#i had to clarify that because i would not say anything mean about ANY of my fellows

[cripplecharacters]

Hello!! I’m a fic writer and have had the idea of giving one of the characters I’m writing for prosopagnosia. Within the canon, he mistakes the protagonist for someone he used to know (the protagonist is unable to correct him) and doesn’t realize his mistake until much later on, where he then comments that the two aren’t actually similar at all, in reference to their personalities. He’s also known to refer to people with notable visual traits, at least in the online circles I’ve run in.

I have a couple smaller questions in regards to how I should proceed:

Is it reasonable for him not to have been aware that the way he perceives faces is different?

Would it be incorrect to have him identify others by facial features? Not in the sense of “the one with the short nose” or anything, but “this one has red eyes” and “that one has a scar”. Something easily picked out on the face. Would those be identifiable traits at all?

My fic isn’t meant to have much of an overarching plot, and it’s just supposed to be funny/slice of life. This character is important though and will be a consistent presence. What jokes might my characters make, what jokes should I avoid making, and what jokes is the character going to hear the most and get sick of real quick?

Thank you for your ask! Whether or not he realizes he can’t recognize faces depends on both his character and the severity of his prosopagnosia, as it can range from difficulty differentiating faces to being unable to distinguish faces from objects. From the experience of myself and most people I know with prosopagnosia he’d probably just assume he’s bad with faces and not think any deeper than that, but it isn’t a universal experience.

It's also fine if he recognizes people by unique facial features! Despite not being able to picture someone's face he could try to remember key aspects of someone’s face like a prominent mole or a crooked nose, though I agree something like ‘short nose’ is too vague. The more unique and prominent, the easier he’ll have remembering it (to clarify when I say ‘remembering’ I mean remembering that they have that feature, not being able to picture it). He can also try recognizing people by clothes they always wear or unique hairstyles, though it can get confusing if someone decides to change their hair or he meets a stranger with the same hat as his one friend. The easiest way for me to recognize someone is by their voice or calling their name and waiting for them to respond.

Have a nice day!

Mod Rot

Hi!

Usually I identify people by hairstyle or specific articles of clothing, although unique traits like a scar or red eyes would certainly help as confirmation! (Of course, personality as well--but speaking about visual traits, this is what I look for.)

I hate when people change their hairstyles, it makes them totally unrecognizable for a while. Often I can figure out who someone is a few minutes into a conversation, maybe shorter for people I know really well, but changes to big recognizable features throw me off. (Don't ask how many times I've been in conversations with people and had No Idea who I was talking to...)

So yes, it's realistic to go off facial features, although non-face features may be more common as an identifier. It's also realistic to mistake someone for another person entirely. I often think people look alike and they just are similar heights with similar hairstyles to non-face-blind people.

Joke-wise, I make fun of myself for not recognizing people. It's embarrassing, sure, but in hindsight it makes a good story. I don't like being teased about it, it makes me feel bad or inadequate that I can't recognize people. But when I do it? Funny story!

Mod Rock

Hello,

As someone with a similar condition (I've always heard it referred to as face blindness,) I use a few different things to recognize people;

Glasses. A lot of people I know have unique glasses and I use those to recognize them. I know this person because they have blue, red, and gold glitter in their glasses, and I know this person because she has electric teal wire-frame glasses.

Hair. This only works when people have an unusual hair colour or style. If someone has one side of their head buzzed, I recognize them by that. If someone has very long red hair, I recognize them by that.

I also look at distinct facial features. I know someone who wears red contacts and I recognize them by that. Something like a scar or very distinct facial features can help me recognize someone.

Voices. I'm not excellent at recognizing voice but I can recognize a distinct vocal quirk, like a Louisiana accent.

Context is also important. The biggest thing I struggle with is recognizing people out of their usual context. I struggle to recognize most of my old classmates outside of high school and school-related functions like graduation ceremonies. If I see an old classmate or even a family member in the drive-thru, it's hard to recognize them unless they have something distinct about them or I know them really well (such as if they were in my friend group.)

And then there are little things I pick up on that help me recognize people I wouldn't otherwise recognize. I work in a drive-thru so I can recognize a lot of people by their orders or by the cars they drive. I can recognize a few people based on their names when they order on the mobile app- if they order and don't use the app, it takes me a minute. I can recognize most of the regulars because they usually know my name and make conversation.

And yes, like you mentioned, personalities.

I didn't know I struggled to perceive and recognize faces for a very long time, I thought everyone was the same way. If it had never been pointed out to me, I probably still wouldn't know that I need to do things differently. It's not something that's easy to notice without outside help telling you that no, actually, most people can recognize people they know or even people they've met a few times.

So yes, he sounds very realistic based on my experience. He sounds like he has it pretty severely. And, by the way, the same situation happens to me all the time. And it's extremely embarrassing when it happens.

I make a lot of "I barely recognized you!" jokes with people who know I have face blindness. They aren't extremely funny but it's my way of saying "You've changed something about your appearance" or "Wow, it's been a long time!" I don't know of many face blindness jokes either, it's not something we often have the opportunity to joke about. If he draws people, he might make a joke about "Yeah, this probably isn't the best career" or "I know, don't quit my day job." Or he could do something kind of like Toph Beifong and react to someone else's art with "Don't worry, I think it looks exactly like the person." Maybe if they're looking for someone and he points out a random person like "Hey, there they are!" only for the group to realize he's messing with them?

Maybe you could repurpose some blind jokes and make them about "I can't recognize people" instead of about "I can't see"?

Mod Aaron

[yes-too-yves]

_______

certified yves bonnefoy fan blog!

Meet the Mods (the three S's)!

Mod Sophia - the most criminally not funny, can speak whatever i put my mind to (just not French) stop editing my posts SRIYA [ :( ]

Mod Sindhu - not funny, can speak french (?)

Mod Sriya the bonnefoy-ed genius - not funny, cannot speak french nor English tbh (Don't touch my Bonnefoy-ed genius Sophia or Ill start crossing things out on yours too)

[starlightbright]

RIP Ricky September they had to kill you because it would have been unrealistic to not keep you on as a companion 😔

EDIT: I've noticed some people taking this post really seriously, so to clarify: no, I don't think Ricky was literally a perfect uwu anti-racist angel. This post was mostly a joke about how he was running around doing companion shit and, most of all, how the Doctor and Ruby both thought he was a hottie. My actual feelings about Ricky are that he's a complacent white liberal. Character reading under the cut if you want an explanation.

I do think the implications of making him unplugged from the racism bubble, paralleling him with the Doctor (man who shows up with knowledge about history and technology and guides the other character through dangerous situations), and directly contrasting to Lindy (including being open to trust the Doctor without second guessing him the same way Lindy and all her friends did) are supposed to be that he wasn't like the other people there and is thus LESS racist since racism comes to be what defines their society. I've seen some people basically ask "then why'd he move to White People City?" but within the text it's actually Rich People City; the reason everyone there is white is because systemic racism financially benefits white people. Making him LESS racist is NECESSARY to giving his death any meaning - because if he definitively would have called the Doctor a slur and walked away, then the Dot killing him quickly was a mercy kill because we KNOW all the other residents are going to die in the wilderness.

THAT SAID, I also don't think he was a progressive anti-racist. Do you know what Ricky actually is? A white liberal. He might disengage from the White People Bubble, he might not be outwardly cruel to black people, but he's still surrounded by people who are and benefits from a system where ONLY WHITE PEOPLE ARE RICH. The culture might be fucked, but he still benefits from it without doing anything to actually fight it. It's like how many a white liberal will read about the history of slavery, feel sad about it, and then be uncritical of prison labor. If Ricky was meant to be progressive, there'd be something, ANYTHING in the text about how he's tried to educate his followers on their society's problems, but it got deleted. He is COMPLACENT.

That's sort of the point, I'd say, since the theme is about how priviledged white people put themselves in a bubble of people like them and choose to look away from what's wrong in society. Those people become complacent at best with no effort to actually speak out or change things. Hell, even within the text, Ricky SEES a problem others are looking away from (the slugs eating people), but only tries to fight it by making a TikTok about it and becomes complacent again, accepting that people are just going to be eaten.

So tl;dr: no, I don't think the white liberal kid literally would have been a companion. I think if you stuck him in the Ood episode, for example, he'd have shaken his head when he found out about their plight, maybe made a TikTok with sad music playing over footage of them, and then said "welp, nothing else can be done." I think it's FUNNY to imagine another companion that the Doctor and Ruby both are giggling like schoolgirls over.

Also I kind of thought he was ugly - no offense to the actor but the makeup they had him in combined with the lighting and closeups made him look way older than 27 so he gave off this uncanny "how do you do fellow kids?" look.

[a-b-riddle]

Not me imagining medic reader who acts weird around Ghost.

At first everyone thinks that you’re just weirded out. 6’4 wall of a man in a skull mask. His eyes covered in black makeup and eyes such a deep brown they’re almost black. Anyone in their right mind would be on edge.

But then as time progresses it doesn’t stop. You don’t ease up no matter how many times you’ve been around Ghost. Eventually the 141 begins to suspect something much more sinister.

Theories of knowing something about Ghost you shouldn’t. Are you working for Makarov and worried? Your eyes never leave him anytime he enters a room. Your voice wavering anytime he asks you a question. You’re not like that with the others. You’re hiding something. And they know it.

Johnny is the one you’ve gotten closest to in the 141. The one who wants to believe you’re not a traitor. You’re Birdie for Christ’s sake. Their bird, as they call you. You couldn’t be betraying them. He’s able to convince the guys to let him get you drunk. See if you slip up.

It’s a quiet night on base. Johnny had manage to get flavored vodka imported. Enticing you to come have a drink in his barracks.

And boy, do you.

You get too tipsy to notice how off Johnny seems. How his voice is softer, more alluring. You also down notice the phone face down on the table, serving as a live walkie-talkie between him and the others listening in Price’s office.

Johnny and you bullshit around. Talking about F1 racing, the need for more help in the medbay and even what your plans are when you get back home.

Eventually, he can’t take it anymore. He needs to know.

“What’s your deal with the Simon?” He finally asks. His question grants you pause, almost instantly sobering you up. Johnny sees it in your eyes. His heart breaking because he begins to believe he was wrong.

“Hen,” his hand grabs yours, when you don’t say anything. “I know something is going on.” You try and pull away but he doesn’t let go.

“Have-” you begin, trying to figure out how to tell him. Johnny is your friend. He wouldn’t care. But you fail to come up with the words. “Fuck.”

“Please.” He begs. “You know you can tell me.” You wait. Contemplating if you should tell him. But then it could mean losing any respect you had earned with them.

“You can’t judge me.” You made him promise, tears beginning to well in your eyes.

“I won’t.” He promises, offering a squeeze of reassurance. He knew that the moment you confessed to whatever it was you were hiding, the team would be in there. He knew what would happen to you. And although there were no romantic feelings he held toward you, he still cared.

You took a deep breath.

“It’s the mask.” You confessed. “It’s hot.” Now it was Johnny’s turn to pause.

The mask?

“What?” He asked in disbelief, pulling his hand off of yours. “What do you mean it’s hot?” “You’re worried that he’s sweating underneath it.”

“I want to fuck him.” It felt like a weight lifted the moment your confession of lust escaped your lips.

Johnny sat there, knowing his Captain, fellow Sergeant and, most importantly, his Lieutenant were listening on the other end of the phone.

“Simon.” he clarified. “Ye want to fuck Simon.”

“I mean if he keeps the mask on.” You shrug, looking at his bewildered expression. “It’s a kink, Johnny. Some people like feet or being led around on a dog leash.” You down the rest of the sweetened liquor, cringing as the last sip makes your stomach flip. “Men in masks do it for me. It’s a thing now. Lots of women like it.”

He doesn’t say anything. The room filled with uncomfortable silence until he breaks out in laughter.

“If you say anything, I will murder you and we both know I can make it look like an accident.” You threaten.

“Feckin’ hell.” He sighs, wiping tears from his eyes. “This isn’t how I expected the conversation to go.”

“Well,” you say standing, needing a moment to get your bearings. “It’s also over. I’m calling it a night.”

“I’ll walk ye back to yer room.” He says standing.

“No need.” You wave off. “I’m good.”

He knows you’re right. But now guilt eats away at him for even thinking you were a traitor. So he lets you go, listening to the sound of your footsteps fading as you walk down the empty corridor.

Several minutes later the others join him in his barracks. None of them saying something until, Johnny looks at Simon.

“Looks like the little Bird has a thing for you, Lt.”

Simon rolls his eyes.

Thankful that his mask is hiding his shit eating grin.

[tiredsadpeach]

I’m so lost lol

[ineffable-romantics]

Some thoughts on why and how I believe Crowley and Aziraphale's relationship would incorporate sex/why I do not read them as wholly asexual:

This is something I've seen the most discourse about in this fandom, and I've had a few thoughts of my own that I really wanted to expand upon in a full meta/character analysis post. I do understand that this can be a contentious topic, so first, let me clarify a few things:

First of all, this is going to be long. Tbh it probably won't be that organized either. I ramble and I'm not very good at editing, so just... you know. Be warned. (*Hi, it's me from 2 days after writing this; I'm really not kidding, it's LONG)

These are all my own thoughts. They might not be hot takes, because recently I've seen more than a few people come to the same conclusions on a lot of these points as I have. But I've also had these notes in my drafts for about a week and a half now, and have been continuously adding to it as things have occurred to me. This post is essentially just somewhere for me to collect the separate but related meta I've been kicking around in my head.

I fully respect anyone who does see and prefer an asexual reading of this relationship. These are my own thoughts and interpretations as someone who is not asexual. I am in the LGBT+ community, so while I do know a few things about the asexuality spectrum, I am by no means an expert.

This is NOT something I expect, need, or even necessarily want the show (or, God forbid, Neil's tumblr ask box) to address. Tonally, it's just not that kind of show. Newt and Anathema's sex scene was very much played for laughs, and it worked for that reason. If the show found a way to address it in a way that was both appropriate for the tone of the show and ultimately satisfying, then great! But there is so much more to this relationship than sex, and I didn't need a kiss to confirm their love, so I certainly don't need a sex scene. As immortal beings (as I assume they'll stay) there is so much of the rest of their lives we'll never get to see. You can headcanon them as asexual and potentially be right. I can headcanon them as not and be equally potentially right. Again, these are just a collection of my own thoughts, because I think the question of sexuality (or lack thereof) is just as interesting a facet of these characters as any other.

Note: Tbh I've been second-guessing this whole post and debated deleting the whole thing several times for being silly or unnecessary, bc I don't want anyone to think that this is the only thing I care about when it comes to this story/characters. But if nothing else, it's inspired me to write in a way that nothing has in a very long time, so I've decided it's worth continuing, if for no other reason than that.

This is going to be a mixed bag of textual reading, subtextual reading, and a full-on reach or two. It's been a while since I've been in an English class, but if my teachers expected me to find a deeper meaning behind blue curtains, you can expect me to read too deeply into the symbolism of a loaded rifle or an ox rib. (This is probably not what my professors had in mind when grading my literary analysis papers but oh well) My point is, if it feels like a reach, I'm as aware of it as you are. I am in no way saying that all (or even any) of my points made were deliberate on the part of Neil or the actors or the writers or the directors. I am no longer the delulu Apple Tree Yard child of my youth, I promise.

If anything said here is in any way offensive or hurtful to anyone in the asexual community, please do not hesitate to message me or comment and let me know exactly what it was. I promise you it is not my intention to do so, and am happy to clarify or outright edit anything that reads that way.

With all that being said, let's talk about why I think Crowley and Aziraphale would absolutely fuck nasty incorporate sex into their relationship.

Note: I am out of practice with essay writing, so I think I'll just go down the bullet points of notes I have been making, and expand on each as best I can

Food

Where better to start than with Aziraphale's introduction to Pleasures Of The Flesh? (Just a heads up, this entire post may feel very Aziraphale-heavy, and with good reason).

This might be the least hot take here. We've all seen the Job minisode. We've all seen That Scene.

Whether this was intentional or not, the symbolism here is off the charts. Eve was tempted by an apple. So why not go a similar route and tempt Aziraphale with another fruit, or cheese, or bread, or literally anything else for his first experience with food? Instead, we go with a huge, glistening slab of fresh meat that he proceeds to absolutely go feral upon, moaning and gasping into his meal while Crowley watches with what definitely doesn't look to be disgust or even satisfaction with a good temptation. There's surprise at the ferocity of Aziraphale's appetite, certainly. But ultimately he looks to be intensely fascinated by it, while the thunder crashes, the music crescendos, and the earth literally shakes around them.

(It's also interesting to note how very little it takes for Crowley to tempt him with the ox rib. One murmured suggestion, a bit of unwavering eye contact, and vavoom Aziraphale immediately meets him in the middle.)

Cut to Aziraphale devouring the rest of the meat with Crowley splayed back on a makeshift bed, drinking wine and continuing to watch him indulge through half-lidded eyes. Outside a thunderstorm rages while they're learning secrets about each other in warm flickering firelight. It's cosy, it's intimate, and if they'd thrown in a bearskin throw blanket, it might as well be a post-coital scene straight out of Game of Thrones.

The next time (chronologically) we see them discuss food is when Aziraphale "tempts" Crowley with oysters in Rome. So Crowley first tempts Aziraphale with meat and then Aziraphale tempts Crowley with what is widely regarded to be an aphrodisiac. Interesting.

And then chronologically after that, the Arrangement begins to form, which has always reeked of a friends with benefits situation. Just to throw that in there.

It's What Humans Do

In the very first episode, we're shown Gabriel's obvious disgust and bewilderment towards Aziraphale eating sushi, calling it "gross matter" and being proud of the fact that he does not sully his body with it. Aziraphale initially tries to defend his own enjoyment in it, before passing it off as something that humans do, as something he simply has to do in order to blend in (which we know very well is not the case).

He does this again in season 2, passing off Nina and Maggie being in love as "something humans do". But it isn't, is it? Angels are beings of love, and can sense it, and understand very well what it is... up to a point. Even romantic love is obviously within their wheelhouse, given what we now know happened between Gabriel and Beelzebub (we'll come back to them).

What the "humans do" that angels wouldn't understand is messy, physical forms of love.

But here's the thing: Aziraphale and Crowley love doing what the humans do. They love drinking, they (or at least Aziraphale) love eating. They love music. Crowley loves driving and sleeping and watching rom-coms and sitcoms. Aziraphale loves reading and doing magic and earning little licenses and certificates for achievement in his various hobbies. They love to playact at being human so much that they've stopped playacting and started building a genuinely human lifestyle for themselves and with each other.

Once together in an unambiguously romantic sense, why do we think they wouldn't also want to explore one of the most prominent, intimate, powerful human expressions of love and desire with each other?

Angels, Demons, & Asexuality

Here's where I really want to clarify that in no way do I mean that sex is necessary for a healthy, fulfilling, and loving romantic relationship, or that the lack of desire for sex makes you any less human. Asexuality is a sexuality as valid and human as any. What I would say is that it is definitely in the human minority compared to allosexuality.

Angels and demons, on the other hand, are predominately asexual. Sexless/genderless unless Making An Effort. (Which, btw, is a concept introduced as early as the original book; why even bring it up as a possibility? Why not keep angels/demons being sexless/asexual as a hard and fast rule, if not to open up the potential for later use? Chekhov's Effort, if you will. And isn't that something that Aziraphale in particular is shown to do time and time again? He makes an effort in French and driving and magic, doesn't he?)

And this is why I don't believe Aziraphale and Crowley necessarily need to be asexual, narratively. There is already a huge amount of ace rep within the angels and demons (and no, not just the horrible ones. Muriel also doesn't "drink the tea" and has no reason or desire thus far to Make An Effort, and there are certainly other angels and demons who aren't horrible like the archangels seem to be who likely wouldn't Make An Effort either).

The central conflict for Aziraphale and Crowley is that they are on their own side, the ones who went native, the ones who are so different in so many ways from their respective hives. It would make sense for them to also break away from traditional angel/demon asexuality.

I say "traditional angel/demon asexuality", because I would also like to note that I would absolutely not rule out demisexuality for either of them. This post is being written to as a response to people who specifically believe that they (like the rest of the angels/demons seem to be) would be sex-averse in a relationship, and that it wouldn't be a factor in their relationship. I could easily read them as demisexual, but I do think there would be no real way of verifying this, because they've never been able to form as close an emotional relationship with anyone else but each other. Certainly not in heaven, and I can't imagine they would be able to form that kind of attachment with any of the humans, who they love and emulate but ultimately regard as the separate species they are. So yes, they could either be allosexual or demisexual, in my opinion.

Then again, now that I think about it, Making An Effort itself could be a great metaphor for demisexuality, since they would be entirely sexless/asexual until they have enough of an emotional connection with someone to consciously manifest otherwise. Since the other angels and demons don't generally form those types of emotional connections with anyone, there hasn't been a precedent for it.

Except...

Brielzebub

We do have a precedent for it now, don't we? Gabriel and Beelzebub fell in love. They are a direct foil for Crowley and Aziraphale's relationship, speedrunning right through their courtship and finding their happily ever after on the other side of things.

For being such a 1 to 1 comparison, it feels deliberate that they did not kiss. They held hands, they were gooey with each other, but they did not kiss. That feels like such a deliberate thing to omit when you know what's to come at the end of the episode between Crowley and Aziraphale.

And going back to the food = sex metaphor for a moment, let's notice how even as they fell in love over the years, even when pints and crisps were there on the table in front of them, they never felt the desire to reach out for them. They didn't need to. It's a date (love story) even if you aren't eating dinner (sleeping together).

Yes, I know Jim liked hot chocolate. No, I am not counting it because I don't consider Jim and Gabriel to be the same person with the same proclivities, and Jim was highly suggestible at the time anyway.

Gabriel and Brielzebub's big happily ever after moment (as of now) was one between two asexual supernatural beings. They did not need to kiss to drive the point home. They showed what Crowley and Aziraphale could have, if they would only acknowledge it.

Crowley & Aziraphale's Dissatisfaction

But they do have that already, don't they? If you really think about it, what do Gabriel and Beelzebub do with each other that Crowley and Aziraphale don't already? They hold hands, they spend time together, they create little rituals, they give gifts, they're visibly and verbally affectionate with each other, etc. They are more or less already in a romantic asexual marriage relationship with each other, aren't they?

And it doesn't seem to be enough for either of them.

At the beginning of the season, Crowley is immediately shown to be unsatisfied with the way things are. Obviously part of it comes from living in his car, but it seems to be more than that (especially since Aziraphale makes it clear that the bookshop is just as much Crowley's as his, implying that he could have been living there the whole time and is choosing not to, for some reason?). You could argue he's feeling unmoored without Hell telling him what to do, but isn't that what he wanted? Isn't that what he still wants, by the end of the season? All season long, he's never indicated the desire for a new job, or a new project. He stopped the apocalypse because he wanted the freedom to openly spend time with Aziraphale, to spend his time on Earth however he sees fit. Until Gabriel arrives, he has exactly that (minus a flat).

So where does the dissatisfaction come from? And if it represents anything to do with his relationship, what does he want out of it that he isn't getting already?

I think Crowley only really comes to the realisation of what he's missing when Nina names it for him, not only putting them in the category of romantic, but physical (outright asking if they are sleeping together). These two posts [1], [2] go into more detail about what I mean, but I think it really pushes him into acknowledging that their relationship is more human than either of them have stopped to consider, and what that might mean as far as everything a human relationship can entail.

After all, Nina and Maggie only advised that he should talk to Aziraphale, make clear his feelings. The decision to kiss him, to tip them over the edge from nonphysical to physical, that was all him. And no, kissing isn't sex, but I wonder how taboo even that might be in the kind of all-encompassing asexuality most angels seem to identify with. (If they're disgusted by food and drink, I can only imagine what they think of snogging, much less sex.)

Aziraphale doesn't have this moment of someone observing their relationship from the outside. He loves Crowley, and as of 1941 probably even knows he's in love with him in a way that Crowley doesn't understand yet. Which makes sense, since love is technically his job, he'd be more likely to recognise it for what it is.

However, Aziraphale's reference for romance and relationships is Jane Austen. It's chaste. It's dancing and dinner and doing sweet things for each other and roses and candles and handholding. He contextualises his love for Crowley in that soft fantasy sort of way, where it's there, it's obviously there, but it's neat and easy and unspoken. Not to quote Glee in this, the year of our lord 2023, but it's all very "the touch of the fingertips is as sexy as it gets".

Someone should tell that to Aziraphale's face, then.

I'm not going to pretend I know what Michael Sheen's script notes were, but there were definitely some Choices™ made. Because yes, there were plenty of moments in both seasons with Aziraphale looking at Crowley in a sweet, loving, smitten way. And then there were moments that were yearning.

But yearning for what, exactly? All of those sappy Jane Austen tropes already apply to the two of them. So why are there moments where Aziraphale is looking Crowley up and down like the last eclair in the window and licking his lips and visibly exhaling like he's trying to get in control of himself (see: Bastille scene + Crowley telling Muriel to ask him if they have any other questions about love)? Why is Aziraphale not only unconcerned when Crowley shoves him bodily up against a wall in s1, but staring at his lips and a beat too late in noticing Sister Mary's arrival? Why are some of his lines so suggestive? I'm sorry, but the car ride after the church explosion might as well have been the beginning of a Pizza Man porn with a really weird Blitz theme. If even my mother picked up on that vibe, I can't imagine it wasn't intentional on part of both the dialogue and the delivery.

(This section may feel like more of a reach/joke, but I'm really only 20% joking. These are writers and actors who are EXTREMELY good at their jobs; they know what they were doing here.)

More importantly, I don't think Aziraphale is even aware that there is more to what he wants. He lives in the Jane Austen fantasy and it never even occurs to him that he might be interested in anything further. It never even occurs to him that, as an angel, there is anything further to be interested in in the first place. Until Crowley forces it to occur to him. Just like I believe Nina forced Crowley to confront the idea that romantic love is what he's been feeling all along, I believe Crowley forced Aziraphale to confront the idea that physical intimacy is something he's been wanting, without even realising.

Aziraphale's Hedonism

Expanding on Aziraphale for a moment. We talked about his relationship with food, but we all know that Aziraphale is defined by his love of things that Feel Good.

It isn't just that he and Crowley love human things. Aziraphale loves the best of the best, or at least his version of it. He doesn't just love food, he loves going to fancy restaurants. He doesn't just love clothes, he loves soft, cosy, warm, plush clothes, or shiny, flashy, bougie fashion. He loves the warmth of tea and cocoa, loves getting drunk, and sitting in a comfy chair in the sunlight. He doesn't just experience, he indulges.

Given the emphasis put on things that Aziraphale loves just because they Feel Good, it feels narratively strange to assume that he wouldn't enjoy the feeling of being touched, or that he wouldn't be willing to try it, at least once, with someone he cared very deeply for. And just like the ox rib, I think that once he gets the first taste of things, he would absolutely tip over into complete and utter self-indulgence.

Dancing

I also think that dancing could be construed as a huge metaphor here. After all, we're told flat-out that angels don't Dance. Except one.

I would argue that Aziraphale, in fact, Made An Effort to learn how to Dance. He threw himself into the gavotte with delight (at a Victorian gay club; noted) and worked hard to be good at it. He's chomping at the bit to Dance with Crowley, working up the nerve to ask him with undeniably romantic intent and eagerness. So, angels don't Dance... unless they Make An Effort to do so.

We are told that demons, on the other hand, do Dance, but not well. Makes sense, since they're the ones who would want to encourage a deadly sin like lust, but have as little understanding of human love and physical intimacy as the angels. Crowley, however, is shown to be an excellent dancer at the ball, especially in his compatibility with Aziraphale.

(But Aziraphale WandaVisioned the ball so everyone knew how to dance! Yes, he did. However, the rest of the brainwashing doesn't seem to affect Crowley in any way, and they did actually live through the time period where this sort of dancing was a social norm; I'd be surprised if he never needed to learn. After all, the demons can't spell either, and Crowley is at least functionally literate, as far as we know.)

As of today, it's also been confirmed that when Aziraphale asked Crowley to dance, Crowley replied with "you don't dance." Not "WE don't dance". So going along with the metaphor, Crowley is just now discovering that Dancing is something Aziraphale is interested in at all, much less with him, and not denying that he himself is interested in Dancing. In his defense, I believe he was asleep for a few years while Aziraphale was learning the gavotte, so he wasn't exactly aware of Aziraphale's hot girl summer.

Love Languages

I want to expand on that; Crowley and Aziraphale's compatibility. Specifically in regards to their individual love languages.

We all know Crowley's love language is Acts of Service. I don't think there's any debate there. He loves it, Aziraphale loves it, they're both aware of it, we're all aware of it, God and Satan are aware of it, no surprise there.

You may disagree with me, but I believe Aziraphale's love language is Physical Touch, for a number of reasons. One of which being his aforementioned hedonism. Aziraphale likes things that Feel Good, remember? He likes soft clothes, and well-worn books. Neil himself has said that they like holding hands. And any time he is taken by surprise (Brielzebub getting together, the wave of love in Tadfield, etc.) what is the first thing he does? Reaches out for Crowley. He stops him with a hand to the chest in the pub. He leads him by the hand to the dance floor. He guides him by the waist in the graveyard. He reaches out during the entire Brielzebub scene, whether he can reach Crowley or not. Despite his own turmoil, he grasps at Crowley's back during the kiss.

The one time Crowley reaches out for him (not counting the kiss yet; we'll get there), he is aggressively pushed against a wall (by someone he loves and trusts) with a complete and utter lack of concern (and perhaps some interest, depending on how you read it).

And when he isn't reaching out for anyone, or there isn't anyone to reach out to? Well, he's wringing his own hands together, squeezing his own fingers, as if to find that physical comfort in himself.

So. With that theory in mind, we have Aziraphale (Physical Touch) + Crowley (Acts of Service). Throw in 6000+ years of deep love, cherished companionship, and forcibly repressed longing, and there is a very real potential of this combination resulting in fierce sexual compatibility. Where Aziraphale would want to touch and be touched, to indulge in physical pleasure with someone he adores, in the same the way he indulges in every other fine thing in his life. And where Crowley would want to indulge him in return, to give him everything he wants, and to take pleasure in Aziraphale's pleasure, in the same way he enjoys watching him take joy in food everything else.

So Aziraphale is an angel who is insecure about his own less-than-holy desires, who would want to treat Crowley like a luxury to be touched and cherished and adored. And Crowley is a demon who has, over the millennia, been unhappy about how they've been forced to deny even their friendship with each other, who would want Aziraphale to feel comfortable and safe and encouraged to indulge in earthly delights. That sounds like a stunning recipe for sexual compatibility to me.

"You said 'trust me'" / "And you did"

Just like the Job minisode, the Blitz is RIFE with symbolism (intentional or otherwise). This one will be quick, but I did want to touch on it because I thought it was interesting. Maybe I'm reaching at this point, but I'm assuming you read the tin.

First of all, Crowley not wanting to admit to never firing a gun before; comes off as someone who very much does not want to admit to their crush that they're a virgin ("You must have done this lots of times!" / "Umm.... yyyyyeah.")

(You could make the argument that Aziraphale having a firearms license and a Derringer in a hollowed-out book is symbolic of him not being a virgin while Crowley is. I disagree, for reasons I'll go into later, but it's a valid reading. However, I see it more like keeping a condom in your wallet; it's there in case you need it, but the opportunity has not yet risen no pun intended.)

More importantly, the theme of this entire minisode is trust. We already know they trust each other with their lives against the rest of Heaven, Hell, and the world. But specifically, this is about the importance of having complete trust in your partner in a charged, physically vulnerable, intimate moment, where the only danger is between the two of you.

Aziraphale needs to believe Crowley would never hurt him if he can help it. Crowley needs to trust Aziraphale's unwavering blind faith in him. Frankly, it all feels very symbolic of two people deeply in love losing their respective virginities with each other.

The trick is a success, and they share an intimate candlelit dinner in which they reaffirm their faith in each other. Aziraphale also begins to voice his agreement with Crowley, that maybe Heaven's rules shouldn't have to be as black and white as they are, and that there are benefits to... blurring the lines, shades of grey, wink wink (at which point even my mom was like, whoa guys, this is a family show).

Btw also: Can we all agree how much it looked like Crowley was getting ready to get a lapdance in that one scene? You know the one.

Also also: "Aim for my mouth"? Come on.

The Birds & The Bees

Now that I think of it, there's also something to be said for the fact that Crowley and Aziraphale are both obviously familiar with where babies come from (how they're made and how they're born) while the other angels aren't.

Something something Aziraphale and Crowley fundamentally understand sex and reproduction in a way the other angels (and probably demons) very much do not, nor have any desire to.

Probably not important. Just thought it was worth mentioning.

The Kiss™ & Religious Trauma

The Kiss. Where to even begin?

This has definitely been the hardest one to start, because there is so much going on here that I definitely won't be able to cover it all, and will certainly miss a few things here and there.

Aziraphale's reaction to the kiss afterwards is the most interesting to me. And I don't mean directly after, I don't mean the "I forgive you" part. I mean the way he touches his lips when Crowley is no longer in the room and he no longer needs to save face, when he is completely alone. Had it been directly after the kiss, it would have been rightfully read as horror, or disgust, a shield to discourage further action.

It's not. It isn't just a touch, it's a press. As desperate and angry and unexpected and imperfect as the kiss had been, Aziraphale is pressing it into himself, recreating the feeling as best he can. Beneath all the poor timing and shock and hurt from their fight and fallout, I think it's fair to say that it was something he enjoyed. Something he doesn't think he should enjoy, something that Feels Good that he only allows himself to indulge in when completely alone.

Remember, Aziraphale's idea of love is Jane Austen and gentleness and courtship and fantasy. If he'd ever even considered kissing an option, it might have been gentle pecks, cheek kisses, forehead kiss, hand kisses. Soft, safe, chaste affection.

Crowley's kiss turns all of that on its head. He introduces physical intimacy in a very real, very messy, very human way that I don't think Aziraphale ever even considered could apply to them. Considering what other angels are like and what they look down on, even Aziraphale's Jane Austen fantasies probably would have been considered taboo.

So for their first kiss to be rough and desperate and passionate in the way it was, of course he was confused and in shock. It was deeply physical, and as overwhelming and awful as it was in the moment, it Felt Good. Enough that he grasped at Crowley and kissed back, if only just for a moment, before stopping himself. Enough that he actively pressed it into his lips afterwards, in private, to remember.

I adore how Neil has decided to evolve these characters past the first book/season. More so in this season, Aziraphale and Crowley have both become such interesting allegories for queer people on either side of the spectrum of toxic religion. Aziraphale in particular obviously, because he is the side that so desperately wants to believe, to make a difference, and to unlearn all of the propaganda he's been fed over such a long time. Just like so much of organised religion, there is so much that he is told, time and time again, that he should not want, that he is silly or stupid or outright wrong for wanting. It reminds me so much of the severe Catholic guilt one might feel for wanting/engaging in sex for the first time, and the stigma of being queer layered on top of that.

What is so critical to Aziraphale's character is that he goes on wanting, and more than that, actively pursues. He was convinced to go up against Heaven and Hell and stop all of Armageddon because he wanted to go on listening to music and eating lunch and reading books and enjoying the simple company of the person he cares most deeply for, even if that person is supposed to be the enemy.

All this to say that if angels are as generally asexual/sex-averse as I believe them to be, narratively speaking, it would make sense for Aziraphale to be singular in that regard as well. Mirroring his first experience with food, it would make sense for Crowley to be the one to first introduce this new messy, physical, human dynamic between them, for Aziraphale to hesitate (obviously we are at the Hesitation phase at the moment), and then (eventually) for him to dive in wholeheartedly, to absolutely glut himself on this new thing that Feels Good. It would make sense for his character development to show him overcoming his metaphorical Catholic guilt and pursuing the sexual intimacy most (if not all) of the other angels would scorn.

(I can't help but remember that plot idea Neil described from the unwritten sequel, with Aziraphale in a hotel room trying to watch a full porno by way of the free 2-minute teaser clips so he wasn't technically sinning by paying for it. I so hope this is used in season 3, because gosh, I wonder why Aziraphale would suddenly be so interested in observing human physical intimacy after 6,000 years. Lonely and doing a little surreptitious research there, angel?)

Crowley, on the other hand, is the queer person who has broken free from his toxic religion. He prides himself on being his own person, on their his own side. He doesn't have the hang-ups Aziraphale does. He doesn't worry that he's going to be judged or cast aside for wanting things he's not supposed to. So it only makes sense for him to be the first one to suggest/initiate physical intimacy. It makes sense for him to be the one who "goes too fast" (another fantastic example of this dynamic beginning as early as s1; what is that conversation in the car meant to represent, if not Aziraphale being overwhelmed by the intensity of their relationship, and his fear of succumbing to it when he believes he shouldn't? It's also interesting that this is the first conversation to take place in Soho, just after watching Aziraphale realise he's caught feelings for a demon, with the red glow of lust serving as the backdrop).

Do I think the kiss in and of itself was sexual? No. I think it was a passionate and devastating last-ditch effort on Crowley's part to convey the way he feels for Aziraphale. Not just that he loves him, but that he loves him in the most human way possible. But I do think that the kiss represents how they can move forward from here, and what they might want to explore with each other once they feel free enough to do so.

In Conclusion

I am sure, deep in my bones (unless we are explicitly told otherwise), that this was both of their first kisses no, I'm not counting the gavotte, and that neither of them have ever thought to do anything else physical with the humans while they have been on Earth. Like I said before, they adore the human race and lifestyle in general, but ultimately view them as a separate species altogether, and they seem mostly happy to keep to themselves and each other, unless otherwise necessary. I just can't see either of them being drawn enough to a human to pursue anything close to sex. If Crowley in particular has had anything to do with sex in the context of temptations, I'm positive he would be inciting lust amongst the humans themselves, not involving himself directly. At least not that directly.

So, like every other human experience they've had on Earth, sex is something new that they could explore together, just the two of them, on their own side. A deeply intimate, tangible declaration of their love and everything they've gone through to earn it. A visceral finger to give both Heaven and Hell. A renewed appreciation for their corporations and for each other's. A enjoyable method for immortal beings to simply pass the time in each other's company. A new and exciting way to Feel Good, and all the variations that come with it.

You might agree with this post, or you might not. Whether this is something that is ever addressed or not, it doesn't matter to me. This is a brilliant love story either way, and I genuinely feel so privileged to witness it.

But I just can't find it in myself to imagine, given everything we know about these two characters, that sex isn't an experience they would both consume with wholehearted enthusiasm, curiosity, and profound, ineffable adoration.

___________________________________

Bonus feature: the very silly notes I made to myself that inspired this post

[zephyrchama]

(Mentions/descriptions of minor injuries, present and past.)

“There, all good.”

“Thanks, Satan.”

Your leg looked much better now that it had been disinfected and bandaged. Not that it was in bad shape to begin with.

Anyone would have thought a dire medical emergency occurred by the way everybody had leaped into action when you fell. Six of the brothers somehow managed to carry you together - one for each limb and another two on the sides to support your back - because they couldn’t pick just one person to help you back to the classroom.

It was incredibly embarrassing. You closed your eyes to avoid making eye contact with any of the other students, but you still heard the hallway whispers and Thirteen’s loud laughter.

Once back inside, Lucifer immediately evacuated his seat behind the podium at the front of the room. You were placed down like a precious glass ornament. Each brother played a different role in patching you up, but you would have been fine on your own.

“This cut kind of reminds me of one I got as a kid.” You twisted your leg around a few times to look it over. “It’s in the same spot.”

Mammon leaned against the back of the chair and grabbed your shoulders. “Are you tellin’ me you cut your leg before?”

“…yes?”

“First time I’ve heard that.” Beelzebub frowned.

Satan nodded thoughtfully, hand on chin, “you’ve never told us this before.”

“Yeah, ‘cuz I just remembered it.” It happened so long ago that you completely forgot.

Asmodeus buried his face in his hands. “How could you be so irresponsible?”

“I was a kid! Kids get scrapes all the time. I probably got it the same way, too.”

“You fell? Well… At least it didn’t scar.”

“Asmo, how d’ya know that?” Mammon asked.

“Because I know every inch of their skin very intimately.” Asmodeus smirked.

Mammon gripped your shoulders tighter. “Ok! Well! So do I!” he growled.

Leviathan came to sit on the floor next to you, looking worried. He fiddled with your pants leg to make sure the hem wouldn’t roll down over your bandage. “So there were other times you got hurt as a kid?”

“I mean, yeah? Bruised my arm pretty badly one time, right here.” You pointed to the spot.

“How come you never told us?” Belphegor asked. He was craning his head up to look at you while laying on the table, which Lucifer hadn’t noticed until that moment. The eldest gave him a push.

Belphegor muttered some choice words and slunk off to get a chair of his own, which he relocated closer to you. It screeched loudly as he dragged it along the floor. Beelzebub just stared and the others flinched, but Satan and Lucifer looked ready for violence until the youngest finally plopped down.

“We’re supposed to know everything about you,” he stated.

“Since when?”

“Since forever,” Leviathan was quick to clarify. “You have to tell us everything, and don’t spare any details.” His sentence ended there, but you swear you heard “the lore…” whispered almost imperceptibly.

“You better not be holdin’ back on us.” Mammon shifted a bit. He appeared to be getting tired of standing, but didn’t want to give up his prime real estate by your side.

“So I have to tell you everything? Like… when a butterfly poked me in the eye?”

A couple of them winced.

“Did it hurt?” Asmodeus asked.

“Did you tear it apart?” Belphegor asked.

“No, I think I was more shocked than anything? Maybe a little? And no!” You glanced down. “Levi, stop taking notes about me.”

Leviathan tutted and swiped out of the notes app on his D.D.D..

These demons and their theatrics. You couldn’t help but smile. “You’re all just overreacting, as usual.”

Satan shook his head. “No, I think you’re under-reacting. There are lots of dangers to humans in the Devildom. You could have gotten a nasty infection.”

Asmodeus gasped, “you could have lost your leg!”

”Or attracted predators,” Beelzebub added.

“On school grounds? Please. At worst I’d only attract Mephisto sniffing around for a scoop for his newspaper.”

Lucifer crossed his arms. You had faith he was going to say something sensible. “At least this isn’t as bad as that time you bruised your rear in the bath.”

There were seven scandalized gasps, including your own. “I told you that in confidence!”

Mammon was yelling in your ear, “how come I wasn’t the first to know about this? Hah?”

Asmodeus lept forward, “show me where!”

“Is it still there?” Satan inquired.

“Do you not trust us anymore?” Beelzebub looked deflated.

“That’s not it, Beel, I just- ack, Levi!” You shouted and shook your bandaged leg as the third-born clung to it desperately.

“It wasn’t my bathtub, right?” he practically sobbed. “Aahhh, I knew I needed to fill it with more pillows. Ahhhh.”

“Why would they be anywhere your tub?” Belphegor took hold of Levi’s collar and wretched him back. By the way he fell, it wouldn’t be odd for Leviathan to get a butt bruise, too.

“If it happened in your room, you would have been there,” you assured, knowing this would start another round of arguing.

The bell signaling next period mercifully rang. You’d never been happier for class to start again. All that was left was to get to your usual seat, which you stood up to do.

“Woah, whaddya think you’re doing?” Mammon put an arm in front of you.

“Going to my seat…?”

“You’re in it, sit back down.” Lucifer said.

You hesitated, giving them a puzzled look. For a moment you considered running past them. A simple cut wouldn’t hold you back, but there were no scenarios where you could outrun them without magic. You narrowed your eyes and sat down as the seven surrounded you again. You got a bad feeling.

“Just make it quick.”

Other students were already starting to filter into the room. You didn’t particularly want to be seen being relocated by these overly doting brothers. You grabbed the edge of the seat as four of them lifted it up, with the others griping about there being insufficient space for them to grab hold anywhere.

[selarina]

The phone rings. Once. Twice. Thrice… and Gojo Satoru found himself contemplating hanging up, yet just as the thought formed, you answered, on the sixth ring.

"Hello," your voice emerged painfully neutral.

He couldn’t tell if now’s a good time. He hears some background music, akin to the subdued chatter of a small crowd, as though you were in a café of some sort. He thinks, no— he knows this a bad idea, but the words tumble out of his mouth anyway. “Hey, it’s me Gojo Satoru.”

"Yes, I know, Satoru," you replied with tint of slight irritation

You didn’t delete his number. At least this is a hopeful start.

“Happy birthday,” he said. “I know I'm a few hours late. I'm sorry.”

"Thanks... you don't have to apologise," you replied, your tone truly void of any accusation. Right, he thinks, it’s not his place.

“I know, but I still feel sorry,” he confesses. “I feel bad.”

“Okay,” you respond flatly, and there’s a pause that extends into almost a minute of full silence before you speak up again, “Is that what you called me for? To wish me?”

“Yes,” he says.

“Okay,” you say, letting a pause mull over you. “I’ll get going then. It was nice talking to you.” you say.

“I— I forgot your birthday. I only remembered it a few minutes before,” he adds, his words flowing out a bit hastily just in case you cut the call on him,l. It would pull the plug on him forever, leaving him breathing heavy and heavy until he’s left alone to drift away in the dark.

"Uh, okay," you responded, sounding confused.

"I mean, I hated that," he continued, his words flowing in an anxious succession. "I hated seeing you become this... this person I used to know. Whose birthday I couldn't even remember. I used to be the first to wish you, every day for years. Do you remember that?” he asks. “I miss that."

“Yeah, I remember," you murmur softly. You remember it. But in your recollection, what emotions dwell? Do you remember it with a sense of fondness? Do you remember it with sadness? Or did you remember it as a cautionary tale? He couldn’t tell.

“I miss that,” he repeats because his words are limited and he’s scared of saying anything more but he’s more scared of saying nothing ever again.

A beat passes by, and he stays still in his seat, holding his breath for nothing in particular.

“Me too,” your voice comes out. It doesn’t sound like a confession, it’s the one thing he liked about you — how your confessions came out of your mouth like indisputable facts. I like your smile. I like your eyes. I like you. I love you. These sentences didn’t seem like a confession; you would say it and he would know for it to be as true as the moon in the sky.

He smiles, “How did you celebrate?”

You sighed, "Not much. Dinner with the family, drinks with some friends, and now I'm heading back home."

"It's only 11 pm," he chuckled, as though he wouldn't be in bed by 9 himself.

“Yeah," you chuckled in return. "Guess some things have changed."

“Not really, you were still a bit of a grandma back then,” he teased.

“I was not!” you protested. You were not.

"There's no shame in that," he reassured, well loving and accepting of your homebody nature.

“There’s an hour left,” you say all too suddenly, interjecting him into a pause.

“An hour?" he spoke up, puzzled.

"Of my birthday," you clarified.

"Right," he responded, uncertain where this was leading.

“Well, you can always make it up to me.”

“Make what up?” he asked.

“Not wishing me,” you specified. “There's still another hour left.”

A smile crept onto Gojo's face, and he was already reaching for his car keys as swiftly as your words had emerged from your lips.

[romanarose]

Scars

Pre-Outbreak!Joel Miller x pale!fem!reader (see immersivity warnings)

Join my taglist : Masterlist

Summary: You and Joel are taking things slow, really slow. You find that he's easy to open up to about your depression, but you find it's hard to tell him the full extent.

Warnings: Talk of depression and self harm, self harm scars, descriptions of said scars (healed, not bleeding or recent) piv sex, oral f!recieving. Comfort sex. first time between couple, not loss of virginity.

Immersivity: Reader is fem, no specified age. This is a fic i started last year when i was doing very, very poorly and relapsing. I wanted to write something for myself. I usually really try to make things as inclusive as I can but the descriptions of scars are detailed and they are detailed to my skin, which is pale. I'm sorry, but I wanted to write this for myself. I support people writing fics specific to themselves, their skin tone, their hair type, their wieght etc, as long as it's labled right. @fandxmslxt69 said i could do it and said if anyone has a problem, come to her <3

***************

"And the scars remind us that the past is real" Scars, Papa Roach

Joel hadn’t minded when you said you wanted to take things slow. He didn’t mind one bit. Being a dad of a preteen , albeit an easy one, didn’t leave him with much opportunity to move fast. He was busy. In fact, he hadn’t really intended to date at all, at least until Sarah was in college if that… but you had sparkled your way into his life accidentally, and he was trying his best to balance it all. You were understanding, patient, you didn't get mad if he had to rearrange plans or cancel because something with Sarah or work came up, and he thought things were going well. You were beautiful, fun, and the few times you’d briefly met Sarah, she seemed to like you. That was a necessity. Joel absolutely refuses to date someone that made Sarah unhappy, but Sarah had made a few references to him and dating before he met you anyway, so she seemed okay with it. It wasn’t like he had a relationship with her mom, as much as Joel had tried to foster something… her mom hadn’t been interested.

Tommy was a lifesaver. When he noticed Joel had been struggling, Tommy sat him down and asked to help him. Tommy asked Joel. 

“You deserve a life.” Tommy had insisted.

“Sarah is my life.”

“Joel, you deserve m-”

“Don’t say I deserve more, Tommy. Sarah is enough. I don’t need more.”

Tommy sighed. “I know, brother, but can I at least help you out a bit? Give you a little free time to see that pretty girl of yours?”

Tommy had only met you once, but he liked you too. Joel acquiesced, letting Tommy take care of taking her to soccer practices (but he would NOT miss a game). This did end up being a big help and Joel had more and more time to see you… and when Tommy took Sarah out for a movie or she had plans with friends, he found more and more time alone in the evening with you.

Joel didn’t want to take his hands off your body the first time you and him made out on his couch, but when his hand went to feel up your breasts, you noticeably tensed. Fearing he overstepped, Joel quickly pulled back and apologized. Both of you nervous messes, it took a moment before you and Joel got full sentences out.

“Shit, I’m sorry-”

“No no it’s okay!”

“I just thought-”

“And I want too-!”

“No, I didn’t mean for anything tonight-”

“Oh, uh, right-”

“Not that I don’t want to!”

“Me too!”

Eventually, Joel clarified he was just enjoying feeling you, he didn’t want you to feel pressured into anything ‘like that’, and you explained he can touch you like that, you just wanted to wait a little bit… You sat back, nervous, but figured now was as good a time as any. 

“Actually, there was something I wanted to talk to you about, if we could…” You shuffle on the couch.

Joel looks nervous, but open. He wants to know you, good and bad, and if something was bothering you, he wanted to know. “Of course, I’m all ears.”

You take a deep breath. “Do you know what depression is?”

“Oh. Uh, yeah, I have an aunt with it but we don’t really talk about it much… Sometimes Sarah’s school sends her home with pamphlets… so I know a little, I guess.” That’s not what he was expecting.

“Well… I have it.”

“Oh.” He says again, dumbly. “I'm sorry. Or… am I not supposed to say that?”

You can’t help laughing a little. He was sweet, and he was trying. “It’s okay, Joel, and thank you. Well, about 6 months ago I started therapy and started taking an antidepressant, and things have been a lot better but… I need you to understand, things can get really dark for me sometimes and… it can be a lot for other people to deal with. I promise, it’s nothing dangerous to others!” You quickly add when you see his confused face. “It’s just, sometimes I’m not myself… and, if that’s not something you can handle, I want you to know that’s okay.”

Joel sat there for a moment, looking at you. He wasn’t stupid, he knew what depression was… but in the South, it wasn’t like they talked about that sort of thing much. Still, he liked you… he liked you a lot, actually, and he wanted to be there to support you. He couldn’t just run away from difficult times, not when he had a preteen. It would mean he wasn’t fit to be there for Sarah…

“I wanna be there for you.” Joel assured you, to your growing smile. “I may not know how to, but I wanna try my best.”

You smile more, and scoot up next to him, in turn Joel lays an arm around you. “Thank you, Joel”

Still, you were nervous… because Joel hasn’t seen you without sleeves… nonetheless without clothes. 

*

In the end, it was almost 4 months before you had sex. Physically, you’d taken things slow, but emotionally you hadn’t at all. You were in love, and you’d both told each other as much. Tommy had given Joel shit for committing to a girlfriend without having sex, but Joel had told Tommy he could talk after he got an actual girlfriend, not hookups. Still, Tommy wanted to provide a good opportunity for Joel to fuck you the way Joel would want to. Sappy and romantic. So, when Sarah’s favorite band Halican Drops was coming to Housten, Tommy offered to pay for them to go and for a hotel. 

Joel had tried to protest, saying it was too expensive, saying he wasn’t sure he wanted Sarah that far away, and that he should just come, but Tommy smacked him on the head.

“Dumbass, I’m giving you a night with your girlfriend!”

When Tommy promised not to have a single drop of alcohol, text every hour, not let her stand by any men, call when they leave the venue and get to the hotel ETC, Joel allowed it to happen. Sarah was ECSTATIC, being the first concert she’d ever been to, and although a teeny bopper band wasn’t exactly on Tommy’s dream list, he was excited to be a cool uncle. Also, Joel needed to get laid. He was getting cranky at work.

The night itself was a lot of fun. Joel took you to a nice restaurant, and after you came back to his place and changed into more comfortable clothes, you’d spent the night watching American Idol. Joel was very critical.

As the night progressed, your nerves grew as you knew where the natural progression of the night would take you. It wasn’t that you didn’t want to fuck Joel; you really, really wanted to. And you weren’t nervous about him. You knew Joel would stop if you said stop. What you were nervous about was your body. Joel looked good, but he had a bit of a stomach himself so you didn’t think he’d be worried about your shape or small imperfections… Joel was a gentle soul, kind, loving. Yeah, that wasn’t the worry. The worry had been on your skin.

In the middle of winter, you’d managed to not show much skin around him, with jackets and long sleeves and pants… but it was inevitable. Joel had been a wonderful support to you these 4 months, holding your hand, listening to you when you cried. Slowly you opened up to him about the circumstances that meant you needed extra help, and he was everything you could ask for. 

But how would he react to this?

Joel had you laid out on the bed, both of you still dressed and his pajama covered pants grinding into your warm cunt. Joel sure liked to take his time. 

“We don’t gotta do noth’n, you know that right?” Joel muttered into your neck, drunk on you but still being respectful like the gentle man he was.

“I know”

He pulled back. “Then why’dya seem so nervous?”

You look up at him, wide eyed and nervous, but you needed this… you needed to tell him the truth. “Joel…”

He got off you, standing up at the edge of the bed. The massive, rock hard erection in his pants couldn’t have been comfortable, but his willingness to stop anyway meant a lot. It was a low bar but it was there.

“We can stop, I’m sorry-”

You sit up on your elbows. “It’s not you, it’s just um… I should tell you something before we start…”

“Okay.” He was few on words, but he looked receptive.

You weren’t sure how to do this, how to open up that conversation… so you decided just to show him. Lights still on, you begin to take off your shirt.

Joel tried to stop you. “Hey, hey, no, let’s talk.”

You smile at him. “We will, Joel, just… let me show you…” After the shirt was off, you slid off your pants and laid on the bed, spread out and close to naked in a bra and underwear.

“Jesus, darl’n…” Joel mumbled, taking in the sight before him. 

Scars littered your body.

It wasn’t a few, it was a lot, and the coverage was significant. Joel’s eyes roamed your body, cock softening quickly despite your near-nakedness and took in the expanse of the scaring. Your thighs were the most noticeable, pink slaves across your skin from the hips to mid-thigh. His hand reached out instinctively, but pulled back. You noticed.

Your voice was soft, reassuring. You knew he was confused and curious. “You can touch me, it’s okay.”

He does. Joel’s fingers a feather light across your skin, feeling the way the scars dipped and raised depending on severity. There there cuts, but also burn mark; small circles from cigarettes twisting up the patterns more. It was all over, reaching back to the curve of your ass. His eyes followed the trail up and the cuts became less in intensity and number, but never stopping over your hip bone and to your stomach. These were lighter; less that split open the skin but the silver lines were still raised over the belly fat as his fingers touched you. Your bra-line showed more burns, and he stopped short of the cloth. 

You take his hands and guide Joel to reach behind you to unclasp the bra, allowing him to pull it up and reveal your breasts. His eyes water as he sees the scars never stopped, marring your breasts, although not nearly the horrific amount on your thighs.

“I don’t understand…” He mumbles, sadness and distress clear in his eyes. “You did this to yourself?” Joel takes your hand in his, examining the scars making a ring around your wrist. He kissed the inside, eyes threatening to pool over.

You nod. “Yeah…”

His voice cracks. “But… why?”

“Sometimes…” You start, overcome with emotions at the clear pain on his face. He loved you so much, the thought of you in this much pain hurt him as well. “It was all I could do to cope.”

He didn’t seem like he understood, but he wasn’t judging you. He didn’t look at you like a freak like so many others did. He just knew he didn’t want you to feel this way again. 

“I havn’t done it in a while.” You give him a smile. “You make things easier. I mean, I’m still… yeah… but you do make things much better.” He did. Having someone who held you, listened to you, helped pick up the pieces… it wasn’t going to cure you, but it was amazing how much support helped with the addition of meds and therapy. 

Joel relaxed at that, a relieved and gentle smile on his face. “I’m glad, darl’n…” He held you hand to his face, chapped lips nuzzling against your damaged skin. “”M here to take care of you now, okay? I wanna help.”

“You do.” You assure him, pulling his face down to you again and taking his mouth in yours. “You mean so much to me Joel, you make me so happy…” His body covers yours once more, his warm encasing you as he protectively holds you.

“You’re safe with me.” Joel mutters against your mouth, fingers digging into your soft flesh.

You pull him closer to you, grinding yourself up against him, enticing him again. “Still want you tonight, please? I can’t wait any longer.” It’s had been a long 4 months and fuck, fuck you wanted him, badly. 

“Always gonna take care of you, princesa.” Joel grinds his jeans-clothed cock against the soft fabric of your underwear, making you shutter. “Gonna take care of my pretty girl, always.”

And god, did he.

Joel’s mouth was sloppy, wet, hot between your legs. His tongue fucked into your hole, prodding you open and his hips bucking against the bed. Insatiable. Arms locked around your legs, his nose nudged against your clit as it seemed he was trying push himself as strongly against your body as he could, to devour you, to bring you and him the most absolute pleasure he could.

You tug at his hair, soft waves in between your fingers as you draw him closer to you. Warmth pooling in your stomach, you felt that pressure grow with every moan, every vibration, every sluuuuuuuuuurp! of your juices, christ he was incredible. You felt elevated, devoted too and adorned in affection the way you had always wanted to be. He was everything in this moment. Joel’s tongue slid up in a swift swipe, mouth and that pouty lower lip latching onto your clit with his fingers pumped into you.

“JOEL! J-ohhhhhh” Your cry for his name melted into moans as you came on his mouth and fingers, crushing his head between thighs as your legs bent. The power of your orgasm caused you to tense and then melt into the bed. You give a low hum as he kisses your inner thighs. As you come to reality again, you register Joel’s sweet kisses all over your legs. He’s kissing the trail of your scars. Joel kisses over the scars on your right thigh and up the crease at your inner hip.

“What are you doing?” You mutter, never for a moment fully let go of his hair.

“Appreciating every inch of you.”

Joel kissed his way up your torso, over the scars under your tits and over the mounds. Latching onto your nipple, he swirled his tongue around the sensitive skin. You can feel him smile against your skin when your back arches off the bed.

“Fuck, Joel, your fucking mouth…” You whimper, and when his mouth lets go his hands never do. Softly, he touches you in all the scarred, squishy parts of you you were trained for so long to hate. 

He kissed you tenderly, gentle hands a contrast to his hungry mouth. That tongue, that goddamn tongue…

When he slides in, your eyes can’t help but roll back; your chest rises up against his broad expanse. He filled you so perfectly, fucking deep inside you and filling you up. You never felt so full. Your heart, your life, your stretched out cunt… every part of you was full and euphoric.

“My sweet, perfect girl…” Joel grunts as he pumps into you, hand braced against the headboard and towering over you. You gazed up at him, the yellow lighting of the ceiling fan created a halo around him. Joel looked positively angelic. 

Fitting, as he was your angel.

You were aware how he was perceived in his culésac. Joel was highly respected; kind, hard working if a bit disorganized. A good southern man who raised his brother and daughter well, helped the elderly neighbors, bailed his brother out of pinches and would use his truck to help anyone move. Yeah, people liked Joel. But they wouldn’t call him gentle, like how you feel his hands over your stomach. They wouldn’t call him soft like you felt his stomach against yours. They wouldn’t call him angelic, but that was all you could say as you came on his cock.

They certainly would not call him warm, but that was all you felt as you pulled out and sprayed ropes of cum on your stomach. 

You dozed off to sleep as he spread his cum around your scarred skin.

You vaguely register him cleaning you up, tired and content, and wait for him to join you again. His body felt perfect against your, fitting so well against your body like two puzzle pieces so close together. You had mumbled a request to be dressed, just in case Sarah and Tommy came home early, so you were both cuddled up in sweats under a thick blanket.

Everything with Joel felt safe and warm.

"Scars remind us where we've been. They don't have to dictate where we're going" -David Rossi, Criminal Minds.

******************

So, there we are. I'm very frustrated by the new bought of scars that are quite noticable that I have to wait to fade again but I refuse to be ashamed the way I used to. My scars are just scars from my trauma and illness. It's a moral failing of the people who have and continue to harm me, not mine.

Thank you all for reading, this was quite a venerable piece for me but I see a light at te end of the tunnel, and things will be getting better, I know it <3

@fandxmslxt69 @runa-falls @k-ra @ahookedheroespureheart @mikaelak @littlenosoul @stevenandmarcslove @pikapuff-316 @del-ightfulling @faretheeoscar @harriedandharassed @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @campingwiththecharmings @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin @milly-louise @casa-boiardi @joeldjarin @mrs-oharaxx @pedge-page @readingiskeepingmegoing @survivingandenduring @yorksgirl

[rogueddie]

Change / Gloom

It's not hard to figure out that Eddie is gay- or bisexual? Steve isn't sure. All he knows, undoubtedly, is that Eddie Munson likes men.

The rumors from high school definitely do a lot of the heavy lifting in regards to Steves revelation. But he knows what it looks like when people are attracted to him. He knows exactly what it looks like when people try to hide that they're attracted to him.

His first test was simple; stretch. The bottom of his polo always rides up and, as expected, Eddies eyes lingered on the slither of skin on display.

A simple test. An easy one.

The second test is not so easy- it requires Robins help and she's not the most subtle. Luckily, she's as keen as he is on getting him a boyfriend (specifically, an Eddie-shaped boyfriend), so she puts in as much effort as she can at being convincing.

Eddie admitted to her that, yeah, Steve is attractive. That he also finds Steve attractive. And not in a straight way!

("What the hell does that even mean?" Robin had asked, when Steve insisted that she needs to clarify that. "If he's attracted to you, it can't be straight!"

"It totally can," Steve tutted. "Tommy was attracted to loads of guys in a straight way."

"I'm going to ignore that because we don't have time to unpack any of that-")

He hadn't expected Robin to be so convincing, or for Eddie to be so open yet. It ruins his very thought out plan in the best way- he only needs to confirm if it's more than just physical attraction now, and that's the easy part.

"You're late," Steve greets. He leans his hip against the doorway, crossing his arms.

Eddie rolls his eyes. "So sorry, princess. You gonna let me in?"

"Say please."

"Please." He shifts, trying to look annoyed, putting his hands on his hips. The hall light illuminates his face too well for Steve to miss the slight blush.

Steve steps back, beckoning him as dramatically as he can manage without feeling like an idiot.

"Eddie!" Dustin calls, waving him over to the couch.

Robin already helped Steve make it so there's only two spots left open... Eddie, like they'd hoped, choses the corner so he can lean over to talk to the kids.

Once he's checked the door is definitely locked, peeking into the kitchen to make sure the back door is also shut, he plops down on the sofa. He shifts, stretching his legs out so his thigh is pressed up against Eddies.

It's not until the movie starts that Eddie leans over and whispers; "what are you doing?"

Steve quietly hums, raising an eyebrow.

Eddie gently kicks his ankle. "That. And at the door."

"I can't be friendly?" Steve whispers, with a teasing little smirk- it always used to have girls stuttering.

"Not like this," Eddie hisses. "Back off."

"What? I was just-"

"I know. I'm telling you to stop."

Steve slowly pulls back so they aren't touching as much- where they're sat doesn't leave much space.

He feels unmoored. He's never felt so wrong about his chances- even at Scoops Ahoy, despite his attempts, he knew he was probably going to get rejected. He's not sure he has ever been so off.

"I'm getting some popcorn," Eddie says quietly, towards the mid-point of the movie.

"I'll help," Steve quickly offers, jumping to his feet before Eddie can turn his offer down.

"Hey," Robin pipes up, grabbing his arm and giving him a light squeeze- reassurance, comfort. "Make me that ice cream shake I like."

"Understood," Steve nods, giving her a lazy salute.

It takes a good few minutes to make, giving the two of them more time alone in the kitchen.

She's giving him the green light.

"Sorry about that," Steve says quietly, once they're in the kitchen. "Didn't mean to come on too strong. Or, like, if it's too public. I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable."

He doesn't say anything for a long moment. He keeps his back turned to him, waiting in front of the microwave, shoulders hunched to his ears.

Steve isn't sure whether he should say anything else. He looks uncomfortable. Steve isn't sure if speaking up would make it worse or-

"Who told you?" He eventually asks. He finally turns around, expressions dangerously blank. "Was it Gareth?"

"What?"

"He probably meant well," he ponders. His smile doesn't reach his eyes- it makes something uncomfortable squirm in Steves stomach. "He never did have the displeasure of meeting King Steve."

"Eddie-"

"It's ok though, right? You didn't mean to make me uncomfortable."

"What the fuck are you talking about, man? Are you mad that I, like... know? Is that it?"

"Is that it?" Eddie repeats, mockingly. "No, Harrington. I don't care that you know- most people guessed it, what's one more? No, I care that you're making fun of me."

"I'm not making fun of you."

"Really? Could've fooled me."

He turns back to the microwave- it dings, but Eddie stays there, pretending to be busy.

Waiting for Steve to leave.

"I'm not making fun of you," Steve tries again, hating how wobbly his voice sounds. "I was- I mean, I thought maybe, you, um... but if not, that- that's ok, I can, like... fuck."

Eddie slowly turns, frowning, looking slightly more concerned- but the suspicion still lingers. "Spit it out."

"I thought you might like me but I don't know if it's just physical so I thought I'd try and flirt as a way of testing the waters before actually trying to ask you out," Steve rushes out in one breath.

"You were... actually flirting?" Eddie blinks at him, slowly. "Seriously? Not a joke? But... what? I thought you were straight?"

"So did I," Steve shrugs, scratching the back of his neck. "Never really, um... thought about romancing a guy before."

"Before..?"

"Before you."

"Holy shit." Eddie goes to pinch himself- stopping at the last second with a shake of his head. "If I'm dreaming, don't wake me up."

"This is your idea of a good dream?"

"You know damn well it is, you little brat." Eddie laughs, shaking his head again, in disbelief. "I've fucked this up a bit, huh? Can we start again?"

"Oh. yeah, sure, of course, uh-"

"Wait, no, I don't have the patience for that," he quickly darts around the kitchen table, grabbing Steves waist and pulling him close. "This alright? Not gonna say psych?"

"If you don't kiss me right now, I just might."

"Say please."

[hazelfoureyes]

Someone nice, Somewhere safe

Angel x Virgin Male Reader

જ⁀➴ Angel x Virgin Female Reader - Someone nice, Somewhere safe*

*same story, just your bits and bobbles are changed 

You let it slip to the group you were a virgin, and instead of laughing, Angel grabs you before bed to offer a friendly hand.

<Warnings/Promises: Angel Dust x Virgin Male!Reader, smut, fingering, lubed to the gods, Angel uses four arms, Valentino is a blind bag of smashed assholes, creampie, oral, the gentlest sex I’ve ever written (probably), an alarming towel>

listen here virgins, if I could craft a perfect first time for you, this is it. Minus the lack of condoms because—it’s hell? Sex workers are tested bi-weekly?? This is still a fantasy??? Just if anything, please take from this the importance of a safe and trusting environment at all times 🙏  

minor dni (shoo! get outta here! Go on, git! 🧹)

You thought everyone would laugh when you said you were a virgin. The group awe’d and said it was cute, which was definitely better than the response you’d gotten in the overworld. But when Angel made a joke that your toys must be worn to the base, you felt the need to clarify. Total virgin, never used toys or your hands for, you cringed, penetration. Everyone just looked… sad? The conversation was quickly derailed by Angel launching into a list of wildest orgasm faces he’s seen, Charlie leaving the room entirely.

Continuing with the evening’s theme of surprise, you hadn’t expected Angel to catch up to you when everyone was filing off to bed. His hand gently reached for your wrist, “Hey ya got a sec?”

 For Angel, the epitome of smiling through the pain, you’d give him the remainder of your time in hell if he just asked. Every second, his.“Always!”

“So uh”, he rubbed the back of his neck, “about bein’ a virgin and all that.” Your stomach dropped, was the famous porn star about to embarrass you into a second death?“I think it’s real important that like— knowin’ yourself, and what makes you feel good is like super healthy. I dunno if you are interested in that kinda stuff but,” he was wildly moving his hands round, nervously stumbling over his words, “I’d be happy to help ya out.”

All of the blood rushed to your face.

“Oh fuck!” Angel grabbed your head and tipped it forward, “I would have accepted a simple no, jesus!” With one hand pinching your nose, he led you into his room just down the hall. 

What— what was happening, exactly? At all? In general? With your entire existence?

He kicked the door closed behind him and grabbed a handful of tissues, “Keep your head forward. Everyone who says tilt it back is an idiot.”

His hand was red when he drew it from your face, using his other hand to now hold tissues between his fingers as he pinched your nose shut.

“Is- is my nose bleeding??” Your voice cracked.

“Does that happen often?”

“Never.”

“Well I got to help you with at least one first, right?” Angel laughed, moving his hands away as you took over the task.

Oh, right. The offer. You glanced around the room, small but lived-in. Everything was pink and purple and soft.

“Angel, do you think because you’re a sex worker, you have to help me?” The room fell silent. Angel completely still beside you. You would love someone you could trust to take your virginity, but you would never want to use Angel like so many other people did on a daily basis.

“Ya know— a lot of people get real confused about this.” He sighed, chest heavy with the many misconceptions others had, “What I do for work, what I gotta do to get through the day, has nothin’ to do with who I am as a person.” You turned to look at him, “Why should I limit my experiences because of what other people have done to me?” The words hit you like a truck. You had unintentionally boxed him into his job, in turn into his trauma, summing him up as a warm body and incapable of any depth past that. Just a sex worker.

“No, no I didn’t mean anything like that. I just, I don’t want to ever,” you grabbed two of his hands, “ever take advantage of your kindness.” You squeezed, “or any part of you.”

His frown turned up, “We’re dead, yea, but you still exist. If you want to, you should enjoy every part of your afterlife. And I’d hate you to meet some asshole who’s too rough or doesn’t get ya warmed up first. A bad first time can be really traumatizin’.”

You nodded without actually thinking. Your brain wasn’t really processing meaning, his words were just soft and kind and your nose still stuffed full of tissue.

“Do you wanna?”

You nodded more vigorously, “Did my nose start bleeding again?”

Angel took the tissue away, giving a second to see, “Nope.”

Taking a deep breath, you said, “Okay. Yeah, I want that. Someone nice, somewhere safe.”

“It ain’t quite nice but-,” Angel looked around his room.

“It’s perfect, Angel.”

“Aw fuck, I should clean up,” he hurriedly carried trash from his nightstand, flattening out the comforter and adjusting his pillows. He placed fat nuggets on the floor with a little pat on the head.

Finally, he stood in front of you, two hands on his hips, two gesturing to you.

“Alright baby! Let’s pop some cherries! Undress~” he elongated the word, shimmying his hips a little, “-to your comfort level.” He began to unbutton his blazer, “Bare minimum, take off your pants and underwear, please and thank you. Though I have fucked through underwear…” He was momentarily lost in a memory.

You hadn’t anticipated getting naked in front of a friend tonight. But Angel so effortlessly shed his clothes, peeling off his gloves. Pulling off your pants, you paused.

“Is it weird if I keep my shirt on? Like— do you know who Winnie the Pooh is?”

“Nothin’ weird about bein’ comfortable, pookie.” He pinched your cheek, “I’d offer a modesty blanket but I kinda need to see what I’m doing.” His eyes flitted to the left, “No, wanna. I wanna see.” Angel’s laugh relaxed you, the idea of anyone wanting to see you made you feel a little less—-naked. Still, your hands seemed frozen on your underwear’s edge.

With a hum, he disappeared into the bathroom and returned with a towel. “Go on, lie down. I’ll help ya relax. This is already feeling too medical-like.”

Were you going to need a towel? Were you going to need a towel?? Were you going to need a towel!?

You sat back on his bed, and when he crawled up to meet you, all legs and arms and Angel Dust, you buried your face in your hands.

“Oh hey—,” his voice was so soft, lacking its usual sass, “Wanna just, cuddle and watch stupid shit on my phone?” You groaned, face sinking further down. This would be easier if he wasn’t so sweet. You could at least take a backseat, then.

You shook your head, and felt his hand on your ankle. It snaked up your calf, slipped down your knee and thigh, finding the waistband of your underwear. When you looked up from your hiding place, Angel was a foot from your face. His features lit only by the purple neon signs hanging beside his bed and near the door. He lifted his brows, a question he didn’t need to vocalize. You sank back into the purple and pink pillows, different sizes, different textures, gently enveloping you.

With two hands now, he slide off your underwear. You might die, again. Your heart would give out any second, incapable of handling the moment. You were manually breathing.

He lifted your hips with two hands, a third sliding the towel beneath you before setting you back down.

“Do ya-,” he was rummaging now inside the nightstand drawer, “not play with yourself? Ever?”

“Not really. Not like, there.”

“Whaddya do with all your free time?” His short but enthusiastic laughter forced a smile to your cheeks. Angel slid the drawer shut and came to rest in front of your tightly shut thighs and knees. You heard a cap pop, and found the courage to sit up and see what he was doing.

“What?” He squeezed a clear, thick lubricant onto his right hand, “Don’t let anyone tell you ya don’t need lube. No fun for no one, trust me. Could start a fuckin’ fire—- and spit ain’t lube!” Angel said it like he spoke from a personal experience.

Ah, the towel. That made sense now.

“Should I do something?”

“Just lie back, baby~,” he opened your knees and followed your face as you settled back down, “Do you like kissin’?”

You’d kiss a trashcan if Angel said it got him hot, so, “Yeah.”

“Good,” One hand touched your cheek, sliding to your chin as he brought your lips to his. You thought you’d melt, his hands so soft on you, lips confident and sure. He used his thumb on your chin to pull down your bottom lip and ask you for entrance. When you opened up to him, his tongue slid into yours as his sticky wet hand finally touched you. Two fingers rubbing the lube up and down your ass.

You nearly inhaled him with your shock, he giggled into it, “You’re so cute.” You twitched under his hand, “Ooh, and reactive! Daddy likes.”

Stop. Stop talking. I’m going to black out.

His mouth returned to yours, tongue over your tongue, as his fingers just massaged your entrance. No attempt at entering, no prodding, just gentle up and down motions. Slowly, your felt your skin heating beneath his hand, the lubricant somewhat melting with your warmth.

At work, Angel was never the lead. Never the top, and never afforded time to ease anyone open. He had no issues with topping, it just wasn’t his normal role. Watching you sigh and twitch under him felt like a treat. Such a sweet response to what so many people made unnecessarily dirty at work. He wasn’t shocked to find his cock twitching, swelling as your breathing hitched with every stroke of his hand. When was the last time he could just… slow down? Be the one in control? Not control like Val, control like—- can I get you a pillow? Is the pacing good? Let’s soften these lights.  Hold my hand, sweetheart.

His head felt a little dizzy. His middle finger pressed now, and with a slow but constant motion entered you. ‘Uncomfortable’ was the best word. Your body tensed around him, but he gently pressed past your virgin walls. He hummed, “First one down! Atleast,” he paused, “two more to go.”

“Atleast??” You shook your head.

“It’s sex math, trust the professional in the room.” He withdrew the finger and slid it back in, starting a slow pace of long drags from knuckle to fingertip.

It didn’t hurt, to his credit. The excitement of having Angel touching you so intimately made the finger easier to relax into. Angel must have noticed, his finger leaving you. He popped the top again of his lube and pressed in two fingers. This was harder. You whined, his fingertips pushing past the tight ring of muscle and settling into the wet warmth behind.

Lying on your back, you stared at the now upside-down photos behind his bed. He looked so happy. Could you join that wall? Was this wall worthy?

“You still good?” He leaned over you, fingers  moving.

You nodded, “Can I have another kiss?”

Ah, you might as well have punched him in the chest. “Of course, darlin’~ Ask and you shall receive.” You liked kissing, genuinely, but were always scared you’d kiss someone too long and end up in an awkward situation having to explain you weren’t wanting sex. But that fear was all gone, you’d broken the code. Get naked first, then kiss.

You smiled into his mouth, and he smiled back, “Whatcha thinkin’ about?”

“I like kissing you.” You leaned up, pressing your lips to his chin. His fingers quickened, and you moaned without warning. You felt your cock twitch, erection growing as nervousness was slinking away and finally letting you feel aroused.

“Ooh, now we’re gettin’ somewhere,” he leaned back, repeating the same steps and trying to press a third finger into you. His abundance of hands were a blessing, one at your entrance, one on your knee to keep your shaking legs open, and two roaming down the sides of your body. When three fingers finally entered, you could feel the burning stretch of your skin around them. He pushed in, and the skin followed. He pulled out, your sensitive hole pulling too. The hand on your knee came to your crotch, his palm pressing lightly down on your growing erection. You glanced up to him, his eyes focused as he watched his fingers slowly drag in and out of you. It burned still, but just past that burning was a slippery sensation that made your cock jump under his hand.

He let his fingers sink in entirely, before bending and feeling inside you. Your knee jumped when he hit something.

“Bingo! Say hello to your g-spot.” He beamed down at you, gold tooth shining, “You don’t really need it to cum but oooh boooy does it maximize pleasure,” it sounded so pornographic when he said it.

You weakly copied, “B-bingo.” 

“I can do this now~” he replaced his palm with his fingers,  sticky with lube, and they wrapped around your cock. His hand slowly pumped up and down your shaft. “Sex math. Don’t need your virgin ass locking up on me.” He said quietly to himself, fingers in and out of you picking up speed. Your head was pressing into the pillows as your neck strained, you’d never masturbated while someone, something, penetrated you. Every stroke of his hand made your body clench, the feeling of something hard and unforgiving pushing back against your quivering hole made a pleasure you couldn’t describe.

“Feelin’ good yet?” The way he said it, he knew damn well how you were feeling.

You whimpered into one of the pillows, “Feels good.” A weak nod.

Angel’s grin bordered on wicked, hand slowing. He leaned down and placed a kiss on your cock head. Then another. His tongue flattened against his bottom lip as he dragged it over your sensitive slit.

You moaned, a half spoken-half cried, “Oh fuck, Angel-.” Hips bucking up, his fingers kept their place and followed. You humped up against his tongue, ground down into his fingers; up, down. Soft tongue, rigid fingers.

“You can fuck my face, baby,” He opened his mouth, tongue out, and looked up at you from your stomach. “I ain’t got a gag reflex anymore, popsicles slide in like— well, cocks.” He lowered his mouth onto you, leaving room for you to move. His fingers slowed in you.

You thrust up slowly, testing the sensation. His mouth closed around you, tongue moving along you shaft as you rutted into his face.

One hand held tightly to the pillow, the other coming to Angel’s hair. Your body kept jumping away from overstimulation but you fought against it every time and tried to grind against his face.

His fingers slipped out of you, your body closing back around the space where they were. That feeling of your hole tightening made you hungry for his fingers to spread you back open. His hand came to cup your balls, feeling the weight in his palm.

He lifted his mouth off you with a deliberate pop, “Gettin’ close already?” You nodded, eyes closed. “Ready for the real thing?”

“Yeah. I need more, Angel.” It came out as a whine, shocking you a little.

His hand came to his erection, red and leaking. Stroking himself, he returned to massaging at your puffy and swollen entrance.

“You comfortable with gettin’ on your knees? This position ain’t so conducive for what I’m tryin’ to do.”

Somehow, ass up sounded better than face to face, “You’re the expert.” You rolled onto your stomach, hips up, face resting into the sea of pillows. You paused, lifted off your now sweaty shirt, and got back into position. 

“Sexpert, but thank you!” The lid popped open again, cold and viscous lube being dripped directly onto your ass, “Finally some recognition around here.” He coated himself with what was still on his hands, and raised your hips to line himself up.

“Deep breaths, okay?” He leaned over your back, kisses falling down your skin. Two hands held your hips, one guided himself into you. You tensed when his head began to push in, “Relaaax, just like the fingers.”

A muffled, “okay” from your place in the pile. Your heart was suddenly racing, erection now gone. He wiped his dick up and down your ass, swiping past your entrance, dragging the edge of your hole with the crook of his head. Lining up, he pushed in, getting his head firmly sunk into you.

“Breath, baby,” he moaned into your shoulder. You took a deep breath in, your body tight still. But, it didn’t hurt like you’d thought. It burned, but there was no sting, no tearing. Angel’s hands ran up and down your sides, along you ass and thighs. He gently touched everywhere he could reach, until he felt you soften, “Ready to keep going?”

“Yes please”, you turned your head to look at him.

He pulled out slightly to collect more lube on his shaft, before slowly sinking into you until he bottomed out.

You were gasping, your brain misfiring. You couldn’t feel anything but him, your body just a formless thought with Angel’s warm, solid cock reaching deeper into than you thought possible. One roaming hand reached for your shoulder, “Can I move?”

“Slow,” your hand searched for a loose fold of comforter to grip, but it was soon encased and intertwined by one of his.

He pulled out, and slowly thrust back in. A saccharine moan fell from his mouth, and it made you whimper. 

You were so soft around him, yet your entrance was gripping him so snuggly he felt like he was melting into you. His breath was unsteady, “You feel so good on my cock, baby.” A burning blush took over your face, your erection jumping back to life.

“How ya doin’?” Angel sounded nervous, timid.

You had to collect saliva to get any words out, mouth running dry from panting, “S’good.” You tried again, “So good.” Your fingers tightened around his.

He adjusted his hips, watching you closely. When your eyes closed and your hand nearly broke his, he grinned down, “Bingo~,” his speed began to pick up. 

“Fuuuuck, Angel-,” you dragged out the last syllable of his name. You could feel your orgasm returning after dying down earlier. 

Angel took languid thrusts out to the tip and pushing back past your still resisting entrance. Every time he pulled out and slipped in felt better than before. The sensations of him opening you around his cock again and again had your stomach and thighs tensing. You brought your hand up to stroke your own pulsing dick, slowly pumping. 

Angel’s hand came down and wrapped around your cock, taking over your own attempts. The feeling of him in you and around you was overwhelming.

“Cumming,” You hissed, squeezing his hand tighter, his thrusts becoming faster and shallower. His repeated pressing of your g-spot pushed you over the edge, hand slowly milking you of every drop of cum.

Angel’s moans got louder, your body tightening in spasms as you emptied your balls onto the towel. Your body was so inviting, warm walls sucking his head deeper. He rarely got to feel this sensation. His head rested against your back, hands running along the curve of your hips as he melted into your sweet heat.

He picked up speed, only drawing out an inch or so now with each thrust. The lube made a pop and squelch every time his skin pulled from yours, the sound making his legs weak.

“Where can I cum?” His breath was raspy, messy with the pleasure of your soft insides rubbing along his shaft. You gripped the blanket, dick jerking from the feeling of Angel chasing his release with your body. You could hear the strain in his voice, “Gonna need an answer real fast, babe.” You hid your face in the pillow mountain again, embarrassed to answer.

“Inside,” you tried to say it loudly enough for him to hear.

He whimpered a, “Fuuuuck” down your spine, “Such a dirty little virgin.” His hips stuttered before he sunk into you with such force your legs gave out. Your body came down flush onto the bed, towel sticking to your stomach and thighs. Angel was pressed into you, chest against your back as his breathing calmed. You could feel his heart through your ribs, his chest fluff silky on your skin. Your body was warm, his hot cum filling you.

Small, lazy kisses on your back, then up your neck, he leaned to kiss your cheek. He slid out of you delicately, but you didn’t move.  His weight left the bed, then returned as a warm, wet cloth wiped you clean. After a couple of minutes of gentle cleaning, you felt the throw blanket cover your back. Angel plopped down on his back beside you, pulling the blanket over his legs and unlocking his phone, “Wanna see this fuckin’ hilarious video of my boss runnin’ into a glass wall?”

You chuckled, nodding, making no effort to get up. One of his hands came down and ruffled your hair, he leaned in to your head and as you watched Valentino collide head first into a wall, he said softly, “Let me know if you need anything. I got a bitchin’ tub in there.”

You hummed, reaching a shakey hand up and pressing ‘replay’ on his phone. Angel’s laughter echoed off the walls, and you decided you had no plans on leaving bed anytime soon.

Sweet smut inspired by HunnyPaint on pornhub and fansly! 🍯🎨 If you like femboyxfemboy, I highly recommend. They make love look hot. Their fansly is also priced well! 10/10 (again, talking to legal adult humans here)

༻Masterlist༺

[blippymilk]

Brozone (+ Poppy & Viva) x Touch Starved Fem! Reader

Ok the request is that the reader is a touch starved, easily flustered, insecure yet passionate female. Her hair can change based on how she’s feeling. She likes to rant and info dump a lot. She likes drawing herself and her loved ones, and gives small gifts as a form of affection or to make them feel better. There will be a friend and s/o version.

(I’m also really sorry if this is not to the liking of the request, I kind of struggled while making this 😭)

John Dory:

Friend:

- As your friend he’s a little concerned for you

- Like he knows your fine but sometime he worries 😭

- But nothing JD can’t handle

- Genuinely enjoys your little gifts but he never makes it obvious at first

“Hey JD look I made you a little gift.” :)

“Oh that’s sweet. Can you put it on my desk? I’ll look at it later.”

- One day him and his brothers were rough housing around while you Poppy, and Viva stood by cheering them on. Bruce gets a little too rough with him and knocks something out of his jacket, it was your gift

- This man stops everything

- Like everything

- Like everyone’s frozen in place no matter what stance they’re in

- And picks it up and places it gently back in the pockets inside his jacket then lectures the boys about how he could’ve gotten his belongings crushed 😭

S/O:

- Still worries about you even after being together

- Sometimes the way your emotions change with your hair startles him

- And that’s mostly because your emotions can change rapidly

- But he also finds it really funny

- So prepare for his scare attacks

- Your hair gets so spiky, and you get so mad

“Oh come on I was only playing around babe. Tell you what, I’ll find a better way to mess with your hair.”

- And he did, which was by flustering you with comments that boost your confidence

- Your face turns red and your hair poofs up then falls around your head

- You’re always muttering a lot just like Viva and Poppy and JD finds it hilarious that him, Branch, and Clay are in the same boat (not saying Clay and Viva are not dating jus to clarify 😭)

Floyd:

Friend:

- Loves having a friend that’s the complete opposite of him

- He’ll listen to you rant all day

- With feedback on every question and statement

- Also finds your hair amusing but won’t abuse it’s power on purpose like John 😭

- Shocked by your passion to draw

“Is that me and you?”

“You know it.”

“I love it.” 🥹

S/O:

- Absolutely head over heels for you

- Still would be into listening to you rant but he’s helping you calm down a bit more

- Now your drawings had a more romantic reference behind them and he loved them even more

- No matter where he goes he always has one of your pictures on him

- He carries it around and values it like cash

- And absolutely none of his (little) brothers are getting their hands on it (yes he’s aware that they’re all adults now)

Spruce Bruce

Friend:

- He’s an expert on hair so he’s not too shocked or anything

- I mean look at that fluff on his head

- Seeing as Bruce could handle so many kids in the movie I believe he could deal with a ranting partner just fine

- He knows how to avoid frustration with you

S/O:

- Finds everything you do cute (c’mon it’s Bruce)

- He loves your arts & crafts

- Probably more than you

- Just like John he likes to you see you flustered with that big frizz on your head

- Your hair is constantly poofy because this man never stopsssss

“Hey (____) did it hurt when you fell?”

“Huh?”

“When you fell. From heaven?”

“Bruce you’re litteraly gonna kill me and my hair…”

- Definitely helps you get the knots out afterward 😭

Clay:

Friends:

- He hangs around Viva so the rambling is nothing new to him

- Always tries to hide you from Viva because he knows you two would be a unstoppable force ( plus poppyyyyy?!?)

- Hates when you feel insecure in any kind of way possible

- So just like you leave him little sketches, he leaves little notes of affirmations for you to read

- And makes you read them

- Outloud

“I am so pretty, beautiful, smart, talente- Clay do I have to keep-”

“Keep going.”

“Ok but-”

- Extremely intense eye contact

sighhhhhhhh “I am talented, I am kind, I am loyal…”

S/O:

- One of the most respectful boyfriends in the world

- Eventually gives in and let’s you and Viva mingle (possibly a bad descion!!??)

- Astonished by what your hair is capable of (can’t show his excitement tho cause he’s not a fun boy anymore right?)

- He is a words of affection (and physical touch sjejkemsjks) kinda guy so as your boyfriend he’s all you could ask for

- So now your attached to this man like glue and it’s kind of his fault

- Has to pry you off sometime but he will never stop loving you the same

“I love youuuuuu.”

“I love youuuuuu too.”

Branch:

Friend:

- Just like Clay he’s friends with Poppy so he’s used to the talking behavior (no Boppy in thissss 😔)

- You guys didn’t exactly hit it off at first either

- You met him during his “no color” era so that makes most of the sense

- ntgl when he first finds out about your hair he’s thrown off

- And the other trolls had so much fun with it that he considered you a distraction from the bergens soooo he wasn’t too fond of you

- And it takes a while but eventually you both become inseparable

“You hated me for no reason, and now I’m your favorite.”

“Yeah yeah.”

S/O:

- He’s growing as in character development

- So now instead of getting upset he uses your hair to read you

- He never really knows when he’s doing anything right or wrong as far as the relationship so he depends on your hair to know which path to take

- Your info dumping soothes him, wether he likes it or not

- He plays it off subtly but he knows how to fluster you and he takes pride in that (*AHEM* SINGING)

Poppy:

Friend:

- Doesn’t even realize that you’re rambling cause she’s doing it too

- You both are a special duo that at one point drove Branch up a tree (no pun intended)

- As much as the trolls like you, they don’t realize how actually dangerous you two could be together 😭

- And you can imagine the fear on Branch’s face when he finds out Viva and Poppy are sisters

S/O:

- Everyone knows Poppy is a scrapbooking master so when she begins to receive little arts and crafts from you she’s in love

- Like she’s bouncing off the wall excited

- Literally (it’s Poppy)

- She’s superrr touchy-feely so your living your best life

- Your hair is so fun and amusing to her

- Like JD she might try to scare you a couple times to see your hair spike up for fun but cuddles you after

“I’m sorry sweetieeee you know I can’t help it. Your hair is just so fun!”

“Poppyyyy you say that everytimeeee!”

Viva:

Friends:

- Basically Poppy’s doppelgänger so what can you expect?!

- Always rambling but somehow always manages to do it more than you

- She might just be you plus Poppy times five

- Clay tried to help you hide your hair for the sake of you and Viva

- Unfortunately she popped up out of nowhere startling you both and causing your hair to go erratic

“So so sorry guys I didn’t mean to…OMG YOUR HAIR!”

S/O:

- Everything you could ask for from a girlfriend

- Like she literally could not have given you anymore

- She loves your art works

- She loves to hear you talk and join in with you

- She loves the touchy-feely type

- She literally can’t find a single flaw in you whatsoever

[jinbedreams]

It's been so fascinating to see how strongly people react to Toshiro in Dungeon Meshi. When I first read that scene I didn't feel hurt by Toshiro's rejection of Laois at all, I was more shocked at Laios raising a hand to him in anger because Laios had always felt like a man free from such anger and aggression. Although it was very powerful to see that Laios was capable of feeling such a way. I felt the scene was very emotionally charged and an important moment for both characters.

So when I started hearing about how hurt other people were at seeing Toshiro lash out in frustration towards Laios, and seeing people express discomfort towards Toshiro I was surprised but not confused. Honestly I was more surprised at myself for not having a similar reaction because I have also been subject to being led on in "friendships" that the other person secretly despised (or at least did NOT feel the same). It can be very hurtful to discover that someone has built a resentment towards you but never made any attempt to clear the air with you until a point of crisis.

I am autistic and I struggle a lot with relationships but in this instance I didn't see myself in Laios' shoes (although I have been there) instead I found myself relating to Toshiro. A man trapped by social expectations, rigid rules of engagement hammered into him from a young age, only to discover that there is someone who does not follow these rules at all. Even more bizarrely they seem completely free from any of the consequences that would befall Toshiro if he ever deviated from his carefully cultivated mask.

I can say from experience it is confronting to try and unpack your own high masking trauma while also feeling compelled to support the low masking autistic person in your life. Even if the other person means no ill will and has not truly done anything wrong, having them unknowingly walk all over you can be enough to push you to a breaking point. There is an intense frustration that comes with seeing someone else get away with not following the social rules you have beaten yourself painfully into shape to fit.

Yes Toshiro could have chosen any moment to correct Laios on his name, or clarify his discomfort or his personal boundaries, but that is operating under the assumption that Toshiro feels safe enough to do so. He is a stranger in a strange land, and often in that position it is a safer choice to subject yourself to a level of discomfort simply to keep the general peace. Where my fellow high maskers at? We make biting our tongue a fucking art.

[uvobreakmylegs]

Last Day Out

sorry for my inactivity here’s a Chrollo fic for your troubles

Warnings: death, kidnapping

Word count: 6.9k

The dark, clouded skies overhead threatened to burst open with rain at any moment, much to your disappointment. You were hoping that the weather would be good when you went out with him today. A nice day with lots of sun but wasn't too hot – that was what you'd been counting on. Days like that made it hard for you to feel sad, and you hoped it would be the same for him.

But despite a decent temperature, the clouds loomed overhead and blocked out the sun completely. That only left you feeling nervous.

What made that feeling worse was the fact that there weren't a lot of people here, the threat of rain was compelling most to stay at home. Not an unreasonable stance to take, but it was bad timing for you. A busier atmosphere in the cafe would have made you feel a bit more at ease, but when the only other company you had were the two waitresses who were currently wiping down empty tables and an elderly couple taking their time with their lunch, it was hard to feel like you had any safety in numbers.

Then again, the cafe could've been filled to the brim with patrons and you likely would've still had the same problem. Because no matter how many people were around you, it wasn't like that changed anything when you were sitting across from your boyfriend and trying to build up the nerve to tell him something that he wouldn't be happy to hear.

With the way things were outside of the cafe and how nervous you felt, you almost wanted to cancel your date entirely and move it to a different day, but you'd forced yourself to go through with it, knowing full well that if you dragged this out any longer, it would only get worse for you.

You needed to break up with Chrollo.

But you needed to do it in a way that didn't end in him being angry with you.

That couldn't be too hard, right? In the time that you'd known him, Chrollo had never exhibited any truly worrying behaviors towards you. The two of you had some disagreements, but he had never gotten full-on angry or even raised his voice with you. And while ending a relationship was much more significant than the minor disputes you'd had over unimportant things, you wanted to believe that he would take it well.

He needed to care at least a little about you, right? So he wouldn't take it badly and lash out in the worst way possible, right?

You had no idea, but you told yourself that he would respect you enough to accept your decision, even if it might hurt him to do so.

He was capable of giving you that much courtesy, right?

“You've been very quiet today.”

The sound of his voice snapped you out of your thoughts, and then you were back, sitting in the booth of the brightly-lit cafe that was greatly contrasted against the dark hues present outside, with your mostly finished meal sitting on a plate in front of you while the older couple a few tables away spoke quietly to one another and one of the waitresses had disappeared to an area in the back.

Back to Chrollo, sitting across from you with a look on his face that you couldn't quite read.

You got the sense that he was studying you.

You gave him a soft smile as you said “I guess the state of things outside has me feeling a bit down.”

He nodded as if he understood, then said “we didn't need to go out today if you weren't up for it.”

“No, I wanted to go out. And besides, sometimes it's better if you make yourself do something even if you aren't feeling up to it.”

Immediately after saying that, you realized how bad that sounded, and you stumbled over yourself as you added “sorry, that came out wrong. I didn't mean to make it sound like going out with you was a chore.”

He smiled at that.

“I assumed that was the case, but I appreciate you clarifying.”

Chrollo took a sip of his water before saying “and while it's a nice sentiment, it's also always fine to cancel if you aren't feeling well.”

“It's not really a matter of not feeling well,” you answered, “just one of those days, you know?”

“I see.”

The meal was coming to a close, and soon one of the waitresses would be over to take your plates. Which meant the time that you needed to say those words you dreaded was coming up.

I think we should break up

Just thinking them made a lump form in your throat, and in that moment you really wished it was safe enough for you to break up by text. It would've felt scummy to do it that way but you wouldn't have needed to deal with this. Although breaking up through text wasn't taken well even by the most well-mannered people, and you desperately didn't want him to be angry with you.

You just couldn't see him the same way anymore.

Not after watching that video.

The waitress, the one with braided hair who'd been wiping down the tables earlier, approached your table and asked if she could take your plates. Chrollo responded for you, smiling as he gave her a polite confirmation.

Okay, you thought to yourself. As soon as she left, you would say it. Maybe begin by saying you had something important to talk about.

“Was there anything else I can get for you?” the waitress asked, “or did you want the check?”

You were about to ask for the check when Chrollo responded for you again.

“I wouldn't mind having a look at the dessert menu,” he answered. Then he looked to you as he asked “does that sound good to you?”

“Uh, sure.”

The waitress was happy to comply, and with the cafe being next to empty she brought the menus over to you quickly. Chrollo didn't take long to figure out what he wanted, and he and the waitress chatted a bit while you came to a decision.

You glanced over at him a few times, noting how comfortable and relaxed he appeared to be as he engaged in polite conversation.

He still had a knife, you realized. It sat next to where his plate had been, having gone unused during the meal. A bad thought came to mind then. Of how open the waitress' neck was and how easy it would be for him to grab that knife and then-

Stop it. Just order something and then get this over with.

The waitress went to the back soon after to get a parfait for you and a tiramisu for Chrollo, which left you alone with him again.

It'd be awkward to tell him now that you wanted to leave him, wouldn't it? So you'd need to wait until after you'd gotten your desserts to say it. You let out a soft sigh without thinking, after which you found yourself hoping that he hadn't noticed.

“I know it isn't much,” Chrollo said, bringing your attention back to him, “but I thought that perhaps something sweet might lift your spirits a little.”

“Thank you,” you replied, then added “sorry if I've been ruining things for you today, though.”

“Nonsense,” he replied, “no matter what mood you're in, I'm happiest when I'm with you.”

As he said that, he reached one of his hands over the table and held it out, and after a moment, you copied him, placing your hand into his and allowing him to squeeze it softly.

There was an odd flutter in your heart upon feeling his touch. And when you looked back to him and found the soft smile on his face as he stared at you lovingly, you remembered the day you met him and why you'd fallen for him.

The area where the two of you met was close to the cafe; you'd been walking on the sidewalk when someone had shoved into you from behind unexpectedly and you were sent crashing onto the pavement. Your hands and knees had taken the brunt of the fall, and were subsequently scraped up to the point of bleeding.

When you looked up from your bleeding palms to see if whoever had pushed you had the decency to stay and check if you were alright, you didn't find anyone, and you couldn't catch sight of anyone who looked as if they were fleeing the scene.

The situation was made worse when you saw that of all the others on the sidewalk were actively ignoring you. They wouldn't look at you, and for the ones that found you in the middle of their path, they would walk around you and go on their way.

That had been a depressing moment: you were clearly in need of at least some assistance and no one around you felt inclined to even acknowledge what had just happened.

That was when he showed up.

Chrollo seemed to appear out of nowhere and offered a hand to help you back up to your feet. He kept a firm but gentle grip on you as he looked over where your injuries were worst before he asked if you would let him help you.

Still in slight shock over the situation and being unable to properly use your words, you nodded.

Twenty minutes after that you sitting on a bench in a park while Chrollo applied the disinfectant he'd gotten at a nearby convenience store to your wounds before placing the bandages.

By that point you were feeling better, even after dealing with the painful sting of the disinfectant and the ache in your arms and legs. You wanted to repay the man who had been the only one to care about what happened to you. While he'd refused reimbursement for what he'd spent on disinfectant and bandages, he agreed when you proposed that you pay him back by getting him something to eat.

Ten minutes after that the two were sitting at a table at that same cafe, chatting over the desserts you'd be paying for. You remembered how grateful you felt. If not for him stopping to help you, your entire day would've likely ended on a sour note with you patching yourself up on your own and trying to distract yourself by watching a comfort film. Instead you were out at a cafe with a handsome man who had proven himself to be extremely kind and generous, and when he'd asked you to give him your number so he could keep in contact with you, you were more than happy to do so.

It didn't take long after that for Chrollo to become your boyfriend.

Evidently the way you met was also on Chrollo's mind, as he then said “We've come here a lot, haven't we? Ever since our first date that night.”

“Wasn't so much of a date as it was me trying to get over what happened after I got knocked down,” you mumbled.

He smiled as he said “I thought it was in repayment for my helping you.”

“Well, yeah,” you began, “you were really nice to me, and I wanted to do something nice for you back.”

“And I'm glad you did. We might not be here right now if not for that.”

“Yeah....”

The way you trailed off was a mistake, as you watched Chrollo's eyebrows furrow in concern. You tried to wave away his concerns before he could voice them, however, saying “sorry, just feeling tired.”

It didn't seem like you had been too successful, as he was serious when he spoke again.

“You should get some rest when you get home, then.”

You nodded while saying “I will.”

Just then the waitress from earlier approached the table with your orders, setting them down as she told you to enjoy. You both thanked her, and she walked off while you focused on the dessert in front of you. Despite hoping that Chrollo would be right and that you'd feel a bit better, the dessert didn't do much to ease your nerves. And what began to disturb you was the fact that every time you glanced up at Chrollo, he would glance up immediately after and catch your gaze. You tried to play it off by smiling at him, but you felt the muscles in your cheeks becoming more and more strained.

He wasn't stupid. He'd caught onto the fact that there was something wrong with you. Lying about it would only make it worse when you eventually told him.

Chrollo wasn't stupid, but you sure felt like it in that moment.

Not long after the waitress brought the bill out to you, placing it on the table while telling you to take your time. When she was out of earshot, he spoke.

“Is it really just the weather that's bothering you, love?”

You looked up at him and found that you couldn't read his expression again.

“This entire time you've looked as though you've been wanting to say something to me,” he continued.

…. Best to say it now, you supposed.

Placing the half-eaten parfait to the side, you took in a few breaths to try and compose yourself.

“Yeah, you're right,” you began, “there is something I need to talk about.”

He didn't reply, evidently waiting for you to speak.

You quickly glanced up at him again and just as quickly glanced at your folded hands on the table.

Just say it. Just say it and get it over with.

I think we should break up

I think we should break up

“I think we should break up.”

When the words finally left your lips, they were a bit more hushed than you'd intended, perhaps partially out of fear of saying them too loud and drawing unwanted attention to yourselves, and perhaps also because of how much saying them out loud scared you. You had no idea how he was going to react to that, and that uncertainty kept your gaze focused on your hands, too scared of what you might see if you looked back to him.

There was no reaction from him at first, and part of you wondered at first if he hadn't heard you. Yet the longer the moments passed with nothing being said and the more you felt his gaze boring into you, the more you felt certain that he had, in fact heard you. Perhaps he was taking the time to process it.

You still didn't want to look at him.

He didn't say anything at first, and for a moment all you heard was the chatter coming from the other patrons of the cafe. It sounded like the elderly couple were leaving as you heard the other waitress wish them a good rest of their day. The bell above the entrance rang out as the door was opened, and rang once more as it was shut.

Now all you heard was the waitress as she cleared up the table the couple had been sitting at and a distant rumbling of thunder from the outside.

You stayed quiet, figuring that the ball was in his court.

The first sign of a reaction from him came when he slid his plate to the side before resting his forearms on the table. From the edges of your vision, you saw the way he clasped his hands together. He was taking what you said seriously.

Then he spoke.

“I did get the sense that you wanted to discuss something important with me,” he began, “although I must admit that this wasn't what I was expecting.”

“I thought things were going well between us,” he added, “but there must be something wrong if you were unhappy with me and I failed to notice it.”

“I'm not unhappy with you,” you replied.

“Then why would you want to leave me?”

Just make it out like you're the one who's the problem, you told yourself again. Don't let him catch onto the fact that you know anything about what he's done.

“You didn't do anything wrong,” you said, “you've been wonderful, actually, and I've really loved the time we've spent together.”

“But I don't think that I'm really in the right place mentally to be in a relationship,” you continued, “I've got a lot to do with work and other obligations, and I really need to take some time to do some self-reflecting.”

“Self-reflecting on what?” he asked.

“General issues,” you answered.

Fuck. That felt like such a weak answer. Say something else.

“I'm also just not good enough for you.”

There was a pause before he repeated “not good enough?”

You nodded.

“In what way?”

You cleared your throat before saying “financially speaking, we aren't very well matched.”

“Why does that matter?”

“Because I don't want to leech off of you,” you said.

“You've never done that.”

“I feel like I have sometimes.”

He didn't immediately respond, but you got the sense that he wasn't satisfied with that line of reasoning. You needed to say something else.

“Plus, I'm really not smart at all when compared to you,” you added, “I don't always understand the things you talk about, and make you clarify yourself a lot just so I can get it. You shouldn't need to dumb yourself down for my sake.”

“When has that happened?”

“Just.... Every now and then, you know?”

“I don't.”

…. You didn't know what to say to that. It was becoming obvious that drawing this out was only exposing what little reason you actually had to be leaving him as your answers were becoming more ridiculous. And you still couldn't bring yourself to look at him, too worried that if you saw the way he was looking over you, you would crack.

Just keep blaming yourself and tell him that he can do better than you.

It wasn't like that part was a lie

Ignoring that bit of self-loathing that came up to the surface, you told yourself to press on. Find something that would be an acceptable reason for him.

Before you could do that, he spoke again.

“If it's simply insecurities of yours that are the only reasons you have, then those are things that can be worked on, and I would be happy to help you get through those issues. I don't see why we need to end everything when there's a much happier solution,” he said.

“You shouldn't need to deal with my issues, though,” you replied.

“Why not?”

“You deserve better than that. You'd be better matched with someone who isn't so much of a mess.”

“And like I said,” you continued, “I really need to work on myself on my own, and I don't want to drag you with me through that process. Or make you wait for me.”

“So you're telling me to move on?” he asked.

“I'm not telling you to do anything. I'm just saying you're wasting your time with someone like me.”

“You need to stop saying that, love. Being with you isn't a waste of time.”

His voice had a stern edge to it when he said that. As if you were beginning to upset him.

“Sorry,” you began, “and that's really sweet, but I think it's for the best if we go our separate ways.”

“And if I disagree?”

“..... I'm sorry, Chrollo. But I've made up my mind,” you told him, “I don't want to hurt you, but you can't force me to stay with you, just like I can't force you to stay with me.”

You reached to the side to grab your bag and fish out your wallet, saying “lunch is on me. It's the least I can do.”

He didn't say anything. And after you placed the jenny on the table to pay for the meal, you didn't say anything either.

You're almost out of this, you told yourself. Just get your things together and leave.

You were putting your wallet back in your bag when he spoke again.

“Is there a reason why you won't look at me?”

His question made you pause.

It made sense that he would ask, though. Since telling him that you wanted to break up, you hadn't looked at him once, instead keeping your gaze on either your hands or what was left of your parfait.

A normal person who wanted to break up wouldn't be so adamant on not looking at their now ex-boyfriend, would they? Not unless they were mad about something. And since your reasons had all been to do with how you were a mess and not good enough for him, it would be strange to keep that up, especially if your goal was to leave him without making him upset with you.

Look at him, apologize, and then leave.

And whatever images pop up in your mind when you see his face again, be sure to ignore them.

Taking a small breath that you hoped he didn't notice, you looked over to him.

There was an unhappy expression on his face, his lips set in a frown while his eyebrows were wrinkled over his eyes, conveying the feeling that he was sad and didn't understand your reasoning for leaving him.

You might've believed that was what he actually felt if it wasn't for the way his eyes studied you in that moment, watching your facial expressions closely to pinpoint something that would give away that what you were saying wasn't true, if there was something more that you were attempting to hide from him.

There had always been a certain intensity to his gaze, even from before when you felt good about the two of you being together. In the beginning it had made you nervous, the way it felt he could look right through you, but you had gotten used to it, chalking it up to Chrollo giving you his full attention.

You saw something different now when he looked at you.

You turned your head away, mumbled out one last “I'm sorry” and then placed your hand on the table as you prepared to leave.

“Just answer me one last question before you go, love,” said Chrollo.

“.... Okay.”

Almost there. Just answer his question and then you could leave.

“Are you sure you're leaving me because you feel that you're inadequate?”

He paused.

“Or is it because you found out about the Phantom Troupe?”

…..

Hearing him say those two words made you freeze. You didn't know how long exactly, but you stayed in your seat for a few seconds, staring at the floor of the cafe while your mind processed his words. He knew that you knew.

He knew that you knew.

Get out.

Now

With one hand on the table and another on the back of the seat, you were about to push yourself up-

He stopped you from standing as his hand clamped onto your forearm, keeping you where you were with a firm grip that refused to let go.

“You aren't leaving, love,” Chrollo whispered, “not yet.”

“Let go of me,” you replied.

You tried to pull your arm away, but his grip stayed strong.

“Stay seated and talk to me,” he said, “if you make too much of a scene, you might attract attention. That's what you've been trying to avoid, isn't it?”

Upon hearing that, you looked about the cafe. Neither of the waitresses could be seen, which must've meant that they were in the back. But they could come out at any moment, and if they did notice something wrong going on between the two of you, you feared they might involve themselves.

The thoughts you'd had regarding the waitress and the knife from earlier came back to mind, and you shuddered.

You wouldn't be able to live with yourself if you caused Chrollo to do something to them.

“.... Okay,” you said, “okay. We can talk. But could you let go of me?”

“No.”

“I won't try to run again, I promise.”

“I wish I could believe you, love,” said Chrollo, “but unfortunately, you aren't proving to be very trustworthy at the moment.”

“Chrollo,” you began, trying to pull your arm away again and still getting nowhere with it, “Chrollo, you're hurting me.”

“It only hurts because of how hard you're struggling. Stop trying to pull away and the pain will stop,” he answered calmly.

“I want you to let go of me,” you said.

He didn't respond to that, and after a few more unsuccessful attempts to get your arm away from his grip, you felt yourself becoming desperate.

“Chrollo, please-”

Upon hearing that, he shook his head.

“Being polite about it isn't going to help you much right now,” he said, “if you really wanted to prove that you'd cooperate, you would stop struggling.”

… He was right that struggling like this was pointless, you realized. And as much as you didn't want him touching you, doing what he wanted was more likely to lead to a solution where you didn't end up dead. Tell him that you had no intentions of going to the police and that you wanted to forget everything.

You stopped trying to tear your arm away and instead sat quietly. Maybe the show of submission would have him let go of you.

Instead of that, his hand slid down from your forearm and grasped at your wrist. That looked less strange, probably. Like he was holding you affectionately instead of keeping you from leaving.

He got straight to the point, asking “how did you find out?”

“... Does it really matter?” you asked back.

He hummed.

“I assume someone told you, then,” he said.

“I didn't say that.”

“No, but it felt as though you were trying to protect someone,” he replied. Then after a moment he added “and it seems I was correct since you became even more tense when I said that.”

….. You hated how easily he was able to figure it out. And you hated how easily you had given up that information, even if it was unwittingly.

“Who was it?” asked Chrollo.

You shook your head. That was something you wouldn't be telling him. And when that became clear to him, he shrugged.

“The answer to that can come at another time,” he said, “though I have to assume it was someone important to you if it was that easy for you to believe them and not even ask me for my side.”

“.... I saw a video of you,” you whispered.

His eyebrows raised slightly.

“And what sort of video was that?”

“One where you sliced a man's neck open.”

He didn't seem to be phased by what you had said. He didn't push you any further on that, and merely hummed to himself again as he finally understood why all of this had happened.

Someone had shown you proof of his true nature.

Chrollo didn't push you any further on what you'd seen; it didn't seem to interest him.

But you remembered it clearly, sitting on the couch in your apartment, holding the phone that your friend had handed to you after calling you up and telling you that they needed to show you something important. They were standing over you, watching your reactions as you looked at the footage on their phone that they'd managed to get a hold of. It had come from a contact of theirs, they told you, but they wouldn't elaborate further.

You couldn't believe what you were seeing; Chrollo, who had always been so kind and caring towards you, approached what appeared to be a security guard in a hall who was distracted by his phone.

Then he had crept up behind the guard and sliced his throat with a curved blade.

And as he let go of the guard and watched as he fell to the floor, the camera that had been mounted on the side of the hall was close enough that you were able to see Chrollo's expression clearly, and it was best described as being disinterested. What he had just done was of no consequence to him.

But the truth was that the murder wasn't the worst part of the video.

It was what came after.

That neutral expression changed when you heard a voice come from off-camera, a cheerful voice that called out to Chrollo and caught his attention. Whoever had spoken didn't appear in the video, but you heard them as they made a joke about the dead guard, something in regards to him having his phone out on the job. What it was that had been said exactly you couldn't remember. But you did remember Chrollo's reaction to it.

He smiled as he let out a short laugh. It was a sight you'd seen before during the times that you'd amused him and was usually followed up by an affectionate pat to the head. Something you had grown fond of.

Now you saw that same smile at a murder scene.

Chrollo had just killed a man, and he was laughing about it.

Your world came crashing down and you could barely hear your friend telling you the details of what they called the Phantom Troupe and the things they had done as you were too focused on the fact that for the past eight months you'd been dating a murderer. Someone that didn't bat an eye at killing innocent people, and you'd been getting to the point where you were fantasizing about the possibility of living the rest of your life with him.

And that image of him in the video stayed in your head.

It would've been easier to deal with if he'd remained emotionless the whole time. That way you could've rationalized it in a different way; that everything you'd experienced with him was all a lie, any reaction you'd gotten out of him wasn't genuine and that he wasn't a person who felt anything, that he just used a facade to act like a normal person and all you were to him was a way to build upon that lie. That he'd picked you because he rightly assumed that it'd be easy to entrance you with the mask he wore so you would play the role he wanted.

What you had seen when he laughed was a genuine reaction. No matter what you tried to tell yourself, he had no reason to fake an emotion like that when he was around someone who was a participant in his crimes.

As quiet and reserved as Chrollo was, it wasn't as though he didn't have emotions. They were somewhat muted at times, but they were there.

And he had laughed at what his friend had said while a man lay dead or dying at his feet.

It was made worse when you thought of the happy moments that you had spent together. And even worse still was that moment from earlier, when he'd grabbed your hand and smiled at you and caused your heart to flutter.

How was Chrollo able to commit something as horrendous as murder and still be able to love you so freely? Even now, when he was literally holding you down so you couldn't get away from him, his thumb began to rub circles against your skin as if to calm you, and somehow it didn't feel like it was an act.

How could he do that?

“No wonder you've been so nervous today,” he said, “you must be terrified of me.”

Seeing no reason to lie, you nodded.

At that, he pulled your hand up from the table and brought it up to his mouth so he could place a soft kiss upon your clenched fingers.

It was a weird mixture of emotions again. Despite knowing that he was a murderer, you found that your mind was going back to happier times that you'd spent with him. Like the time you'd had a bad day at work and he showed up at your apartment after to cheer you up by making you dinner, or the time you'd happened to find a rare book at a pawn shop that you had heard him talking about and surprised him with it. Things that had you feeling like you were growing closer to each other.

You weren't lying when you'd said that you loved the time you'd spent together.

But you couldn't bring yourself to stay with a murderer.

“I was told that you – you've killed a lot of people,” you began, “I don't understand why you would do that when you've always been so good to me. I wouldn't have believed it if I wasn't shown proof.”

Chrollo was still holding your hand, but when no response came from him, you continued.

“I don't want to cause you any trouble,” you said to him, “I don't have any plans to talk to the police or anything – I don't even have the video, so it's not like I'd have proof even if I did go to them. It'd be my word against yours, and I'm pretty sure they'd believe you over me. So it'd be for the best if we both forgot about each oth-”

His grip on your wrist became tight enough that it hurt, and you were cut off as you let out a small squeak of pain.

The instant you made that noise his grip lessened, and he went back to caressing your skin. There was no acknowledgment of what just happened, however, as he appeared to be deep in thought.

Outside the weather finally broke and small droplets of rain were starting to come down against the windows of the cafe. It wasn't too bad now, but it seemed likely that the storm would become worse before long.

When the waitress returned to the table for the payment you had hastily left out for her, she didn't notice anything amiss with you. Likely because Chrollo distracted her by engaging in more conversation.

She returned to the back not long after, and then he spoke again.

“You've been rather cruel today, love.”

“.... Cruel?” you asked.

“Bringing me to this place with the intention of dumping me despite the times we spent with each other here,” Chrollo explained, “as if you wanted to ruin the memories that came from here.”

“That – it wasn't – I wasn't trying to do that,” you stuttered, “I just thought.... Maybe things would be okay if we spent one last nice day together and ended everything on a happy note.”

He wasted no time in responding to that.

“Are you saying that because you genuinely wanted me to be happy, or were you trying to ensure that I wouldn't retaliate against you after?”

…..

There was no doubt that your expression upon hearing that question told him everything. That, coupled with how clammy your hand felt while still being gripped by his gave him every answer he needed:

You were just trying to save your own skin.

After a few more moments of silence, Chrollo spoke.

“I think it's time we were leaving, love.”

With that, he finally let go, standing after exiting the booth before immediately holding his hand out to you once again. And as you once again had very little choice in what to do, you took it, allowing him to help you to your feet.

You left the cafe with your hand in his, the bell above the door ringing above you as you ventured out into the rain. Chrollo turned to the right upon exiting the building and began to lead you over to where he had parked his car.

So he was going to drive off with you, and then......

“.... What happens now?” you asked, “what are you going to do to me?”

“Keep an eye on you, for the most part,” Chrollo answered, “suffice it to say you won't be going out anytime soon.”

“What.... What do you mean?”

“Don't start believing your own lies, love,” he said, “ you know exactly what I mean.”

“But.... What about my job? They'll notice if I stop going in for work,” you replied.

“You'll be quitting.”

“So then.... You're going to make me stay with you?”

“It was about time we moved to that stage anyway,” said Chrollo.

“No,” you answered, shaking your head as you said “I can't do that. Please Chrollo, just let me go.”

“I told you earlier, love,” he said as he led you to the car, “changing your tone and being polite isn't going to do much for you.”

“But-”

He interrupted you to ask “you said the video you saw was one where I slit a man's throat?”

While hesitant, you still nodded.

“And you want to argue with me after seeing that?” he continued.

It dawned on you what he was getting at, and your voice was a whisper when you asked “so you really are going to kill me?”

“Of course not, love. You dying has never been an option,” he said.

“But I can't say the same for whoever showed you that video.”

It clicked then.

“I'm – I'm not going to tell you,” you said.

“It doesn't matter much if you won't tell me; I'll find out regardless,” Chrollo answered, “but depending on your actions right now, I might be willing to show mercy on them.”

“..... You mean you won't hurt them?”

He nodded.

“But that all depends on what you do now,” he said, “and whether or not you get into the car willingly or if I need to force you inside.”

With that, he opened the passenger's side door for you and after turning his attention back to you, he finally let go of your wrist. You instinctively held your hand up against your chest, partially from the relief that came when he finally stopped touching you, and partially so he couldn't grab you as easily again. At least, not by your wrist, anyway. Chrollo could easily still grab you by the shoulder and force you into the car, and you were anticipating that would be what happened next.

Except he didn't do anything. And when you looked to him while he still held the car door open, he didn't say anything to you; he only continued to look at you expectantly.

…. Ah. Right. He'd just said it.

You getting in willingly meant you getting in on your own.

Him letting you go like that was probably a test, you noted. If you were going to try and take advantage of the fact that he'd let you go and try to run, or if you really were going to cooperate with him. It'd also tell him how much you really cared about the friend that you wanted to protect.

As much as you found yourself wanting to run, you doubt you'd get far at all if you tried it.

So you climbed into the car just as the rain began to come down harder.

Chrollo shut the door after you.

Moments later he was in the driver's seat, buckling his seat belt before starting up the engine. He then looked over to you, and after a moment he reached over you to grab the seat belt to your side and secure you to the seat as well.

“.... Sorry,” you mumbled.

“You don't need to apologize, love,” he said, “though a 'thank you' would have been sufficient.”

“.... Thank you.”

He didn't respond as the car was pulling out of the space and onto the road. With the turns he took on the next few streets, you could tell that he was taking you back with him to his apartment. Just like he'd said. Where you wouldn't be allowed out for a time. Just like he'd said.

And as for your friend......

…. While you'd done as he'd wanted and got into the car on your own, it had taken you a little bit to actually do that.

Was that enough reason for him to kill them?

You cleared your throat in an effort to make sure the words came out as clear as they could.

“I'm sorry,” you said.

“For what?”

“For being..... Cruel to you,” you answered.

He hummed.

“I don't know how much I believe that, love,” he said, “it seems more likely you're only saying that as a way to try and appease me.”

….. There was no point in arguing, and you hung your head while biting your lip as you wondered if you'd just made a horrible mistake in saying anything else to him.

The car came to a stop at a light, and it was then that you felt his hand grasp yours once again. When he pulled your arm towards him, you didn't resist and allowed him to do what he wanted. Then his lips came into contact with your skin once more before he spoke.

“It's alright, love,” he told you, “we can get through this.”

“And with a little bit of time, I'm sure we can get to the point where you can apologize and actually mean it.”

You looked to him then, your eyes meeting his as he still held your hand to his lips.

And when you made eye contact, Chrollo simply smiled and kissed your hand once more.

[i-like-eyes]

Trying to figure out how they'd work as puppets

More in depth analysis below the break

For those that don't know, typically the three most common variants of foam puppet are know as rod hand, live hand, and walk around. Examples would be Elmo, Cookie Monster, and Big Bird respectively. Rod hands are smaller in size and held up by, well, rods. Live hands have the puppeteer (or two!) insert their hand in a sleeve connected to the puppet for more interaction. Walk around puppets are full costumes the puppeteer wears, but what makes them puppets and not like, fursuits, is that there is still puppet mechanisms like moving the mouth or blinking.

Here is what comes from the website/Clown's tumblr:

Julie is a rod hand

Eddie is a live hand

Poppy is a walk around

Barnaby has a walk around and live hand

Howdy has a walk around and live hand

Sally is a live hand but "required an additional hand to help move her head, as it was much larger than other puppets"

Frank is said to have a fixed expression but his head could spin, rather he was rod or live or magic third thing I cannot figure out

Wally doesn't have any details regarding his puppet anatomy because he is special like that

Of note:

Julie likely has smth holding up all that hair (please be a fucked up skull please be a fucked up skull)

Poppy is a pretty standard walk-around puppet (she's just Big Bird), but I'm having trouble understanding how a human could fit into Barnaby or Howdy. Then again, 2d artwork of puppets tend to take liberties for the sake of stylization. So if someone were to make them IRL they'd either look really different or utilize tech I don't think was available in the early 70's

Howdy's legs could work on Squidward Spongebob Musical logic. Arms I have no clue, as a live hand he could have multiple people filling up those arms, but as a walk around idk cheap spider costume logic were the lower arms are attached to the upper arms ala a string?

I do not know what to make of Sally needing extra help to hold up other than that's so specific it might become a plot point

Frank.

Okay Frank lacking details or having weird details that stand out is a running theme for him. He has no listed backstory whereas everyone else can say where there were from and who their family is. Every character's first name ends with a long "e" sound whereas Frank is. Frank. (His last name "Frankly" does cover that though). The fact that WHRP lacks any concrete detail on his creation is a story reason, what's the story no clue we are 5% in dudes

Regarding his puppet, he obviously had a fixed frown because puppet but also could spin his head. Now I have absolutely zero clue how you can have the head spin and also have room for the hand for the mouth, unless this is a rod puppet (Rizzo the Rat) where the mouth is moved by some other mechanism. All I can say is I'd suspect Frank to have a very stiff (read: not majority foam) head and body in order to hold up such a feature. If his head can detach, I can imagine a metal ring of sorts that his collar covers up

His arms are a different story. The website not clarifying how his arms work doesn't really mean there is anything particular about them, but I am going to over analyze is anyway dammit

Points for rod hand: arms/hands are slim, inspirations Bert and Mr.Robinson are rod hands, lack of other rod hands/variety reasons

Points for live hand: Sally also has slim hands but is live hand, not all live hands have thick arms (looks at how small Ernie's upper arms are compared to his fore arms), Beaker hasn't been listed as an exact inspiration for Frank but look at him, and most importantly is Poppy. Poppy is noteworthy for being the only walk around puppet without a live hand counter part. As a result of having wings for hands the puppeteer cannot realistically perform any of the baking tasks in her segment. As a result she gets help from Sally, Howdy, Eddie, and Frank. The former 3 are all live hands, and one can assume that because of this Frank could be a live hand as well

And finally I know he's said to not super expressive but my heart says that he would look great with the eyebrow mechanism Bert and other puppets have.

I should point out that puppets from the 90's (Dinosaurs and TMNT come to mind) used more robotics in order to achieve more expression with the characters, but I don't think that kind of tech was common place in the 70's and would apply here.

The big take away is that this post was made for practical reasons; I am just Quite Fond of researching this kind of thing. This will probably not get you any lore, but it could provide context for the characters. I personally suspect that Poppy not being able to fly or perform tasks she swore she could will play a big of her character. In general I think that what other puppets can and cannot accomplish will play into the theme of figuring out who you are. That's the real fun.

[bogleech]

Guess I have to make a main thread about this. Someone decided to fight with me in the notes on this post just yesterday about Gaza and made select responses of mine into a callout thread here, where they say my anger towards the IDF is all a cover for antisemitism. This didn't make any sense, because they said they were also against the IDF killing civilians, and I repeatedly said that Jewish people aren't to blame for the IDF or represented by the IDF in any way, putting us supposedly both on the exact same page. What gerry leaves out of their own screenshots, and I'd actually forgotten, is that at first they came at me from an angle that I was disrespecting the victims in Gaza.

So this implies they feel gaza is being subjected to a genocide, and a pretty big one, since they're upset my language made it sound "smaller and tamer." When it becomes obvious that I do in fact consider it a serious genocide, that's when they switch over to saying that my criticism of Netanyahu or the IDF is inherently an attack on Jewish people.

Notice I never actually said "zionists" in this screenshot, even, but that I defined "regular humans" as humans who don't want to kill innocent families. That would automatically include Jewish people since they overall do not wish to kill anyone, but have in fact spent quite a lot more time trying not to get killed. I believe there may be entire books about this fact! I think there's even whole museums about it, if I'm not mistaken?!

So then they pivot to saying I'm an antisemite because I said the IDF and its supporters can "burn in hell," and they say "invoking hell" is an antisemitic dogwhistle, which is definitely news to me?!

So I tried to clarify, again, that I'm only angry at the people who are themselves killing civilians and the "pro-genocide maniacs" who defend the killing of civilians, which they responded to as if I had "lumped them in" with those. You can just see right there that I didn't make any assumption that they were a part of that at all. Thanks to their earlier comments I still thought I was speaking to someone 100% against the IDF's actions, but every time I said that the killers and their advocates alone are bad, they've framed it in some new way as me just not liking anyone Jewish. So now that you have that context:

...In a response to an ask, they finally just say they hated me to begin with and set out with the intention to "bait and sealion" me (their own words!!) into saying something they hoped would be antisemitic, which they believe was successful despite me never saying anything about Jews other than "this isn't their fault." They saw what they admittedly wanted to, so strongly, that they show me saying "this isn't the fault of Jews" as evidence that I blame Jews. But speaking of people "going mask off"

In multiple more recent posts and asks, this person appears to say that they simply do not believe the IDF is really targeting children or ambulances or relief aid, that "none of those are true," and the deliberate targeting of any children is supposedly just a conspiracy theory??? So I guess they did successfully troll me and I feel like a real gullible dumbass, because the only reason I continued responding to this person in the first place was that they said they were in fact against the ongoing massacre. Instead, these comments sound like they think the IDF is being unfairly vilified by dishonest propagandists, and that's why they hated me enough to try and fish for callout fuel. That's the nastiest fucking thing anyone's yet pulled on me about this and it's not one that I'm just going to ignore. I should have smelled a troll early on and just blocked them, but it's SO hard for me to suspect ulterior motives. I always go in thinking people mean well, and that there's just a miscommunication we can work out. I almost feel like this individual noticed that and tried to exploit it?!? Unfortunately I'm sure this kind of thing will happen again simply because I don't intend to obediently shut up about what's being done to Gaza. It's not logistically possible for the death and destruction to all just be accidental collateral damage. Don't let anybody ever fool you into thinking the IDF is the face of the Jewish community or vice-versa, just as you can't let anyone fool you into thinking Hamas represents all Palestinians. Especially don't engage this person, stop doing so if you have been, and block them.