This is random, but I think personal space and physical boundaries get a little screwy after a while in the circus.
Not in any sexual way, no, get your head out of the gutter Right Fucking Now. I'm talking "purely platonic contact between close friends that are almost a pseudo family" here.
Like, in my circus school, we have a surprising amount of cuddle puddles for a group that's half made up of allegedly angsty teens and/or shy kids.
It probably has something to do with the fact that dignity is a social construct that gets left outside the door. And that you can't really do anything acrobatic without touching someone/being touched.
I'm serious, this is important. You NEVER try anything for the first time without one spotter At Least, and if the only way to keep someone from falling is to grab their ass? You Grab That Ass.
I am not joking. It's a matter of weight distribution and center of balance. The best way to keep someone stable while they're trying out a handstand without hindering their movement? Hands on their hips, knees offering support to their back and move your head to the side if you don't want to get kicked in the face, because you're going to have to use your chest and shoulders as a place to sort of rest their legs. The more experience one has the less points of contact they need to be stable, but if you're spotting a beginner you're going to have someone plastered to your front and be holding onto them for dear life because you don't know if or when their hands or harms will give out and you'll be the only thing keeping them from hitting their head badly- .... spotting kids gives me a bit of axiety, ok? ^^'
Basically, safety first, comfort second.
Don't worry tho, people are always paired up with someone they feel comfortable with. What's the point of having a spotter ready to act as a human shaped crash mat, if you'd rather dislocate a shoulder than have them touch you? Absolutely useless.
Furthermore, forget any and all concept of personal space if you want to even ever attempt acrobatic with a partner. Talking mano-a-mano, human piramids style here.
There are two roles in mano-a-mano, porter/base and agile/flyer.
As the names imply, the porter is the one holding up the flyer, basically acting as a living breathing jungle gym, and with the First Priority to never let the flyer fall, and if they do, Second Priority is to break that fall in any way possible, be it by grabbing at any part of the flyer they can reach or moving into the impact zone so the flyer at least hits a human body with some give rather than the hard unforgiving ground.
On the other hand is the flyer, the star of the show, who needs to fully trust their partner to not let them fall, to not squirm abd shake them off if they accidentally put a hand or foot somewhere that would normally be unthoward, like on the butt. And a flyer also must not wiggle; if the only way to get to a certain figure is to sit on the porter's feet. Or put their hands on the porter's tights, that can make some newbies uncomfortabe too.
A porter knows their flyer will never try to make their job harder on purpose, and a flyer knows they are safe in the hands of their porter.
You can't do Anything with a partner unless there is utter and complete trust between the two.
Forget awkward, that porter pulled a muscle to keep me from falling. Shy who? That agile might have used my buttcheek as a foothold, but they never used the pincer hands of death (will explain later) to hold onto my shoulders and they have faith in me.
Trust is built during practice and it lasts beyond that.
There is a reason why "angsty" teens are perfectly fine with being picked up and thrown over a shoulder. No judging, no awkward, no reprimands. The people you've trained with are Safe, and you don't just know this in your head, it became an instinct, you feel it in your soul.
So, when a character with a circus background, thinking Dick Grayson here, seems a bit too affectionate or like they don't know the concept of personal space? Guys, they're used to bellyflop on people and instinctively reach out to steady every little stumble; is it so weird that they'd act the same way as they do in their safe place when in the company of someone they trust?
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Invader Zim Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Dib/Zim (Invader Zim), Dib & Zim (Invader Zim) Characters: Zim (Invader Zim), Dib (Invader Zim) Additional Tags: ZaDr, ZADF, zadr/f, Platonic Touching Summary: It started the same way any addiction would. The desire to follow the alien home after school turned into an unbreakable habit. The fear of getting caught by his enemy was replaced with the desire to be seen. Dib used to feel an adrenaline rush when they would throw punches, now that rush came anytime their knees or shoulders touched when they sat too closely on the couch.
Y’all ever so touch starved you gently rub your back with the back of your hand or play with your hair or lightly tap your stomach and pretend that it’s someone else doing that because you really badly hate being alone?
Hi!! I'm not v active in the community I LOVE your ocs and I saw you were looking for prompts? Okay so: A knows B can't be doing too hot--not according to that excruciating voicemail B left. A heard C's voice, knows what C is capable of. A finds B, fearing the worst, when B makes some sort of tiny noise or movement to let A know they're alive. It's open ended from there! And if you ever want a writing partner please hmu, I have SO many ocs that I love to use and I def want to learn about yours!!
Ah, I love writing with people and I’m so glad you like my ocs! I was a little hesitant to add them, I mostly share fanfics online so it’s fun to think about doing original works too.
As for your prompt, your wish is my command. (Feat. an oc belonging to my friend elphaba-fang, because our ocs are all interconnected)
Character A: Ammy (elphaba-fang’s creation)
Character B: Connor
Character C: Unspecified baddie
Ammy slammed a file onto the front desk and glared at the sergeant on the other side. “Paperwork done, sir.”
The old man grinned crookedly at the beat cop. “Thank you, officer. Now get your scrawny ass out of here.”
Finally. The people around her gave her a wide berth as she stormed out of the station, eye twitching and teeth set in a grimace. Ammy was tired, she could still feel the mud and slush in her hair and all she wanted was to go home. Never mind that they’d accidentally stumbled into a drug bust, that her partner had pissed off the narcotics detectives and gotten sent home, the highlight of the day was definitely when that purse snatcher had tackled her into a snow drift while trying to escape. She felt like there was snow in her damn underwear.
Pulling on glasses to negate the way that the sun made the white ground nearly blinding, Ammy began to head down the street and turned on her phone. It was nice to see it working again after the beating it’d taken in her spill. There were two messages, the first from her bank wanting to talk to her about something or other, and then the second one…
///Hey, Ammy, pick up please…/// She stilled to a stop, the foot traffic around her continuing on its way as she listened to her partner’s voice. Connor was whispering and there was an edge to it… ///So, I did something stupid. I went to confront Mathews,/// The lead detective, her mind supplied. ///and obviously that didn’t go well and I think I’m suspended now, but on my way home I thought I saw the guy with the beanie from the warehouse and I’m not totally sure but I think he’s following me.///
The man with… Oh, shit, the man who’d run from the bust. She could hear the sound of a door being unlocked over the tinny voice message. ///I dunno if I’m actually as paranoid as Johnny says I am but I’d really feel better if you’d pick up–/// Then there was another voice on the phone and Ammy began to run. That was him, that was definitely the man from the warehouse. She’d approached him about a busted tail light, how was she supposed to know that there was a deal going on and one of the other men was an undercover. She heard Connor react in surprise, then a sound of movement, sounds of flesh impacting on flesh, an unfamiliar grunt of pain, crashes and then a thud before the message cut.
Connor only lived a few blocks away. He wasn’t far. He wasn’t far but the message was from forty minutes ago. One block to go. He fought back, Connor’s self defense skills were a lot better than when they met. Ammy barreled into the apartment complex, almost running over an older woman in her haste. Dammit, why’d he live so far up and why was the elevator never working?
As she pounded up the stairs to the third floor, it didn’t occur to her to call for backup, she just wanted to get to her partner as soon as possible. Door 305…door 305…
The door was open and she stumbled into the room, pulling her personal piece as an afterthought even as her eyes were desperate for signs of the younger man. The couch was moved out of place and a chair had been upended while the coffee table was shattered into kindling. The porcelain vase that Anne had gotten him for his birthday was also in pieces, the aloe plant lying limp on the carpeted floor. Ammy gritted her teeth as she stepped over the tipped over lamp and around a pile of books that had fallen from the bookcase by his TV. Miraculously, the electronic devices were all intact. It had been one hell of a struggle. She scanned the room to make sure it was clear and stalled at the sight of Connor.
The younger man was curled up behind his couch, his back to the door and completely still. There was another lamp on the floor next to him, incriminating crimson stains on the heavy base. For a second Ammy couldn’t breath; it was as though her body was trying to mimic the stillness in front of her, to prove it didn’t have to mean he wasn’t breathing himself. Connor wasn’t dead, he couldn’t be dead, she couldn’t have to tell his brother, she couldn’t go to their co-workers and–
Then his foot twitched.
Scrambling to his side, she hesitated before trying to pull him onto his back. Connor let out a muffled sob and curled further in on himself and she jerked her hand back as though burned. She couldn’t tell what kind of injuries he had and the likelihood of some of them being internal was too high to move him. So she scrambled for her phone and punched in 911, rattling off their address and that there was an officer down while trying to think over the pounding white noise in her ears. The blood matted in his hair was scaring her the most, she knew head wounds bled a lot but… He twitched again with another little moan and she shuffled over again.
Ammy grabbed his arm as he began to shiver, he flinched away and whimpered again so Ammy made a soothing noise as she rubbed his shoulder. “Easy, easy. It’s okay, help is coming…” She tried to help prop him on his side, worrying about his unsteady breathing. He groaned and she braced herself against the guilt that swirled through her. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry Con. I’m just trying to help.”
Most likely recognizing her voice, Connor’s head moved slightly as he tried to look up at her and she smiled at him. “Hey, it’s okey. Help’s on the way.” There was movement at the door and two EMTs entered, quickly taking control of the situation but Ammy continued to hold on to his shoulder as long as she could. “It’s going to be okay, Con. I promise.”
The ride to the hospital was a blur, Ammy unable to look away from Connor’s pale face. The mask that was helping his thin chest move up and down covered much of it but couldn’t cover the blood and bruising. The noises of the car and the bright colors marring her partner’s face all started to blend together, creating a static that covered her eyes and filled her ears until–
“Ma’am?”
For a second Ammy couldn’t think of where she was, the dull walls and gentle noises throwing her off. Then she realized she was seated in the waiting room, had been there for a while based on the clock, and a doctor was watching her carefully. He smiled once he knew she was aware of her surroundings again. “Your partner’s been brought out of surgery and his brother has been contacted. He’s listed you as one of his next of kin so would you like to go over his condition?”
“Yes. Please. I-Roy’ll be a while. He was away on-Yes, please tell me.”
“Alright. He’s got quite the concussion but the bleeding is under control and we’ll keep him under observation. He’s broken several ribs and fractured one of his wrists. Lots of bruising, little worried about his kidney but overall this could have been a lot worse.”
Ammy slumped forward, head on her knees. He smiled kindly and patted her on the shoulder. “He’ll be in a lot of pain for a while and need help and care. We’d like to keep him here at least for one more day to make sure everything’s where it should be. Would you like to see him? He won’t wake up for a while but it might be good for you to be there when he does.”
She agreed quickly and soon found herself seated next to the hospital bed with one hand grasping the limp one resting on the white sheet. Trying to ignore the various tubes and wires attached to her partner she let out a long breath. Connor was cleaned up but the bruising on his face still stood out against his pale skin, the white of bandages peeking out from under his gown. Impulsively Ammy reached out and ran a knuckle over his brow, noticing the lack of tension that normally characterized her partner. “They must have you on some damn good drugs.” Unsurprisingly Connor didn’t react but she continued anyway. “I shouldn’t have let you leave like that. I mean, I know you had to go home but I should have driven you there and made you stay there because of course you would have this happen. You just…attract crazy, you know that?”
“…would…explain why you…’re still here…”
She grinned, squeezing back as he held her hand. “Hey.”
“Hey, did they get the make and number of the semi that ran me over?”
“Funny. He’s a damn comedian. No!” He had slipped his hand out of hers to try to take off his mask and she quickly stopped him. “Keep that on, idiot. You broke some ribs, you need the help.”
“Knew I felt like crap.” Connor looked up at her blearily. “What happened?”
“What happened was that I got a very disturbing voicemail and found you half beaten to death in your apartment.”
“Oh.” Connor nodded slowly. “Yeah, no, I think I’m starting to remember. They catch the guy?”
“I dunno, I’ve been a little busy!” Ammy huffed and rubbed a hand over her face. “Con, new rule, if you think you’re being stalked you go to the police office, not a secluded spot where they can corner you. Got it?”
“How often do you see this happening? Don’t answer that…” Connor shifted slightly and his eyes widened. “Please don’t tell me…”
“They’re worried about your kidney.” Ammy grinned.
Connor groaned, flopping back. “Shut up.” He tested his other hand, wincing at the pull on his fractured wrist. “I bet this is going to start feeling a lot worse before it gets better, huh?”
“Just imagine how it’ll feel when the bosses find out what happened.”
“Oh man…” Connor sighed. “I forgot about Mathews. Dammit.”
“Brought that one on yourself, partner.” She stood up. “I’m going to get the nurse okay?”
Before she could step away, Connor put his free hand on her arm. “Hey, thanks. For finding me.”
She moved her fingers through his hair for a moment, indulging in his rare openness to being touched. He leaned into the contact slightly, letting out a little sigh as she grinned. “Every time Connor, every time.”
Fluff Prompt Table (005) Double: In Vino Veritas and Platonic Touching
It happens after a really bad mission for Q. Two agents and a contact gone, everything tits up, and James just brings him a bottle of scotch and they get completely hammered in his office. Q throws back the first two without any effort. The third and forth are followed by belches and angry tears he won’t let fall. His whole body burns with unreleased guilt. Yes, the agents make their own decisions in the field, but it’s his responsibility to guide them damnit! He’s the one who is supposed to help bring them back home.
He doesn’t realize at first that he’s talking. But as he peers at James over the rim of his glass, the words start tumbling out. The guilt. The pain. The anger and frustration over feeling like he’s failed.
The fifth glass does it. Q is definitely drunk and he doesn’t care. The numbness spreads through his limbs and leaves his fingers tingling. “If I can’t save them, how can I save you?”
There’s a flicker of something on James’ face but Q is too drunk to notice. “I bloody care about you, you stupid, reckless man. And you do stupid shite like 001 and 009 all the time. And they’re bloody fucking dead. I don’t want that to be you.”
His hand is resting on James’ knee. He wants touch. Needs it. He wants the comfort of another person, but not in a sexual way. Q throws back another scotch and moves closer to James on the sofa. He curls up against him and lays his head over James’s heart. It’s strong beat pulses through Q with every single thump.
He finally relaxes when James’ arm wraps around him. He’s safe here. They’re locked in his office with the blinds down. No one will disturb them, and maybe, just fucking maybe, he can stop feeling so terrible.
He’s nearly asleep when James shifts, pulling out a large bottle of water and making him drink some of it. Q tries to protest, but James just starts to stroke his hair. He settles down and obediently drinks. He’ll soon be asleep, but he mumbles for James to stay. He doesn’t want to be alone.
“I’m here. I’ll stay.”
Q’s not sure he hears that or not before he falls asleep.
finding a platonic snuggle buddy and having the prolonged physical contact be both generally affectionate and not at all romantic and/or weird. Especially when the snuggling is initiated by the buddy, especially especially if that buddy is not ace, likes that you are ace, and is themselves touch stared with an enjoyment of platonic cuddles.
