#also a+ pun would recommend

[myrinthinks]

#“auflesen” would've been the perfect caption smh (via @cuties-in-codices)

sweeping up the alphabet

border illustrations from the hours of marguerite d'orléans, france, 15th c.

source: Paris, BnF, Latin 1156 B, fol. 135r

[velvetjune]

Jesse would probably have the same reaction to Saga’s profiling as Tor or Odin, being able to directly communicate, which would lead to the best situation of both of them just staring into space while they’re silently and psychically communicating at random times

[nthflower]

She is smoking hot (hehehe)

[starlight-library]

Fallin' in love | FC43 (SM!AU)

pairing: norris!reader x fc34

summary: a glimpse into the relationship between williams newest rookie and lando's younger sister during the best time of the year

warning: nothing

fc: n/a!

a/n: please take this in honor of spooky season. oh i also made a ko-fi if you want to support me!

ynorris posted

liked by francolapinto, landonorris, oscarpiastri, carlossainz55, maxverstappen1, and 938k others

yourusername 👹🎃👹🎃👹🎃

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user1 CUTE CUTE CUUUUUTE

user2 ugh yes love a good pumpkin patch!!

user3 the lights. the pumpkin. the vibes. 🥺

landonorris bring me back a pumpkin!!

↳ ynorris ugh, fine i guess ↳ landonorris thank you. at least someone loves me ↳ carlossainz55 we are right here ↳ oscarpiastri yeah, babe wtf.

user4 i just know this photo dump bout to go HARD

user5 WHAT ARE THE HALLOWEEN COSTUMES??? 🗣️🗣️🗣️

francolapinto ah yes, right before disaster strikes

↳ landonorris yeah like how she should've left your ass ❤️ ↳ ynorris LANDO ↳ francolapinto no no i agree. ↳ ynorris babe ↳ landonorris see! for once we agree! ↳ francolapinto but amor, if you had left me it would've meant that your dear brother and i would have more time to bond ↳ ynorris omg you're so right babe ↳ landonorris I DID NOT AGREE TO THIS??

francolapinto posted

liked by ynorris, arthur_leclerc, lewishamilton, charles_leclerc, oscarpiastri, alex_albon, and 1.2m others

francolapinto 0/10. would not recommend. horrible experience.

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user6 ZOMBIE FARMS??? nah im good

user7 wtf that looks like sm fun??

landonorris oh you made it out...

francolapinto barely, but i did it! 😌 landonorris gross. ynorris LANDO. landonorris i mean, yay... ynorris even took a jump scare for me, my hero 🥰

user8 the way i would've cried

user9 please tell me theres a video somewhere of this--PLEASE

carlossainz55 where was this so i know where NOT to go

↳ landonorris BABE PLS PLS PLS PLS ↳ oscarpiastri it looks kind of fun ↳ carlossaainz55 absolutely NOT ↳ ynorris pfttt i'll text you the address to avoid it ↳ carlossainz55 thank you.

ynorris franco had a great time, everyone he's lying

↳ francolapinto i did not have a great time

francolapinto tagged ynorris in a post

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francolapinto we always have a hauntingly good time together

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user10 god bless his looks because that was lando level horrible puns smhhhh

user11 boy PLEASE 😭😭😭

user12 someone get y/n to start proofreading all his captions im bEGGING

oscarpiastri boooooo

↳ francolapinto i made this while drunk please forgive me ↳ carlossainz55 that somehow makes it worse ↳ landonorris...it wasn't that bad ↳ ynorris 👀👀👀

user13 ooooh spooky 👻👻👻

user14 how lando wishes franco was ever since he started dating y/n 😭😭

landonorris where are your sunglasses?

↳ francolapinto lost them ↳ landonorris ...I guess i can lend you a pair. BUT I need them back ↳ francolapinto really?! ↳ landonorris don't let it get to your head ↳ ynorris thank you big bro ☺️ ↳ landonorris you're welcome

user15 LFGGGGGGG

ynorris tagged yourbestfriend & francolapinto in a post

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ynorris bar at 9 and club at 10

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user16 god to be going out tonight 😩

user17 I KNOW THAT GHOST GOT MOOOVES!!! 👻🪩

yourbestfriend SHOTS SHOTS SHOTS SHOTS

↳ ynorris EVERYBODY!!! ↳ yourbestfriend LFG!!!!

user18 Y/N and all her twins fr fr

user19 i just know they're playing bangers rn

carlossainz55 you didn't say you were going to a club!

↳ ynorris oh, i didn't?? ↳ carlossains55 NO ↳ ynorris oh...whoops? 😬 ↳ carlossainz55 YN!! ↳ ynorris gotta go!

landonorris ANSWER MY DAMN MESSAGES

↳ ynorris WHAAAAT ↳ landonorris DO YOU NEED A RIDE HOME?? ↳ ynorris NO. WE HAVE A RIDE ↳ landonorris YOU KNOW HOW I FEEL BOUT UBER ↳ francolapinto i'm giving her and the girls a ride home! i've been the guard dog all night!! ↳ landonorris ..thank you Franco. ↳ francolapinto you're welcome! ☺️

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francolapinto the spookiest day deserves an even spookier night with a double date

comments on this post have been limited

charles_leclerc where was my invite?

↳ ynorris next time?? ↳ charles_leclerc RUDE!!!

oscarpiastri who took the ghost arm before me??

↳ ynorris not me ↳francolapinto i was fighting carlos for a blood bag ↳landonorris BABE IM SORRY THERE'S A SECOND ARM ↳ oscarpiastri the BETRAYAL!

carlossainz55 do we really have to watch this movie? can we not watch something else?

↳ ynorris stfu you scaredy cat ↳ carlossainz55 I AM NOT--

landonorris okay, i cave. y/n you did a great job at planning

↳ ynorris aw thanks!! 🥰 but this wasn't me ↳ landonorris what?? ↳ ynorris it was all franco. my wonderfully goofy boyfriend ↳ landonorris well--credit is due where credit is done ↳ ynorris and??? ↳ landonorris and...i guess he can stick around ↳ ynorris YES!!! ↳ oscarpiastri war is over ↳ carlossainz55 finally ↳ francolapinto WOOO!!!

francolapinto love you mi amor ❤️

↳ ynorris love you too ❤️

[rosegoldenatlas]

Laying on the floor is, I daresay, a grounding experience.

I love laying on the floor :) who else loves laying on the floor? I love laying on the floor :)

[certifiedcodbabygirl]

clearly the only solution to the penpal au is you’re supposed to write to ghost but the entire task force hijacks the letters every once in a while. /hj /lh

Price also ends up doing that too once he realizes why the entire team becomes obsessed with writing letters

DUDE YES *smooches your brain*

Simon starts writing to you through a military penpal program Price had all of them in. Ofc, like the rat bastard he is, he drags his fuckin feet on it. Eventually, you manage to get him a little more willing to write back and it seems like he even looks forward to it. He's the first one to grab his letter from the container when they come. He claims it's to get it over with, but the other guys know better.

You'd think the other guys would be the ones more open to their penpals but NO. They managed to be paired with some of, who they call, the most boring people they could have met. Hell, even Price began to drag his feet after the 2nd letter back.

Simon seems to be the only one actually enjoying his exchanges, even if he tries to hide it. Johnny's the first one to get curious, wanting to know what the LT's got that's good enough to loosen the stick in his ass.

While Simon's out of the room, Johnny reads through the first couple letters Simon received. Your sweet words, stupid jokes, and genuine care are a stark contrast from the uninterested and short words he received from his penpal.

He stops writing to his penpal, not that they noticed/ cared, and grew the balls to write you one. He claimed his penpal dropped out, so they had to make do, not that you minded. And God, when you started to write back, he swore it was like he was a schoolboy all over again. Getting excited for the letters, heart racing as he reads your carefully written words, counting down the days till he gets another.

He gets ballsy one night and opens up to Gaz about what he did, not showing a single crumb of remorse. Tells him all about how sweet you are, how you show genuine care for his safety, even giving the idea of sending a care package. He could see that same thought process going through Kyle's mind, contemplating switching to you. He gave Kyle your address and told him to just come up with an excuse.

Now Kyle's a little smarter than Johnny, knowing that if Ghost finds out he's probably fucked. However, at the end of the day, he's a lonely man. He had this sweet thing like you just within reach and he's supposed to not take it? Yeah right.

He gave the same excuse Johnny did, claiming his penpal's schedule became too busy to write back, and just like that you had 3 soldiers wrapped around your finger. He sweet talked you, gave little puns here and there, really became like a lap cat. He wasn't as forward as Johnny and not as refrained as Simon. He gave you music recommendations when you say you like a certain genre, he gave you book recommendations, even sent you photos of him in front of a helicopter (you begged for it when he told you about him falling out).

Now, Simon isn't stupid. He isn't clueless. He noticed that the first couple letters went missing. Then he noticed Johnny being more eager to write. Same with Kyle. He noticed how they seemed to pull away from him when the topic was brought up. He's not a stupid man.

He might even be considered generous (don't say it to his face though, he'll take it as sarcasm). He knows the boys are talking to his penpal, but he'll be kind enough to share. His sweet lil thing. If you can keep up, that is. Your letters seem to boost morale and bring a small light that wasn't there before. They're all hard-working men, risking their lives to keep the world clean. They deserve this, don't they?

Even Price finds himself wanting in on it. If you can manage to bring Simon happiness (again, he won't admit it) and keep the other boys happy, surely you can take on one more. He sends you a letter, as their captain, and thanks you for what you've done. You're such a kind soul for giving these men some hope in their lives (laying it on thick, gotta keep em interested) and how much you've helped their performances.

They all write to you, their unofficial 141 penpal, and it works surprisingly well. The lines begin to blur a bit on being platonic and something else, but it'll be sorted out eventually. For now you're just theirs (Simon came around to it once he realized you had plenty of love to go around). You're the 141's, even if you don't fully understand what that means.

The first picture they send to you, around Christmas^ (I can't find the artist, please tag them if you know who it is)

[yoongihan]

You Left A Mark - LYB - OneShot

pairing: felix x female reader

genre: smut, angst, fluff

romantic trope: soulmates (inspiration from this reel)

word count: 10k

rating: M for smut, a little language

warnings: cursing, penetrative sex (unprotected), kissing, cuddling, so much touching but it's FELIX, an excessive amount of felix admiration, mc is a reporter and i make up all of that because i know nothing, ages are never mentioned but felix is a few years younger than mc, mc is shorter than felix, silly use of skz song titles for the names of venues. i can't think of anything else that might need a headsup, please let me know if i've missed something.

a/n: fic #2 in skz as romantic tropes collab with @jl-micasea-fics. the soulmate trope i use is one i encountered here (it's a great fic and i'd highly recommend it) and i have no idea if it originated anywhere else. don't click if you don't want to be spoiled, my fic explains how it works about half way through.

--

It was, in appearance, just another work day like any other. 

In truth, just another work day tended to be not like any other work day as your job entailed reporting the news, which means you could be anywhere in the city in any kind of situation. Your job probably seems exciting to the regular person, but more often than not, it’s dealing with the news anchors’ larger than life egos and your producer not allowing you to cover much more than fluff pieces. 

You like fluff pieces, you do. The world is a big hot mess of negativity and darkness and reporting on a child who saved a hamster is definitely a small bright light in that void. But you also care about the dark things, the horrors big and small that need to be announced so that maybe someone can do something about them. 

But you aren’t there yet. According to your boss and her boss. You are still growing as a reporter, as a television personality (wtf?), and the latest showdown at the courthouse is to be covered by seasoned professionals.

Not little you and your four years of effort and hard work (not even counting the internship). 

But you digress. 

You’re in front of the newest coffeehouse in one of the smaller neighborhoods. Taste is the simple name and it looks more like a sleek, modern cocktail bar than a cozy coffee shop. Austere and intimidating if you aren’t someone who can look put together (which you often aren’t).

“So for those interested in a new type of caffeine experience,” You start to close your segment after speaking with the owner and manager. “This place is definitely for you. The coffee mocktails themselves would require multiple visits before you try them all. So come by and have a ‘Taste.’” You smile as brightly as you can despite the cringe-worthy pun, but before your cameraman (one of your favorite humans on the planet, Chan) can call cut, you are bowled into by someone running past. 

Part of your professional attire sometimes includes heels and as it is a particularly nice day that doesn’t require too much traversing, you wear heels. Which give no stability when being bumped by someone careening down the street. 

“Hey!” you hear Chan say but you can only concentrate on trying to keep upright (a losing battle) and you hold onto the microphone because compared to your body, the mic will cost more to replace.

But you don’t fall. You don’t feel the hard smack of the concrete against your skin. 

Hands are wrapped around your upper arms, grip firm and steady.

“You okay?” 

You try to regain your balance, find your footing in these insensible but pretty heels. “I’m okay, I'm fine.” You turn your head to see your would-be rescuer and have to blink a few times. 

Okay, freckles.

He smiles. This guy of probably mid-twenties, warm russet eyes, with black hair is smiling at you once you’re standing on your own merit. He releases you, but not without a quick pat as though to say ‘there you go, you got it’. 

“Thank you.”

His cheeks redden. “Oh, um, you’re welcome.” There’s an accent to his words, but you’re still rather gobsmacked by the entire exchange to place it.

“You alright?” Chan has moved to the both of you, eyes quickly inspecting you as though you might hide any injuries even though you didn’t fall. “It was some kid.”

There’s a deep sigh from your rescuer. “Yeah, he stole some of the chocolates we keep by the POS.” He runs a hand through his hair. “I…well, it’s just chocolate.” His smile is less brilliant and more sheepish. “He probably needed it.”

“Chocolate is not a necessity,” you reply immediately, but then pause and rethink your words.

“It might be.” He smiles again. “It’s pretty good chocolate.”

You shrug. “That’s fair…wait, we caught a crime on camera?” you ask Chan. “Amazing.” You brush yourself off even though you really aren’t covered in debris because again, you didn’t actually fall. But this guy’s attention is throwing you off just a bit.  

“I caught you nearly falling on your face,” Chan says before laughing at your glare. “I’ll edit it out.”

“Whatever,” You aren’t really annoyed because it’s Chan and you did nearly fall on your face. “Thank you, again, Mr….”

“I’m Felix,” your rescuer says. “I work here.” He reaches out to move a wayward piece of your hair out of your eyes, his finger brushing along your cheekbone. It makes you pause in your attempt at gratitude because you’re not really bothered. Like he’s a stranger and is touching you and you don’t mind? Because he has a nice, sweet face? “Sorry, you had some hair…”

You can sense Chan moving away, packing up the camera, leaving you relatively alone with this person. 

“It’s okay, it’s fine,” You stutter a little because you’re off your game. “Felix. At some point, I owe you a drink.” 

“Oh no, it’s not a–”

“I owe you a drink.” You smile, though it’s your television smile because you need to be professional even if you feel the least professional. “Even if it’s just a coffee.” You gesture to Taste. “If you want.”

The smile returns in full. “Yeah, okay. I’m here most days.” His lips part like he might say more, but he doesn’t. Nor do you. 

It’s nice just looking at him. The sun-warmed skin that contrasts with the inky black of his hair and eyebrows. He’s taller than you, but there’s no intimidation factor in the difference. He feels like someone you could meet anywhere and approach without worry.

You bet he gets great tips as a barista. Imagine walking in to get a coffee and that luminescent smile. 

You hear Chan call your name in an attempt to get you to head back to the studio. It shakes you out of the strange reverie this stunning, deep-voiced person has you in. 

“Well, I guess I’ll see you.”

He waves as you walk away before tucking his hands into his back pockets, rocking on the balls of his feet. It’s now that you notice that he wears the half-apron other employees were wearing, black pants and emerald shirt (a t-shirt, but like a really nice one). You glance back once you’re in the news van with Chan who chuckles.

“Isn’t he a bit young for you?”

You look back at the road and huff. “Aren’t you a little too interested?” You grab a granola bar out of your bag and take a bite, sighing happily. 

“Not at all. I haven’t seen you look at anyone like that though.”

“God, he’s cute, alright. And saved my job because I doubt I could keep reporting with a broken face.” 

“Methinks the lady doth protest too–”

“I can murder you, you know,” you interrupt. “No one would suspect because I know things. I’ve watched a lot of Criminal Minds.”

He presses his lips together, but is grinning. “Ooooo, scary.”

“Exactly.” You roll your eyes, your mind briefly leaving the cute barista and returning to all that is work. 

–

When you get home that night, he pops into your brain again. The pretty, voice as deep as the ocean, Felix. 

But not for the normal reasons one would ponder a good-looking acquaintance. 

He pops into your brain when you undress in your bathroom in order to take a much desired shower. In the corner of your eye, you see your reflection when you remove your shirt. There, in marked contrast to your skin, is the beginnings of the darkest bruise you’ve ever seen. 

“What the–” You turn to examine it better, spooked by it when you had no memory of bumping into anything that hard. Your other arm shows a similar discoloration, in a similar area. 

In fact, it almost looks like something left by a tight hand grip.

You roll your eyes at your own reflection. It hadn’t felt like he’d held you that hard, but you could bruise pretty easily, so of course, Felix, the fae-looking barista, grabbing you to keep from planting into the sidewalk would leave a mark. No big deal.

You pull your hair back as it is not hair-washing day, and then quickly use make-up remover on your face. You are stopped again by your reflection.

On your cheek, not as dark or as prominent, there is the slight darkening of another bruise.

You push a piece of your hair out of the way as you move closer to the mirror to see it clearer. As you do, it sparks the memory of Felix moving your hair and how you’d felt the brush of his finger keenly.

“But…like, a bruise?” Talking to your reflection isn’t a thing you do, but today really has been a weird day. You press it and wince. It does pinch a bit. Nothing worse than the time you ran into the sliding glass doors at your family’s home as a child. Nothing topped that fiasco and subsequent pain. 

Dismissing it as your body being more sensitive than usual, you hopped in the shower and soon went to bed after that. Your dreams are filled with a strange scenario of chasing after croissants and them being sucked into a hole in the sky. 

–

It’s two days later when you find yourself at Taste again. You aren’t sure if it’s just Felix who’s stuck in your brain, or the fact that the bruises you see when you wipe off your makeup and undress at night makes you remember meeting him; therefore, he’s just there, hanging around in your memory which is distracting. 

You tell yourself you just need some coffee that isn’t out of the ancient coffeemaker at the station. 

You can’t really buy him a drink unless you have his number or something after all.

The list of excuses and rationalizations you’re coming up with is concerning. 

You walk in and smile at the person behind the counter, trying to look for your rescuer without looking like you’re looking. The barista smiles at you as you place your order for a Fiery Redhead (salted caramel breve latte with a hint of cayenne) and you go to sit at an empty table by the window. You know you should ask if he’s working or coming in later, but you also just sort of want to not do much of anything for a few minutes. Work is very intense even on days you aren’t recording. News never stops whether it’s life-changing or just a cat stuck in a tree (life-changing for the cat), and you spend most of your off-work time catching up on stuff around your apartment or sleeping. 

You’re staring out the window, watching the cars pass, people drift by, and you aren’t sure where you go, but when you hear a slight noise, you jump and see a mug topped with curlicues of latte art. You look up the arm attached to see Felix smiling apologetically. 

“Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you.”

You feel your skin heat at his attention on you. You’ve thought about him quite a bit in the last forty-eight hours, assuming that maybe your fascination is due to that imagination of yours. But no…he’s really that lovely to look at. 

The freckles are particularly still eye-catching. 

“I just zoned out.” 

He’s wearing the uniform, though no apron. 

“Are you on break?”

“Haven’t quite clocked in yet,” he swallows. “Saw you…kinda thought you might be here because of me.”

On anyone else that could sound arrogant, but his voice is incredibly gentle and the lilt up at the end of his words frames it hopeful; a tiny question. 

“I am. You thought right.” You gesture to the chair across from you. “Hard to buy you a drink when I don’t know how to get a hold of you, except show up creepily at your job.”

As he sits, he’s chuckling, tugging on the foodsafe opaque plastic gloves encasing his hands. You notice them and it triggers something in your brain, but before you can follow that path, he speaks:

“I figured with your connections being a reporter, you could find out everything about me in mere minutes.”

You smile. “I’m so flattered you think that I have really good connections.”

“You don’t?”

“I’m still kinda low in the newsroom hierarchy.” You rest your chin in your hand. “How long do you have before your shift?”

He glances up behind you, presumably at a clock. “Ten minutes.”

“Early.”

“I hate rushing if I can avoid it.” He looks back at you and you take a second to marvel at the rich brown of his eyes. 

He is stupid pretty. 

“So…” you begin, trying not to be too direct (hazards of the job). “Is barista-ing something you’ve done before here?”

He nods. “Yeah, though this is a lot fancier than where I was before.” He shrugs. “I'm in school, so it helps pay the bills. And I like serving people.”

“School? For what?” You thought he might be young, but how young?

“Culinary. Baking specifically.” He smiles, the warmth just lighting him up. 

“That’s so cool.” You lean closer. “I am a passable cook, like enough to follow a basic recipe and feed myself, maybe buy cookie batter on days I need a sweet, but that’s the extent. If a recipe says to fold in something, I run away in fear.” His answering chuckle warms you more than the latte (though it is very good), all the way to your toes. “Do you love it? Even though it’s school?”

The skin between his freckles turns pink. “Yeah…I enjoy it. Both learning the traditional rules, and getting to experiment.”

“Do you get to experiment here?” You point toward the shelves of pastries. You’d been tempted by at least three. Maybe you’ll give in before you leave. 

“A little. When he’s feeling generous and doesn’t think I’ll screw it up.”

That’s a story you want to hear, but you file it away for later. Maybe when you get him that drink. 

“What about you?” he asks, derailing your thoughts. “Always wanted to do the news?”

You straighten up and gesticulate aimlessly. “Kinda. I think I wanted to do more print journalism in the beginning. But you have to do both in school and I was good at speaking clearly and on the fly, so I stuck with broadcasting.”

“What do you like about it?” Now he rests his chin in his hand, winces before then straightening. The pained expression makes you want to reach out and check on him. You aren’t uncompassionate or anything, but the immediate concern for this near-stranger is unusual.

Maybe it’s because he looks like taking care of him would be nice. Like to curl up with him on the couch someday and watch a movie together. You bet his hair is soft and playing with it would be so nice. Maybe he’d look up at you with those big eyes and ask you for a kiss, his voice all rumbly and–

Uhhhh, maybe you should not fantasize like that. 

“It feels important. Even when perhaps it’s not. I get to meet people and learn things I wouldn’t in a ‘normal’ job or ‘normal’ life.” 

“Makes sense.” 

You watch him look back at the clock and then sigh.

“Work?”

“Work.” He opens his hand. “I’ll give you my number? If you still want to–”

“I do.” Maybe a little too eager. “I mean, you are under no obligation if you don’t want to.” You pull out your phone and unlock it before handing it over.

“I do.” He says it simply and you wonder if he’s mildly as fascinated by you as you are by him. “I do, too.” His nose scrunches up as he types in his number, and it’s adorable.

“Okay.” 

He hands you your phone back and smiles at you. “Okay then.” He starts to stand, pressing his hands on the table to aid him and he grimaces. “Ow.”

“You okay?” The concern, again, you feel is bigger than it should be, but that’s another thing you file away for the time being. “Did you hit your knee?”

“No, I…” He is looking at his hands then at you, and you feel like he’s searching for something as he gazes at you. “It’s nothing.”

You must come up short. 

“I better…” He jerks a thumb toward the coffee bar. “I’ll hear from you?”

“Yeah.” You are still intrigued and concerned and a whole lot of other things, so you just force a smile to your lips. “Have a good shift, Felix.”

“Thanks.” He walks over to the bar, grabbing an apron to tie around his hips (why does that emphasize his narrow frame so much and why does that affect you?) and greets the other barista. You look back out the window, taking another sip of your drink (it’s really very good, especially with the heat of the cayenne) and try not to look back at him. 

But you do. You watch him as he greets each customer, that smile bright like stars. You watch as he moves around with the other barista in the small space, like a choreographed dance for two; opening a cabinet for something, closing it with his hip or foot as he moves to the espresso machine, spinning the knob to steam the milk. 

He speaks with a customer as he makes their drink, laughing without slowing down his work. He sets the paper cup in front of them, showing off the latte art you think, before covering it with the plastic lid. The customer takes it, with a smile almost as brilliant as Felix’s. He waves goodbye before glancing over at you.

You smile, embarrassed at being caught staring, but his tiny grin is shy and cute, and he gets back to making the next drink. 

There’s a quick rush in the thirty minutes that you spend there. A queue of ten people, several who are in a hurry and speak with sharp, short words. 

One even berating the other barista for not inputting her order quickly enough.

Felix comes to the side of his coworker, speaking calmly to the customer; not smiling, but not frowning. 

You wish you could hear what he says, but the lowness of his voice makes that difficult. The perturbed customer doesn’t look too pleased, but does seem to back off. Felix makes her drink and sends her on her way. 

He walks back over to his colleague, eyes searching and you know, you just know that he’s checking in. Making sure. 

Caring.

You glance at the dregs of your latte, surprised at how much you feel you know this person. You don’t. You know you don’t, but there are things about him that feel familiar. That feel safe, like maybe instead you could curl up in his arms, he could play with your hair, you could ask to kiss him, taste those curved, pink lips and–

You stand up rather abruptly, taking your mug and setting it on the marked table for dishes.

“Bye!”

You turn to see him looking bewildered but bidding you a farewell. You think you smile, but you just nod and hurry away. 

Good thing there’s a bit of traffic on the way back to the station. You need a moment or ten to calm down. 

–

It’s a few days before you actually message Felix and make plans. Work is relentless as the local election is days away and both candidates for commissioner seem to believe that character attacks on the other is the best way to convince people to vote for you. 

There was almost a fist fight yesterday. You also forgot to eat, which you didn’t realize until breakfast the next day. Perhaps your stomach shrunk because you could only do a small yoghurt in wake of not eating for a day. Despite the printed expiration date, you think it might have been spoiling already. It tasted tangy.

As you get ready for your…you’re just gonna call it a date and not overthink about it…, you see the bruises and they seem darker which makes little sense to you. You’ve bumped them a few times and it hurt, but no more or less than a normal bruise.

The bruise on your face is darker too, but your foundation and concealer does a good job of lessening the contrast so most of the time it looks like an oddly placed shadow. 

But you feel like it’s a thing. Something you can’t quite figure out. And you will, once the election and campaign stuff is over and perhaps you’ll have a bit more free time. 

But tonight is a date. A something with Felix. Who you have texted a couple times beyond the mere matching of your schedules. His schooling is at night four times a week. You imagine working a shift then going to class must be exhausting. You spent your undergrad years in class and in the library for work study. Not on your feet for eight hours or more, serving person after person. 

Wow, you are creating a traumatic story for him. He might really love both. 

He is excessively positive in his messages. He diatribes one night about nailing baumkuchen (you have to google that to understand what it is and why it’s hard) finally in class. 

He’s really proud of that grade. And though you had nothing to do with it, you’re really proud of him too. 

Something about him is just inviting, the opening of a door and a wave to come in. 

You arrive at Back Door, a relatively less popular bar than Up All Night, which is where you would normally grab a drink after work with your colleagues if you were feeling social (which is about 50% of the time post-work). You’ve not been to Back Door yet, but just walking in makes you smile. Everything looks like a hotel lobby with big couches and large tables to stand at. The art on the walls is a mixture of traditional and modern. The red and black color scheme is daring.

Not a place to get cozy, but a place to make an impression. 

Do you want to make an impression on Felix? Maybe.

You walk to the bar, finding a spot in between well-dressed people. You wait your turn for one of the two bartenders to find you and as you often do, you watch people and imagine what their lives might be like. 

“Hey.”

You jump at his voice (how do you forget how freakin’ deep it is every time?) and then you get his laugh.

“I keep scaring you. Sorry.” He squeezes in next to you and you get a new image of him. Dressed in ripped black jeans and a pale pink button-down shirt with black tie loosened. 

He is…delectable.

You shake your head to his comment as well as the path your thoughts are going. 

“I just zone out a lot.”

He moves closer, his ear toward you so he can hear better. You repeat yourself and he nods before turning back so his eyes can look into yours. 

Damn, that’s powerful. 

“Where do you go?” he asks. “When you zone out?” 

Do you admit that you regularly think about people you don’t know and make up backstories for them? You think that maybe he won’t judge you too harshly.

“I–” You cut yourself off when he lifts his hand to try and get the bartender’s attention. He’d had on gloves the last time you saw him, but he doesn’t now.

And the insides of his hand is dark. Like a bruise covering the length of his index finger across the palm to his thumb. 

As though he’d grabbed something (someone) and bruised himself. 

You don’t think to check for consent, but grab his hand, peering at the marks then you take his other. It doesn’t register that he just lets you, not even saying a word about your impoliteness. 

“Felix,” you say slowly. “You…” You look up and he’s looking at your arms which are covered by three-quarter length sleeves. You’ve been intentional about not highlighting that you look like you’ve gone through a round with a MMA fighter. You nod at the question in his eyes. 

What’s the point of lying? And to lie to Felix feels beyond wrong.

“Let’s get that drink and talk, huh?” he offers, tugging away from your hold to wave down the bartender. Your brain feels like it’s frozen, like a computer that has glitched so badly no matter what key you press, it’s unresponsive.

“What do you like?” Felix asks you softly, which helps your brain function just a bit. The bartender is there as well, waiting.

“Whatever you’re having.”

He nods, seeming to know that you are processing intensely at the moment. A few seconds pass, you trying to logic why bruises on him and you mean something, but you’ve got nothing when he nudges you with his elbow and lifts his chin to indicate you both should find somewhere to sit. 

You follow him, blindly, as he weaves through the weekend crowd, finding a small table in a far corner where the music and talk is muted. He sits, laying the two wine glasses on the table. You scoot in across from him, staring at the wine wine ripple in the glass before settling. 

“Can I see?”

You meet his gaze and shrug a yes, knowing what he’s asking. You shove up one of your sleeves, inadvertently pressing the bruise which makes you inhale sharply. He leans forward, hand reaching out to hold your arm carefully. 

“Fuck. That’s dark.” He lightly rubs his thumb over it, gentle. “I’m sorry.”

“I wouldn’t have thought much about it,” you begin, feeling content with him touching you, even though he’s the one who left bruises. He’s warm, not just in temperature, but it’s like he emits a toasty energy that flows into you. It’s odd, but you like it. “Because I bruise pretty easily, and you did keep me from busting my face. But…” You touch the bruise on your cheek. “You barely touched me here.” 

He follows your motion and peers closer. You actually stare back into his eyes, sparkly as they are with the bar’s array of lights. 

“Fuck.”

His second cursing makes you smile even if you don’t understand why. Maybe it’s because his freckles and generally soft demeanor make him seem innocent; i.e. not someone going around using the f-word so easily. 

You’re also really enjoying the skin to skin contact. You weren’t even cold, but his touch feels secure, sheltering. Like you’re in an oversized armchair with a cup of tea, reading on a thunderstorm night. 

“Do you know what it is?” His demeanor makes you think that he knows more than you, and you have to admit, you’re bothered that you’re so clueless right now. You’re used to being the smarter person on a date. 

Which explains why you don’t date much and have been single for nearly two years now. 

“I…no. I didn’t realize you had them too.” You sigh, and trace the marks on his hand that isn’t holding you. You don’t question the intimacy as you’re pretty sure whatever is going on is not a normal interaction with a man you only barely know, even if he is pretty. “Work has been slammed…I was going to go to the doctor if they didn’t fade soon.”

“They won’t. I mean, not on their own.” He stares at the mark on your arm. “Not without me.”

It’s like he’s talking in riddles. “Felix. What do you know?”

He lets go and you shiver as though a cold front blew through the bar, at you specifically. He takes the wine glass and sips it, closing his eyes as though he’s savoring it. 

He must like wine because it seems like minutes upon minutes that he keeps his eyes closed.

“Look…” He opens his eyes and you are floored by how much pain echoes there. The same eyes that sparkled seconds ago. “You have questions and I think, think, I know the answers, but…fuck…this means–” He breaks off, dropping his head. 

Is he crying?

“Felix….” You reach out, burdened, and place your hand over his. He jolts at your touch, but doesn’t pull away. He slots his fingers in between yours. “Please tell me what’s wrong? Can I help?” 

“I need to go. I knew what it was. I just wanted it not to be true.” His voice cracks and he looks up, eyes welling. There’s a quiver in his lips, like maybe he wants to smile or maybe he wants to cry, or maybe it’s both. “I just need some time?” He stands up, leaving his glass and leaving your touch. 

“But…?” What the fuck is going on?

He’s next to you, leaning down so your faces are close. You catch your breath. 

“Soulmates. Look up soulmates.” He presses his mouth to your cheek before tearing away and disappearing in the ever-growing crowd. You stand up, to do something; call him back, chase after him…something. But he’s gone and you sit down again, staring at the two wine glasses. You take a sip of yours and grimace.

It just doesn’t taste quite right.

–

You take a cab home because you drink your wine, his, and order two cocktails (they all taste odd, but honestly it doesn’t matter by the time you get the first cocktail, you are such a lightweight). It’s dumb but you spend two hours at a bar, using Google on your phone. 

At a bar. On a Friday night.

You get approached at least three times by someone either intent on chatting you up, or getting your coveted spot at the table. You basically ignore these approaches because you are intent. 

Soulmates.

That’s what he’d said and though normally you would laugh derisively at the mere use of that term in anything other than some cliched romantic film, you find that the moment he said it, your heart felt like it was being squeezed in a tight grip.

So you search ‘soulmates’ which yields more links and pieces of information than you are willing to wade through. 

You type in ‘bruises soulmates’ and that narrows it way down.

When you touch the first time, it leaves a mark; something similar to a bruise, but far more distinct. This is your soulmate. 

“I met mine, because we ran into each other on the train. Literally. My hip is black and blue. How do I find them?”

The marks take hours to show up, so you have to retrace your steps to find them. Chances are they’re looking for you too. 

“I can’t eat any more. It tastes like licking the inside of a dumpster.”

Food and drink will lose its pleasurable taste. It’ll become disgusting, revolting. 

“I’ve sent out messages on all SNS. It’s been a week. The hospital keeps pumping fluids, but it’s not working. Someone please help me!”

The only way to survive is to be with your soulmate. Skin to skin contact for hours if you are sick or hurting. Not as long if it’s just daily need. You will no longer need food or drink. Water will be the only thing palatable.

You stumble out of the bar, Uber app open on your phone. The air outside is heavy from late summer humidity and it’s like you can’t catch your breath.

If you don’t find your soulmate, you will starve to death.

You can starve to death. You’re not even thirty years old yet, and death is now something more likely than ever.

You look at your arm, the sleeve still pushed up from earlier. 

He doesn’t have very big hands, you muse. The mark is actually lighter and you realize that the little amount of contact you had with him has already started to heal. 

Holy fuck.

Your Uber shows up and you practically throw yourself into the backseat as though someone nefarious is chasing you. 

“You alright?” the driver asks, glancing back. “You run here?”

You are panting, your breath short from the magnitude of what you’ve just found out. Part of your brain denies it all. Surely this is bullshit. Soulmates, touch, inevitable death for those who lose their person.

It can’t be true. 

But what you thought was just hormones when he touched you tonight; the warmth, the comfort, the irresistible draw…

You’ve dated. You’ve fucked. You’ve had men who looked great and those who looked less so. No one affects you the way the quiet-eyed, deep-voiced barista has in three encounters. 

You give the driver your address and force yourself to stop looking at your phone before you get more nauseated, and look out the window. 

You need to sleep before you can tackle whatever the fuck this is. 

– 

It strikes you two days later. You go through the weekend researching everything you can, or pointedly turning off your phone and your laptop in order to clean your apartment and reorganize your kitchen. 

You look at the set of pots that you got two years ago because you wanted nicer, matching ones and now, you aren’t going to need them.

You’d been able to stomach one egg this morning, the desire for food already waning. You wonder if going to get your favorite donuts would be good, if life-changing information warranted donuts.

It hits you then. 

Felix wants to be a baker. 

And he’s going to lose his sense of taste. 

You sink down to the floor of your kitchen with the weight of that revelation. You lean back against the lower cabinets and let that take hold.

By meeting you, Felix can’t pursue his dream. 

You barely know him, but you know enough to understand perhaps a tenth of the loss he must be feeling knowing that he’s going to lose what he wanted to do with his life. 

You did this. By nearly falling over, you have changed the direction of his life. 

You enjoy food, and the loss of it isn’t something you’re looking forward to, but it doesn’t change your job or your life. 

You cover your face when you realize that you’re crying. 

It’s your fault. 

You cry for longer than one would for a near-stranger before you force yourself back to your feet. You trudge toward your bedroom, seeking your phone that you’ve put on silent and plugged in. There are notifications for work, for social platforms, from your mom. 

You don’t check them, but you search out the chat between you and your…

Soulmate. 

<<I am so sorry. 

What else can you say? There is nothing you can do because unless every source you’ve found online about this phenomenon is wrong and lying, the ball is rolling and nothing can stop it. 

You set your phone back down, sitting on the edge of your bed. There’s a window across from you and the view is simply the brick building next to your apartment complex. There is nothing to really look at, but the simplicity of the brick, the gradient of burgundies and reds with beige caulk between is a lot easier to make sense of than anything else right now.

Your phone vibrates. 

>>It’s not your fault.

There’s hardly anything you can say. You can state that it is. It is your fault. Without touching you, he’d go on with his life, pursuing his dreams like everyone should get to.

&lt;<Regardless. I am. Very very sorry.

You don’t expect to hear from him. You set your phone aside, noticing that your hands are shaking. You feel exhausted, like the crying you’ve indulged in has drained you. Maybe you’re coming down with something. 

Or maybe it’s something else. Something soulmate.

>>Can I come by?

You type out yes before you think through it fully. You send him your address and close your phone before getting back up to go to the bathroom and look at yourself.

Maybe it’s silly to make sure you don’t look like someone who has fought dust bunnies and lost, but you think that showering wouldn’t be amiss. 

It’s a half hour later when there's a knock on your door. You’ve already buzzed him in, so it’s not that you’re unprepared to see him, but really, how would anyone be able to prepare for the groveling you want to do when you see him. 

He stands in your doorway, eyes wide and you chastise yourself for changing because he obviously had no qualms, dressed in sweatpants, and a creased t-shirt. He looks terribly soft with rumpled hair, light wrinkles on his cheek from sleeping. 

There are dark smudges of weariness under his eyes. 

“I’m so–” you begin because surely apologizing profusely will relieve a little of the guilt you feel. He doesn’t let you finish, but strides in and wraps his arms around you. He’s got several inches of height on you (lack of heels) and rests his chin on top of your head. He closes the door with his foot, falling back on it, his hold on you firm. 

“You don’t need to say you’re sorry,” he whispers. “It’s not your fault.”

“Kind of is. If we’d never touched…” The heat of him warms you through, as though you were icy but didn’t know it until touching him. 

It’s uncanny, how much better you feel just by being in his arms. Soulmate or not, you think that anyone would be better receiving a hug from him.

“I could have let you fall. So I’m just as responsible.”

You feel your eyes well up, your throat constrict with grief. “But you were just being nice. That’s all. And this is your reward.” You bury your face into his shoulder, noting how bony he is and how nice he smells, like cookies. “I’m so so fucking sorry.”

You’re crying into his shirt and it’s embarrassing, but you can’t seem to stop. You feel his hand stroke your back, soothing. 

“It’s okay.”

“No, it’s not.”

There’s a rumble against you, he’s chuckling. You lift your head to look up at him. He smiles sadly, releasing his hold to wipe under your eyes. 

“You’re stubborn.”

“And you’re too nice. I would fix it, if I could. I would give you back–” He kisses you. 

Oh. My. God.

If touching him casually or even being in his arms is comforting, kissing him is that feeling amped up to eleven. You actually feel light-headed and dizzy like you’re back at the bar drinking too much wine. 

He presses one small kiss to the corner of your lips before drawing away. You whimper to lose that caress, but he keeps his arms around you like he knows you need it. He rests his head on the door, eyes fixed on you. 

“Wow,” you breathe. 

There’s a slight quirk of his lips, like he wants to laugh, but won’t at the moment. 

You realize both of you are still standing in your little foyer so you draw away, but his hands tighten. 

“I was just…just gonna invite you in.”

“That’s okay. I just…” He takes a deep breath. “Don’t let go?” You peer at him, seeing that the dark under his eyes has already lessened.

You nod, adjusting so your hand encloses around his. You lead him into your apartment, watch him as he looks around, eyes still wide, but seemingly less panicked now. You sit on your two person couch that is opposite your television. He sits next to you, looking at your bookshelves, covered in photo frames, books, knick-knacks from places you’ve gotten to go for work. 

“I have to ask,” you say, making him look over at you. “What are you thinking? Right now?”

“I…I feel a little out of place,” he replies, glancing down at your clasped hands. “You have a real job and a nice place and I’m just a barista, trying to get a certificate.” The mention of his schooling makes you tighten your grip and he squeezes back, still not looking at you. “Makes me wonder if the universe screwed up.”

“I don’t think that’s fair.”

He looks up then. 

“You are this beautiful, ridiculously kind human who smiles like the sun and because of me, lost your dream and you’re still here. You should hate me.”

He covers your mouth with his untethered hand. “I don’t. I couldn’t.” His hand drifts to cup your cheek. “I’m not mad at you.” He takes another deep breath. “I’m mad at the fallout. Like…it sucks.” He nods. “It really does. That’s why I just needed some time.”

“I’m sorry. I only gave you like two days.”

His thumb runs over your lower lip and you feel like you’re melting. 

“I wanted to see you. I can already tell that I need to…” He blushes. “I need to touch you.”

“You look less drained.” You touched his heated cheek. “I felt out of it, too.”

“Me too.” He leans in, face close, watching you. “I didn’t ask. About kissing you. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. Weird circumstances.” You hope your smile does half of what his smile does for you. “You’re stuck with me unless you want to starve to death.”

He half-grins, his hand still on your face, tracing along your nose. “It’s pretty dramatic, right?”

“It really is.” 

“You don’t mind?” 

“What?”

“Being stuck with me?”

“No.” You’re louder than you meant to be. He blinks at the emphasis. “I mean, I don’t know you all that well, but what I do know…” You take his hand from your face, holding it as tight as the other hand. “I like.”

He nods. “Can we…” He takes a breath. “Can we touch more?”

It is weird and you both laugh at the awkward and latent innuendo. 

“Like nothing…” He stops talking, expression helpless. You just nod.

He watches as you let go of his hand to get close. His dark eyes seem darker when you pause to figure out how exactly you plan to touch him. 

“Here.” He pulls you in, aligning you to his chest, your back resting against him, his arms around you, his chin coming to sit on your shoulder. “The longer we touch, those bruises will fade.”

You lift his hands so you can see that his marks are lighter since you saw them Friday night. He presses his face where your shoulder meets your neck. It tickles, but you don’t shy away.

“I feel like we’ve gone from acquaintances to whatever this is really quick.” It’s an obvious statement, a pointless one, but things are progressing at an exponential speed that you need to voice it, if only to remind yourself and him that it’s real. 

“It’s okay, though?” he asks softly. “I don’t want to make you uncomfortable, but even beyond the need to touch you, I want to.” His chin rests on your shoulder again.

“You do?”

You can hear the smile in his voice, “I thought you were pretty when you came in for the interview. I think I would have tried to talk to you if you ever came back, even without the rest of it.” 

You’re still playing with his hands, absorbing his words. 

“This whole thing is weird.” 

“Yeah.”

“Did you know about soulmates before?”

You feel his chin as he nods. “My grandmother’s second husband and her. My grandfather died and at age sixty-three or something, my grandmother bumped into this man at her favorite bakery. Bruises and everything. She told me the story when I was about ten, when they decided to get married. No one believed her, but I did. It just made sense when you saw them together. But it’s rare. Like…there are accounts of it all over the world, but not a high percentage.” He noses your ear. “What did you find out? You researched, didn’t you?”

“If you call googling for too many hours, proper research.” Being in his arms is slowly making you feel less weary and calmer. You’re still sad and worried, but your body feels less like debilitated frozen tundra. “I guess we’re lucky that it wasn’t hard to know who it was. There are stories…of people…” You stop talking, overwhelmed by the fact that this could have gone so badly. “I’m glad I knew it was you immediately. Like I meet so many random people and I–”  

“Shhh, it’s okay.”

You’re both quiet for several minutes. You’ve stopped playing with his hands and he’s just wrapped around you even more snugly. 

“How do we do this?”

“Well, I’m going to quit school tomorrow. The semester is nearly over and I haven’t paid for next semester yet, so that’s money saved.”

“It sucks.”

“Yeah, it does.” His hand slips under your shirt and you tremble at the energy pulse that such a slight touch does to you. “Wow.”

“Yeah.” You ponder for a second. “Do we need to do this every day?”

“I think it’s encouraged, and necessary. Like to go too long not in contact is…well, I felt like a zombie until I held you.”

“I hope you don’t need alone time.”

He chuckles. “Not too much. You?”

“Some.” That’ll be an adjustment. Someone wanting to spend hours with you. More than just the occasional meet-up with a friend. “Do…you…god, this is gets more and more bizarre…should you move in with me?”

The gentle motion of his hand stills. “Would you…would that be okay?”

“I mean, we should probably find a place together, but I still have a few months left on my lease. You?”

He sits up and you move away, though you notice his hand stays on your skin, following as you adjust to face him. 

“I’m rooming with some guys. Month to month.” His eyes are wide. “Really?”

“I mean…will it make it easier?”

He chuckles. “I have a twin bed.”

“Mine’s a queen.”

“You really are so much more of an adult than me.”

You bat at his arm. “Stop saying that. You aren’t any less. You work and go…went to school.”

“Yeah.” He stares at you for a few seconds. “You’re willing to just let me move in?”

“I mean, we can have sleepovers if that’s easier.”

He laughs, covering his face with his hands for a second before making sure he’s still touching you with a hand on your knee. “I don’t have a lot of stuff. My baking stuff…that I guess I need to sell.” 

You lace your fingers with his. “I’m–”

“You don’t need to say it.” He shrugs. “It just is what it is. Anyway, clothes, not a lot. I have my computer and that’s kinda…” He looks around. “Do you have another bedroom?”

“Yeah. It’s kind of a makeshift office/storage unit right now.” You make a face. “I should probably get rid of some of it. Do you have a big computer?”

He shrugs again. “I built it. I game and fiddle with computers in my free time.”

You move closer. “How are you that interesting? It’s not fair. You’re ridiculously pretty, you bake, and you do computery things?”

His ears, cheeks and neck all flush. “It’s not that interesting…”

“It is to me,” You point at him with your connected hands. “I just do the news stuff.”

“And zone out.”

You laugh. “And zone out. Regularly.”

He brings you back to rest against his chest, a deep sigh releasing. “So…I guess…we’re moving in together?”

You aren’t horribly impulsive usually. In big things you try to think logically and rationally. But that seems to have been tossed aside currently. 

“Yeah. Let’s do it.”

You feel his lips on your cheek. 

–

It’s a month later, after you’ve emptied out the second bedroom with as much as you can let go off, Felix moves in with his stuff (the computer set-up reminds you of like the command bridge in Star Trek or something), and you’ve learned how to sleep in bed with a person you aren’t actually sleeping with (despite the touch thing, both of you seem to avoid talking about anything past necessary touch).

The progression the soulmate-ness has had is different for both of you. You lost your taste for food and drink well before he did. It’s nearly three weeks to the day you two met that he can’t eat one of his galettes because it tastes like the way wet dog smells.

He cries in your arms. 

You handled working over eight hours a day as well as you always have, but if it moved to twelve hours, you found Felix at the apartment, on the couch or bed, looking more fragile and delicate than normal. The toll your separation took on his body was far worse than the toll on your body. 

It took some adapting and adjusting; trial and error to see what worked for the both of you. If it was going to be a long day, Felix would leave work and come find you at the station, or you’d come to him just to sit and hold hands for a half hour before one of you had to go. It helped. 

For the first time since being on your own, you have to worry about someone else and yes, at times, it can be frustrating; overall, it’s nice. It’s nice to come home to someone. 

“I can’t do it,” Felix comes in late from the coffeehouse. You came home early and are spending your time trying to figure out what one does with a kitchen and all that cabinet space if one no longer eats. 

“Can’t do it?”

He doesn’t stop in his path, dropping his bag on the ground as he toes off his shoes. You barely can say much else before he’s wrapped around you in what has become a regular habit of his. In your arms the moment you’re both home. 

You can’t complain even if it thwarts your thought process about the kitchen. 

“The coffee smell is awful,” he mutters into your hair. “Like, I thought not tasting it would be okay, but the smell is just as bad. All day, every day…” he sighs. “I almost quit.”

“Maybe you should. I make enough for you to take a break for a little bit.”

“I’m not…” He sighs again. “I don’t like that. It’s your money.”

“And therefore I can help you out.” You rub up and down his back, soothing him. “You haven’t had much time to figure out a new plan.”

He moves so his face is in the crook of your neck, nuzzling. Normally you giggle because it tickles, but lately when his lips are anywhere near you, it’s like every nerve you have is on high alert. 

“I think I’m avoiding it.”

“That’s okay too.” You hurry to continue when you feel his body stiffen as though he wants to argue with you. “For now. It’s a lot.”

He lifts his head, but not before brushing a soft kiss on your neck which sends you down a path that you’ve tried to avoid thinking about with Felix in mind. A path that includes not only sleeping in your bed. 

“I…” He watches you for a few seconds and you can feel your face heating with his scrutiny. “I’m gonna game for a bit.” He then sees that you have all the plates and cups and paraphernalia on the counters. “Unless you need a hand?”

“Go shoot something digitally. I’m good.”

He smiles that soft smile of his. The one that makes you want to cozy up with him on the couch, his head in your lap and mindlessly watch a movie. 

“Sure?”

You nod, and start to move back to the kitchen problem when he drops another kiss, this time on your cheek. You should be getting used to this, and perhaps you are, but it still floors you. The feel of him, the subsequent burst of soulmate voltage that it emits. 

He doesn’t seem to notice that every time he kisses you, your brain pauses like a video buffering. Maybe he doesn’t. Maybe kissing you doesn’t do much more than just heal in the soulmate way. 

He hasn’t kissed you on the lips since that first time. You want him too. You’ve thought about it way too much, even when you’re supposed to be working. 

You should say something. You should kiss him, and often. But you hold back. You don’t know why. 

He’s had so much of his life uprooted because of you, you don’t want to add the burden of your sexual wants onto his plate. 

He shuffles off to the second bedroom and you eventually go back to working on the kitchen. 

He calls your name about an hour later, after you have given up on the dusting because it’s too much, and have ended up on the couch, looking through your SNS feed to find that there isn’t much new in the world.

“Hmm?”

“I think…I think I had an idea.”

You get up and wander over to that room, more Felix’s than yours now. You stand in the doorway, eyes adjusting to the darkness because there’s only a lamp that he keeps on by his set-up. 

He wheels around in his ergonomic chair. 

“What’s your idea?”

“One of my friends,” He waves toward his screen, “Asked me a question about what to add to his computer to boost its…” He chuckles immediately when you furrow your brow. “You don’t care about that.”

“I will attempt to understand it?”

“Nevermind.” He reaches out his hands toward you and you walk in, suspicious. He latches on and pulls you into his lap, which just makes you freeze even more than the nightly cuddles. “I gave him about three different options and he asked if I’d do it for him. He’d pay me.” He cradles your face in his hands. “He’d pay me.”

“Well, that’s nice.”

“I mean…maybe that’s it. I could fix or enhance, I guess, computers. I know too much about it for just fiddling with my own.” He trails his fingers down to your neck and you tremble. “Maybe this is what I should do.”

Even in the dim light, you can see how bright his eyes are. It reminds you of when you met him, before everything changed.

“If you want. I imagine you probably do know more than the average person. I’ve heard you ramble enough to your friends on that thing.” You smile even if the heat of his legs is burning you in the best way. “Will it make you happy?”

His infectious joy fades a little. “It might.” With his finger, he draws an amorphous shape on your skin. “I think it might.”

“Then you should do it.” You pat his shoulders, getting ready to remove yourself from him because being on his lap, facing him, being so close is making you want more than you think either of you are ready for. 

His hands slip to your waist to keep you from leaving. 

“Felix, what are you–?”

“You make me happy, you know that, right? Being here with you, coming home to you or vice versa makes me happy.” His gaze is zeroed in on you, and it’s a lot. Having his focus.

“You don’t have to say stuff like that.”

He adjusts you so you’re nearer, his hands clasped at the small of your back. “I’m not just saying that. I mean it.” His lips turn down in concern. “Aren’t you? Happy?”

“With you? God, yes.” Sometimes with him, you do this. You say things before thinking it through. “Even when you hog the covers.”

He looks a bit sheepish, but doesn’t apologize. 

“But my life didn’t derail because you entered it.”

He touches his nose to yours. “Mine didn’t either. It just changed direction. Maybe a little more dramatically than yours.” He purses his lips in thought. “I only worry about the job stuff because well…I want to work in something I like.”

“Of course you do.” You comb back his hair, longer than when you met him; shaggy and probably needs a cut, but you really like it. “If you want to do this, I think you should.”

“It might take a while for me to make much.”

You point at yourself. “Do I look worried?”

He smiles, teeth flashing, eye crinkles, and your heart flutters. 

“You’re so pretty,” you whisper, tracing the curves of his smile and cheeks. His lips part at the compliment, and your finger slides to his teeth. “I…uh, sorry.”

He kisses the tip of your finger to reassure you. You swallow your more lustful feelings and smile. 

“You better get back to your friends.” You try to stand up, but his arms tighten. “I should…go.”

“Why?” he asks softly. “Why can’t you stay right here? I want you to.”

“You do?”

He says your name in the same whisper and kisses you reverently. You dissolve into him, scooting closer so you can embrace him. There’s a soft groan, and it’s not from you.

“Am I too heavy?” you ask, breaking the kiss. He pouts at you and shakes his head. 

“It’s…it’s not that.” 

It takes you a second and your eyes widen before you look down. 

“Oh.”

He chuckles. “You haven’t noticed?”

“Well, I mean, in the morning, but that’s like…all guys.” His cheeks turn pink as you continue. “I…I wasn’t assuming that it had to do with me.”

“You can assume.”

You stare breathlessly at him. 

“If you want, I mean.” His eyes dart away from yours. “If I’m the only one turned on here, you can pretend I didn’t say anything.”

“Just because it’s not as obvious doesn’t mean I’m not.” 

You feel him raise his head and meet your gaze. If he can tell your face is hot in the shadowy room, he makes no mention of it.

“Yeah?”

You nod before hearing some tinny voices coming from his headset. “Your friends.” You nod again toward his computer screen. “Your game.” You don’t even try to move out of his hold, but his arm wraps around you so you’re nearly chest to chest.

“Don’t move.” He grabs his headset from around his neck and slips it on, pressing a button on the side. “Guys…something’s come up. Min…I’ll come by tomorrow with a better graphics card and install it for you.” He presses the same button amid all the protests you hear, and takes the headset off. He tosses it on his computer desk before returning to hold you, with one minor adjustment. 

One hand slides up the back of your top, searing. He watches your face, intent. You tug at the collar of his shirt, and he stands up gingerly, letting you slide down until your feet touch the floor. He pulls off his shirt before taking your hands in his to bring them to his chest and arms. 

“I didn’t know,” he says as you outline the planes and facets with your fingers. 

“Didn’t know?”

He dips his head so you have to look up into his eyes, away from his beautiful skin. “Didn’t know you thought about me like that.”

“How could I not?” You let your hands trail up his sides to his neck and then to his face. “You are beautiful, both inside and out, Lee Felix.”

He doesn’t answer but kisses you with none of the former softness or gentleness. His hands are gripping your arms, directing you backwards out of the room and toward the bedroom. All of your kisses have been chaste, as though the crossing into using tongue would mean something else.

Perhaps it did. Perhaps it’s not just about a mutual need to live, a mutual admiration, though that’s all true. Perhaps being soulmates is just the beginning of having a partner. In everything.

You feel the bed at the back of your legs, unaware that you’ve traveled that much of the apartment because Felix might be good at gaming, but he’s exceptionally good at kissing. It’s all you can do to hold on as he consumes you, tongue stroking yours, teeth nibbling. You fall back on the bed, and he follows, climbing on top of you, mouth still seeking yours. His hands have slid under your top, mapping out your shape with fervor. 

The calm and quiet of him has broken. 

He draws away to look down at you, panting. “Okay?”

“Yes, so much,” you answer breathlessly. He smirks and peels off your shirt before sitting and undoing his pants. “Hey.” 

He pauses and glances at you. You can see his hands trembling. 

“We don’t have to rush.”

“I know. I know, but I…” He leans to kiss your jaw. “I want you so much.” He slips a finger under your bra strap and slides it down your shoulder. “Sleeping next to you is both wonderful and fuckin’ torture.” 

His grin when you laugh only lasts a second before he pulls you close and on top of him. You work his pants off, trying not to get sidetracked by his undoing of your bra and ensuing caresses. It takes a few minutes, both of you distracting the other in the process, but eventually, gloriously, the clothing is gone and you’re both looking at each other in awe. 

Beautiful. Inside and out. 

“C’mere,” his voice drops to a decibel you aren’t sure anyone else can hear (you don’t want them too because he’s your soulmate and you are so damn grateful). He places soft kisses all over your face, making you giggle as he props up pillows at your back. “We’ve never talked about past relationships.”

“Oh. I mean…” You twist your lips thinking about your last date let alone last relationship. “I haven’t…work kinda replaced everything else, you know? I’m clean…it’s been at least a year.”

“Six months. Had to move away.” He eases in between your legs, hands rubbing your thighs almost carelessly. “Clean too.” He leans down, face inches away and those perfect freckles blurring together. 

“Was it serious?”

“I think it could have been,” he says honestly. “You?”

“I don’t think I’ve ever been serious about someone till you. Even before I saw the bruises,” You run your hands up his arms, his muscles taut from holding himself up. “You stuck in my mind. Chan teased me about it.” 

He grins before slipping one hand down your chest, your stomach and farther down… “You weren’t kidding about being turned on, were you?”

You half-heartedly slap his shoulder because one, it’s more than obvious and two, his tender exploration of you is dizzying. The soulmate energy, with no clothing to bar skin to skin contact, feels like you’ve laid down in a meadow on a warm day; not too hot, no bugs, no pollen, nothing but heat and light and tranquility. 

Then his fingers lightly touch your clit and the tranquility liquifies into heat and lust and want. 

“There, huh?” The teasing, soft but dark, makes you want to say something snarky, but he’s kissing you, his fingers circling until you're gasping against his mouth. 

“Lix, please,” you whine. His lips leave yours before he pushes in. “Oh god.”

As with everything, the soulmate need for touch just amplifies everything; how he feels sliding in, each thrust, the grazing of your g-spot. It’s a million times more and when you break, and feel him break; it’s not surprising that for a few seconds you aren’t sure where you are. 

Then the puffs of his shortened breath on your skin, the length of his body covering yours, one hand trailing up and down your arm. 

“You back?” he asks, voice gruff. 

“I think so.”

He lifts his head, eyes at half-mast, smile sleepy and well-contented. “We should do that again…often.”

You roll your eyes, a grin twitching at the corner of your lips. He kisses you, open-mouthed, but delicate. 

“I am really really glad you caught me that day.”

He stares down at you, eyes fond. “I’m glad you caught me too.”

--

a/n #2 - the coffee drink, fiery redhead, is not mine, but created by a coffeehouse in my parents' town. i love it, and make it at home now.

--

(c) yoongihan 2024. please do not steal, translate, repost, or whatever. stray kids belong to themselves and all idols used in this piece are just the inspiration for characters and do not in any way reflect the actual humans.

[1d1195]

Toothpaste III

Read Toothpaste here | ~2.6k words

From me: Been way longer than it was supposed to since I last chatted about these two.

Warnings: a couple sweet fluffy puns and pining.

Summary: Harry realizes there's a bit of nepotism in hiring her to work for him while she finds a new job. But Harry would call it flat out favoritism. Also, he really likes the way she says Dr. Styles when she answers the phone.

“Good morning, Dr. Styles office.”

Harry was used to hearing his name said by women all the time. He worked with all women—they all reminded him of his mum which is why he hired them. Unfortunately, he found that many of the newly graduated dental hygienists were there for him...and not the job. He started his practice fresh out of school. Wanting to make good on his degree (and start pecking away at the loan debt from dental school) and help those with toothaches as soon as humanly possible. He was kind to each of them, but he wasn’t oblivious to the flirting that attempted to reel him in during the interview process. They would make small remarks about how they saw themselves fitting right in at his practice—and life. They batted their eyelashes and smiled just a hair too hard.

Now, he was no better than those he turned down in favor of the woman flitting about his office and eyeing the same sweet girl on desk duty. Hiring her because she was pretty, funny, intelligent.

And very much unemployed thanks to him.

Not even dinner first?

It rang in his head. The promise to take her to dinner still only remained just that: a promise. He had given her space as she was excited about the time to herself for the first time in two years. But then when she called again about a month after, claiming she was getting bored and antsy, Harry had to hire her. There had been paperwork to get hired. Training in what her tasks would be as she made the desk her home-away-from-home.

It seemed wrong to hire her and desperately want to go on a date with her, so he separated the two. Let her get her feet under her and whatnot. So, he never got to find out if ‘open’ would be the last of their flirting.

Unfortunately, Harry was ready to let all of his sanity fly out the window. The way Styles sounded in her mouth was a sin and a virtue. Completely and totally the cause for him struggling to maintain a semblance of control over his emotions.

“I know we say drooling is good thing in this office, Dr. Styles, but that’s a bit much,” Mary chided as she walked past him in the small hallway between rooms. Harry cleared his throat. Once more thankful for the mask covering the majority of his face to hide the blush that rose to his cheeks. She was none the wiser, fiddling with a pen as she listened intently. The little headset on her head while she scribbled on a notepad.

“Let me check and I’ll call you right back, yeah? If not, I’ll find someone to recommend,” her voice was so soothing, oozing with kindness and understanding that Harry didn’t know was necessary for someone scheduling appointments for him, but it was the moment he heard her voice. There was an exchange of goodbyes and then she clicked the headset off. “Dr. Styles,” she sang analyzing her notes while clicking and tapping away at her keyboard.

Now Harry had to pretend like he wasn’t just waiting for her to call for his attention. He turned immediately into a patient room where Helen was tending to a teen boy. Helen glanced up; her eyes danced with a smile unseen by her own mask as she continued to pick at the buildup between her patient’s teeth. “Toby isn’t due for an exam, Dr. Styles,” Helen teased.

He glared at her briefly and turned to call out of the room. “Jus’ a second, love.”

“Did you hear that, Toby?” Helen whispered. “Dr. Styles is a bit smitten with his secretary. He’s trying to act casual.”

Toby smiled around the instruments in his mouth and peered back toward where Harry stood. “She pre-ee,” he murmured.

“She is pretty,” Helen agreed. “But he’s pretending like he isn’t in love with her.” Toby chuckled around the tool once more and Harry glared at him.

“There’s a joke ‘bout me being a sadistic dentist, Toby. Make sure y’floss before y’next exam,” he warned lowly. “Helen,” he nodded.

“Dr. Styles,” she nodded in response, the smile never leaving her eyes.

*

She was scribbling on the calendar in front of her inputting as many random national dates as possible. It started shortly after her arrival. The other women in the office usually multitasked their dental duties as well as the front desk. They were excited to have her. As motherly as they were, they knew immediately why Dr. Styles hired the pretty girl and were hopeful the otherwise quiet, shy man would open himself up for her and let love in rather than spend all his waking hours thinking about his practice.

The day of her follow up appointment, she informed him it was National Chocolate Ice Cream Day and she wanted to be sure she would be allowed to celebrate.

“National what?” He chuckled.

It was the kind of thing that made life a little more enjoyable, she explained. After he hired her to be secretary, it was a whirlwind filling the calendar with as many silly days to recognize as possible. Many days had multiple things to be celebrated, so she chose carefully. National Dimples Day was a must—given that Harry had pretty dimples hiding behind his mask. It was followed by National Pina Colada Day, and she told him it was one of her favorite summer drinks.

“Did y’need something?” His voice was warm. Like always. The way it made her feel safe when she was scared that first time she met him, worried a root canal was in her very immediate future. “What’s that say?”

“National Retainer Day!” She nearly cheered. She looked up at him with a bright smile and he couldn’t help but fall harder for her. Each topic of the day was curated with someone in mind. Even the other ladies in the office got their moment to celebrate something they loved as she would randomly call out factoids about the coming month. “Anyone like rosé?” She had called.

“Who doesn’t?!” Melissa shouted back. Of course, the entire time she worked was spent mainly doing tasks, waiting in between calls and tasks to continue filling in the calendar with her funny days of recognition.

Harry was still chuckling about Retainer Day. “Something y’needed t’ask from y’phone call?” He repeated gently to jog her memory.

“Oh yes,” she dropped her pen midway through writing National “Ba” and he felt a little bad for interrupting her thought. Also, he desperately wanted to know the end of the word, and what they would be celebrating in a few weeks. She opened a different window back up and held her notebook poised professionally in front of her. “It’s a little boy,” she explained. “His teeth sound a lot like mine, so I’m probably being too nice,” she frowned. “I know you’re not a pediatric dentist, but the mom sounded exhausted so I told her I would ask and if not recommend someone you know personally from dental school who would take care of him.”

The kindness in her heart was way too sweet. No wonder she was filled with cavities.

“S’fine, set it up, I’ll look.”

“Like today?”

“S’it that serious?” Harry asked curiously.

“Mom sounds exhausted.”

“Like she’s going t’pull her son’s teeth out at a hardware store?”

“Exactly,” her smile was so beautiful. Harry knew smiles.

“S’this m’next patient?” He asked pointing at the tablet waiting beside her. She handed it to him and watched him read.

The way Harry leaned against the counter surrounding her desk put his forearms on full display making her stomach flip. Due to the mask, she couldn’t see his mouth—which was probably for the best. If she saw his lips, his nice teeth, perfect smile, or that dimple in his left cheek she would do something crazy, like kiss him in the middle of his waiting room. Even though no one was there in the waiting room, it seemed like a precedent she couldn’t let happen. Especially when her coworkers were down the hall with patients as well.

His eyes were so focused on the tablet, he didn’t even notice she was staring at him. His concentration was adorable. It was obvious Harry cared about all his patients. He was so intelligent (obviously) and just overall lovely.

“Are we ever going to go on our date?” She whispered quietly so not even Mary, Helen, or Melissa could hear.

Harry nearly dropped the tablet. His mask saved him once more by hiding his surprise. “Oh...um...” It spooked him that she was so confident and easy going about their flirting. It was only a few moments of flirtation and yet, it was enough to make him flustered. Tongue-tied. His brain misfired, no words could get out of his mouth.

Which was not great for her.

“I’m sorry,” she looked away and her hair fell in front of her face so he couldn’t see her embarrassment. “That was rude, I was...” she shook her head. “Forget I said it.”

Her heart was threatening to beat out of her chest, and she thought she might die of mortification. How could she say that in the middle of the workday? That was so inappropriate. Maybe more inappropriate since he was a hand deep in her mouth and she asked to open for him. At least then she was a patient and could leave. Instead, he was going to have to go be a hand deep in someone else’s mouth thinking about how she cornered him and flirted with him when she shouldn’t have.

Her stupid mouth was going to get her fired again. She finished the word “Bagel” on her calendar and looked for the information to call that poor mother back. She dialed the phone number and listened on her headset at the other end rang.

A note was dropped on her desk, a prescription paper from Harry’s notepad. Fluttered and settled directly in front of her as the phone continued ringing. She turned to see Harry’s retreating figure before she picked it up and read it.

Tomorrow? Tooth-irty is too early. How about six?

*

The bell to her apartment rang at quarter to six. She was doing some finishing touches to her hair and makeup, and it seemed they would remain unfinished. She wasn’t mad that he was early because it was making her anxious to wait for so long (hence the extra primping). “Just a second!” She called scrambling to put the last bobby pin in place and swiped mascara over her lashes quickly.

She hurried to the door and pulled it out of the way. Harry held three red roses in his hand. “Sorry m’early. I was... nervous and excited.”

“Nervous?” She questioned.

He nodded but didn’t say anything else. Harry wasn’t a man of many words. He was quiet overall. But when he did speak, every word was warm, important. Nerves must not have been important. “Those are beautiful,” she reached out to touch the mini bouquet. The petals were like velvet, and she imagined that he paid a pretty penny for just three little roses.

“S’not too much?” He asked.

“No,” she shook her head. “They’re perfect.”

He released a relieved sigh and smiled. “Good.”

*

At dinner, Harry pulled her chair out and his knee bumped hers beneath the table. She tried to memorize every detail of the moment. It was a feeling that started all the way in her toes and worked up to the roots of her hair. This was a big day. A big moment.

Three months ago, she was in a different world. Now she was at a new job, a new apartment, and on a date with her unbelievably handsome dentist and boss. It was unreal and perfect and something that didn’t happen every day. Something that had never happened to her.

So, she was memorizing every little detail so that when she thought about it for the rest of her life she could talk about the wrinkle near the corner of his mouth when he smiled. How his eyebrow quirked up when he read something he liked on the menu. The way his fingers wrapped around the stem of his wine glass like he was a connoisseur. Was he? She wanted to ask.

“S’it alright?” He asked quietly.

In all her memorizing, she forgot how quiet she must have gotten. Even a man as few words as Harry, it was probably unnerving to sit in silence while sipping at wine, listening to the quiet jazz quartet in the corner of the space while the girl across from him nibbled at the bread on her plate and stared at him for what must have been an embarrassing number of minutes. “Yes,” she said quickly, her knee bumping against his and the table causing the glasses to wiggle. He smiled. That gorgeous, beautiful smile that should have been on pamphlets and billboards for his practice. “Sorry,” she cleared her throat.

She wondered if he would ask her back to his place. Was it too much to do that? Maybe they could just hang out. Her entire work week was spent with Harry and yet she just wanted more time with him. Like something had changed in her that this was...this was something more. More than a toothache. More than toothpaste.

“Are you alright, love? You’re awfully quiet...”

“Can I say something...insane? You obviously don’t mind my ranting thus far between my intake form and my appointments. But this one might... really make you regret asking me out... I don’t know... I just think I have spent a lot of my young adulthood being unhappy. I watched rom-coms and read romance novels and envisioned this all-encompassing love that would put Nicholas Sparks to shame. Then I started my job fresh out of college and I hadn’t thought about love in three years? Four years. Four years of not thinking about love, reading about love, watching love and it was my favorite thing in the world...and then I got a toothache and wanted to yank it out myself and you were just there. You don’t say a lot but you... you helped me quit a job I wasn’t happy in, a job I wasn’t in love with a job that was killing me from the inside out,” she took a breath and Harry was stoically watching her. “I am trying to focus on everything that is happening. For the last three months I’ve been trying to figure all of this out and remember every little detail about you. The way that your knee feels next to mine and how your ring clinks on your wine glass and how I have imagined falling in love so many times in my life and I never thought it would happen in a dentist office—arguably, my least favorite place in the world.”

Speechless. Completely totally speechless.

Harry held his hand up for the waiter. “Could we get our food t’go?” He asked.

Part of her hoped the ground would open up and swallow her. The anxiety and mortification she felt was so intense her voice was dead in her throat. All emotion stopped existing. Part of her thought she did combust as he asked to leave. “Is everything alright?” The waiter asked.

“Yes,” Harry nodded assuredly. “S’jus’... I’ve got a bit of a toothache,” he explained and glanced at her finally. The left dimple making itself visible. The relief swam through her. “Need t’head home t’take care of it. S’that okay, love?” He asked quietly.

She nodded. “Yeah,” she cleared her throat. “It’s that sweet tooth of yours.”

“Well, y’know me, love,” he winked and handed his credit card to the waiter. “I crave sweet things.”

--

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[dude1818]

Unsong

I read Unsong this week and it was incredible. The writing and humor has a strong Terry Pratchett feel, and actually the story itself is adjacent to a sci-fi Good Omens. Almost every chapter had a scene that was uproariously hilarious, and really, the whole book was mainly a vector for delivering an endless stream of incredible puns

The basic premise is that the world started to end in the 60s, when the Apollo program crashed into Heaven and cracked the firmament, allowing the divine light to get back into the world. This caused physics to start to break down and reintroduced angels and demons and magic. Jump forward to 2017, and there's a booming "applied Kabbalah" industry around computationally deriving the Hidden Names of God in lieu of other technological advancement. The A plot follows Aaron, a down-on-his-luck kabbalist who works in one of these Names factories and discovers a Name that would revolutionize discovering more Names. This kicks off a chase to gain control of it across what's left of the US

The B plot bounces around, but centers on the was between good and evil. Angels returning to the world also means the resumption of the war against the fallen angels, and also Hell is real again. The messiah was born in the 70s and led the war against the devil, but most of this half of the story is actually about his daughter training under the archangel Uriel in the 90s to keep the world running. Of course Aaron's discovering of a powerful new Name eventually grabs the attention of these powerful forces

Of course the actual minute-to-minute of the book is totally absurd. The first antagonist is the titular UNSONG, the United Nations patent office for Names of God. At one point they attract the Drug Lord and we learn about the War on Drugs: a sentient peyote cactus man took over Mexico with a drug-induced hivemind and tried to invade the US. Neil Armstrong ascended bodily to heaven, and then returned to "grant salvation to" (take over) LA. The higher level angel fights do word association with the concepts describing reality. It's all bonkers, and it all works so well

I'm leaving out so much, but I can't recommend this enough. And the overall question that keeps coming up throughout the book is the age-old question "why does God allow evil to exist anyway," and this is the first time I've seen an answer that actually makes sense. I don't think you could have gotten there from any other angle

[odinsblog]

Everything about the Starship was the result of a series of decisions designed to make spaceflight cheaper. The methane fuel. The steel structure. The method of construction. Even the rocket’s enormous size. All of it was a gamble to create a system that is fully reusable, bringing the cost of getting to orbit down to a small fraction of what it is today and making space almost infinitely more accessible.

However, one decision in the process didn’t just result in the destruction of the rocket, it generated a cascade of failures, one that’s likely to set the program back by a least a year, erasing the chance of NASA’s scheduled return to the Moon in the process. That decision is 100% on Elon Musk.

HERE’S THE TL;DR VERSION

The no-clamps slow throttle-up meant Starship stayed on the pad for a long time, throwing up concrete, rock, and sand in all directions, damaging the pad, nearby facilities, and Starship itself.

By the time it left the pad, that debris had already destroyed three of Starship’s engines and likely damaged valves and systems that would lead to additional engine failures as well as an incorrect fuel mixture.

Starship was slow to reach every point in the flight plan, suggesting that other engines were not able to throttle up to compensate for the lost engines.

At what should have been stage separation, either software errors or more smashed hardware kept the main booster firing long after it should have shut down.

The result was an uncontrolled spin that required Starship to be destroyed.

WHY THIS IS 100% ELON MUSK’S FAULT

Starship is the work of hundreds of talented engineers and thousands of employees who put their best into making this thing go. The design is extremely daring, and something of a wonder. The engines are amazing, even if they have demonstrated that reliability is currently lacking. The whole system of construction promises to revolutionize the space industry.

But there are two parts that were left out of Starship that absolutely doomed this flight and the decision not to include them falls right with the guy at the end of the first row at “Star Command.”

Those parts were not parts for the rocket. They were parts for the launch pad.

For some reason, Musk became convinced early on that he did not want the launch tower to have:

A flame-diverter or flame trench to redirect the blast from the booster’s engines

A water deluge system to dump a massive amount of water around the launch tower during liftoff

The launch facilities at Kennedy have both of these. Even the launch pads used for the much smaller Falcon 9 have both a flame trench and a water deluge. They help to protect not just the launch pad, and the surrounding area, they also help to reduce the noise. Which sounds trivial, but that noise is energy. That’s what broke up the concrete under the Starship Stage Zero, not the fire. That’s what sent car-sized chunks flying in all directions.

A flame diverter and a water deluge would have greatly reduced, or even eliminated, the damage to the area around the pad. They would have prevented the blow back of debris that damaged Starship before it even left the ground. It might have headed off the whole cascade of events that resulted in that button being pressed 4 minutes into the flight.

We don’t have to guess about whose decision it was not to implement these systems, because Musk already said he decided to skip these systems over the recommendations of his engineers. Musk even had a preview of what was going to happen, as past test flights of the upper stage also resulted in significant spalling of concrete structures and damage to at least one of the ships. He just made them try different kinds of concrete.

The parts for a water deluge were actually on site, ready to install, but Musk decided to forego that installation—likely so he could enjoy the pun of launching his super-joint on 4/20. Which was something Musk had joked about doing months ago.

Hopefully he enjoyed the joke, because the EPA and FAA are going to be thinking long and hard before they authorize another flight from Boca Chica. All those engineers, and all those workers, and all their good work, is held hostage to Musk’s whims.

Also a victim of Musk’s decision to leave these vital pieces off the table? The Artemis Program at NASA. Musk has already been awarded the contract to create the first lunar lander for the new program, but that lander is absolutely dependent on Starship. It’s a sure bet that Musk won’t have his part of the program ready on schedule. It’s going to be some time before we even so another test flight.

In the meantime, SpaceX can repair the damage, build a flame diverter, install that deluge system, clean up the software, and ditch the whole “pitch over” means of stage separation for something simpler—like using the second stage engines to push the stages apart with an unignited shot of methane.

See you in 2024, Starship.

Maybe.

👉🏿 https://m.dailykos.com/stories/2023/4/22/2165317/-A-Starship-Post-mortem-Why-the-giant-rocket-failed-and-why-it-s-Elon-Musk-s-fault

[bloobydabloob]

Your art is genuinely one of the most inspiring I’ve seen in ages. Immediately upon discovering your blog, I was mesmerized by your creativity bleeding into and staining each piece you’ve posted. Don’t know a lick of Homestuck, but it’s unnecessary to when your art tells me all I need to know without saying a single word. I can grasp why fans of the comic hold it so dear when you paint such a beautiful image of it. (figuratively, not referring to your actual paintings, LOL! Does this count as a pun?)

Sorry, this is just an unrelated doodle because I don’t have any relevant images to add.

I really appreciate you taking the time out of your day to tell me this, thank you. I know it is just like a little act of kindness to you but nice messages mean a lot to me and I wish I could properly project how glad I am to have kind people supporting my art in *any* amount. I’m someone who gets very easily stressed out running accounts so talking to people is what makes it worth the hassle for me. I’m glad you like my art and that it inspires you and anyone else reading this who may feel similarly, I hope I don’t quit art and that I keep improving.

I also do very much recommend giving Homestuck a read if you’ve got the time. The fanbase is unfortunately something I don’t have much of a positive view on but even if it is just some internet comic, reading it growing up is definitely something I wouldn’t take ever back. It has some of the best character / world building of anything I’ve read thus far and it has always just stuck with me. I’ve never had a homestuck friend that moved on from it, which is something I rarely find. I think it appeals to everyone in a different way because of the writing and how vast it is / how many bases it covers. I’m sure that if you ever read it you would find your own connections within the comic. I know though that my drawings are less connected with the atmosphere of the comic itself and infinitely more attuned to my own interpretations and feelings towards the characters, but I also think there is already enough more fitting homestuck art for me to just draw whatever.

Anyways here is my cool new print I got for my wall from @/ReptileEnclosed’s InPrnt, and here are just some of the nice things people have said to me that stick in my mind. Every time someone says something I appreciate I screenshot it and add it to a folder called “Nice Words”.

[faebaex]

Tangled in Wonderland - Leonotis Leonurus

author note: second poll's winner! also a plant pun for the title, just because (￣▽￣) i feel like Jade would be proud. speaking of, he has a teeny tiny cameo in this fic, simply bc he just fit the situation so well. so far, its been a housewarden clean sweep on the polls, with Azul winning the Octavinelle poll! new poll is up right now, a bonus one this time! who will be the comeback king? go vote if you haven't already! enjoy~

characters: Leona Kingscholar x GN!Reader

The library was your turf.

By this point, you were on a first name basis with all of the library ghosts, and you had a fairly good working knowledge of every section of the library, with Ace and Deuce often seeking you out at your usual table to ask you if you had any idea where a certain book would be. Of course, more often than not that meant that they would then sit at your table and you wouldn’t really get any meaningful research done, not with all their squabbling and general freshman catastrophic energy. When Grim tagged along, it was even worse, but at least you could keep an eye on him and make sure he was actually doing the assignments he was supposed to.

Despite all the time you had been spending at the library, you were still no closer to figuring out how to get home. Crowley was nowhere to be found, taking avoiding you to an entirely new level. The books and reading list that Riddle had provided you, however, had been very insightful. His recommendations were much easier to read than the previous tomes you had been torturing yourself with, and you were starting to see connections between theories, it becoming easier for you to source further reading without having to consult Riddle first. So yes, the library was your turf.

The botanical garden, however, was not. And you were well aware of who it belonged to.

Leona Kingscholar was one of the students at the top of your list to avoid. And considering his personality, the feeling was likely mutual. So you made a conscious effort to avoid places where you could run into him, not wanting to tempt the already volatile nature of fate to thrust you into his trajectory. You were even doing well avoiding conflict with the Savanaclaw students, especially considering they were always looking for a fight and the school’s only magicless student was definitely high on their lists to torment. But unfortunately for you, you couldn’t always avoid some of Leona’s favourite haunts, because what Crewel wants, Crewel gets.

You grumbled to yourself as you picked through the botanical gardens, a basket on one arm and a list in the other. Crewel had kindly brought it to your attention with a lash of his pointer that good ol’ Grim had been using ingredients from the potionology inventory for his lab work and assignments instead of collecting his own before class, as student handbook guidelines demand. With Grim nowhere to be seen and you being in the wrong place at the wrong time, Crewel had handed you an extensive list of every ingredient that Grim had used since the two of you became a joint student, and ordered you to the botanical garden to retrieve every single one of them, or face the consequences. And with Crewel swinging that pointer around, you didn’t wait around to find out what those consequences would be.

Being so unfamiliar with the botanical gardens made this job harder, and the sheer size of the list had you running around in circles, picking one ingredient only to realise that you needed something similar that was back the way you had just came. It was incredibly frustrating, and you found yourself huffing under your breath as you traipsed around the botanical garden. To make matters worse, you had to keep yourself alert, lest there be a certain lion’s tail draped carelessly on the pavestone.

You were well aware that in the game, the poor main character had accidentally stepped on a certain stroppy lion’s tail, and he had retaliated by threatening to knock their teeth out. You’d rather not find yourself in the same situation. You’d briefly considered moving his tail out of the way with a stick or something, but decided that Leona was hardly worth the effort and would likely get offended at you poking at him either way, so instead you had to dutifully watch your feet as you continued on with your laborious task.

You had been hunting for ingredients for about an hour and a half by now, and clubs were starting to wrap up their activities and head back to their dorms. You, however, still had half of your list to go, so there was no such reprieve waiting for you. You wondered if you would be able to drop the basket back to the potionology lab with your half-completed list and promise Crewel that you’d finish the job tomorrow. Surely he wasn’t willing to wait around for you to find all these ingredients? If there was any professor at Night Raven College who you expected to have evening plans, it would be Crewel.

As you pondered your next course of action, you caught a flash of teal out of the corner of your eye. Walking towards you down the pathway was Jade Leech, and you fought the urge to do something stupid like show weakness by tensing or throwing yourself into the bushes. With his usual contrived smile affixed to his face, Jade eyed you in a way that really did make you feel like a shrimp, suddenly giving you a whole new understanding as to why his twin had dubbed the main character with such a pet name. Him being here was an oversight on your part, clearly you had thought that Leona was the botanical garden’s biggest threat, not even factoring in that Jade would use this place to fawn over his mushrooms. Thankfully he didn’t stop, passing you with an elegant stride that you could only appreciate, considering he had only been on legs for two years.

“Good day, prefect. Lovely weather we are having.” Jade greeted as he passed you, with you only responding with a small, tight-lipped smile back. No sooner had his footsteps faded away did the heavens decide to open up, a surprised cry erupting from your lips as you quickly found yourself becoming drenched, the sprinklers dousing the entire area and you in water. That could not have been a coincidence.

The sprinklers stopped as quickly as they had started, but by that point the damage had already been done, your clothes and hair dripping. The list in your hand was sodden, the ink running and quickly making the contents illegible. You growled in frustration, throwing the soggy list to the floor with a wet thump as you tried to squeeze out your clothes in vain. You were so busy trying to sort yourself out, to scrap back any shred of dignity you could that you almost missed the rustling of bushes next to you. Even if you had, there was no way you’d miss the soaking wet beastman emerging from the foliage, ears flat to his head and tail whipping behind him aggressively.

And he was glaring straight at you. Great.

“You got some nerve, herbivore. You got a death wish?” Leona snarled at you and you found yourself prickling up. “This wasn’t me!” You argued, gesturing to your own dripping form before glaring right back at him, “I might be magicless, but that doesn’t make me stupid! If I was going to set the sprinklers off, I’d make sure I wouldn’t get caught in it.” You huffed, once again trying to squeeze the excess water out of your clothes. Your words seemed to pique some interest in Leona, as he was suddenly all up in your space and sniffing you.

“Hm, you’re right. No magic at all, just wet herbivore.” Leona remarked, scrunching his nose up as he stepped back, as if the smell offended him. “Do you mind? You smell like wet cat.” You said flatly with an unimpressed expression, throwing your basket back over your arm with perhaps a little more force than necessary. You swear you could see an amused glint in Leona’s eye as he stooped down, picking up the soggy list that you’d thrown to the ground just moments earlier. “What’s this?” He enquired, holding the list away from him between his thumb and forefinger as if it was toxic, yet still holding it out of your reach when you tried to swipe it back.

“That is mine.” You said with exasperation, your dignity already running down the drain without Leona making you jump to get your list back, “whatever, its ruined anyway. Have it.” You huffed, resigned to having to go back to Crewel with your metaphorical tail between your legs and plead for a new list. Leona eyed you up for a moment before he stepped towards you again, tugging at the basket on your arm to get a look at the contents before dumping the ruined list into the basket.

“C’mon, prefect,” Leona droned over his shoulder as he started walking up the pathway, “I’ll get you some ingredients. First year ingredients are simple.” He scoffed as he navigated the garden like a seasoned pro, his gait lazy and leaving you no choice but to trail after him with a suspicious expression on your face.

“You’re… Helping me?” You questioned, the corner of your lips downturning warily. The Leona you knew was never helpful, only interested if he had something to gain, usually foisting off any inconveniences to Ruggie. “What’s in it for you?” You asked carefully, watching as he picked some stems from a bush and lob them into your basket, making you sigh as you attempted to tidy up his shoddy packing. Leona’s smile was all fangs as he caught your eyes before continuing along the path, “I’m always in need of another gopher. Having you owe me could come in handy, Ruggie has been nagging me lately and you could be just what I need... Plus, the quicker you’re out of the botanical garden, the more peaceful sleep I’d get without having to listen to your huffing and puffing.”

Ah.

Well, you suppose the original main character was truly onto something when they’d stayed up all night screaming outside Leona’s room in chapter three.

Leona had made short work of finding ingredients, and soon your basket was filled to the brim. “Those are all the common ingredients in first year potions. Any missing ingredients are on you.” Leona drawled as you both walked together towards the exit of the botanical garden, his hands behind his head as he yawned leisurely, “you owe me, prefect.”

“How do you even know what ingredients to look for?” You asked, your curiosity getting the best of you as you both left the garden, about to split off on your own paths as you planned to deliver the basket of ingredients to Crewel, whilst you assumed Leona would head back to his dorm. Leona simply kept walking, and you assumed he’d grown tired of you. But then he paused, looking over his shoulder at you with a smirk that you’d dare to describe as cheeky.

“Because I had to search out ingredients for Crewel in my first year, too.”

Huh. Perhaps Leona wasn’t that bad after all, you thought to yourself as you watched Leona’s retreating back, before setting off yourself to hand the ingredients in to Crewel, praying for fate to grant you some mercy for a change.

[lactoseintolerentswag]

Rise Characterizations Pt. 5!!!!!

Okay I promised I'd share my Splinter reference notes, so here I am! Also wanna take a moment to thank everyone reblogging the prev. parts. All the tags/notes are so sweet!!! Anyway, here's our one and only Rat Man,

Splinter Character Notes

Language Habits:

Catchphrase: "HOOOOOT SOUP!!!"

Will yell "whoa/oh nelly!" when in a tight spot or stumbling around

Makes puns/dad jokes, and laughs at said jokes to himself

A poor liar, will skirt around the truth until you drop it

Penchant for interrupting people if he's not interested, devout user of "yada, yada", "ah, bup, bup, bup"

Verbalizes his attacks/moves, something his sons pick up on. Could be a habit picked up from his action star days, such moves include: lights off jitsu, and slow motion jitsu

Uses 2010's slang, (i.e. "totes", "chillaxed"), could see him incorrectly using up to date slang to embarrass his boys

In a group refers to his sons as "boys"

One by one will refer to his sons by their designated colors, but will pull out the full name (not nickname) if the situation is serious

Also refers to Donnie as "the funny one"

Personality:

A performer, well he is an actor after all. He knows how to captivate an audience. Splinter likes attention--something that may be connected to his strict childhood with high expectations--but he also performs for his boys. To keep them happy, but most importantly safe. This also means he keeps his true emotions tucked closely to his chest

Jovial. Despite his dark past and heavy responsibility thrust upon him at a young age, Splinter is always laughing. He finds the fun in everything

Secretive. As mentioned before, Splinter tends to keep things close to his chest. Despite this, he's a terrible liar. He'll just avoid the truth until it comes back to bite him in the ass. This makes him sometimes a little emotionally unavailable

Lazy. He always finds the easiest way to do something, and procrastinate on his responsibilities as long as possible

Vain. He's glory seeking for all the proper attention he lost in his youth. So the Lou Jitsu aspect of his life boosted his ego in irreparable ways. He also uses the identity of Lou Jitsu to escape from the idea of being stuck as a rat. Glorifying the past is way to find comfort for him

Adrenaline junkie. Part of that glory-seeking and glorification of the past manifests into him needing adrenaline to feel alive. (i.e. when he steals the tank)

Attentive and empathetic. He can be a little hare-brained when it comes to remembering the details, but he's always very attentive to his sons needs. In flashbacks he's shown to supply them with items needed for their interests (i.e. little Mikey gets art supplies), and always apologizes when he messes up (i.e. the conversation he had with Donnie). This empathy also extends to other people and animals, as he was sympathetic with Cassandra when she was lamenting about the foot clan and was immediately worried about the turtles Draxum had in his lab

Protective. He would sacrifice everything to save his sons, and he does

Miscellaneous:

His tail is Very expressive, and one of the most active parts of his body, so if you want to subtley show emotion I'd focus on that

Has a Lou Jitsu body pillow

Remembers all his stunt double's names

Snores loudly

Talented singer, can sing opera and lived next to a karaoke bar in Japan

The show he watches the most is called "Soapy Treadmill", a Japanese game show where they throw things like scorpions at people who are soapy on treadmills

Has a "do not touch!" cabinet, full of trophies, mystic artifacts, and mementos of his past

I have a List of all the mentioned Lou Jitsu movie names mentioned in S1, but I'm probably gonna wait till the end of my S2 rewatch and post it separately (it's also long too). Will link here!

I'm also gonna add a recommendation here at the end.

This is for the white and non East Asian folks. I'm not as well-versed in East Asian or Japanese culture, but Splinter is a first generation immigrant! He keeps a distance from his heritage because of the trauma of his youth, and the role Lou Jitsu probably also forced him to westernize his identity to make it more palpable to Hollywood. But it would be a disservice to sever parts of his identity, because one is uncomfortable or not knowledgeable in writing it.

For my white folks intimidated by writing a person of color because they want to get it right, research always helps. Research helps with everything!!! writingwithcolor here on tumblr actually has a lot of useful resources, here's their guideline, and a research chart one of their moderators created, which I personally found to be very helpful. I believe their ask box is closed right now, but if you ask questions in the future be nice!!!!

Anyway I'm gonna do April next :)

[im-a-hoping-beetch]

Many people seem to get genuinely confused, whenever we, zutara shippers, mention how underdeveloped kataang really is. Usually, they’ll brush it off as us being delusional, bitter and you know the drill. Their main response to that, usually is: “How, could they possibly be underdeveloped, they had 3 seasons!?!”

The thing is they forget that the amount of time isn’t as important as what you do do with it. Cuz, yeah, Aang and Katara did have 3 seasons, but their relationship still managed to feel rushed as hell. Heck, even Bryke, out of all people, admitted to it. Which mostly as to do with a bunch of things that I’ll get into right now.

Let’s start with the fact that, Katara never actually shows any interest in Aang.

Now, many of y’all will probably come for me by citing how the cave of the two lovers or even the Headband have moments of her showing interest in him, but all of them end up falling flat at some point.

The cave of the two lovers:

The argument here, usually is“if she didn’t have any interest in him, why would she kiss him?” or “why would she blush at the idea of kissing him?”. The former seems to forget this is a life or death situation and that we don’t really know for sure that if there were another way to get out if this, she wouldn’t take it. For the latter, I’d like to say that blushing can have many significations such as, embarrassment. Which, here makes sense when considering what she says and overall demeanour, after suggesting to kiss.

Like yeah, a fourteen year old girl blushing bcz she’s embarrassed at the idea of having to kiss, her friend, out of all things, cuz you know… awkward. Can you imagine that (pun fully intended)???

The headband:

This one is going to be a ride, but stick with me. The arguments can range from “What about her jealousy while Aang is dancing with other girls.” to “What about the way she looks at him during the dance.”

Here, is said jealousy being shown:

And said look being done:

Now, yeah, I can absolutely see why these two exemples would be used as a way to prove her interest, but let me remind you that this is the same episode where we have this happen.

Yeah, the same episode where Katara is acting all jealous and giving flirty looks to Aang is also the same one where she pretends to be is… mother. While, I could go on about how it wasn’t the best idea on the directors or whoever was in charge of the episode part if it was their way of giving a glimpse of Katara being into Aang. The issue is, them doing so wasn’t completely farfetched either, because up until now it’s been established that Katara can be very motherly and she acts that way with almost everyone in the gaang. More specifically, the one with who she does so the most is, Aang.

I mean, even the show makes a point of poking fun at their mother-son dynamic on several occasions all throughout the show (ie. the don’t-rub-your-eyes-when-you’re-speaking scene in “The runaway” episode). So realistically, the two exemples shown way above could somewhat work, but only if you decide to completely ignore what episode they take place in, one that hasn’t really helped at stopping the mother-son dynamic allegations kataang has been getting, for years, now.

So, back to the development aspect, I think it has always been stunted from the beginning, because, fundamentally, the ship as always been designed to be Aang-centric. If you’d like more insight on that I’d recommend checking @starlight-bread-blog’s amazing post on the issue. But also, that their lackluster resolution is way much more obvious, cuz both are leads in the show. Katara's existence in the show, isn't solely there to serve as some love inerest for Aang. Shocker, but she's actually a MAIN CHARACTER in the show, meaning that we spend three seasons where we get to learn about her battles, fears and aspirations, none of which seems to involve a relationship with Aang.

Like yeah, the reason why The Ending Kiss™ feels so unsatisfactory is, simply, because, Katara doesn't like Aang (at least not like that). Katara, likes Aang, because the show said so. Now, stick with me, cuz I can already feel some of y'all ready to jump at the screen. Within the show, name a single moment where she ever comes to thinking of Aang in a romantic way. One that doesn't involve any external sources, such as someone suggesting about it or because of the given circumstances she has to. The answer is none. The only time we ever get to see her voice her ACTUAL opinion about it, this is what she says:

That's not even counting how her overall demeanor, from the body language to her choice of words seems to suggest that she's actually trying to let him down gently. Also, may I remind you that at that point THERE'S ONLY 3 FREAKING EPISODES LEFT BEFORE THE BIG KISS™ and this is where there at in their relationship. Plus, within the 3 episodes that are left WE NEVER GET TO SEE THEM TALK ABOUT IT, EVER!!!

This obviously was part of Bryke’s horrible attempt at the will-they-won’t-they trope. Which ended up playing right in their face, cuz like I mentioned they themselves had to come to glaring realization that kataang was rushed. Now, it could’ve been it, the creators realizing their obvious mistake and if they could, trying to fix it by giving us what seemed like the natural progression of their relationship, which was for it to end.

Instead, we got comics!Katara and oooh boy…

Basically, they decided that they would throw away Katara’s meticulously built characterization in order to make her existence revolve around, Aang. I kid you not, when I say that she isn’t allowed scenes, lines and actions that do not revolve around her “sweetie”.

Remember how I said that, Katara likes Aang because the show runners said so. This is an example of this cranked up to a hundred.

Essentially, when you start thinking about where these two are in terms of growth, kataang is the antithesis to development itself. On one hand it validates the regression of one (ie. the dropped chakra plot line), while simultaneously, having to strip any previously built characterization of the other (ie. comics!katara).

On that note, I’d like to remind people, how important Katara is to the story. Without her, the entirety of the gaang would be dead. Without her, there would be no story. Without her, there would be no Aang.

She deserved to have a voice within her own relationship and not for it to be stolen by two grown men who were still stuck in their childhood fantasy.

She deserved better.

[bitsybunbun]

It's awesome you've been able to travel a lot lately! Is there someplace you'd really like to travel to that you haven't had a chance to go yet? Also; care to give us a diaper check?

I've never been away from North America and I'd very much like to change that! I may get to go to France and Germany next summer and my fingers are very tightly crossed, that would be a dream! If folks have travel destinations they love, feel free to recommend them! I'm hoping to visit a couple spots in the US this fall.

And diaper check! The aliens are starting to fade in the front, but there's still a lot of space left (pun intended) 🛸👾🌟

[imfineitsfineeverythingsfine]

Communication and a Question for the Fandom

I started this off thinking I would end up with one conclusion and I actually found myself changing it by the end. I’ve read a lot frustration with the ineffable husbands and their lack of communication. “You don’t ever talk to each other" and "You never say what you’re really thinking.”

Now, that may be true. But also, throughout both seasons, we have seen repeatedly how they have been under surveillance too. 

Not just visual

But audio as well… Sign in Hell: Be Careful What You Say. But there’s more to the sign itself. I just can’t make it out. It’s not a sign that’s featured in the extras either, which is also interesting. 

What I could find though, in the The Devil in the Details X-Ray video was a little more of the sign, but I still can’t make out what the rest of it says:

Which brings in my Question for the Fandom. If anyone else is able to make out rest of this, I’d be interested. (This was around the 2:05 timestamp)

Moving on, that’s not the only *Clue* about their surveillance either. We know about Hell using electronics as a means of communication. They just cut in to whatever happens to be playing at the time, right? Radio, tv, Saturday Morning Funtime… so it would make sense that they’d use it to listen too. Is the Bookshop any safer, being an embassy for Heaven and all?

And it’s hard to pinpoint exactly how either side is listening in. We all remember this interaction but really… played as a joke but what if it wasn’t? Or maybe they just hadn’t figured out the specifics yet at that point.

Maybe there are certain “trigger words.” We see the reactions when Crowley is called “nice.” 

Crowley tells Aziraphale to “shut up” numerous times. We hear both them say “don’t say that” a lot. 

But also…

Closed captioning capitalized it just like that. Interesting. (If you haven’t watched the show with cc on, I recommend it)

What does this all mean? They just don’t talk to each other? Well, no. Not necessarily. We’ve also seen them find ways around directly speaking too.

Writing it down. (Which was promptly burned)

Aziraphale mouthing “Trust Me” during the bullet catch. Could they have had other short hands or code words? Emergency contingency plans? I personally imagine so. Side note: could they have also been using alcohol (laudanum) as cover for plausible deniability? 

“Safe spaces”? The backroom in the Bookshop that they kept going to for private conversations. We know they had alternative rendezvous locations in the first season too – the old bandstand, the number 19 bus, and the British Museum café. 

The Final Fifteen. I don’t want to take away from the emotion of the scene and I think Season 3 (come on Prime!) give us the rest of the story. I have faith in Neil Gaiman (pun sort of intended). But I will propose that the kiss may have been not only Crowley’s plead but also a misdirect or signal or other way to communicate between the two that we have yet to understand. In the end, Aziraphale was able to get the Metatron to break and divulge that the next step of the Great Plan was the Second Coming…before even leaving Earth…which was pretty impressive in itself. Was Aziraphale then able to relay anything to Crowley before the elevator? Sendarya’s video here does a great job with that very question (and others).

Most experts agree that 70-93% of communication is nonverbal and when communicating emotions, applying the 7-38-55 rule. Meaning only 7% through spoken word, 38% tone of voice, and 55% through body language. So maybe they’re not doing so bad after all. Those are just my thoughts and we’ll just have to wait and see and hope.