zlatko’s attention while Corwin found thirium and got ready to exact his revenge. But the sight of the little girl’s face had him pausing, hands clenching on the wooden railing in hesitation, before Zlatko appeared to welcome them into the house, and Corwin slipped silently away towards one of the bigger labs, grabbing a bottle of thirium.

He could hear them talking, their voices a little too far away for him to pick up properly, with his systems as glitchy as they had become. They were being prepared, slowly, but it wasn’t fast enough, and he quickly downed the bottle before slipping back out in time to watch as Zlatko took the three androids down to the basement. After a long moment of staring at the front door, Corwin hurried down the stairs on silent feet, deciding to follow after them. He didn’t get very far before he heard the AX400 screaming in fear, screaming for Alice -- he assumed the child -- and when Zlatko ordered Luther to take the YK500 somewhere, Corwin immediately ducked into a very shadowed alcove, watching as the large lumbering TR400 pulled the struggling girl along, with Zlatko following them a few minutes after.

It was now or never. Swiftly, Corwin left the alcove, hurrying past the cages and into the other room, where the AX400 was struggling against the clamps that held her in place. A quick glance at the monitor only confirmed his suspicions; Zlatko had a deformed Chloe model in the basement, but he didn’t have an AX400. Resetting her would make her a compliant slave for him to order around as well as Luther; what he would do to her as an experiment, it was anyone’s guess.

He wouldn’t let that happen.

Going to the computer monitor, he slid his hand over the screen, his skin retracting as he interfaced with it’s program, and it quickly shut down as a result, causing the machine to go slack. “You wanna save your kid?” he asked, green eyes sliding over to her, before he pressed a button, and the machine released her. “Then I need you to trust me.”

[writinghannibal]

📃 for zeller

Dear Brian,

I imagine you standing in the basement of my Baltimore home and knowing. Knowing that that was where she died. Knowing that if there were bits of bone and tissue to be found in the blades of that saw... that they would belong to her. I imagine you anxiously scrubbing your hand over your face and feeling the itch in your mouth, wondering... wondering if you had eaten her.

I admit that I was sorely tempted but by the time I had the opportunity I had long run out of tastes of dear Beverly Katz.

I want to congratulate you on your astute observations during our sessions. You’re absolutely correct in that therapy cannot help you. It has gone on far too long and your issues are so very integral to who you are that ripping them out, while viscerally satisfying, would leave nothing behind.

You know what to do. Good bye...

[fbiartist]

continued from discord, @indeliblymarred​

"You didn't. I'm telling you for when you get medicated." Not if, when. She had a few suspicions with him that she wasn't about to voice in that moment. "I have a cat. He's the man of the house and doesn't like other men. Just steer clear of him and don't piss him off."

[storieswrittcnarch]

@indeliblymarred​ sent ' this doesn’t mean anything. ' zeller @ will

NS.FW PROMPTS

They’ve both had a little too much to drink. They’re both caught up in these feelings of lust and Zeller tells him this doesn’t mean anything as if Will doesn’t know that already. It nearly makes him laugh - nearly. He refrains from doing so, so that the mood isn’t ruined.

Will knows Zeller isn’t fond of him, he knows he dislikes him, and while Will won’t say he hates Zeller, he’s not very fond of him either. Still, there is this attraction there, this spark that can not be denied and tonight? Tonight they don’t seem to want to.

“I’m aware.” It’s the only thing he says, the only thing he intends on saying, before he closes the distance in an unusually bold move and presses his lips to Zeller’s.

[faltlines]

@indeliblymarred​ ♥’d for alana

“what got you into forensics?” she asks one night, tucked into the corner of his couch. “i’m curious.” she’s got a drink on board and another in her hand; she’s relaxed, legs tucked beneath her, but her eyes still hold their brightness. alana is curious, after all. she and brian are comfortable around each other, they’ve been coworkers long enough. but she doesn’t know much about him before the bureau, and she’d like to. it’s always good, after all, to provide some context. applesauce is there with her–– alana had been grateful when brian said he didn’t mind dogs–– and she absently scratches behind fluffy ears. without meaning to do it, or even realizing, really, she flicks her gaze up at him coquettishly. it’s an honest action, brought on less by any sense of flirtation and more from the fact that she’s happy. this is fun, she likes him. doesn’t feel like she has to put her best foot forward, just whichever foot is already ahead.  

[katzsche]

[storieswrittcnarc]

@indeliblymarred​ sent ‘ everything okay? ’ from Zeller for Malcolm

Everything okay?

No, nothing’s okay. It hasn’t been for a while - ever since his serial killer father has come back into his life. Things have gone to hell, between the girl in the box and the thing going on with Ainsley (they’d wrote it off as self-defense but Malcolm doesn’t know if people believe them). She’s not....the Ainsley he once knew. Killing someone changes you and especially in such a brutal way. Not to mention - she hadn’t even been aware of what she’s done.

He’s WORRIED because if Ainsley doesn’t remember it then what does that mean for her? Is she becoming like their father or will getting some help be good for her? Everyone had always thought HE would become like his father but what if Ainsley does?

Silence stretches on for too long before Malcolm realizes he hasn’t given an answer. Deep breath in, deep breath out. “Everything’s fine. I’ve just....got a lot on my mind.”

[blveblood]

@indeliblymarred​ said: Markus cleared his throat and blinked, bent forefinger pressed to his lips as he studied the other Android. "Okay, that was... something. Think you could try the speech without the frog in your throat?" [unprompted]

Brown eyes turn to meet Markus’ mismatched ones, mild distressed painted upon the android’s features. He presses his lips closed, tightly, silence lingering between the two, thick and awkward before Connor finally dares to speak again.

“The... the what?“ he inquires, the same uncertainty in his voice prevalent in the short speech he had just recited to the other.

“I- was it not... good?“

[maccaillte]

Markus: from now on we'll be using code names, you can address me as eagle one Markus: north’s code name is 'been there done that' Markus: seven is 'currently doing that' -high fives- Markus: simon 'it happened once in a dream' Markus: and josh is eagle two Josh: oh thank rA9

[roi-et-mangouste]

indeliblymarred

🔥unpopular opinion

         “Criminal profiling is fucking bullshit,” he said with a self-righteous grin as he leaned back in his chair. He looked positively gleeful to be talking about this, as it was indeed a very unpopular opinion for his division at the Behavior Analysis Unit. “It’s only maybe a little more useful than the consultation of a psychic medium, but not much more reliable. I’ll tell you why. One... it isn’t admissible in court. This should be enough to nullify criminal profiling’s validity completely. If it’s not allowed in evidence at trial, then it can’t help put anyone away, then it’s basically useless to the investigation since the whole point of it is to put the perpetrator away.

          “Second, it isn’t practical. There’s around twenty thousand homicides a year in the U.S. Almost fifteen thousand of those are due to firearms. How many of those firearm-related killings do you think that the killer even has an opportunity to expose his deep psychological issues and indicate which demographics he fits? With gun homicides, it’s usually---” He pointed his index finger and made his thumb go up and down. “Pop, pop. Two, three, four times, y’know. And that’s it. Then they run. Or they try to dispose of the body. More often the first, so they barely even interact with the body at all. Even of the five thousand murders that aren’t committed with a gun, how many of those do you think that people are posing the bodies? Or striking them in a way that isn’t completely random? Or doing anything to the scene that isn’t cleaning it up?

         “See, what these CSI shows get wrong is that actually murder is usually very simple. There’s not all of this symbolism in the method of the murder or the way the scene is set up or how the body is placed or disposed. It’s random because people are random and very hard to predict. And third, criminal profiling just unreliable. There, I said it, it can’t be trusted because it’s a volatile and largely unscientific method of examining evidence. Too many profilers rely on clinical analysis and intuition rather than the statistical analyses to back up their assertions. Statistics are really all that profilers have going for them. But, stats isn’t as sexy as being able to conjure up drivel about how this one killer locks his victims away in an isolated room, so that must mean his mother used to do that to him, too. Like no, people aren’t crafted that simply and with direct associations like that. You would think these self-professed psychologists would understand that.

             “Like see,” he leaned forward in his chair now, elbows propped up on his knees, “I remember reading a study that gave several real case reports to a number of expert criminal profilers and they gave the same ones to some ordinary detectives and students. They asked all of them to construct a profile of the criminal for each of the cases. And it turned out that the expert profilers were only slightly more accurate than the detectives and students. What does that tell you? Experts are supposed to be significantly better than laypeople at their job. So what does this mean? It tells you that there is no expertise in criminal profiling because it’s largely just bullshit. There, I rest my case.” Reaching over to the table behind him, Zeller grabbed his can of Coke and sipped it, smiling in self-satisfaction.

A certain dullness clung to the strands of the profiler’s stormy eyes as he regarded Zeller from across the room, signifying just how impressed he must have been with the scientist’s dissertation on the validity of his field – that was to say, he found it mind-numbingly boring, not to mention incredibly insulting. Calloused digits reached up to snatch the tortoise shell glasses from the bridge of his nose, holding them aloft just in front of his chest, while his unoccupied hand passed itself over his stubbled face in an attempt to dispel the look of annoyance there. Unfortunately, this measure did very little beyond displacing the dark curls at his brow. 

“I agree that it must be frustrating, as one of the top scientists in your field, to have an outsider who isn’t even part of the bureau come in and correct your shoddy hypotheses; that said, don’t you think it's a bit obsessive to spend an entire evening doing research on that Same outsider’s occupation just to try and nullify the importance of what he does? I’m sure Jack would disagree with your ‘professional’ assessment, so I’m not sure what the point of this exercise was.” 

Will had taught at the academy for long enough to know how men like Brian thought, and how little he truly cared for their opinions, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t defend himself if he was pressed to do so. Above anything else, though, it was the smugness the CSI agent wore that truly got under his skin – but he supposed it was that attitude that landed him a woman like Freddie Lounds, who’d used him for her own machinations and tossed him aside, so maybe he’d gotten his comeuppance for his impetuousness after all.

[eruptiions]

@indeliblymarred​​ S A I D  :  “ ‘I miss the old you.’ from Zeller to Beth ”

she stopped midstride as she heard the statement. what that statement was supposed to achieve? beth didn’t want to think about what sort of motivation her partner had. it was more than likely something endearing or positive in some way- but the brunette couldn’t care less. the longer she had kept her habits up, the further away she was able to shove people aside. zeller included. he didn’t need to know the ins and outs of her life. no one did. ❝  shut up zeller. you don’t mean that. ❞ while it was meant to come off as a tease, there wasn’t a drop of humour in her voice. it was as dry as the bones they had looked at a few hours ago. ❝ would you rather me still be a dumbass rookie ? ❞ she uttered the question harshly as she picked the pace back up, marching past her partner,  ❝ cuz’ i doubt you do. she would get us both killed. ❞ beth was right, but- she was also forgetting the fact that the current state she was in could also put them six-feet-under.  technicalities.

[writinghannibal]

Amidst a sea of tired medical students, Hannibal Lecter seemed untouchable. He sat at the back of the classroom, his long legs casually crossed to the side of his desk while he took notes on the lecture. 

The young man had several reputations, that air of untouchability among them. There were guesses about where he came from and what he did outside of class -- including the running joke that he likely slept in a dry-cleaning bag due to how perfectly pressed he always seemed. Not that anyone would make the joke to his face, though he was aware of it.

His fingers tapped idly against his knee as he wrote, moving over the imagined keys of a harpsichord or piano. It was a subtle fidget, like most of the little motions he used to strengthen his memory and focus or to ward off a particularly unwanted texture. His apparent sensitivity was something he had started to gain a reputation for following an outburst about the perfume a nurse was wearing in close quarters with him. He preferred to keep his sensory issues close to the vest, but there was nothing to do for it now that he had slipped some of his carefully maintained control. Eventually he would have to find a way to twist the knowledge of how to get under his skin to his favor.

Hannibal continued to write as the class was dismissed, finishing out a few thoughts that he had had on the lecture. He only half paid attention to the other students moving around him and made very little attempt to move his leg out of the way of anyone passing up the aisle. 

@indeliblymarred [closed]

[fbiartist]

@indeliblymarred​ said: Zeller whispers, "You must be a dybbuk because my body feels like it belongs to you now."

Whisper something highly inappropriate in my Muse’s ear.

She isn’t sure what it is about it. Maybe it’s how close he is. His hands careful not to touch her directly, but he’s close. She can feel his warmth. His lips so close to her ear that she can feel his breath. The flex of his knuckles, she can see how white they are. It looks like restraint. She stiffened a little and felt a flush spread all the way down to her toes. 

Ziva almost broke the charcoal between her fingers. Yes, he was attractive, but they worked together and she didn’t exactly like her restraint tested. It felt like her ears were red and hot and she hoped he didn’t see them. She turned her head a little, just so he knew she was acknowledging him, “Mind taking a step back?” 

[nombreux]

' so what’s up with the lab coat buddy ? ’ saul says, laughing as the two walk into the bar  together, picking at the shoulder of his friend as the two of them make their way through, to their usual table. neither one of them want to admit that they have a ‘ usual ’ spot, but they do. they just silently go about their business. they had a long day. or at least that was what they were going to say. any excuse to have a drink. ‘ are you hoping that if you wear that out in public, some poor chick is gonna hit on you, thinking you’re a doctor ? ’ he laughs harder now. ‘ it aint’ gonna work. but if it does, i’ll buy drinks for an entire year. ’

*      ╰       ⋮     ♡ breaking bad sc (for saul goodman) / [  accepting  ]━━ @indeliblymarred (zee)

[jericholeader]

@indeliblymarred replied to your post: Markus, eyeing the ‘affection is disgusting...

need that rk support group shit

9 PM every Wednesday. ;D Either Markus’ apartment or New Jericho meeting room.