#scalpelsxx

[drdumaurier]

☰, W, ⛄️

Munday meme – Accepting

⛄ - Do you have a favourite holiday? 

I used to say “none”, but I realised that it must be the 1st of August, the Swiss National Day. Close to where I live, they fire fireworks from a boat on the lake and it’s really amazing. So it’s really nice to spend a warm summer evening watching fireworks near the lake. 

W - What do you do for a living?

I’m a student, well I took a year off and I did some translation work, but I’m going back to university in September if everything goes as planned and I get accepted in the studies I want. 

☰ - Fun random fact about the mun! 

I apparently have a talent to catch horses who are just wandering about (when they shouldn’t be). It has happened quite a lot of times in the stables that I was the one catching them. I don’t know what that says about me, but it’s a random fun fact (or “fun” fact). 

[synallactic]

@scalpelsxx from here

     “Does the butcher fear for his life while he’s slaughtering his sheep?” Will retorts, the edges of words as sharp as daggers despite the quiet of his tone. Somewhere inside of him is that animosity still brewing, bubbling over on itself in perpetual motion and agitated by the sight of Hannibal. Let alone the sound of his voice. At the same time, both feel akin to this moment they’re sharing now. A quiet comradery in the suspense of eventual betrayal to start the cycle over again.

     “Why don’t you enlighten me Dr. Lecter. How hard is it for you to be around me?”

[murderallthethings]

“You’re no different from me. How many men have you killed? How many just today?”

@scalpelsxx

“...It makes the heart race, doesn’t it?” 

They see each other, and understand. Dexter knows it shouldn’t make a difference. Hannibal should be on his table, not in his bed. The Code is clear about that. But Dexter doesn’t care. “I know what this might look like.” A twisted sense of justice, or some sort of moral high-ground. “It’s really not that.”

Truth is, deep down, Dexter wants to kill most everyone he sees. Restricting to those who’ve earned it simply helps keep that black rage reigned in. Most importantly, it keeps him from getting caught.

[resistinstinct]

     his unannounced arrival at her home is . . . unprofessional at best , but their relationship does not end at only patient and therapist . no , they know each other much better than that , have for years , and to turn him away would be — wrong . so bedelia smiles , opens her door a bit wider and steps aside , closing and locking it behind them as they walk into her kitchen . hannibal has already prepared their meal , and he insists upon setting the table and locating all of their eating utensils ; tonight is his treat . she’ll direct him to the right spots where plates and wine glasses and forks are , excusing herself when he orders her into her dining room and smiling gratefully as the meal is presented for them both . it’s a pleasant surprise , all of it , but she won’t touch the food . . . not until he gives the signal .

     he does soon enough , a toast to them and their friendship being the indicator that their meal has officially begun , and she quickly learns of the meat : ‘ veal ’. oh , how controversial , hannibal ! but so very . . . delicious . they converse off and on , mostly small talk , but there is an elephant in the room . bedelia isn’t quite as aware of it as he is , but the question forms and she can’t quite stop it .     “ forgive me for bringing this up during dinner , but i’m curious —  from one psychiatrist to another , imagine you’re walking down the street and you see a wounded bird in the grass . what’s your first thought ? ”

@scalpelsxx gets a plotted starter .

[flawedlouise]

{ from here } @scalpelsxx

Therapy had neither been her idea nor her choice, a fact that Louise had made abundantly clear during their early sessions. She barely spoke, she divulged only enough to appear as though she was taking her therapy seriously and, though she was certain Doctor Lecter was astute enough to be aware, he appeared all too willing to allow it. Until that particular appointment, in any case. The tone had taken an obvious shift, she could sense it in his penetrative gaze and the idle chatter was clearly no longer welcome but she was unprepared to deflect his probing. Steely blue eyes remained fixed on the doctor but she tugged her knees up to her chest, unconsciously placing a protective barrier between them.

"My truth, Doctor Lecter, is that I am not particularly fond of sharing my truth. I favor self-preservation but can you blame me? If you knew my deepest secrets, I don't highly rate my chances of remaining a free woman."

[wandchoosesthewizard]

📥- Nightstand

Living Spaces || @scalpelsxx || Still Accepting

Braith’s nightstand is a bit of a clutter. Here you’ll find the text book she’s currently got to read two chapters of before her next potions lesson and the book she fell alseep reading last night instead. There’s her hairbrush and a half finished potions essay. A box of tissues in a bright pastel painted box. A handfull of hair ties and bobby pins and hair slides. A chocolate frog or two, a half drunk glass of water, the coaster the glass should be on but isn’t, a crumpled quill and two bottles of ink, one sealed and in a beautiful, if impractical colour, and the other one open and spilling onto the floor - steadily drying out. Two lip balms both identical and both half used. Three moisturisers one for her face, one general body and one specific hand moisturiser.  A picture of her family. A perfume bottle and a body spray in contrasting scents which luckily don;t get worn together. Two eye masks, one for sleeping one for pampering. A few loose nail polishes. Her wand, when she sleeps.

[drdumaurier]

Are there any characters that you love, but simply cannot RP? What's your RP pet peeve?

Munday questions – Not accepting

Are there any characters that you love, but simply cannot RP? 

I have a hard time writing male muses. I currently have a semi-active one on a sideblog, but I can notice the difference between how easier it is for me to write Bedelia (or other female muses) than to write him. I don’t know why it’s like that, but it has always been the case. Also I struggle writing fundamentally good characters. I’m not sure why, but morally grey characters are the ones I can always write without real issues. I don’t know what that says about me. 

What’s your RP pet peeve? 

Forced anything. It doesn’t matter if it’s shipping, headcanons someone has about my muse, godmodding, etc. I write my muse how I see her and no one can be in my head to know if something makes sense for her or not. Also the forced shipping or just people who only want to ship make me want to scream. There are a lot of different relationships that characters can have, it doesn’t always have to be romantic ones. I love shipping, I truly do, but forcing a ship on me will just stop me from wanting to write with that person. Also guilt tripping me into writing with someone or into answering a thread faster. Doing that is honestly the best way to make me stop writing with someone or even block them. Just basically anything that includes forcing me to do something. 

[murderallthethings]

@scalpelsxx

He wakes up to the smell of food cooking, and a dull headache. His stomach turns, but he can’t quite decide if he’s hungry or nauseous. Dexter briefly considers drifting right back to sleep, but he opens his eyes. Hannibal’s side of the bed is empty, the first to be up and about as usual, even on a weekend morning. What time is it? He knows it’s early.  

Dexter doesn’t reach for his phone, though, as it feels like tempting work to call. If Baltimore could quit murdering each other just long enough for me to catch up on all that spatter backlog, it’d be really great. He rolls onto his back, runs his hands through his hair as his thoughts wander to last night.

He hasn’t killed anyone in a while, simply because there hasn’t been time. The only spatter analyst in the facility, Dexter has a heavy caseload. If he’s not in the lab, they need him in the field, and then he has to write up reports on it all. There’s just not enough hours in the day, but this freak who likes abducting young women into his torture van before dumping their bodies onto the side of the road has inspired Dexter to find the time to start up a new stalk. He’s only followed him twice, but he’s certain he’s got the right guy.

Anyway, last night was meant to be the third time stalking him. Dexter meant to mutter something to Hannibal about swinging by the station for a few hours, but in hindsight it was game over when Hannibal kissed him and lured him to bed. Dexter fell asleep almost immediately after they were done, and stayed that way straight through the night. He rarely does that. I must have needed the rest.

Putting on clothes and making it to the kitchen sounds like a momentous task right about now, but knowing he’ll find Hannibal there tempts him into sitting up. They’re both always so busy, so they haven’t seen so much of each other lately. It’s still really weird to Dexter, but he’s found he misses Hannibal’s company when he’s not around.

He slips on an old t-shirt and a pair of pajama bottoms, making a stop in the bathroom to brush his teeth and wash his face. Once he gets to the kitchen, he catches himself smiling as he quietly observes Hannibal. He likes watching him cook. Dexter manages to snap himself out of it and makes a beeline for the coffee maker. Hannibal looks adorable, like he always does in the mornings. He can’t help but flirt, “Hey, you.”  

[whiskeyandwalnuts-blog1]

Daffodil

@scalpelsxx

Daffodil: CIA AU

Margot had recently been assigned a new partner, a Doctor of psychology. It was enough to make her roll her eyes. No matter where she went, there was always something to remind her of psychology. She had seen her fair share of therapists when she was younger and she had quickly grown sick of them. It was always the same, same crap different therapist and she’d eventually stopped going. She’d dug her heels in, taken her fair share of shit from her father and her brother and they had eventually acquiesced to her request when she’d gone to her mother. Margot was strong willed but her mother was even stronger. As much as Papa Verger thought he was head of the family, the power lay with the Verger women. 

Margot wasn’t allowed to smoke indoors, it was CIA rules and as much as she liked to flaunt the rules, that was one that she paid particular attention to. After finishing off yet another internal memo she decided that she was sick to the back teeth of being lectured. They were the fucking CIA for God’s sake, there was more to be done than sit and read bloody memo’s. Margot didn’t like to sit still for too long and she didn’t like sitting stuck behind her desk doing work that effectively amounted to nothing.

With a sigh, she stood up, dropped the paperwork on her desk, opened the drawer and swept it all off the desk into the drawer. She’d look back over it later at some point, after she’d had a smoke. She walked out of the room, closing and locking the office door behind her and slipping the key into her trouser pocket. She followed the usual path that she blazed through the labyrinth of corridors to the outside world.

She threw open the doors, taking a deep breath as she walked out into the sunshine of the day, the wind gently tugging at the strands of her hair. She had decided to wear her hair loose that day rather than her customary tying up of it into a pony tail. She went round the corner, pulling out her lighter and searching for a cigarette. She patted her breast pocket, not finding any there and then went for her suit pocket. 

“I have to have a cigarette in here somewhere.” She muttered to herself, glancing up as she heard footsteps approaching. She paused and folded her arms across her chest, leaning back against the wall, quickly examining the well dressed man standing in front of her. 

“Well, I haven’t seen your face around here before. Let me guess, your that new Doctor aren’t you?” Margot asked, some harshness in her tone. She had grown to be a harsh woman and with her family of freakshow horrors back at home, nobody could exactly blame her. It was a miracle she’d ever managed to make it into the CIA with reprobates like Mason so close to her in the family tree. It was an assumption to make but make it she would, knowing her luck, she’d probably have been right. The CIA dressed well but psychiatrists could afford to dress better and this man’s suit screamed ‘money’.

[yourpoweranimal]

Bold what you apply to your muse, italicise what applies but isn’t oftentimes established in detail. 

DEFENSIVENESS:   arms crossed on chest • crossing legs • fist-like gestures • pointing index finger • karate chops • the fig leaf position  • clenched jaw

REFLECTIVE: hand - to - face gestures • head tilted • stroking chin • peering over glasses • taking glasses off — cleaning • putting earpiece of glasses in mouth • pipe smoker gestures •putting hand to bridge of nose  • lip biting  • frowning • staring into empty air  • fiddling with objects/feeling textures

SUSPICION:  arms crossed • sideways glance • touching or rubbing nose • rubbing eyes •raising eyebrows

OPENNESS AND CONSIDERATION:    open hands • upper body in sprinters position • sitting on edge of chair • hand - to - face gestures • unbuttoned coat • tilted head  •smiling

CONFIDENCE:   hands behind back • hands of lapels of coat • steepled hands  • raised chin • smirk • humming/whistling  • laughter

INSECURITY & ANXIETY:   chewing pen or pencil • creating distance between themselves and the other person • rubbing thumb over opposite thumb • biting fingernails • hands in pockets • elbow bent / closed gestures • clearing throat •  “ whew ” sound • picking or pinching flesh • fidgeting in chair • hand covering mouth whilst speaking • poor eye contact • tugging at pants whilst seated • jingling money in pockets • tugging at ear • perspiring hands •playing with hair • swaying • playing with pointer / marker • smacking lips • sighing

FRUSTRATION:    short breaths •  “ tsk ” sound • tightly clenched hands • fist - like gestures • pointing index finger • rubbing hand through hair • rubbing back of neck  • gritting teeth  • speaking loudly/yelling

Tagged by (in this case stolen from): @drdumaurier Tagging:@scalpelsxx @dr-abel-gideon @broken-empath and anyone else who wants to do this. 

[flawedlouise]

♡

PRE - ESTABLISHED RELATIONSHIP MEME .

send a ♡ and i’ll fill this out for our muses !  i’ll bold what i want for their relationship,italic what i could see and strike out what i don’t .

FRIENDS.   childhood friends  /  work friends  /  family friends  /  recently friends  /  turning antagonistic  /  turning into something romantic  /  stable  /  falling apart  /  friendship of need  /  friendship of circumstance / pen - pals or internet friends  /  coworkers  /  partners  /  other .

ROMANCE.   childhood sweethearts  /  newly entered  /  soulmates  /  skinny love  /  unrequited from my muses side  /  unrequited from your muses side  /  friends with benefits  /  awkward  /  fading  /  turning  toxic  /  toxic  and  destructive  /  other .

FAMILIAL BOND.   sibling bond  /  older sibling figure to your muse  /  younger sibling figure to your muse  /  parental figure to your muse  /  parental figure to your muse  /  guardian figure  /  legal  guardian  /  other .

ENEMIES.   dangerous to themselves  /  dangerous to others  /  unpredictable  /  passionate  /  rivals  /  petty  /  developing into a sexual tension  /  developing into a romantic tension  /  based off family matters  /  based of circumstance  /  based of professional matters  /  based of misunderstandings or lies  /  other .

[wandchoosesthewizard]

👝- The contents of their purse/backpack/bag

Judge my stuff || @scalpelsxx || Still Accepting

Gilderoy doesn’t often carry a bag (he potentially has people to do that for him) but if he did... Three different packs of mints and two breath sprays. His wand. Travel toothbrush, toothpaste and mouthwash. At least one of his own books. A large, gorgeous quill and a pot of in or two in a gorgeously impractical colour. A stack of photos of himself, signed and ready for the fans. An especially touching fan mail (or two). A locket, with a lock of dark hair inside it. A lipbalm. Some money - all galleons no sickles or knuts. A comb. Three potions bottles, which don’t have labels but he knows on sight. Scarf & Gloves if the weather is cold (but not a hat). A small snack. A smaller bottle of ink in a practical colour, a small quill and a notepad. Monagramed handkerchief

[grahamcrackin]

@scalpelsxx

Usually when they have their talks, Will hangs on every word. Time melts away to leave just the two of them, and he even loses sight of exactly why he’s still coming anywhere near Hannibal Lecter at all. Not tonight, though. For once Will’s only half-listening; distracted. He’s lost track of exactly what they were discussing, but judging by the smug note in Hannibal’s tone, he’s being contrary. Normally Will might tell Hannibal he’s entitled to his wrong opinion just to be contrary right back, but he’s not really feeling it.

Hannibal hasn’t yet seemed to notice Will’s checked out. Fair enough. Leaned back against Hannibal’s desk, Will takes note of just how close they’re standing. It’s the little things like this he’s found himself analyzing lately. He’s guesses he’s always noticed the undercurrent of electricity flowing between them, but he’s only recently began acknowledging it, even if so far only to himself.

Will Graham’s spent a lot of time reassuring himself he’s just lonely when thoughts like what it might be like to kiss Hannibal Lecter cross his mind. He’s spent a lot of time reminding himself there’s nothing about men he finds remotely attractive, and that he probably just needs to get laid when Hannibal’s face pops into his head when he’s jerking off. 

He’s decided he’s not quite ready to unpack why both those things have been happening more ever since the scales fell from Will’s eyes.

And Hannibal’s still talking.

Will pushes away from the desk, steps into the little remaining space between them. Manages not to lose his nerve as he rocks up onto his toes, pressing their mouths together with such ease as if they’ve done it a thousand times before. In his head Will pictured the impulse as a peck, but he lingers. He’s not sure when his hand found its way to the back of Hannibal’s neck.

[murderallthethings]

“I’ll just let you do all the ass-kicking, alright?”

@scalpelsxx

“...Yeah, got it.”

The smirk isn’t on his face so much as it’s in his eyes. Hannibal may be a genius who is excellent at everything he does, but Dexter’s definitely the ass-kicker of the two. He’s nearly a decade younger, in better shape; formally trained and black-belted in two forms of martial arts. An odd skill set for the lab geek, to be sure, but it’s not like Dexter advertises it.

“You’ll “let” me do the ass-kicking.”

[resistinstinct]

ooc.

edited my autoplay!! thank u to @scalpelsxx for helping me. ily lots

[whiskeyandwalnuts-blog1]

‘ when was the last time you cried? ’

@scalpelsxxMargot didn't like talking about herself and her issues but talking was therapy and therapy was supposed to help her although her experience up until this point hadn't exactly been a positive one."When I woke up from the surgery and felt that emptiness inside me and I knew that Mason had taken everything from me, even hope."