#*ask.

[hypocratic]

sexul headcanon ask answers.

@petitsdieu

GROOMING. do they shave? do they have a preference for their partners when it comes to body hair? his chest is very slightly hairy. he does not shave or trim it. unfortunately no happy trail. he trims his armpit hair for the aesthetic and hygiene. post on the lam, he does not fully shave his facial hair and has a just-beyond-stubble-y beard. his hygiene is impeccable. he goes to his barber weekly.

i don't think he has much of an aesthetic preference when it comes to body hair. before margot, he primarily slept with men. because he is very mouthy and likes giving and using his mouth, he prefers less hairy purely for practicality.

after experiencing hannibal's uncanny olfactory sense, chilton makes a point of being stupid clean (at least if/when he knows he's going to interact with hannibal that day). things like: showers in the morning rather than at night like he's used to (thoroughly washes his hair and skin (not that he didn't before (he is, as i said, very hygienic))). already wears cologne but now he probably pays more attention to its potential depletion throughout the day.

@vitalphenomena

GROOMING. does he shave? does he have a preference for his partners when it comes to body hair? wild that you are ALL demanding to know about his body hair.

XXX. does he watch porn? if so, how often? anything specific he likes to watch? this is a good, fun question. it is also, frankly, very much out of my element. i will try to answer. yes, i think he obviously has. i think due to most porn being filmed (instead of live) removes that element of voyeurism he'd want out of it. and he's too egotistical to pay to watch someone live on the internet. i also think, by that point, he'd rather just go pick a guy up and have the real thing.

after margot, he really does not need it and is not interested in it. she keeps him more than busy/sated, lmao. also, bug jar rifat is his porn regardless of whether or not he's literally having sex.

YEARNING. what does he typically do to get people to have sex with him? does he let it happen naturally or are there things he likes to do to turn his partners on? he doesn't often physically initiate. he likes to goad or talk someone into initiating or turning them on to the point that they have to act. he likes being able to manipulate someone like that with just his behavior. naturally occurring is fine. but, he really enjoys being the spark.

margot is very aware of his turn ons and he's very aware of hers. so praising and goading her to get something started—or purposely false start something in a moment he knows they can't be physical—is something he enjoys doing.

VOLUME. how loud does he get during sex? does he prefer a partner that's louder or one that's quieter? he tries to keep his reactions quieter. something about controlling himself even in that state. and also because he's far more interested in hearing his partner. he prefers authentic sounds. they don't have to be loud or quiet. as long as it's real. he's a very studious sexual partner. takes in all the stimuli.

@eviji

DESIRES. what turns him on? what does he like to have done to him most? what does he like to do to his partner most? if it is not apparent by now, he loves being physically dominated (with a certain kind of person, he'd enjoy physically dominating them, too). and treated like prey (restrained by their body, physically hurt like bitten, scratched, strangled, suffocated, etc). likes being used. likes being mocked. sex is very observational to him. he likes to be a voyeur even when literally engaging in sex. he's very analytical about it. sex is cerebral to him. in the mind more than the body. so letting someone physically enact their desires on him lets him take a more passive role that provides him with more insight into them and also allows him to observe more.

he likes mentally effecting his partner. with words and goading and and quips and his general behavior. he likes giving. especially with his mouth. he likes telling his partner what to do or being instructive.

EXPERIENCE. how experienced is he? how many different partners did he have? i don't think he's had many relationships. he's too much of an asshole. maybe, three? not incluing margot. and one or two of those were not-that-serious in high school or college. sexually, he's done a decent amount of one night stands. it's what he preferred before margot.

FIRST TIME. what was his first time? when did it happen? did he enjoy it? probably high school. he was on his high school's mock trial team. he had a flirtationship with one of his male teammates. they both liked being the lawyers. very much hogged those roles b/c they were good at it and the rest of the team wasn't as pushy or confrontational so they let it happen. chilton was the prosecutor and the guy was the defense. they agreed whoever loses the case gives the other a blow job. chilton won.

GROOMING. does he shave? does he have a preference for his partners when it comes to body hair? you all want to know this man's body carnally sooooo bad.

[alulars]

👻👕👋

👻 for a fear: image source.

there is nothing on earth he physically fears. the closest thing to fear is his existential dread he refuses to quell. getting used to a mortal existence means accepting it and he thinks he's above such a puny, emotional life. crowds are the embodiment of this. clustered humans is an easy way to get him repulsed. that messy clutter of life and purpose and desire all bumping together. it's difficult not to turn it internally onto him. he avoids crowds.

👕 fashion style: image source.

he has no aesthetic. does not interact with the world in that way. he wants to remain empty. he dresses like a boring, modern businessman. all black suit. no tie (finds having a self imposed dangly bit for someone to grapple you with an idiotic feature). black dress shoes. this helps him blend in and remain unremarkable. to move unnoticed and have innate trust/access to places/people he otherwise might not if he presented differently (people respect upperclass business men who look well dressed). purely strategic.

👋 johnson's sibling: image source.

he can't reach them. they're photons in the sky. parabolas of wind. he used to talk to them and sometimes light would needlepoint his pupil or a shadow of a tree limb would temporarily spill over his shoe, but he stopped that a long time ago.

[eyeshone]

"I want the truth, which sometimes requires a little deception." Willy Wonka for Mary Poppins

"The proof of the pudding is in the eating."

[plackart]

MERCY :  for both muses to come across an injured animal. (Elfgar)

I come from behind. "Stop." I do not attempt to stop him. I want my plea to be enough; my plea should be enough. I stay behind. "Did you ask it? Did you ask it if it wants to die?"

[timeloooop]

this is a common theme found in a lot of lutece-fics but id love to see your take on the twins talking about and comparing the differences between their lives pre-particle and pre-columbia!! (you write them with such nuance and understanding and subtle eeriness it rlly hammers home the way they feel like . fae-like almost)

Last week, Robert existed.

This week, Robert still exists, but not in his world. Existence is less a question of evidence and more a non-compulsory attendance record. Robert remembers jumping through the tear: the unstable perimeter was a soft blue (blue, no doubt, because it is the smallest color; it spreads so easily and thinly, like butter) and buzzing from static electricity (a theory: two realties too similar will repel each other just as two negatively charged electrons do) that lifted the fine hairs exposed on Robert's neck and the backside of his hands. He also remembers seeing himself jump. He remembers first existing in this reality seven days ago, and he remembers existing in this reality thirty-one years ago, age four, ginger hair pooling past each shoulder (both longer than he ever remembers and as long as he remembers) and over a green striped shirtwaist with thin pleats (he both does and does not remember wearing as a child).

Robert's memories, it seems, are recessive. When entering another reality, the primary inhabiter's memories are dominant and chiefly expressed. All at once, upon entry, Robert inherited Rosalind's memories. A super majority of which are the same; most of his life is her life. Such unity provides stability. It is the smaller, intricate details that thin and scatter from him—like butter, like blue.

Immediately after Robert's arrival to Rosalind's reality, The Lutece Device short-circuited. Tears have been weaker and erratic, their strength and longevity far depleted.

In the shared Lutece laboratory, Rosalind slowly runs a rubber-gloved hand along a pair of thick fibre optic cables that are connected to the field conductor stationed in the middle of the room. Any fissures, no matter how minuscule, would be highly detrimental to the output levels. Luckily, they're easy enough to detect, if present at all: fissures in the cables, when touched, feel like tiny shocks beneath the skin even while wearing protective gloves.

Robert stands below the corresponding collider dome affixed to one of the two main metal pillars. His arm is raised above his head to reach the collider's conductive surface. In his hand, he holds a modified oscilloscope that translates the electricity levels emitting from the dome into decipherable green wave lines. He reaches for a dial just left of the collider to recalibrate the output, but it's absent. There is no dial. He rubs his hand around the flat slab of metal, groping for that which is not there. Blood trickles from his nose. The dial is on the right. He remembers the dial is on the right. A familiar yet foreign pulsating pain swells deep behind his eyes. Something clatters to the floor. He looks, Rosalind looks. The oscilloscope. The hand that was holding it is pinching the bridge of his nose.

Rosalind is near Robert in three quick strides. Her speed towards him physically imitates the sensation of falling backwards. Or, an alternative hypothesis: he is falling backwards. His head is light. Everything considerately and considerably softens in sound just as all noise feels shrill and distant. Splotches of black begin to enter his vision. He should sit down. Fortunately: his body may well already be rapidly approaching such a destination. Unfortunately: the impact will hurt. Fortunately/Unfortunately: he likely won't be conscious for it. Rosalind grabs the end of Robert's tie and pulls—hard—altering his fall trajectory to the opposing direction (i.e. towards her) and averting a collision with the metal pillar.

Twenty-two seconds later—Rosalind times it—Robert comes to. His lips feel wet. His chin, too. He's low. They're on the floor. He's cradled in Rosalind's arms.

«What did you think?» «Right.» «Right.» «Right is right.» «Yes...» «Left is left.» «And up is up and down is down. Now nothing is left: what did you think?» «Nothing is left.» «Yes.» «No.» He must think this correctly: «There is no dial on the left.» «I see.» Rosalind plucks a white handkerchief from a hidden pocket in the lining of her suit jacket and wipes the blood from Robert's face. That is a new habit of hers. She didn't have a handkerchief with her during his previous fit and had to leave his side to locate one. Robert finds this amendment equally touching and maddening. How often is she worrying about him? To divert her attention to him, with a mind like hers—like theirs—is like siphoning all the heat of the sun to hatch a single chick. He would like her to worry less. His eyes crinkle-twinkle:

«B positive.» «I’m trying.» «No, my blood is B positive, should the bleeding cease to stop and I require a transfusion.» Rosalind rolls her eyes. Robert smiles. «What de trop detail. You know we share the same blood type.» «Precisely so: we share everything. Including the same sense of humor.» Rosalind hides away a smile, poised and composed, in much the way a lady is meant to carefully fold and store her undergarments—as though the smile itself is, to her, far too defamatory or revealing. «Lean forward.» She hooks the side of her index finger beneath Robert's round chin and the pad of her thumb presses into the small dip of skin below his lower lip. The fit of her thumb in the delicate dip of his chin feels identical to her own chin. She finds this familiarity not likable or unlikable, simply likely (a cursory note: the skin of his face is smooth, as smooth as hers; might Robert's hormone levels prevent him from growing a beard? they've been together for a week and she's never seen him shave or any evidence of shaving (no hair trimmings clinging to the shallow basin of the bathroom sink, no razor resting alongside her perfectly parallel hair fasteners)). She tilts his head down.

«It is commendable your sense of humor still remains intact given your current state. But it is your other, more physical senses I worry for.» «I see, I hear. Yes, I smell blood. Yes, I taste it. An alarming state, but I propose the opposite would be far worse.» «Seeing and hearing blood?» «No, I mean, not smelling or tasting the traces of blood present on and in my person.» «Hm.»

Despite their similarities, there is still an entire lifetime of Robert's that Rosalind is not privy to. Not in the way he is to hers. For her, it's guesswork or interrogations. She's envious. She's curious. «Do we differ?» A perfect flash of overlap surfaces in Robert's mind. Of his world and of hers, different and alike; his nose does not bleed. «At university, they would not admit you due to your perceived gender. You told them there was a mistake in your application. You were, in fact, Robert Lutece, not Rosalind. For four years, you dressed like me.» She smiles. «I wore a lot of ill-fitting trousers.» «You had to be me. Let me be you for a time.»

[catmask]

i dont consider myself a 'fashion guru' by any means but one thing i will say is guys you dont need to know the specific brand an item you like is - you need to know what the item is called. very rarely does a brand matter, but knowing that pair of pants is called 'cargo' vs 'boot cut' or the names of dress styles is going to help you find clothes you like WAAAYYYY faster than brand shopping

[yuttikkele]

hey gamers I’ve started watching star trek does anyone else see the romantic tension between captain kirk and mr. spock

[xenasaur]

seeing strange fetishes im not into on my dash is like observing an edible herb on a walk. Hmm. someone wise ☝ could make use of this... but i shan't 👴

you paint such a beautiful picture with your words anon thank you

[abdalsalam2000]

The ceasefire agreement was reached and joy is floating among the Palestinian people

[daftpatience]

slow down for your disabled friends. thats like a bare minimum kindness that we shouldnt have to ask for. i love that youre so quirky and walking fast is a cool personality trait to you and all that but i bet you can count your physically disabled friends on less than one hand

[hypocratic]

Send 🐺 for our muses to face down a wild animal together (Rifat) (Do you know how much restraint I practised avoiding the space ones?)

The necktie tightens. Pure silk does not friction burn skin. So smooth it's like an electric current. Sticky static sizzles in his silver stubble: the least of the present un-pleasantries: Frederick is being strangled. His chest is yanked into the bars of the small cage. The wind knocks out of him. His tiepin pops to the floor like a soda can tab. The cane clatters out of reach.

He stepped too close to the inmate. Too ostentatious with Rifat accompanying him.

All flight, Frederick attempts to pull away but the physics of that are simple: it only worsens the constriction. Air gurgles uglily. Words garble-gargle, stuck, in his throat. His eyes belly up, scleras a vulnerable, white surrender. His arm flails pleadingly toward Rifat who Frederick stationed several feet away.

[alulars]

i don't like being scared. - jm

Johnson can see clusters of eyelash mites clumped at the root of each black lash on JM's face. Tail out—burrowing into the follicles—sperm-like. Looking anyone in the eye is disgusting. This is true with JM, mites or not. (Over his white ceramic bathroom sink, Johnson scrubs the oily lids of his eyes every night so abrasively a quarter of his eyelashes are always missing; were he less repulsed by the melanin-enriched hairs, he might have harvested the lost ones and given them to Mackenzie in recognition of the false human belief: wish casings.)

"Fear... is immature reverence. What are you hiding?"

[eyeshone]

i haven't belonged for a while. (or!) isn't love a form of impersonation? / mr. reed!

Isn't love a form of impersonation?

Mr. Reed bites his curled knuckle, subduing a smile, resisting the urge to act. This isn't the place for this. However, he's baited: "Much more considerably, if we are all made in His image, then are we just pale imitations?" He points to her, using her word (a small tweak to make her a praised collaborator and thus culpable in the thought experiment): "Impersonations."

[beholdthemem]

My fellow bitches under 5'5. Whatever the money, do not take a job working at a middle school. A fellow adult tried to put me in detention last month and would NOT give up until I showed her my badge proving Yes, The School Hired Me To Work Here. It's not meant for people our height.

[fangirlinginleatherboots]

Being 30 is fun. I was discussing anime with a teen at work and asked her how much of bnha she had watched. She had trouble answering and wasn't sure how to approach it. I said "better question was who was your husbando" and she turned bright red before mumbling an answer. They never expect me to know how deep their love of anime boys runs....