#IT'S GOOD FLAG™

[on-the-edge-of-dune]

Dear followers, regarding your suggestion on Suna celebrating New Year's with fireworks, despite me telling you repeatedly it is not a good idea, the council decided to proceed with the idea, even though they should definitely know better considering their old age. As I feared, their memory might be collectively going downhill faster than the yesterday's catastrophic events.

When the first fun rocket burst across the sky, people simply... well, lost their shit.

As a nation we are still traumatised by the war, and as I previously attempted to explain to all of you, we fear the boom-booms. As a country created for war, it is in our blood to fear the boom-booms.

Therapists are booked full since yesterday. Nobody slept. Some kids are still missing, and few elderly people perished due to heart failures.

It was truly a great loss, and AGAIN despite me TELLING YOU SO, I shall take the blame for the fiasco which will surely be spoken about in history books.

That's my fucking legacy now. So, thanks. You assholes.

[deathdetermineslife]

the ULTIMATE f/o infodumping ask game!

(this is gonna be a long one...)

🍓 - disregarding the career your f/o currently has, what other career would they consider going into, if given the chance?

🍒 - if your f/o and you spend a day doing anything, anything at all, what would they do and why?

🍎 - what's your f/o's favorite drink? any drink, alcoholic or non alcoholic!

🍉 - is your f/o religious? what's their opinion on religion or spirituality?

🍑 - is your f/o more comfortable giving or receiving gifts? why? do they have any preferences on gifts they like receiving?

🍊 - if you asked your f/o to peel an orange for you, what would they do?

🥭 - did your f/o have stuffed animals growing up? do they still have stuffed animals? do they have a favorite?

🍍 - if you could change any one thing about your f/os backstory/character, what would you change? why?

🍌 - does your f/o have a vendetta against The Big Light™? what kind of lighting do they prefer?

🍋 - if your f/o could change one thing about themselves, what would they change and why?

🍋‍🟩 - is your f/o superstitious? is there any habits they follow or quirks they have to follow said superstitions? like not opening umbrellas indoors to avoid back luck?

🍈 - does your f/o believe in fate? do they thing everything is preplanned out by the universe or a higher power, or do they think that the idea of fate is bogus? why?

🍏 - if you have any queer headcanons for your f/o, how did they realize they were queer?

🍐 - does your f/o have any nervous ticks or idle quirks they do? like mindlessly tapping on a desk or fiddling with their hair when they're stressed?

🥝 - would your f/o ever let you do their make-up? what does their make-up process look like? is it simple? complex?

🫒 - what kind of hugger is your f/o? do they give good hugs? do they like hugs? do they like receiving hugs?

🫐 - is your f/o more of a writer or an artist? would you say your f/o is more left or right brained?

🍇 - if you and your f/o never met, what do you think your f/o would be doing right now?

🥥 - what hobbies does your f/o have? is there any hobby they would like to get into that they haven't tried out yet? what is it?

🍅 - if your f/o could buy you any gift in the world, whether it exists or not, what would they buy you? or, if they could make you something, what would it be?

🌶️ - does your f/o have any remedies they follow when they get sick? like taking a shot of whiskey to get rid of a fever?

🫚 - is your f/o a picky eater? is there any foods they will not under any circumstances, gun to their head, eat?

🥕 - when your f/o was little, did they dislike vegetables? do they still dislike them?

🧅 - what makes your f/o cry? do they get emotional at sad movies or books? do they only get emotional under very rare circumstances?

🌽 - does your f/o have a favorite animal? what is it? are they scared of any animals?

🥦 - does your f/o have any pet peeves? things that just really really get on their nerves? what are they and why?

🥒 - what's your f/o afraid of? do they have any phobias? anything minor they're scared of?

🥬 - what are some beige flags your f/o has? so, not bad, but not nessecarily good either. just. "oh. you do This."

🫛 - how does your f/o feel about pet names or nicknames? do they like them? hate them? what are their favorites and least favorites to be called and to use?

🫑 - how does your f/o feel about death? are they afraid of it? is there anything specific they'd like to do before they die?

🥑 - is there any niche topics your f/o is interested in? what are they and why do they like them?

🍠 - what are a few of your f/os favorite pastimes or things that they do when they're bored?

🍆 - does your f/o have a favorite scent? why is it their favorite? do they have a least favorite scent?

🧄 - does your f/o have any allergies? food or otherwise?

🥔 - does your f/o have any food dishes they make often? is there any foods you make for your f/o that they enjoy?

🍄‍🟫 - if your f/o could be any mythological species, what would they be? if your f/o is already a mythological species, would they ever want to be human?

I recommend practicing reblog karma ! people love infodumping about their f/os :) I also recommend sending more than one emoji at a time,,, there are Many here...!!!

[cressidagrey]

Mr Oblivious

Pairing: Oscar Piastri x Felicity Leong-Piastri (Original Character)

Summary: Oscar Piastri is absolutely oblivious to the fact that people try to flirt with him. It drives Lando nuts. Felicity finds it very amusing though. 

(divider thanks to @saradika-graphics )

Lando Norris had a very simple opinion about Oscar Piastri:

The man was smart, fast, loyal to a fault — And completely, hopelessly, oblivious.

Especially about certain things.

Like, say, the fact that every now and then, some thirsty influencer or overly-friendly interviewer decided they wanted to test their luck around one of McLaren’s golden boys.

Case in point: today.

It was supposed to be a simple media day.

Smile, wave, answer a few questions without accidentally swearing — easy stuff.

And then she showed up.

Some influencer.

Lando didn’t catch her name.

Didn’t want to.

Her outfit was orange enough to suggest she'd Googled "McLaren colors" five minutes before showing up.

 Her laugh was the kind that made Lando want to put himself in an ice bath.

But what really got him was the way she locked eyes on Oscar from the moment she walked into the room.

Like a hawk spotting a particularly delicious rabbit.

And Oscar — sweet, pure, unsuspecting Oscar — stood there politely, posture perfect, nodding like he was about to explain suspension geometry to a cactus.

She sidled up to him with all the grace of a Bond girl in heels, flashing teeth and dimples and Lando could see it coming.

Could see the slow-motion train wreck unfolding with the inevitability of a Ferrari strategy call.

She sidled closer.

Tilted her head. Big fake lashes, even faker laugh.

"So, Oscar," she purred, "looking very fit this season. What's your secret?"

Lando, standing just off to the side, already felt his skin crawl.

Oscar, meanwhile, nodded thoughtfully like she’d asked him about chassis balance.

"Consistency," he said, serious as anything. "And good hydration habits. Also core strength. That’s really important for maintaining control in high G-force corners. I’ve been working with a new strength and conditioning coach. Core engagement and flexibility training. Lots of functional range mobility exercises. Very important for endurance."

Lando nearly dropped the can of Monster Energy he was carrying.

He physically turned away, took a moment to compose himself, and turned back — and she was still going.

She giggled — the kind of giggle Lando associated with botched lip filler and red flags — and twirled her hair like they were in a teen movie from 2004.

"Flexibility, huh?" she said, her voice doing That Thing™. Then winked.

WINKED.

Oscar, God bless him, nodded solemnly.

"Yeah. Critical for cockpit comfort. Limited hip mobility can lead to premature fatigue during longer races."

Lando just stared.

The influencer stared.

Oscar stared earnestly back. Oscar blinked at her with the open innocence of a Labrador Retriever about to explain knee cartilage.

It was like watching someone flirt with a toaster.

And then — then — she tried it.

She went for the kill.

"Well," she said, laughing in a way that definitely wasn't natural, "maybe you could show me some... flexibility exercises later?"

Lando choked on air.

Oscar, bless him, just looked mildly puzzled.

Lando’s hands curled into fists at his sides.

Oscar thought she wanted workout advice.

Meanwhile, this woman was basically trying to climb him like a tree.

"I mean," Oscar said, frowning thoughtfully, "I guess? If you���re interested in physiotherapy protocols? There's a lot of hip flexor and thoracic mobility involved."

He paused.

"Although," Oscar added very seriously, completely unaware he was standing in a verbal minefield, “you should always get a doctor’s clearance before starting any high-intensity exercise program.”

The influencer blinked.

Lando stared at the heavens.

Why.

Why had the universe given this man a marriage, a child, and a heart of gold, but no flirting radar whatsoever.

Lando was so angry on Oscar’s behalf he actually saw red.

Because it wasn’t just the flirting.

It was the disrespect.

Oscar — who had a wife who fixed racing models better than half the paddock. Oscar — who had a four-year-old daughter who beat engineers at Sudoku. Oscar — who literally carried his entire family in his heart wherever he went.

He wasn’t available.

He wasn’t interested.

And he damn well deserved to have people respect that without needing to tattoo MARRIED. TAKEN. HAS A BUMBLEBEE-OBSESSED DAUGHTER across his forehead.

And then — because clearly the universe wanted to personally test Lando’s self-control — the influencer winked.

Like, full-on, slow-motion, cartoon-style winked at Oscar.

Oscar blinked back, confused.

Then said, very seriously:

"You should also stretch regularly to avoid cramping."

Lando actually made a noise — somewhere between a groan and a dying animal.

The influencer tried to recover, laughing awkwardly, but Oscar had already turned — calm, unfazed — and was politely thanking the PR rep for organizing the media day.

Lando stormed over, practically vibrating with protective rage.

"Mate," he hissed when Oscar finally wandered off-stage, "you realize she was hitting on you, right?"

Oscar frowned. "Was she?"

"YES," Lando hissed, arms flailing. "She was basically ready to throw herself at you!”

Oscar looked genuinely perplexed.

"But... I’m married."

"YES," Lando repeated, louder, like he was explaining quantum physics to a pigeon. "You are married. You have a kid. You are the dictionary definition of off-limits."

Oscar scratched the back of his neck.

"Maybe she didn’t know?"

"She definitely knew," Lando muttered darkly. "You are actually wearing your wedding ring for once and Bee’s little bead bracelet. You might as well walk around holding a sign that says 'I love my wife and daughter more than oxygen.'"

Oscar shrugged, entirely unfazed.

"I mean... it’s true."

Lando stared at him.

Somewhere between admiration and absolute rage.

When they reached the McLaren motorhome, Felicity was there — perched on the couch, Bee asleep with her head on Felicity’s lap, Button the Frog tucked under her tiny arm.

Oscar’s whole face lit up like a sunrise.

He crossed the room without hesitation, dropped a kiss onto Felicity’s hair, and gently stroked Bee’s back.

Felicity smiled up at him, all soft and warm and easy, like they had a language no one else could hear.

Lando stood off to the side, arms crossed, watching it all unfold.

Watching how Oscar's whole world just locked into place around them, without hesitation, without second thought.

Yeah.

Let them flirt. Let them try.

Oscar Piastri had everything he needed right here. And he was smart enough — good enough — to never even glance anywhere else.

***

Meanwhile on Twitter: 

@/F1TeaSpill: BREAKING: Influencer tries to flirt with Oscar Piastri.

Oscar responds with “core strength” and “doctor’s clearance.”

Meanwhile, Lando Norris nearly combusts in the background.

[attached: video clip]

@/pitlanechaos: Not Oscar offering that woman a PHYSIOTHERAPY REFERRAL I’m losing it. He thought she wanted professional advice. He’s too pure for this world.

@/felicityfanclub (pinned tweet):

‼️OSCAR PIASTRI IS MARRIED

‼️HE LOVES HIS WIFE

‼️HE LOVES HIS DAUGHTER

‼️HE IS OBLIVIOUSLY LOYAL

‼️AND WE ARE HERE TO DEFEND HIS GOLDEN RETRIEVER ENERGY

@/formulawoah: This man said “consult your doctor” instead of realizing she was flirting. He’s not oblivious. He’s loyal at a molecular level.

@/landohmygod: Lando Norris being 1 second away from lunging across the paddock like an angry chihuahua deserves its own Emmy. He was FIGHTING for Oscar’s honor.

@/suspension_nerd: If I was that influencer and Oscar hit me with “thoracic mobility is important” when I was trying to flirt, I would simply evaporate on the spot.

@/gridgossip: This man has a wife who fixes telemetry errors in her sleep, and makes him bento boxes everyday. AND A DAUGHTER WHO BEATS ENGINEERS AT SUDOKU. What did you THINK was going to happen??

@/F1psychology: Watching Oscar Piastri react to flirting like it's a sports injury safety video is the most fascinating psychological case study I’ve ever seen. Also, Lando's visible rage is priceless.

***

Oscar waited until Bee was down for the night.

She’d fallen asleep curled up around Button the Frog, one arm flung dramatically across her pillow like she was staging a nap-themed protest. He’d kissed her forehead and tucked the blanket under her chin, switching the night light to its soft pink glow before slipping out of her room on quiet feet.

He figured... if Felicity was going to hate him, she probably shouldn’t have to do it in front of their daughter.

Which was stupid. He hadn’t done anything wrong.

But the pit in his stomach wouldn’t go away.

He was sweating, suddenly aware of how clingy the collar of his t-shirt felt. His hands wouldn’t sit still — twitching, tapping, twisting his wedding ring around and around until the skin beneath it burned.

He felt fifteen again. Awkward and uncertain and too full of words he didn’t know how to say.

And then Felicity padded into the living room, hair twisted into a lazy bun, bare feet soft against the floorboards, wearing one of his old McLaren hoodies that hung off her like it still didn’t understand how it ended up lucky enough to be wrapped around her.

She looked soft. Tired. Safe.

She smiled when she saw him, sweet and a little sleepy, like she was expecting him to ask about what tea she wanted or whether he’d remembered to order oat milk.

Oscar nearly chickened out.

Instead, he sat up straighter — awkward and abrupt — and blurted:

"Someone tried to flirt with me today."

Felicity blinked.

Tilted her head slightly, eyebrows raised — curious, not alarmed.

"Okay," she said, in the same tone she might use if he told her they were out of clean towels.

Oscar frowned.

"No, like — really tried. At a media thing. In front of cameras."

She just blinked again. Still calm. Still patient.

Still not mad.

Just... waiting.

Oscar swallowed.

"And I didn’t realize it was flirting until Lando nearly had an aneurysm."

That earned him a real laugh — soft, sudden, surprised. The kind of laugh she gave him when Bee said something absurd or when Oscar accidentally fixed something in the kitchen by whacking it with a shoe.

It went straight to his chest.

God, he loved her.

"And I was worried—" he continued, words stumbling out now like they’d been dammed up too long, "I was worried you’d think I was — I don’t know — encouraging it or — or being stupid, or not noticing because I wanted to miss it—"

Felicity crossed the room in three quick steps, not breaking eye contact once.

She dropped onto the couch beside him, slid her legs over his lap like she did every night, and tucked herself against his side like she’d always belonged there.

"You thought I’d be mad," she said, amused, "because some random influencer tried to flirt with you?"

Oscar nodded miserably, guilt still clinging to the back of his throat.

Felicity pulled back just enough to look up at him.

Eyes shining. Smile small and full of something dangerously close to laughter.

"Oscar," she said slowly, "I saw the whole video. You tried to offer her hydration advice."

He groaned, already regretting every decision he’d made since opening his mouth.

"Please don’t remind me."

"You told her to stretch her hip flexors," Felicity said, delighted. "Oscar, you sounded like a yoga instructor trying to scare off a client."

"Bee probably would’ve handled it better," he muttered, rubbing at his face.

Felicity laughed — a real one this time, head back, eyes crinkled, full-body kind of joy.

Oscar melted a little.

She curled closer, arms winding around his waist like she didn’t intend to let go anytime soon.

"I’m not mad, love," she said gently, brushing her nose against his shoulder. "She never stood a chance."

Oscar blinked down at her, stunned. A little breathless.

Felicity grinned up at him.

"You are so... mine, it’s not even funny."

She said it like a joke. She said it like a truth carved in stone.

Both were true.

Oscar let out a long, shaky breath, tension finally bleeding out of his chest.

"I just didn’t want you to think—"

She kissed his cheek, quieting him with the ease of someone who knew every version of him — the champion, the kid from karting, the dad who braided Bee’s hair with frog clips.

"I married you," Felicity whispered. "I know exactly who you are. I trust you with my life. And frankly, if anyone tries to flirt with you again, I might just send them a condolence card."

Oscar laughed, startled and in love and still trying to figure out how he’d ever ended up this lucky.

"And also," Felicity added, smirking like a fox who had absolutely won, "it’s way too funny to be jealous about."

He buried his face into her neck, overwhelmed by the warmth of her, by the sharp edges of her wit and the soft edges of her love.

"You’re ridiculous," he mumbled, muffled by her skin.

"And you," she said, threading her fingers through his hair like he was something precious, "are very bad at realizing when people want you." A beat. "And your brain is permanently stuck on ‘wife good, daughter best, car fast.’"

Oscar smiled, eyes closed, letting her steady him with nothing more than her heartbeat and her presence.

"You really aren’t mad?" he asked, still half-disbelieving.

Felicity leaned back, just far enough to look at him fully — bright-eyed and ferociously sure.

"Oscar," she said solemnly, "you are the most obliviously loyal man I’ve ever met. If I had to design a loyalty test, it would look like you."

Oscar kissed the curve of her throat, slow and reverent.

"Good thing I only ever wanted you," he murmured.

Felicity’s arms tightened around him, like she could will him into her bones.

"Exactly," she whispered.

Exactly.

[solxamber]

Mission: Emotionally Compromised || Jamil Viper

Jamil’s greatest failure as a spy? Falling head over heels for the person he was meant to destroy.

this one is for @chocolatebearstrawberry who made the divider i use here!! i love you <3

As the CEO of one of the most powerful tech companies in the world, you’ve always prided yourself on two things: your razor-sharp business acumen and your ability to sniff out deception from a mile away.

Your competitors, on the other hand, have prided themselves on one thing: trying (and failing) to steal your technology.

For years, you’ve played a high-stakes game of corporate cat and mouse, batting away industrial spies like a bored housecat knocking expensive wine glasses off the counter. You’ve watched billion-dollar corporations sink millions into elaborate heists, only for their agents to fail spectacularly. Frankly, it's getting a little embarrassing for them.

But now, thanks to the untimely departure of your longtime secretary (who swears their early retirement has nothing to do with being bribed into luxury exile), you suddenly have a vacancy.

And judging by the pile of applicants currently waiting in the lobby, every single one of them is a spy.

The Parade of Intelligence Failures™:

First up is Agent Steve (probably not his real name), whose résumé is written in Comic Sans and lists "lockpicking" under "special skills." When you ask him about his previous administrative experience, he stares at you blankly for three full seconds before blurting out, "I can type… very fast?"

Next is Ms. Definitely-Not-Wearing-a-Wire, who keeps touching her ear like she’s communicating with someone. Midway through the interview, you distinctly hear a whisper from her earpiece: "Ask about the security systems."

Then there’s Tech Bro #5, who brings a USB drive and, while maintaining full eye contact with you, tries to plug it into your computer. Your computer. The one sitting on your desk. Right in front of you.

By the time Mr. Fake-ID Falls Out of His Wallet stumbles in, you’re fighting the overwhelming urge to launch yourself out the nearest window.

This is getting pathetic.

You’ve sat through twenty interviews of barely competent corporate espionage, and you’re ready to set up a PowerPoint presentation titled, "How To Spy Without Immediately Getting Caught: A Workshop For Morons."

Do they think you built a billion-dollar empire by being stupid? Do they think your years of fending off corporate espionage haven’t honed your bullshit detector into a finely tuned death laser?

You start debating whether to just hire a golden retriever and call it a day—at least dogs have loyalty.

And then he walks in.

Enter: Jamil Viper.

The moment he steps into your office, you know this one is different.

For one thing, his résumé isn’t riddled with typos or hilariously obvious red flags. His credentials? Flawless. His demeanor? Polished and professional, with just the right amount of charm—not so much that it feels like he’s trying to butter you up, but just enough that you actually want to keep talking to him.

And his entrance exam? He aces it. Perfectly.

Too perfectly.

There is no way in hell that someone this competent just happens to be looking for a secretary position. You know he’s a spy.

But unlike the human disasters before him, Jamil Viper is actually good at his job.

And if someone is going to try and infiltrate your company, wouldn’t you rather it be someone who at least has the decency to be competent about it?

You lean back in your chair, watching him carefully as he sits across from you, his expression unreadable. You wonder how many layers of deception he’s hiding behind that composed facade.

Slowly, a smile creeps onto your lips.

This could be fun.

Because if Jamil Viper thinks he’s going to outmaneuver you, then clearly, no one has warned him that you love playing with fire.

You slide the contract across the desk, extending your hand.

"Congratulations, Mr. Viper," you say, amusement dancing in your voice. "Welcome to the company."

His fingers are warm when they clasp yours in a firm shake. His gaze, sharp and assessing, lingers for just a second too long.

And just like that, you hire a spy to be your personal assistant.

This is either the smartest or the dumbest thing you’ve ever done.

And honestly? You can’t wait to find out which.

Jamil has never questioned his assignments before. His role has always been straightforward—he is given a task, he completes it with precision, and he collects his payment. There is no room for personal involvement, no need for unnecessary complications.

This particular job should have been no different. His directive was clear: infiltrate one of the most formidable tech companies in the industry, assume the role of a secretary, gain the CEO’s trust, retrieve the necessary proprietary data, and exit without raising suspicion.

A simple, methodical process. He estimated it would take no more than a month, perhaps two if the CEO proved particularly cautious.

However, the moment he steps into your office, Jamil recognizes that this assignment will not proceed according to the standard operational model.

You are perceptive. That much is clear from the outset. Your interview questions are sharp, carefully constructed to gauge more than just his administrative skills. You are watching him—not just listening, but studying, assessing. There is a calculating glint in your eyes that suggests you have already categorized him in some way, and he does not yet know whether that categorization is in his favor.

Then comes the moment that shifts the trajectory of his expectations entirely.

You lean back in your chair, fingers steepled as you regard him with an almost amused expression. "So, Mr. Viper," you say, voice laced with something close to mischief, "are you a spy?"

The question is absurd in its directness, yet the casual way you pose it makes it clear that you are not expecting a confession—you are testing him. A lesser operative might have faltered, might have hesitated for the fraction of a second that would betray uncertainty. Jamil, however, meets your gaze evenly, offering a measured smile.

"If I were," he replies smoothly, "would I admit it?"

You laugh—not a dismissive scoff, but an actual, entertained laugh, as if you are thoroughly enjoying this game. And that is what makes Jamil's stomach twist slightly. Because he is beginning to suspect that you already know.

The contract slides across the desk, a silent challenge. He watches as you extend your hand, the motion deliberate, expectant.

He has been in the industry long enough to recognize a trap when he sees one. And yet, despite every internal alarm warning him to be cautious, he shakes your hand.

He has taken on countless assignments in his career, but this time is different.

This time, he is not just infiltrating a company. He is stepping into a game.

And for the first time in his life, Jamil wonders if he is the one being played.

Jamil Viper is, quite frankly, the best thing that has ever happened to you.

You have run this company for years, clawed your way to the top with sheer wit and willpower, and in all that time, you have never known peace. Your life has been a never-ending cycle of fires to put out, idiotic employees making mistakes, and backstabbing business partners who think “compromise” means “stealing your ideas and pretending it was a collaborative effort.”

But then Jamil arrives.

Jamil, with his quiet efficiency and terrifying competence. Jamil, who doesn’t ask you to repeat yourself because he actually listens the first time. Jamil, who doesn’t need reminders because he remembers everything, down to how you like your coffee and which pens mysteriously go missing when your CFO visits.

For the first time in your career, you are leaving work at a reasonable hour.

You actually saw the sunset yesterday. The sunset. Do you know how long it’s been since you’ve seen anything but the dim glow of your office lights at midnight? You don’t. You’re afraid to check.

Your skin? Clear.

Your inbox? Organized.

Your sleep schedule? Still questionable, but at least now it’s due to personal choices and not business emergencies.

You are so overcome with gratitude that you nearly burst into tears when you realize you no longer have to threaten your vendors personally because Jamil handles it all with a few well-placed emails.

He is better than any assistant you have ever had. Possibly better than some of your business partners. Hell, at this rate, you wouldn't be surprised if he could run the company better than you.

Which is exactly why you can’t afford to let him go.

You know why he’s here. You are not naïve. He is undoubtedly a spy, sent to steal your technology, your secrets, your life's work. But the problem is that he is too good. You cannot afford to lose him.

So, you make a decision.

You will convert him to your side.

It’s not just about protecting your company anymore. No, this has become personal. Jamil Viper is yours now. He just doesn’t know it yet.

The numbers didn’t make sense.

You were good at numbers. Numbers were the only thing in this world that didn’t lie. Numbers were solid, unyielding, completely immune to human deception. And yet.

Your CFO had to be skimming. You’d suspected it for a while—no one bought that many first-class flights for “business conferences” that didn’t exist—but now that you finally had the time to actually dig into the company’s finances, you could feel it in your bones. There was money missing. Not a lot at once, just enough that a lazier CEO wouldn’t notice.

But you noticed. And now, sitting in your dark office, practically feral with frustration, you were going to find it.

Jamil peeks into your office, and you see his brows furrow in irritation. He steps inside without invitation, eyes flicking to your desk, to the stacks of papers, to you, hunched over and pulling at your hair like a mad scientist on the brink of discovery.

“…Why are you still here?” His voice is level, but you detect the judgment beneath it. “I made sure your schedule was clear. You should have been home by five.”

You make a vague, distressed sound—somewhere between a whimper and the dying gasp of an overworked CEO. “I have a mouse to hunt,” you say, still frantically flipping through documents. “A very cunning mouse.”

Jamil, to his credit, does not roll his eyes. He does, however, step forward and pluck the file from your grasp before you can protest. His sharp eyes scan the pages, his fingers flipping through them with practiced ease.

You watch as his expression shifts into something thoughtful, his lips pursing slightly, his brows furrowing in deep concentration. You can see his mind working.

Jamil is infuriatingly intelligent. He always has been. You knew it the moment he walked into your office for his interview and answered every question with precision so perfect it was almost suspicious.

But this—this is something else. His eyes flick from one line to another, scanning, calculating, searching.

And then it hits you.

His hair.

His stupidly perfect, annoyingly silky, meticulously styled hair.

The way it’s always just slightly different every day. Some days it’s neater, tied back with care. Some days it’s looser, like he didn’t have time to properly tame it. Some days it’s so perfect it looks effortless, which means it probably took him ages to get it like that.

Your brain connects the dots.

Your CFO’s expenses had fluctuations that made no sense at first glance. But what if—what if the embezzlement wasn’t consistent? What if he only siphoned money on certain days—days when he needed to make the numbers look normal, like a fluctuation in operational costs?

Like how Jamil’s hair was slightly different depending on how rushed he was in the morning.

Your eyes widen. You grab Jamil’s arm.

“It’s the payroll processing days,” you say, the revelation clicking together. “The numbers don’t match on payroll weeks because he’s hiding them within the irregular adjustments! He’s only stealing when payroll is being processed because that’s when the accounts fluctuate naturally.”

Jamil blinks, then looks back at the files, and you see it—the exact moment he finds the irregularity, the way his eyes sharpen, the way the corner of his lips twitch in mild irritation.

“…Huh,” he says, flipping back to double-check.

You beam at him. “Jamil, I could kiss you.”

He does not react, but his ears turn slightly red. He hands the file back. “Don’t. Just fire your CFO.”

“Oh, I will.” You grin, stretching your arms behind your head. “And then I’m going to have so much fun ruining his career.”

Jamil gives you a look. You pretend not to see it.

Jamil has worked for a lot of powerful people before. He’s seen how they act—detached, ruthless, calculating. People who don’t say thank you unless there’s an audience, people who treat loyalty as a transaction rather than a virtue, people who see their employees as numbers on a spreadsheet rather than human beings.

And then there’s you.

You, who smile at every single employee as if they’re the most interesting person in the world.

You, who face betrayals with an easy grin, as if it’s just another puzzle to solve.

You, who refuse to be jaded, as if the sheer weight of your responsibilities isn’t trying to crush you every single day.

Jamil has worked as a secretary before, long enough to know that this is not normal. It’s not normal for a CEO to approve leave requests without question, to cover all medical expenses without a fight, to sit down at the employee cafeteria and listen to people’s grievances like a normal person.

It’s definitely not normal for you to turn to him at the end of a long, grueling day—after uncovering a massive embezzlement scandal in your own company—and say, “Let’s get dinner. My treat.”

Jamil expects a high-end restaurant. The kind of place where the portions are offensively small, the food is questionably pretentious, and the bill alone could sustain an entire household for a month. The kind of place where people like you—people with power, people with money—go to flaunt their superiority.

Instead, you take him to a tiny, hole-in-the-wall restaurant run by an elderly couple who clearly know you on a first-name basis.

“Ah, welcome back!” the old woman greets you warmly, eyes flicking to Jamil with curiosity. “And who’s this? A date?”

Jamil chokes on air.

You laugh—loudly—and wave off the comment. “Nah, just my secretary! He helped me catch a mouse today.”

Jamil doesn’t bother correcting you.

The menu is scrawled in barely legible handwriting on a whiteboard near the counter. You order the greasiest, most artery-clogging meal he’s ever seen in his life. Jamil orders something safer, something that won’t take five years off his lifespan.

When the food arrives, you practically vibrate in your seat, taking a bite with the enthusiasm of a child eating their first piece of candy.

Jamil stares at you in mild horror. “You eat this every day?”

You grin, already halfway through your meal. “Yeah.”

Jamil doesn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

But he eats. He eats, and he listens to you ramble about ridiculous workplace rumors, and he watches you laugh so hard you snort when you make a terrible joke.

And somewhere in the middle of all that, Jamil finds himself laughing too.

Not because your joke is funny—because it isn’t. It’s awful, actually.

But maybe because your eyes shine too brightly in the dim light.

Maybe because you seem so human right now, so painfully, vividly human.

Maybe because he knows he’ll have to leave you behind soon, and yet here he is, eating unhealthy food and smiling at you.

Jamil has never questioned his jobs before. He gets paid, he gets the work done. Simple.

So why does it feel so different this time?

Jamil has worked for some eccentric people before. Billionaires with more money than sense, CEOs who thought meditation on top of a glass skyscraper would give them divine insight, a director who once insisted that his morning coffee had to be stirred exactly 72 times counterclockwise or the stock market would crash. He’s seen it all. Or so he thought.

And then there was you.

You were a genius, of course. No one could deny that. You had single-handedly revolutionized an entire industry and kept your technology locked down so tightly that even the best corporate spies had walked away empty-handed.

But you were also—how to put this nicely?—completely, utterly unhinged. Eccentric was too mild a word. You were like a mad scientist and a particularly stubborn golden retriever had been fused together in a tragic yet strangely effective laboratory accident.

Jamil has had a front-row seat to your absurdity for months now, but today? Today takes the cake.

He enters the office expecting chaos, but he still isn't prepared to see a bouncy castle taking up the center of the room. It is massive. Garish. A primary-colored monstrosity that clashes violently with the sleek, modern aesthetic of your office. It is also, for some reason, fully inflated.

Jamil watches as you bounce in deep concentration, your tie undone, your shoes discarded somewhere in the corner. Your movements are precise, like each jump is a carefully calibrated equation.

He pinches the bridge of his nose. “Dare I ask?”

You pause mid-bounce, floating for a second in the air like some kind of enlightened acrobat before landing gracefully and turning to him with a grin. “I needed to think.”

“…So naturally, you brought a bouncy castle.”

“Of course.” You wave a hand, as if this should be obvious. “Sometimes, when my brain gets stuck, I just need a little kinetic stimulation. You know, shake up the neurons.” You jump again, flailing slightly before catching yourself. “It’s like—have you ever had a word on the tip of your tongue, and then you do something completely different and suddenly it comes to you? Same concept. Except instead of drinking water or taking a walk, I jump on an inflatable castle like a responsible adult.”

Jamil stares. His headache is already forming. “You’re going to break your neck.”

“Nope! Tested the weight limits. We’re good.” You bounce again, then stop abruptly, eyes widening. Your entire posture shifts, shoulders straightening, expression sharpening. You scramble off the castle, grab a nearby notebook, and start writing furiously.

Jamil watches, baffled, as you tear through an entire page with equations and diagrams, the kind of thing that would take a normal person weeks to conceptualize. And then you stop, beaming like a kid who just cracked open a piñata full of gold.

“I GOT IT,” you declare, spinning the notebook around as if Jamil has the clearance—or the desire—to understand whatever ridiculous breakthrough you just had. “This is going to make everything ten times more efficient! Jamil, this is genius.”

Jamil, who has not slept properly in three days because of this mission, who has already accepted that this job is going to either kill him or make him reconsider every life decision he has ever made, just sighs. “Great. So was the bouncy castle necessary?”

You turn back to him, eyes bright, smile wider than he’s ever seen. “Absolutely.”

And the worst part? The part that truly makes him question if he’s losing his mind?

He almost believes you.

Meetings like this made you wonder if you could get away with legally replacing the entire board with three possums in a trench coat. These relics in overpriced suits had two working brain cells between them, and one was currently occupied with nursing last night’s hangover.

They thought that their decades of mismanaging money somehow gave them wisdom. You would almost find it impressive, the way they clung to their illusion of relevance, if it weren’t so unbearably tedious.

You could fire them all, of course. You could clear this room in five minutes, clean house with a snap of your fingers, but you had held back out of sheer pity. They were close to retirement—one foot in the grave and the other on a luxury cruise.

Let them ride out their last few years clutching their outdated business strategies and egos. It wasn’t like they actually did anything.

But today? Today, you were at your limit.

Jamil was standing behind you, stone-faced, but you could tell he wanted to be anywhere else. His exhaustion mirrored your own. You’d been sitting here for an hour while they droned on about numbers they clearly didn’t understand.

Internally, you begged for something—anything—to spontaneously combust just so you’d have an excuse to leave. A small fire? A sudden, mysterious blackout? A divine intervention from the heavens themselves?

And then, as if the universe had heard you and decided to throw you a different kind of entertainment, one of them made a mistake. A grave mistake.

“—not that it matters to someone like you,” one of the old fossils sneered, voice soaked in condescension. “You just sit there and look pretty. Maybe that’s why you keep your secretary around—eye candy to brighten your day, hm?”

Silence.

Jamil felt the shift before he saw it. The room, which had been filled with the usual underhanded comments and the shuffling of papers, went utterly still. The air thickened, tension snapping tight like a bowstring.

You moved, slow and deliberate, sitting up from your languid position and resting your elbows on the table. Then, with a sharp crack that echoed through the room, you slammed your hand against the polished wood. Jamil was pretty sure he saw the surface splinter.

And then, you smiled.

“Say,” you said, your voice honey-sweet, “how’s your son’s wedding prep going?”

The man blinked, startled by the sudden shift in topic. “Uh—fine?”

“That’s wonderful.” You laced your fingers together, tilting your head like a benevolent ruler addressing a particularly stupid peasant. “I hope he has a strong savings account. And you, too, for that matter.”

His confusion deepened. “Why would—?”

“Because as of right now, every single one of you is fired.”

The silence that followed was deafening.

You stood, straightening your sleeves, your expression as calm as if you’d just commented on the weather. The rest of the board gaped at you, struggling to process what had just happened.

“Pack your things,” you continued, tone still sickeningly pleasant. “Security will escort you out. Your pensions will remain untouched—I’m not a monster—but your presence is no longer required. Effective immediately.”

Then, without waiting for a response, you turned on your heel and strolled out of the room.

Jamil took a moment to savor the stunned expressions, the way the old man who had made the comment looked like he was trying to compute his own downfall in real time. He had seen you be cunning, eccentric, absurd, even, but this was the first time he had seen you wield your power properly. It was—

Well.

He wasn’t about to admit it was impressive.

Or flattering.

Not even as he followed you out the door, suppressing the smallest, most insufferable urge to smile.

You’re good at reading people. That’s what makes you such a good CEO. You can tell when a business partner is about to backstab you. You can spot a bad deal from a mile away. You figured out your CFO was embezzling money based on a hunch and a particularly sleepless night.

So why the hell can’t you figure out what’s going on with Jamil right now?

Your day is over. Your work is done. You’re walking out of the building, feeling suspiciously well-rested for once, because Jamil is the best damn secretary you’ve ever had.

And there he is.

Standing near the exit, very much still here, despite having clocked out hours ago.

You stop. Blink. “Jamil? What are you doing here?”

He startles like you caught him committing a felony.

Which, honestly, makes you even more confused.

Jamil is the picture of composure in any situation. He could talk his way out of a hostage negotiation, probably. He could charm a boardroom full of old, corporate sharks into agreeing with his terms.

And yet, right now, he looks like he wants to evaporate.

You tilt your head. “What’s up? You good?”

Jamil scowls like you’ve offended his ancestors. And then, without meeting your gaze, he thrusts a box at you.

"Eat properly," he grumbles. "Heaven knows you can afford it."

And then he turns on his heel and almost sprints out of the building.

You stare at his retreating figure. Then you stare at the box in your hands.

What just happened.

You consider yourself a genius. You built an empire with your own two hands. You have patents worth billions. You have business rivals who would kill to know what goes on in your head.

And yet, this one interaction has you completely, utterly lost.

It’s only when you get home that you actually open the box.

Inside is a clearly homemade meal. Balanced, nutritious, and suspiciously catered to your exact tastes.

You crouch down. Laugh a little.

And then you pull out your phone.

You: thank you <3

Meanwhile, In Jamil’s car:

He hears the message notification. Opens it. Sees your text.

And immediately slams his forehead into the steering wheel.

The honk that follows is so obnoxiously loud that a street cat outside lets out an ungodly scream and scrambles away like it just witnessed a murder.

Jamil exhales sharply. He grips the wheel like it personally wronged him.

You’re going to be the death of him.

Jamil does not get sick.

It is a fact as ironclad as his ability to keep a secret, as certain as the sun rising in the east and setting behind your ridiculous office where you concoct new ways to stress him out.

Jamil does not get sick because sickness is a weakness—an opening in his otherwise airtight, bulletproof existence.

And yet.

Here he is.

Dying. Absolutely, irredeemably, spectacularly dying.

His body betrays him completely, weighed down by a fever that could probably fry an egg on his forehead. Every muscle aches as if he has been tossed into a meat grinder, his throat is raw, and his head is a battlefield of pain and regret.

He barely manages to lift his phone and call you, the only person who needs to know why he’s breaking protocol and skipping work for the first time in his entire life.

The phone rings. Once. Twice.

And then—

“Jamil! What’s up?”

Too loud. Why are you always so loud? He winces, nearly drops his phone on his face.

“I… I can’t come in today.” His voice is hoarse, unrecognizable. Disgusting. He clears his throat, which only makes it worse. “I’m sick.”

There is a long, stunned silence.

Then, very, very slowly—

“You’re what?”

Jamil closes his eyes. He does not have the strength for this conversation.

“Sick,” he repeats, barely suppressing the urge to just fade out of existence right then and there.

Another pause. Then, in a tone that is so soft he almost doesn’t recognize it coming from you—

“…Oh.”

Something about the way you say it makes his stomach twist—though that could also be the fever.

“Take care of yourself, okay?” you say, genuinely concerned. “Rest, drink water, and if you need anything—”

He does not hear the rest.

Because he blacks out.

Jamil is sick.

Jamil, your unshakable, hyper-competent, borderline immortal assistant—the man who somehow pulls miracles out of thin air while looking vaguely unimpressed—is sick.

You expected betrayals, corporate espionage, elaborate counter-strategies in your ongoing war to get him on your side.

You did not expect this.

And worse—he sounded awful.

Not just tired. Not just mildly inconvenienced.

You sit at your desk for approximately three minutes, trying to convince yourself that it’s fine, that Jamil is a grown man who can take care of himself.

Then you Google “how to care for a sick employee” and make the deeply logical decision to immediately drop everything and go check on him yourself.

Which is how you end up outside his apartment, ringing the doorbell like a maniac.

There is no response.

You ring again. And again.

Nothing.

A small, horrible thought creeps in. What if he passed out? What if he hit his head? What if he—

Just as you're about to kick down the door in a move that would absolutely get you arrested, it creaks open.

And Jamil is standing there.

Barely.

He looks terrible.

His usual sharp, careful composure? Gone. His hair is an absolute wreck, his eyes are dazed, and his entire body is actively betraying him by swaying on his feet like a tragic willow in a storm.

You are horrified.

“Oh my god,” you whisper, stepping forward before he can literally collapse. “Jamil, you look—”

Like death. Like the very concept of suffering incarnate.

But you do not say this out loud, because you are a good person.

Instead, you step into his space and grab him before he keels over.

“You’re burning up,” you mutter, steadying him. “When was the last time you ate?”

Jamil blinks at you very slowly, like his brain is buffering at dial-up speeds.

“…Food?”

That is not an answer.

You curse under your breath and haul him back inside, which is a feat of great strength because he is all lean muscle and fever deadweight.

How did this happen? Why did this happen? Who let this happen?

Oh. Right. Him.

Jamil is going to die.

Not from the fever, no. That would be merciful.

He is going to die from sheer embarrassment because you—his boss, his greatest headache, his most infuriating problem—are here, in his apartment, fussing over him like some kind of divine punishment.

He barely registers you pulling out a thermometer and shoving it into his mouth with all the grace of someone who has never done this before.

The numbers blink back at you ominously.

“You’re burning up,” you mutter. “Okay, I’m ordering soup. And you are not moving until you eat something.”

Jamil tries to protest. He does.

But then you press a cool towel against his forehead, and—

Oh.

Oh, that is nice.

His body betrays him once again by relaxing into your touch.

By the time the soup arrives, he is too weak to even lift the spoon properly.

So you—without hesitation, without a single ounce of normal human shame—just feed him.

Like a child.

Like he is some helpless, pathetic creature.

Which, okay, maybe right now, he is.

But still. This is humiliating.

It is also the best soup he has ever had in his life.

Jamil finally falls back asleep.

And you sit there, staring at his peaceful, fever-flushed face, wondering how the hell this became your life.

You were supposed to be running a company, not playing nurse to your best-paid spy.

You should not care this much.

And yet.

You check his temperature again. Still high, but better.

You sigh, raking a hand through your hair, and grab your phone.

“Okay,” you mutter into the receiver, pacing the room. “But what do I do if he wakes up and refuses to rest?”

A pause.

Your voice drops, quieter. “Yeah, I know. I just don’t want him to push himself again.”

Behind you, Jamil shifts.

You do not notice.

But he notices you.

Your hair is mussed, your usual sharp, teasing grin replaced with something softer.

You look worried. For him.

Jamil stares, something twisting in his chest.

Oh.

Oh, he is so incredibly doomed.

You always knew Jamil was a spy. That much was obvious.

The way he answered every question perfectly in his interview? Suspicious.

The way he executed his tasks with military precision? Suspicious.

The way he didn’t try to subtly flirt with you or brown-nose like all the other incompetent spies before him? Extremely suspicious.

But he was competent. So stupidly, ridiculously competent. And you’d rather keep an enemy that made your life easier than deal with another incompetent fool.

Besides, you like playing with fire. So you decided to see how far you could push him.

So tonight, you left your office unlocked. Oh no. What a terrible mistake. If only someone didn’t sneak in and steal your files.

And to make things more interesting, you left some semi-important files open on your computer. Documents that looked serious enough to be tempting but wouldn’t actually do much damage if leaked.

Right before you left, you made sure to sigh dramatically in front of Jamil and say, “Ugh, these files have been keeping me up at night. I sure hope they don’t get leaked or anything.”

Then, you went to your surveillance setup, made yourself some popcorn, and watched.

Because of course Jamil was going to take the bait.

And sure enough, there he was.

You watch as he sits down at your desk. Silent. Focused. The very picture of efficiency.

You lean forward as he navigates to the files. Click. Click. Scroll. His fingers hover over the copy button.

And then—

He just… stops.

Your eyebrows shoot up. Oh?

Jamil stares at the screen like it personally insulted his honor. His fingers twitch over the keyboard, hesitating.

Your interest piques. He should’ve copied them by now. He’s supposed to be a professional, isn’t he?

He clicks out of the important files.

Your jaw nearly drops. What.

He clicks out. He clicks out. He actively chooses not to take anything of worth.

Instead, you watch as he scrolls past all the confidential reports—

—bypasses all the juicy, corporate secrets—

—ignores all the schematics—

—and copies a single folder labeled “raccoons_for_a_rainy_day.zip.”

You almost choke on your popcorn.

Jamil pauses. Stares at the screen for a long, long moment.

Then, as if committing a terrible crime, he ejects the USB, tucks it away, and swiftly leaves your office.

You sit there, stunned.

Because out of everything in your company’s database, out of all the valuable information he could’ve stolen—

He took your emergency raccoon meme collection.

You blink. Once. Twice.

And then, slowly, a grin spreads across your face.

Oh. Oh, this is delightful.

You knew you were converting him to your side, but this? This is proof.

Jamil, the competent, efficient, dangerously intelligent spy, had a perfect chance to complete his mission. And instead of betraying you, he chose to betray his employer instead.

For you.

How flattering.

You had dealt with a lot of strange things in your life. A lot. But this? This was definitely one of the stupidest.

Your old secretary—the one who took a bribe and fled like a rat from a sinking ship—was currently sitting in front of you, begging for her job back. Why? Who the hell knew. You had been certain that the bribe she took would have lasted her a few years, maybe even bought her a cute little vacation somewhere far away, but apparently, money couldn’t buy wisdom. Or, in her case, common sense.

You leaned back in your chair, fingers steepled together, watching her ramble through increasingly desperate justifications. I’ve changed. I’ve grown. I’ve learned from my mistakes. You doubted it.

Jamil stood beside you, completely unreadable, but you knew him well enough by now to recognize the signs of his barely contained fury. His shoulders were stiff, his posture rigid, and—most damning of all—his fists were clenched so tightly that his knuckles had turned white.

Oh, interesting.

Obviously, you weren’t rehiring her. She wasn’t even ten percent as competent as Jamil, and unlike her, Jamil wasn’t stupid enough to take a bribe when you were the one offering him far more than money. But this? This was a perfect opportunity to test something.

So you sighed, long and dramatic, before rubbing your temples as if this decision physically pained you. “I’ll consider it,” you said finally. “I’ll call you back once I’ve made my decision.”

Her face lit up, all eager gratitude, and she left the office with a bounce in her step.

The moment the door clicked shut behind her, you stood, intending to grab a file from your cabinet—but you didn’t get far.

Because Jamil blocked your path.

You blinked at him, more amused than anything, but your amusement flickered into something softer when you saw his face.

He looked wrecked.

Not in an angry way, not even in a controlled, simmering fury. No—this was something else entirely. His eyes searched yours like he was trying to find some sort of answer, his breath slightly uneven, his expression utterly betrayed. He looked like you had punched him in the gut.

You had seen Jamil irritated, seen him exasperated, seen him indulge in rare moments of smugness when his plans went exactly as intended. But this? This raw emotion spilling out of him like a dam breaking—this was new. And you couldn’t stop the way your heartbeat stuttered at the sight.

“Why?” His voice came out hoarse, like he barely trusted himself to speak. “Why would you… Why would you even consider hiring her back?”

You tilted your head, keeping your voice light. “Why does it bother you so much?”

Jamil’s mouth opened—then snapped shut. You could practically see his thoughts racing, running too fast for him to catch up, but something cracked inside of him, because once he started speaking, he couldn’t stop.

“Did I mess up?” he demanded, voice sharper than he probably intended. “Was I not good enough? Did I do something wrong? Why would you—” He cut himself off, exhaling shakily, his hands twitching at his sides like he desperately wanted to reach for you. “You know she isn’t competent. You know she isn’t better than me.”

You hummed, tilting your head in faux thoughtfulness. “Of course, I’ll give you a different position,” you mused. “No need to worry about job security.”

Jamil broke.

Before you could even register the movement, he grabbed you.

His hands found your face, his fingers curling against your skin like he needed to ground himself, like he needed to prove something—and then, he kissed you.

It wasn’t careful. It wasn’t polite. It was desperate, burning with frustration and something deeper, something so much more vulnerable than you had ever expected from him.

And then, hypothesis proven, you kissed him back.

For a moment, you simply blinked.

Jamil pulls away like he just touched something scalding, his breath uneven, his eyes wide with something close to terror. You watch as realization sets in—his own actions hitting him all at once, like a dam finally bursting and drowning him in the consequences of his own emotions.

“I—” His voice is hoarse, almost shaky, but he’s trying to regain control, trying to salvage something, anything. “I’m not who you think I am.” He says it like a confession, like a last-ditch effort to make you see reason, to make you step back and realize that you shouldn’t want him, that you shouldn’t choose him. “I was hired to—”

“My dear, sweet spy,” you interrupt, voice dripping with amused affection, “won’t you be mine?”

Jamil freezes.

You can see the exact second it dawns on him. The way his expression shifts from confused horror to pure, unfiltered disbelief. You knew. You always knew. Of course you did. He should’ve realized it sooner. You were too sharp, too perceptive, too you to have been in the dark about something so crucial.

And yet, here you were. Choosing him anyway.

His lips twitch. His shoulders shake. And then, he laughs.

Not a small chuckle, not a bitter scoff, but a real laugh, something rare and unguarded, something so genuinely light that it catches even him off guard. He laughs so hard that he nearly doubles over, his forehead dropping against yours as he exhales shakily, trying to regain some semblance of composure.

You feel his breath ghost against your skin, feel the warmth of him so close, and yet, there is no hesitation anymore, no careful, measured distance.

He shakes his head, still breathless from laughing, and when he finally meets your gaze, his expression is something unreadable, something painfully soft.

And this time, when he kisses you, there’s no fear left.

“…Fine,” he murmurs, his voice quieter now, more vulnerable than you’ve ever heard it. “I’m yours.”

You wake up to the warmth of an arm draped over your waist, the steady rise and fall of a familiar chest behind you. It’s a rare thing—to wake before Jamil. He’s always been the early riser between you, slipping out of bed before the sun has even had the chance to settle into the sky. But today, for the first time in two years, you’re the one watching him sleep.

Two years since his terrified confession. Two years since you pulled him into the kind of love neither of you had ever expected to find. Two years of whispered promises, stolen kisses, and a loyalty that runs deeper than any mission, deeper than any past betrayal.

The early morning light filters in through the curtains, soft and golden, catching on the matching rings on your fingers. A quiet proof of what you’ve built together. The sight makes something tender settle in your chest, and you press a kiss to his forehead, gentle and lingering.

Jamil stirs, brow furrowing for just a moment before he instinctively pulls you closer, his grip tightening around your waist. He buries his face into the crook of your neck, voice thick with sleep as he murmurs, “Why’re you awake so early…?”

You smile, carding your fingers through his hair as you whisper, “Go back to sleep.”

And as the warmth of him lulls you back into slumber, a thought drifts lazily through your mind—

"You sleep too," he grumbles, but it’s lazy, half-hearted. You can already feel his breath evening out, his body relaxing against yours once more. You keep stroking his hair, slow and rhythmic, feeling the last bits of tension melt from his frame.

Maybe playing with fire was the smartest move you ever made.

Masterlist

[blue-dragon-has-a-pen]

Birds of a feather!

(Pride 2019) | (Pride 2020) | (Pride 2021) | (Pride 2022) | Pride 2023

Wow, can't believe I've been doing this for five years! Thanks again for the support! I'm thrilled to finally get feedback from you guys on polls. 🌈

Anyway, you can make requests for different flags for 2023 designs. I'll do them if I'm available!

Links: [Gay] / [Lesbian] / [Ace] / [Aro] / [Bi] / [Pan] / [Trans] / [NB]

It's almost tradition that I write something here every year, but wow good lord, this year is really trying isn't it? Even Rainbow Capitalism™ is under fire and giving in to transphobia and homophobia. It's rough out there man... It's most important that we don't divide and fight among ourselves at these times. We are stronger together as a flock.

I'll see all of you next year, hang in there! Also sorry I'm late again...

[slaaverin]

2024 Drarry Recs Wrap Up

Since the year is ending, I thought I would make a little list of all the fics I bookmarked this year. I absolutely adored all of them. Please read them if you haven't and thank you to our wonderful authors!

Never Mind the Bollocks by @the-sinking-ship [E 188k]

If someone told Harry six months ago that by autumn he would be single, living on whisky and toast, and dancing the night away with Draco Malfoy, he would have told them to get their head checked. And yet, here he was.

Foreplay by @lqtraintracks [E 6k]

Getting a raging hard-on on the duelling room floor, pinned under Harry Potter’s sweaty body, is not how Draco saw his day going, but… Well, here he is.

Brief Encounter by @maraudersaffair [E 45k]

Harry was happy, goddammit; he’d gotten everything he wanted in life. Why then could he not stop thinking about Draco Malfoy?

The Usual by @aibidil [T 9k]

Harry finally tries the new magical coffee shop on Diagon Alley. A story in which Draco is Up To Something™ and Harry is going to get to the bottom of it, and to the bottom of that sixteen ounce to-go cup.

This fic is simply hilarious. Best laugh I had in years.

Of easy wind and downy flake by @starquestingfordrarry [E 14k]

It’s snowing in July, and it’s Malfoy’s fault. Or, the one where the house wants the boys to kiss.

Probationary Action by @toomuchplor [E 63k]

As part of the terms of the probationary contract, DRACO LUCIUS MALFOY shall submit for inspection his WAND on the last day of every month, such inspection to be carried out by a duly registered and fully qualified AUROR in the employ of the MINISTRY OF MAGIC, and such inspection to include a PRIORI INCANTATEM spell to ensure that no PROHIBITED MAGICS as heretofore described have been practised by the aforementioned probationer.

Rookie Moves by peu_a_peu [E 75k]

Aurors Potter and Malfoy crack the case.

The Way You Say My Name by InnerLilith [E 5k]

In which Malfoy calls Harry pet names to get him flustered and riled up, and Harry gets flustered and riled up because he secretly likes it. The problem is that Malfoy is only teasing…or is he?

The Boy from the Piano Shop by @soliblomst [M 89k]

After going blind in a reckless attempt to avenge Ginny's death, Harry battles with severe depression. One day, he stumbles upon a quaint piano restoration shop in the heart of London and meets the owner, a kindly old man, and his introverted young apprentice, whose voice sounds strangely familiar. As Harry and Draco slowly reconnect through private piano lessons, the small workshop becomes Harry's refuge, offering him a glimmer of hope in a world without eyes. /Set five years after the Battle of Hogwarts/

HIGHLY recommend

Aletheia by @lazywonderlvnd [E 8k]

Draco finds out Daphne's been shagging Potter and it turns out it's really not that difficult to get a piece of her hair.

Too Good At Raising Hell by @the-sinking-ship [E 87k]

When Harry Potter walks into Draco’s nightclub looking like trouble, Draco can’t stop staring. He really ought to train his dick not to react so enthusiastically to red flags, but where would be the fun in that?

Say When by @lqtraintracks [E 24k]

When Auror Harry Potter is sent in undercover to determine if Draco Malfoy is laundering money through his BDSM club, will he be able to keep up the ruse and close the case? Or, more to the point, will he keep from falling in love?

Now I Know In Part by @dodgerkedavra [E 39k]

Harry Potter is the savior of the wizarding world. Draco Malfoy is a reformed Death Eater turned Ministry Curse-Breaker. Five years after the war, they're brought together by another mysterious curse.

Got Me Started by @itsphantasmagoria @kamaela [E 8k]

Malfoy said in a rush, “I don’t care about you.” “Uh, same?” was the only response Harry could come up with. Or: An unexpected partnership leads Harry and Draco to a sex club in Berlin. Harry doesn't quite know what to do with himself.

Raising Hell! by @wolfpants [E 21k]

Harry and Draco are sent undercover as a married couple to investigate a dodgy Muggle love cult. Something evil is lurking in Glastonbury… but to get to it, the reluctant partners must be initiated first. And this is, after all, a love cult…

The Superfluous Man by peu_a_peu [E 24k]

A child for Harry Potter is a miracle of magic. And it's the second act of Draco Malfoy's sorry little life.

your braids like a pattern by @hoko-onchi-writes [E 31k]

Harry soldiers on with the get-to-know you activity, noting each counsellor's interests and repeating their names. Harry’s eyes land on Malfoy. He’s the last counsellor in the circle. One blond eyebrow is arched, his smirky mouth turned up at the corners. That can’t be good. Harry clutches his clipboard; lets the edge of it dig into his skin. When did Malfoy’s hair get so long? It had only reached his chin the last time Harry saw him. “Counsellor Malfoy.” “Potter. Fancy seeing you here.” Malfoy has the same drawl, but it’s deeper. Richer. Like he has in fact grown in the intervening years. Harry taps his pencil against his clipboard. “Care to share your name and an interesting tidbit?” “So many of my tidbits are interesting.” Malfoy’s hair falls in loose, golden waves over his shoulders. Harry regrets the use of the word ‘tidbit’ with every fibre of his being, but he nods gamely at Malfoy. Whatever he says can’t be that bad. “I’m Draco Malfoy, and I was a teenage Death Eater.” ~~ Or: Harry runs a camp. Malfoy is the new counsellor, and he's driving Harry to the brink of insanity.

I live and breathe for this fic.

Nobody Pinch Me by @dracoladon @lazywonderlvnd [E 17k]

A mysteriously locked door keeps Harry and Draco trapped in the room where they're serving detention.

i knew you when i knew nothing by fiella [G 74k WIP]

The plan was simple. Absurd, but simple. He’d wait until Draco left for his usual late-night library run. When the coast was clear, Harry would sneak over to Draco’s side of the dorm. He wasn’t going to do anything. He wasn’t a complete lunatic. But Draco’s pillow? His blanket? That was fair game, wasn’t it? Just for a moment, just long enough to feel… Harry groaned, dragging his hands down his face. This is insane, he thought. I’m insane. But even as he berated himself, the plan solidified in his mind. Steal Draco Malfoy’s pillow. Or: In which Harry Potter loses a portion of his memories during the Battle of Hogwarts. When he returns for Eighth Year, he finds himself roomed with Draco Malfoy—a boy he doesn’t remember is supposed to be his enemy. And Draco Malfoy doesn’t know how to handle a Harry Potter who has forgotten to hate him.

Little Prince, Kneel by @coffeedrgn87 [E 478k]

Almost immediately after the war, Harry Potter took his godson and Andromeda and left England behind. He returned some five years later, changed, healed, and a completely different man altogether --- in every sense of the word, and then some. Now an extremely handsome bachelor in his late(ish) twenties, and with a promising career at the Ministry, he suddenly finds his life turned upside down after unexpectedly bumping into his former school nemesis, Draco Malfoy, Prosecutor Extraordinaire. Is Harry going to be able to stay away from Draco? Does he even want to? And exactly how will Draco react once he discovers how the Saviour prefers to spend his free time?

One word for this fic : YES!!!!

Thank you so much to everyone for an amazing year of drarry!

[billzbling]

@billzbling’s …

❝ 𝐁𝐮𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐃𝐞𝐬𝐢𝐫𝐞 ❞ ™

❝ 𝐇𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐬𝐞𝐱 & 𝐑𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐠𝐞 𝐒𝐞𝐱 (𝟒&7) 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐦𝐲 𝐬𝐦𝐮𝐭𝐭𝐲 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐭𝐬 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭. 𝐓𝐨 𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐭𝐬 𝐜𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐤 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐤. ❞

|| ⚠︎ || - 𝐬𝐦𝐮𝐭

Silence. The only thing filling my mind was silence. I drowned out the music and bad singing of those around me as I just stared. He had the audacity to cheat. In front of everyone.The betrayal was a slap in my fucking face. My heart was racing and I couldn't breathe. The tears started to fall, but I couldn't let anyone see me like this. So, I turned around and headed to the bar. Should’ve known something was up when he didn’t invite me, his fucking girlfriend, to the party his roommate was holding, but no. I just ignored his red flags or how he was always on his phone, or how when someone would call he’d grab his phone before I could see who and step out to answer it.

The door was heavy. It felt like it took all of my strength to push it open and step into the cold night. The party was in full swing behind me, but the second the door closed it was like I had no self control. I make my way further into the kitchen where all the drinks are scattered around the counter. Some people from his dorm looked at me with a bit of shock, clearly expecting not be here but I ignored them, pouring myself a drink.

My hand was shaking. I was shaking. But the alcohol helped to numb me. I took a deep breath and downed the drink, feeling it burn down my throat. That’s when I saw her. Billie. She was a bitch. Making me miserable since high school with her annoying comments, not that I never defended myself, in fact we argued every time I saw her. She looked at me, but not with that smug look she usually had on, it was with a look of acknowledgement or something.

She chuckled, “slow down, it ain’t going anywhere.” I just looked at her, an empty look on my face before pouring some more. I usually didn’t drink at all but tonight was different, I guess she noticed. She took the bottle from my hand, “You’re not going to solve anything by getting wasted.” She looked at me. “What happened?”

I didn’t want to talk about it. I didn’t want to admit it to anyone, not even myself. “None of your business.” I try grabbing the bottle back from her but she doesn’t let me, “Give it back, what the fuck dude.”

“No.” She says firmly, “You’re going to tell me or I’m going to drag you out of here.” She had a strange look in her eyes. It was like she knew something. She knew what happened.

“Go fuck yourself, Eilish.” I shove her out of my way, pulling my hood on and walking out to the kitchen. she follows me, bottle in hand. I shove past the people in my way, trying to make it to him, all the way across the living room.

I thought I lost Billie until I feel a strong tug on my arm and I get pulled back, hard. I turn to see Billie looking at me, a strong glare in her eyes. “Don’t do anything to him, you’re gonna regret it.” She pulls me closer to her and I try fighting back, falling miserably.

“Come with me.” She says, and she doesn’t wait for an answer. She just starts walking and pulls me with her. She leads me upstairs, into his room. “I don’t wanna be in here.” I whine but she doesn’t listen. She sits me down on the bed and stand in front of me, looking into my eyes, “you caught him huh?” I nod. “He was a piece of shit, y/n.” She tells me. I nod again.

“Why are you…helping me?” I ask, I looking up at her. She leans down, “who said I’m doing this for you?” She smirks pulling me in for a kiss. She’s a good fucking kisser. I’m shocked but I kiss her back. She tastes like mint and whiskey and suddenly, I don’t care about him anymore. She’s all that’s on my mind. Her hand moves to the back of my neck and she deepens the kiss, pushing her tongue into my mouth. I let out a moan and she smiles into the kiss, pulling away slightly. “Pretty good for someone so dumb.” She says. I frown a bit. She lifts my chin so I look at her, “you want this?” She asks, I nod. “Good.” She says before kissing me again.

Her hands are on my body, moving down my stomach and up my shirt. She pulls it off and throws it to the side. My heart is racing as she starts to kiss down my neck, my collarbones and eventually my chest. She takes one of my breasts in her mouth and nips at it. I let out a gasp and she looks up at me with a smirk, “you like that?” I nod again, “I need you to say something, you’re always saying some bullshit, put your mouth to good use for once.”

“I like it.” I murmur. She smiles before pulling away and walking to the closet, grabbing a tie. She comes back with the one I got him for our Highschool graduation. “What’s that for? Still stealing, Eilish?” I say with a little smirk. She rolls her eyes, “shut the fuck up, this is for later.” She looks down at me, “take your skirt off.” I smile, “no, do it yourself.”

Her eyes flash with something, I’m not sure what, but she grabs my legs, pulling me to the edge of the bed, before getting on her knees infront of me. She grabs my skirt and pulls it down. She looks at me with a challenge in her eyes. “You want this?” She whispers, her breath on my thigh. I nod again. She smirks before sliding it down my legs and throwing it over her shoulder. “You’re a fucking tease.” She says planting a kiss on my thigh. “But I like that about you.” She whispers before her mouth moves up my thighs to my panties. She kisses my panties and looks up at me again, “I want to hear you say it.”

I blush a bit, “yes, I want this. Please don’t stop.” I whine, she smirks before hooking her fingers under the lacy band and pulling it down, she throws it off to the side and I spread my legs wider for her. She kisses up my inner thigh, getting closer and closer to my pussy. I couldn’t wait for her to touch me. “Don’t you hate me, hm baby?” She whispers against my skin. I nod again, “good, makes it so much better when you beg for it, doesn’t it?” I nod, she’s driving me fucking crazy, “I do- I do hate you.” I murmur.

Her tongue runs along my slit and I jolt a bit. “You’re so fucking wet for me, aren’t you?” She says, a smug tone to her voice. I nod. “Look at me when I do this, I want to see your face.” I look down at her, my eyes locking with hers as she pushes her tongue into me. I let out a moan, my hands going to her hair, tangling in it. She chuckles against me and starts to kiss my pussy, sucking on my clit and making me moan her name. “Billie, oh my god, Billie!” She smiles and continues her sweet torment, pushing two fingers into me and moving them in and out.

Her eyes never leave mine as she works on me. It’s like she’s watching me fall apart, watching me lose all control. And I like it. I love it. She’s so fucking good at this, better than anyone I’ve ever been with. “Tell me why, pretty? Why you hate me so much?” She teases.

“Because” a moan interrupts me, “Y-you’re so mean,”. She smirks, “Is that all?” She says before her mouth goes back to my clit, moving faster with her fingers. I moan and shake my head, “n-no!” I’m so close, I’ve never felt this good, ever. “You’re so- oh god! - a-annoying,” I throw my head back in pleasure, my eyes rolling back. She chuckles, “keep going, I know you can think of more,” She whispers.

“Y-you think you’re better than everyone else, you’re so fucking cocky!” She pulls away, silently chuckling to herself, “n-no don’t stop!” I look back down at her, “you’re begging me to keep going after saying all that? Hm?” She teases. “Yes, I’m begging, please, please don’t stop, Billie!”

Her eyes darken and she goes back to my clit, faster, harder, sucking and licking it. I can feel my orgasm building and I’m about to come, “I’m- I’m gonna-” I whine out not being able to finish my sentence. She smirks and pushes her fingers into me harder, I come around her fingers and her mouth, her eyes never leaving mine. She smirks and pulls away, licking her fingers clean. “Good girl,” She says, standing up, “now, get on the bed. I want you to face the headboard on your knees, hands behind your back.”

I nod and get on the bed, doing as she says. She takes the tie and wraps it around my wrists, tying it tightly, but not too tight. She’s got me tied up and exposed and all I can do is wait for what she’s going to do to me. She pushes me forward, my cheek smushed into the pillow. She grabs my hair and pulls my head back, “you’re mine tonight, y/n, no one else’s. Just mine, you understand?” I nod again.

“Good, now scream my fucking name when you come, I want everyone to know how good I’m fucking you.” She says, and before I know it, she’s pushing the strap into me, filling me up. I let out a loud gasp and she starts to fuck me, her hand on my hip guiding me back to her. “Fuck yes, baby, that’s it, take it all.” She says, her voice husky. She’s so rough, so fucking rough and it’s everything I didn’t know I needed. She grabs my hair and pulls my head back again, making me look at her. “You like this shit, don’t you?” She says, her voice a dark whisper. I nod. I suddenly feel her hand come down on my ass making me jolt forward, “words my little slut.” She whispers.

“Yes, fuck you, I fucking do!” I whine out, she smirks before slapping me again, harder this time. I moan and push back onto her, she chuckles, “that’s right, take it like that, take it like the slut you are.”

The words make me blush and I feel myself getting wetter, if that’s even possible. She keeps slapping my ass, each one making me moan and push back harder onto her, until she’s fucking me so hard that the bed is shaking. “You’re so fucking perfect, baby, just perfect.” She says, her hand moving down to rub my clit, “how do you think your boyfriend would react to me fucking you better than he ever could? Hm?”

My eyes water a bit from the mix of pleasure and pain, “he’d be angry,” I murmur, she smirks, “but you don’t care, do you? You’re here with me, not him.” She says, her voice thick with lust. I nod, “no, I don’t care about him, Billie, just keep going, please!”

The orgasm hits me like a truck, and I scream her name, loud and clear. She smirks and pulls out, leaving me gasping for breath. Billie unties me flipping me over onto my back. “You good?” She asks, I nod, she smirks, “Good, I hope-“ before she can finish speaking, the locked doorknob rattles. “He’s tryna get in, baby.” She says, standing up.

I sit up, my heart racing again, “what do we do?” She smirks, “I think-“ she pushes me back down, “I’m gonna get another taste and you’re going to moan my name as loud as you fucking can, okay?” Before I can agree, he starts banging on the door, “Who the fuck is in there?” He says, his voice angry. She laughs and kisses me again, her hand reaching down to my pussy, “You’re going to love this,” She whispers before she’s on her knees, her mouth back on my pussy, licking and sucking me like a fucking ice cream cone.

I can’t hold back, I moan her name, louder and louder, I can feel him getting more and more mad outside the door, “Billie, oh my god, Billie, right there!” She chuckles into my skin and I come again, her name echoing through the room, drowning out the noise of him trying to get in.

Afterwards, she kisses me softly, putting her clothes back on, and helping me put mine back on. She places her arm over my shoulder, leading me out of the room, tie around my neck. She smirks at the door, “Let’s go show him who you belong to now,” She says, turning the handle, and we walk out together. Outside, he’s leaning on the other wall, clearly waiting for whoever’s fucking on his bed to step outside. His eyes widen when he sees us, especially when he sees the tie around my neck, “You’re fucking dead, Eilish!” He yells.

Billie smirks, “I’m sorry, did I interrupt something?” Referring to the girl leaning against him, he pushes her off, looking at me in shock and anger, “Y/n, baby, I’m so sorry, it’s not what it looks like, I don’t even know who this bitch is,” He says, his eyes pleading.

“Genuinely, shut the fuck up.”

-

if you wanna be on my Taglist click here

to go to my masterlist click here

Smut prompts are here

[fear-is-truth]

❛ WHAT YOUR FAVOURITE EVAN PETERS CHARACTER SAYS ABOUT YOU ❜

ft. tate langdon ‧ kit walker ‧ kyle spencer ‧ jimmy darling ‧ james patrick march ‧ kai anderson ‧ austin sommers ‧ peter maximoff ‧ colin zabel ೯⠀⁺ ⠀ 𖥻 𝗢𝟭 ⠀ᰋ

꣑ৎ ‎ :‎ masterlist﹒request / chat w me ! ﹒꒱ note. this just for funsies—i don’t mean to offend anyone

────୨ৎ────

TATE LANGDON:

your taste in music & fashion is fire.

apart from the murder house, you probably wanna live in the pink palace from coraline.

you might be interested in true crime.

not sure if you’ve watched zero day (2003) but if you have, pretty sure you’d fw cal gabriel too. or not.

deadpan sarcasm.

haunted porcelain doll vibes.

you enjoy movies like coraline, donnie darko and everything directed by tim burton.

bright but hate school.

you don’t have the best relationship with your parent(s). :((

autumn is your fav season.

ben harmon hater (aren’t we all)

hobbies: thrifting, art, vinyl collecting, taxidermy, poetry, photography.

you spend too much time searching for violet harmon exacts online. (i hope you find the one you want at a fairly reasonable price)

────୨ৎ────

KIT WALKER

the Mom Friend™ of the group.

free spirited and has a heart of pure gold.

you cry at movies that tug at your heartstrings.

more of a dog person than a cat person.

your cooking is probably wicked good.

running barefoot on a grassy hill.

until i found you by stephen sanchez is basically about you and your guy.

you like animal crossing or stardew valley.

cozy aesthetic. embroidered pillowcases, half-buttoned henleys, a fridge covered in little notes and polaroids, herb garden, clean laundry that smells like sunlight.

────୨ৎ────

KYLE SPENCER

you have great taste in guys. he’s not just a ‘green flag’ he’s a goddamn forest. in a world of boys he’s a gentleman.

hopeless romantic.

your love language is quality time.

activities i imagine you doing with your ‘kyle’: walk on the beach, ice skating, trying out new cafés or bakeries, drive-in movies, boardwalk (he wins you the giant stuffed animal you’ve been eyeing), build-a-bear, baking cookies, feeding ducks at the park.

belle is your favourite disney princess.

your hogwarts house is probably ravenclaw.

you’re kind of an introvert.

pinterest whore <3

light academia + soft girl aesthetic. white button-ups, bows/ ribbons in your hair, love letters with lipstick kisses, varsity jackets that belong to your bf, iced matcha. spring.

you collect sanrio plushies and seashells.

you listen to gracie abrams, taylor swift (especially lover AND evermore)

you like the summer i turned pretty and/or to all the boys i loved before. and probably jane austen.

────୨ৎ────

JIMMY DARLING

you’re outspoken and a total badass.

did i mention that you’re super sexy?

your hogwarts house is probably gryffindor.

trinket collector!!

the first thing you notice about a person is their smile. bonus if they have dimples.

you have a thing for men in leather jackets.

your fav movies include the outsiders, stand by me, top gun.

you like stevie nicks.

────୨ৎ────

JAMES PATRICK MARCH

pretty sure at least one of your fictional crushes is a vampire.

you want to be worshipped like a goddess—as you should !!

you like quotes that romanticise cannibalism as a metaphor for intimacy.

you listen to lady gaga.

slytherin. no questions asked.

BLOOD !!!!! gallons of the stuff-

you’re turned on by etiquette, quoting shakespeare, men/women covered in blood, a velvet gloved hand tilting your chin up, a sexy accent.

you’ve probably reblogged one of the following aesthetics on your blog: dark red. blood. wine. pomegranates. daggers. long flowing white nightgowns. vampires.

────୨ৎ────

KAI ANDERSON

questionable taste but i totally get you.

you listen to lana del rey, ethel cain or nicole dollanganger.

your hogwarts house is 99% slytherin.

at least one of your male celeb crushes is considered ‘problematic’.

“…. but he’s hot though.”

plagued with paranoid thoughts.

you have more knowledge about the manson family than the average person.

you are the divine convergence of self-awareness, shame, and delusion.

you either dissociate OR overanalyse until you wanna put your head through the fucking wall.

you can easily see through gaslighting because you’re kind of a pro yourself.

addicted to pepsi and chicken tenders.

you probably enjoy films like buffalo ‘66, american psycho, natural born killers.

────୨ৎ────

AUSTIN SOMMERS

you grew up very precocious, clever, and a little too sassy.

you’re probably bisexual.

very artistic soul.

brooklyn baby by lana del rey is about you.

low tolerance for mediocrity. you want genius or nothing.

you can flirt your way out of messy situations; but it’s the flirting that got you into trouble in the first place.

platonic flirting with your friends.

you have immaculate taste in a everything—art, literature, cinema, fashion.

you analyse everything. so you are likely an avid user of letterboxd or goodreads.

────୨ৎ────

PETER MAXIMOFF

you use humour as a coping mechanism.

your playlists have no cohesion but every song is a banger.

you prefer wire headphones rather than wireless ones.

your sleep schedule is totally fucked.

sporty.

the most loyal person in the world.

keychain hoarder.

you have a huge sweet tooth.

funky socks and graphic tees.

love love LOVE video games.

probably the type of person to fall in love with your best friend.

────୨ৎ────

COLIN ZABEL

you’re gentle with others but brutal with yourself.

a professional yearner.

cat person, bookworm or film buff. or maybe all of the above.

have a little people-pleaser streak that you’re trying to unlearn.

chronically self-effacing. if someone compliments you, you’ll either make a joke or downplay it.

generally soft spoken and introverted but you have some wildly funny/ inappropriate thoughts going on in that head of yours. (i mean this in a good way)

great sense of humour.

your (fictional) crushes gravitate towards slightly awkward men with good intentions and deep emotional wound.

you probably like the show fargo.

you say “sorry” way too often. i mean like if you bump into furniture you’d prolly apologise.

[lenalenouilleisblogging]

2024 feminist movie retrospective ~ day 1

Yeah, let's get the big one™ out of the way first. Or one of the two big ones I guess. I'm sure you can guess what the second one is. Just a heads up : even if it doesn't reflect my convictions, I'll use "sex work is work" vocabulary in this review for the sake of time, clarity, and because the movie uses these words. Also obviously graphic talk of sexual content ahead. Spoilers will be in red.

Watched : November 3rd at an independent theater. The showing was quite packed.

I went to see this film with my mom and brother, and the conversation we had after the film immediately made me realize that gen Z male "feminists" like my brother are 100% this movie's target audience. You'll understand why later...

I'm gonna be transparent, I did not go into this with a fully open mind, I had 2 worries from the getgo : one, Adum from YMS gave this movie a 9/10. This guy is one of the most competent YouTube film critics but he's also a spineless, hypocritical liberal "male feminist", every time he recommends a movie about a feminist issue it's a red flag. And two, the only other Sean Baker film I've seen is Red Rocket. If you haven't seen it (honestly good for you) it's about an ex "porn star" who is now too old for the job and is forced to move back to his shitty home town. When he meets a teenage girl who develops an obvious crush on him, he sees it as an opportunity to groom her into "sex work" to make money off her and get back into the industry. Not only was the film really boring with zero likable characters, but knowing what I know now about Sean Baker, a creepy pro-porn, pro-unregulated prostitution """activist""" the movie is even creepier. (Full disclosure, I wasn't aware of these things when I saw Anora)

Let's start with what works in Anora. Honestly, I don't really have anything negative to say about the technical aspects of the film. It's very well shot, well lit, well edited. The dialogues are realistic, fun and dynamic and all the character interactions feel very real and genuine. Mikey Madison is the obvious standout in terms of acting but the rest of the cast is very good as well. The actor who plays Ivan (the husband) is quite good at being an absolute tête-à-claques (face made for slapping) as we say in french. Seriously this guy's insufferable. The two russian henchmen are a new spin on a tired character archetype and they're super likable and entertaining. I also appreciate that they cast Russian actors to play the russian characters, and not USAmerican actors of vaguely slavic descent. That's a big pet peeve of mine.

In short, the way the movie conveys what it conveys is very good. The problem is, well, WHAT it conveys.

Anora is the character who gives the movie its name. She's a prostitute at a strip club who meets Ivan, the son of a russian oligarch. He's a very easy client for her as he's very rich, not violent (or very active at all seemingly) in bed, gives her access to drugs and alcohol and he immediately decides to exclusively hire her. He buys her more and more often, to the point of bringing her to Vegas with his friends as a "date" and the two end up getting married there, and she moves into his massive house.

Problem is, Ivan didn't ask permission before spending massive amounts of money (and marrying a prostitute) in the US and his family's pissed off. They send three henchmen that are supposed to make him divorce Anora and bring him back to Russia, except he runs away and from then on, the movie follows Anora and the three henchmen in wacky situations as they look for him.

I just made the plot of this movie sound way more clear and concise than it actually is. Because in the actual final product, the rhythm is WACK. But that's by design. The movie sacrifices a lot to make the audience's dick hard, because a lot of it is just porn.

Ivan's family intervenes around the 45min mark, before that we follow Anora as she lives her prostitute life. We also see a lot of other prostitutes at the club she works at. The movie is EXTREMELY explicit for no reason. From what I can remember, there are at least 6 or 7 sex scenes (I count stripping scenes as sex scenes here) in that first third which is enormous, they don't seem to serve a purpose and seem to only exist to titillate the male audience. The stripping scenes in particular are just full dance/stripping routines with the actress shaking her ass and naked breasts at the camera. It drags on and it's very uncomfortable to watch. But hey what do I know. When people suggest skipping the sex scenes to move on to the actual plot this is how men on reddit react :

The movie's sexism doesn't stop at gratuitous sex and nudity. There's also the fact that Anora is BARELY a character. Apart from the fact that she fights off the russians to stay married to Ivan, she makes no real decision at all in the film. She has no fears, wants or dreams. She is entirely defined by what other people do TO her. She has no real personality, especially since the character herself plays a role of sort for a lot of it. She plays the role of a willing, consenting girlfriend/wife with Ivan AND with his family. As shown in the trailer, she's very angry and aggressive with the henchmen during a lot of the film, she physically fights them, she has a foul mouth, she's constantly antagonizing everyone. But it never makes her feel real. She feels like a character archetype in a hentai game. The rude prostitute with the Brooklyn accent who gets into fights but is super sweet to her rich husband <3

Apart from that, the most emotion we see from her is the final scene, after the final confrontation with Ivan's family. Him and Anora divorce, she's not gonna get anything out of it, she even gives the ring back, and she goes back to her sister's place where she lived at the beginning of the film. One of the henchmen, Igor, has been tasked with driving her there. (Igor is a very silent character but the camera often shows us his reactions to the action, and it's abundantly clear that he was on HER side during this whole ordeal) Before she exits the car, Igor reveals that he has managed to snatch the ring back, and he gives it to Anora. Anora then climbs on top of Igor in the car, and long story short (the scene is once again an uncomfortable length) she puts his penis in her and does her thing until he cums. (I feel like even in the context of the film I can't call what she does sex because it's something she does very clinically and almost on auto-pilot) Igor then tries to kiss her, which sends her into a fit of rage, she starts hitting him then slowly starts crying and breaks down in his arms. End of the movie.

So. If you're watching this movie with a feminist eye, the final scene feels like it makes sense. This poor woman has finally found a way to """escape sex work""" by sticking to one client who's not too bad, and just when it becomes comfortable, she is snatched back to the cold reality. When a man does something nice for her completely selflessly, she reacts by giving him sex because it feels to her like it's the only way to say thank you, she only sees sex as something transactional. What defines her interactions with all men. But when it turns out this man likes her as a person and not just as a piece of meat, she doesn't know how to react because it's so unknown to her. And she ends the movie sobbing because after all that, she has to go back to poverty and full-time sex work.

When it's told like this, it almost seems like this narrative takes a stand against prostitution right? It shows us how it broke this woman, how miserable she is, how it affects all of her relationships. Except that's when it all crumbles, because what makes this movie horrible is that this is very much NOT its message.

(just a quick note about the character of Igor because I don't know where in the review to put this : I'm curious what other women, especially women who are survivors, felt about him. That character actually really worried me for a big part of the film. Every time he was alone with Anora (which happens a few times) I was expecting something horrible to happen. In the end obviously it was fine, because this movie takes place in a fantasy land where strippers love their job and criminal henchmen are never inappropriate towards the tied up prostitute they're meant to be intimidating. And yeah I sincerely believe that the character is supposed to be read as this innocent guy who has a crush on Anora or at least really respects her. That's what I meant by "likes her as a person" anyway!)

As I said at the beginning of this post (approximately 84 years ago) I had a conversation with my mother and brother over some fries after the film. My mother and I started talking about how sad we were for the main character, saying pretty much what I've written in these last paragraphs. And then my brother intervenes. "No" he says. "She's so sad at the end of the film because she was genuinely in love with Ivan and that's why she fought so hard to stay married to him, and she has sex with Igor at the end because she likes him too, she has grown attracted to him during the movie." I'm sure you can imagine the look of disbelieving shock on my mother's and my face. The details of the discussion that followed don't matter (My brother was the only one who hadn't been made extremely uncomfortable by the half hour of sex and stripping in the film, funny that) but it made me think.

Let's see this movie for what it is. It's an hour of misery porn that follows 45 minutes of actual porn. It's the misadventures of a poor prostitute who gets thrown around by the plot, written, directed, and produced by a man who believes prostitution should be 100% unregulated and is proud of being a big onlyfans patron. (and holy shit don't look at his following list on twitter) Oh yeah, and he was okay with not having an intimacy coordinator because Mikey Madison didn't want one. It's fine if it's what she wanted right? Liberal feminism is starting to sound like a parody of itself.

As much as it hurts to admit, I think the film my "male feminist" brother believes he saw is closer to what the creator intended than what I think I saw. Because it just makes sense. If it's a porn fantasy about a prostitute who loves her job and falls in love with a rich client, then yeah, the nudity and sexual content are on theme. The ending is still bleak as fuck tho. But let's not forget that the movie at its core is still just award bait. And no wonder the old guys who give these awards loved it. It was made for them. And it's also easier for everyone, no one likes how dark the real world is. They want easy archetypes. That's why radical feminism is unpopular, it's depressing. This movie's highest rated comment on letterboxd is just "a terrifying tale of dating a mama's boy" because yeah, apparently everybody else agrees that what we saw in this film was "dating". What the hell, sure. I'm sure these people also thought Red Rocket was about a harmless cute couple with a bit of an age gap. Well anyway, that was my last Sean Baker.

Final rating : KAM/10

This post wasn't meant to be this long! I had more to say than expected. The other reviews won't be nearly as long. The only other movie I predict I'll yap this much about might be the other big one. See you tomorrow, same time for part 2!

[lilithlounge]

Venus Retrograde 2025 – Love on Rewind, Chaos on the Horizon

Mark your calendars, lovers and ex-lurkers! From March 1 to April 12, 2025, Venus...the planet of love, beauty, money, and self-worth is going retrograde, meaning all things romance, relationships, and finances are about to get a cosmic reality check.

And this isn’t just any Venus retrograde. Oh no. This one starts in Aries (March 1 - March 27)—the bold, impulsive, burn-it-all-down-to-build-it-up sign—before diving headfirst into the watery, mystical mess of Pisces (March 27 - April 12). Translation? We’re going from “I don’t need you, I’ll set your car on fire” energy to “I still love you, let’s soul merge” energy real quick.

March 1 - March 27: Venus Retrograde in Aries – The Bold Bitch Era™

This is not your soft, poetic love story. This is love on steroids, then withdrawal. Aries is ruled by Mars, so Venus here is already aggressive, impulsive, and unapologetic. But when she starts moonwalking backward? Expect:

- Exes reappearing like they’ve got unfinished business (Spoiler: they do, and it’s messy)

-Sudden urges to end relationships dramatically (Blocking, deleting, "accidentally" sending that risky text? Yep.)

-Impulse spending that will haunt your bank account in April (No, you don’t need that $500 leather jacket.)

-Dramatic makeovers that may or may not be a regret later (Shaving your head? Piercing something? Think it through, babe.)

-Toxic relationship patterns coming back to test you (Did you really heal, or are you just ignoring the red flags?)

Best Advice? Pause before you act. Aries energy wants it NOW, but retrograde means it needs RECONSIDERATION. Don’t throw away something (or someone) just because you’re in your feelings.

March 27 - April 12: Venus Retrograde in Pisces – The Delusional Romance Era™

After all that chaotic, burn-it-down energy, Venus slips into Pisces, where she romanticizes the pain, writes a poem about it, and forgives everyone, sometimes too quickly.

-Dreamy nostalgia, missing people you swore you were over (Why does their name keep showing up in songs?)

-Old flames reappearing with “I’ve changed” speeches (Have they? Or is it just Neptune clouding your judgment?)

-Crying over movies, songs, and that one text from 2017 (If you suddenly feel like a poet, blame Venus.)

-Spiritual connections intensifying, twin flame chasers, this is your moment (Or your downfall. Choose wisely.)

-Illusions in love, seeing people as you want them to be, not as they are (Don’t settle for potential. Look at the reality.)

Best Advice? Don’t let the rose-colored glasses fool you. Love should feel magical, but not at the cost of your boundaries or self-respect.

So..... what should you do?

-Reflect, don’t react. Venus retrograde is about reassessing love, money, and self-worth, not making impulsive decisions.

-Avoid major beauty or financial changes. The haircut can wait. The new relationship can too.

-If an ex pops up, ask yourself: Why now? Not every “second chance” is meant to be taken.

-Focus on healing, not reattaching. If you’re missing someone, is it them or the idea of them?

-Don’t start a new relationship until Venus goes direct. Love formed in a retrograde often comes with karmic lessons (aka drama).

Final Thoughts – Buckle Up, It's a Ride

This Venus retrograde will test your patience, your heart, and your ability to avoid chaos. Some connections will burn, some will deepen, and some will make a dramatic return just to mess with your head.

By April 12, you’ll know what (and who) is worth your time and what you need to leave behind for good.

Feeling lost in love? Need clarity on an ex or a fated connection? I offer detailed astrology readings to help you navigate this retrograde without losing your mind. DM me or check my Ko-Fi, Buy Me A Coffee for a personal reading!

[leverage-ot3]

okay I absolutely get and adore harry being oblivious about ot3 developments, but consider:

after breanna makes it explicitly clear she’s queer in the card game job, harry starts Researching™

he’s trying to be good, be better. he likes this girl and wants to be there to support her and be her friend, someone she can trust. it doesn’t help that she’s around the same age as his daughter, who barely wants to associate with him anymore

he learns breanna is queer and dives into researching. watching TED talks in his spare time. reading ebooks on his phone in between playing roles in a con (bringing a physical book is less convenient and he doesn’t want to wave around the fact that he’s researching like he’s trying to be performative about it). he reads about legislation and book bans and wonders about how they could work their magic through a con to fix those things. he reads about asexuality and recognizes the flag colors from the sticker on breanna’s laptop, which he files away for later

he learns a lot! he has been peripherally aware of queer stuff- it’s kind of hard not to be in the 2020s, but now he is much more informed on a lot of issues. he has memorized at least 50 different labels and terms and has an index of resources in his head (and on his phone) if anyone might need them. he wants to understand the people he loves and cares about, whether it’s breanna or one of his daughter’s friends, or anyone in his life that is queer and he doesn’t know it yet. he wants to be ready and prepared to support them!

he learns about sapphicness and bisexuality and intersex rights and the gender spectrum. he learns about karyotypes and stonewall and other queer history. he learns about kink (blushing, but still reads because it’s important!) and relationship diversity… which leads him to discover the term polyamory

he tries not to actively apply the terms he has learned on the people in his life because he knows it’s wrong to assume things about other people. BUT. harry spends a few days reflecting on parker, hardison and eliot’s interactions and wonders. he thinks about the long hugs and lack of personal space and near telepathic communication not just between parker and hardison, but parker and eliot AND hardison and eliot. how parker knows how to make eliot take care of himself, how he knows when she forgets to eat because she’s so hyperfixated on planning a con. how parker jumps on his back for fun and no matter what, he always catches her. hardison’s absence is felt when he’s gone, deeply by the both of them.

it could just be a deep friendship, he knows. they have been working and living together for over a decade, of course they would be close!!! maybe they could even be queerplatonic! (another new word he learned!)

but. still. he quietly observes, watches closely, and thinks.

[chimchiri]

(Sorry anon, the larger version got flagged! Hope this one goes through...)

I could not - for the love of Jod - find a good pose I liked that matched all your criteria simultaneously so it's kinda split! Had a looot of fun figuring out some bone accessories for Harrow.

So, here you go: Ianthe daydreaming about how she would be the absolute best in bed™. Kiriona is having none of it.

[rootspiral]

Agatha All Along deep dive: episode 8 part 9

(Wandavision entries: [1][2][3])

(AAA entries: ep1 [1][2][3][4] ep2 [1][2][3][4] ep3 [1][2][3] ep4 [1][2][3][4][5][6][7][+1] ep5 [1][2][3][4][5] ep6 [1][2][3] ep7 [1][2][3][4][5][6] ep8 [1][2][3][4][5][6][7][8][9] ep9 [1][2][3][4][5][6])

knowing how ridiculous rio is, I fear she's going to make 'mourning agatha' her whole personality from now on

billy looking all chill like, so this is who agatha was boinking cool cool cool cool cool

and rio, honey. *deep sigh* you made a whole fucking deal about billy being an abomination. you can't just let him live now because you pinky promised your wife. especially bcs you're not even going to collect her. you're just going to be extremely emo about this whole thing, aren't you? MY BELOVED IS GONE SO I AM A SKULL NOW, I HAVE NO HUMANITY LEFT. babe. mourning is the most human thing you could do right now, who are we kidding.

(did they cgi the skull this time? it looks great tbh, that's what cgi should be used for, to enhance little things when it's needed, not to take over the whole process.)

this joke has been made a million times, but:

the Wanda Walk of Shame™

and yes while it is funny that he just gets in his subaru and leaves, what was he supposed to do?? just leave his car in westview? what if his mom and dad need it? how was he supposed to know he'd learn how to fly during the night?

how are we doing, bud? you've had a weird fucking day, haven't you

my parents were so worried!!! jeff and rebecca kaplan please adopt me

I love to snoop around billy's room. lorna wu and the wizard of oz, but also tarots, moon phases, astrology, esotericism and pride stickers galore. and jennifer's body!

now it's time for billy to do the math meme. the wicked witch is even wearing a brooch, it's not that hard to figure out

poltergeist II, haxan, buffy, rocky horror. does anyone know what's the poster on the right behind the lava lamp is, with the woman and the red devil?

AND. LAST BUT NOT LEAST. THE TRANS LIVES MATTERS FLAG.

carrie, the craft, saw. sindie and the spectres, never heard of that one. the incantations. evanescence, tove lo.

good morning, sleeping beauty!

agatha harkness: asshole, menace, toddler. now in ghost form!

eight episodes down, one to go. I'm not ready.

go to episode 9 part 1

[thewisewill80sbyers]

Rating 5 moments in the show that make me believe in Byler because I'm bored lol

At number 5 is when during the "love" monologue, and in particular during the most important part of it, Will is framed directly behind Mike and not even blurred out - why are the writers sabotaging their own "main couple"? Why use Will's lie and input to even make this moment happen in the first place, why put the whole monologue in a moment when so much CHAOS and sorrow is happening to basically all the characters and one of our favourite characters who is also Eleven's best friend is literally DYING at the same time? it would have been more merciful and hurt them less as a couple to take them in a field blindfolded and shoot them in the head

At number 4 is the whole bedroom scene where they are sooooo sickly flirty and Mike admits that he now sees Will as separated by his other friends, that they have a relationship that is somehow different from what he feels for his other friends... This is a change that happened for him from season 1 where he said explicitly that he thought of them all as the same, now Will is othered and instead of being in that category he's put in the same one El is to the point he feels like he almost lost him and desperately wants their relationship to be restored to how good it felt when they were best friends

At number 3 a classic, the crazy together scene where they support each other and make the other feel loved and safe, and where the writers told us they will become a couple eventually and go "crazy together" 😉

At number 2 I want to put this scene in the finale of season 3 that has no reason to exist unless Mike has feelings for Will, it's a WEIRD focus on their relationship specifically because he's looking back at Will's house, while in the background we hear all about how Mike is afraid of things changing around him... Right after he looked at Will all smitten in the "not possible" scene.... If Mike has zero feelings for Will this shot is completely useless we already had a scene where we see him be sad when they leave - oh and right after this moment it's IMMEDIATELY connected to Will showing him crying in the car - Will is sad because he loves Mike, Mike was doing exactly the same thing Will is. They are feeling the same thing.

Andddd at number 1 I'm gonna put the reason I started to see the gayness happening in front of my eyes and I raised my 🏳️‍🌈 ??? mental flag!

The hug at the airport!? why would they write MIKE being the one that's weird with Will if Mike didn't have any feelings for Will? That's just extremely confusing for the audience, if their goal was to signal to people that only Will had feelings for Mike then WILL would have been the one acting weird with Mike, and Mike would have been worried about this and trying to understand what was going on with Will...

but NO!!!! we got MIKE doing the "awkward hug because I'm definitely not in love with you ah ah" in denial™ trope.

[dailyfigures]

Welcome to the Official DailyFigures Bootleg Spotting Guide™!!!!

here are the steps that i like to use! each step does have exceptions so just keep going down the list until you're 100% sure!

1. where are you buying the figure?

if you're buying from a trusted figure store there is no need to worry. sites like amiami, solaris, nin-nin game, good smile company, crunchyroll store, etc. do not sell bootlegs. if you're buying from ebay or similar sites, an individual seller, a local store, etc. you need to be a little more careful. 

2. does the figure have a bootleg?

not every figure has a bootleg made of it! check myfigurecollection to make sure.

example ;

rapunzel miku has a bootleg, better check well before buying! vampire miku doesn't have a bootleg (yet?), you're good to go!

3. is the figure ridiculously cheap?

if the figure is extremely cheap for no apparent reason, it's probably a bootleg.

example ; 

this is a bootleg. no one in their right mind would pay 150 bucks for a real figure and sell it for 8.

4. is the figure being sold from china?

almost all bootlegs (apart from people reselling their bootlegs) are produced and sold in china. obviously there are real collectors selling real figures living in china too so there are exceptions, but i'd be careful if you're inexperienced.

example ;

almost all the bootleg sellers on ebay are located in china.

5. how are the seller's reviews?

if it's an individual seller you can ask them for proof of past sales. if it's a reseller website like ebay you can check the reviews on their profile. some bootleg sellers use bots to give themselves overly positive reviews. be wary of accounts with a lot of sales and somehow 100% positive reviews!

example ;

this ebay seller sells bootlegs and has 100% positive reviews.

6. how do the pictures of the figure look?

there's 3 options ;

☆ the figure looks like an obvious bootleg in the picture (unsure how to tell? we'll get to that!) -> it's a bootleg.

☆ the seller only uses the official promotional pics and none of their own -> suspicious. there's no way to visually check the figure so this is very risky.

☆ the figure looks good in the pictures that the seller took -> either this is good news OR the seller stole these pictures from someone else and will send you a bootleg. a red flag is using pics with bad quality and multiple different backgrounds/lighting (they stole the pictures from multiple different people). make sure to reverse image search their pictures!

7. how do you recognise a bootleg just from looking at it?

let's say you're looking at an ad and maybe the lighting is a little vague so you're just not fully sure whether the figure looks right or not. here's what we do!

1. get a picture of a bootleg of the figure in question which you can find on myfigurecollection (figure page -> pictures -> bootlegs).

2. get a picture of the real figure, preferably a user picture since promotional pics can look a little better than the real product. (figure page -> pictures -> figures).

3. pick some details that are clearly different between the original and the bootleg.

4. get a picture from the ad you're unsure about. check the details you've just picked. does it match the bootleg or the real figure? there we go!

example ;

these are user pictures of a real miku figure and a bootleg where i circled the differences i picked. in this case; the way her hair flows, the direction the pink flowers grow in and the length of the stem of the yellow rose.

here are two pictures i found in two different ads of this figure. i circles the differences i picked; the first pic has long straighter hair, pink flowers growing to the left direction and a yellow rose with longer stem. this is real! the right pic has shorter curled up hair, pink flowers growing straight down and a yellow rose with a very short stem. this is a bootleg!

thank you for reading my guide!!! i am by no means an expert, these are just the steps i like to use myself and i am absolutely open to suggestions and questions! :)

[laswells-ashtray]

I have a request for you, whenever is fine but gods in curious of your thoughts and want to know your take on this.

One the boys smells, when I say boys y'know I mean 141, ale Rudy, Nik, and the old men I.e. Black ops men

The tip of piercing they'd have and if they would be barbell or hoop or something fancy

And their drunk tattoo

Yes I imagine Woods getting a horseshoe and when asked his bastard ass cackles and says, something along the lines up him fucking you harder then a horse smnsmn

Okay, I have thoughts™. This is gonna be a bit of a long one.

John Price smells like expensive aftershave, purchased by one pilot who smelled the aftershave John used previously and muttered something about it being used in various war crimes. Spicy with hints of leather. Everyone in the vicinity has considered huffing that motherfucker like he's a can of spray paint. Faint smell of smoke too but who hasn't enjoyed that. Barbell because I'm a big believer in ex-eyebrow piercing Price. Drunk tattoo is of a cigar because it seemed funny at the time.

Nikolai smells like oil, expensive shampoo and once again, a little smoke. His shampoo smells like fig and vanilla, the type where you smell it and you know it was overpriced but he enjoys it and it's his money. Nipple ring. Drunk tattoo is a pin-up doll only he gets it as a man who has oddly familiar facial hair.

Ghost, and I mean this in a nice way, smells like cheap men's deodorant and faintly scented moisturiser. It's that strong, cheap-smelling deodorant that if sprayed in any amount might choke you out but so long as you aren't ingesting it, it's nice. And moisturiser because a man who wears a mask all of the time has to be a man who protects his skin. Used to hand an industrial when he was an edgy teen, and ditched it years ago. Drunk tattoo is a flaming skull because it was supposed to be ironic and drunken him figured that everyone would be able to understand that. No one does, they think he just got it because he's like that.

Soap smells like hairspray, sweat and basic Lynx bodyspray. It's good quality hairspray, the kind that isn't unbearable to spray near your face. He's a warm guy, faint smell of sweat is to be expected and he doesn't care all that much because that does it for some people. Hoop, below the belt. I shall say no more. Drunken tattoo is a small Scotland flag by his ankle because he got drunk with a group of Englishman who told him that if he was so proud of being Scottish then he should get a fucking Scotland tattoo, drunken him thought it was a great idea.

Gaz smells like fruit body lotion, subtle sandalwood and cedar-type smells from his deodorant and a faint smell of mint because at times when he can't smoke, he likes chewing gum. He smells good, he smells "fall asleep with your head in the crook of his neck and wake up there because God, it's nice" good. Nose stud. Drunken tattoo is the words "your name" on his ass so that he can tell people he has their name tattooed on his ass.

Alejandro smells faintly of peaches, clean linen and spicy aftershave. Peaches? It's you, I don't have to elaborate. Clean linen because he lives with Rudy and Rudy has that "motherfucker, we're washing that" autism. Spicy aftershave because he likes smelling nice even when he's getting gunned down. Tounge piercing. Drunken tattoo is Rudy's name right under his left titty. He claims it's a bit for their friendship, years later when they start touching tips he finally admits he lied. Everyone knew.

Rudy smells like cherries, lavender fabric softener and expensive moisturiser. I shan't elaborate on the cherries. Fabric softener because his hoodie has been a part of him for years now and he treats it with the upmost care when he's wearing it and when he's washing it. Expensive moisturiser because he has good skin, he takes care of it and if he doesn't let Alejandro splurge on something for him then the other man will explode. Nipples but specific jewellery that's made to look like the crucifixion. Yes, it's real and no, I won't explain myself. I've said this one before, his drunken tattoo is a Batman symbol.

Mason smells strong minty mouthwash because I like to think he steals smokes from the people around him but when they're cheap, he doesn't like the lingering taste in his mouth. Mango lip balm. And Old Spice. Simple black earring in one side. His drunken tattoo is a sniper target on the back of his neck.

Woods smells like one of those 47-in-1 shampoo, body wash, car oil, paint stripper, lube-type things. I say with love. Smoke. And cheap cologne but the type you find that is actually phenomenal for something that's like four dollars. And whisky, get close enough and you can smell a faint whisky-type smell from his breath and he isn't ashamed. Gets a ring on his helix as a dare. You're right about his drunken tattoo.

Adler smells like smoke, the smell lingers to him but he doesn't care and anyone who knows him is used to it. Oscar De La Renta, Pour Lui, his ex-wife picked it for him and he liked it enough to stick with the scent. He also smells faintly of gunpowder. Nipple barbells, I don't need to explain why. He wakes up with a hangover and a fully detailed revolver on his left hip. He doesn't ask questions and it ends up healing nicely.