#how to filter emails

[idontmindifuforgetme]

btw if you guys have any substack recs drop them in my inbox! Mainly interested in classical piano + science (chemistry/biomedical) + lit substacks, but down for anything tbh I love think piece substacks too!

[andrandiriel]

gahhhh I applied for a job in july that I met literally every single listed qualification for and just checked and it's reposted, it's the same position in their system so i can't even apply again because god forbid you do anything on the internet without an account that keeps track of these things, and my application status is "inactive" whatever the hell that means.

I thought I was really careful about keywords! I am always really careful about keywords! I tried to write for both the HR person who knows nothing about the job and the hiring manager who does know about the job! I haaaate this because if I could just get my application seen by the human eyeballs of the person/people actually selecting applicants for interviews I think I'd be a shoo-in for an interview. faaaack!

[blaze-art]

Me: Oh boy! I can't wait to roleplay on this blog I have spent so much time setting up! All the thought and care that went into-

Tumblr: Bitch you thought! Get deleted motherfucker!

Me: WHAT?! Why?

Tumblr: Spam :)

Me: What about it said to you it was spam?! Ok ok, fine, I've sent a repeal, now give me my blog back.

Tumblr: ...

Me: Tumblr it's been two days where the fuck is my blog?

[espithewarlock]

Sorry, I have anxiety and can't relate 💅

¯\_(ツ)_/¯

ao3 writers staring at their inboxes 0.2 seconds after posting a new fic

[anotherdayforchaosfay]

Cybercriminals are abusing Google’s infrastructure, creating emails that appear to come from Google in order to persuade people into handing over their Google account credentials. This attack, first flagged by Nick Johnson, the lead developer of the Ethereum Name Service (ENS), a blockchain equivalent of the popular internet naming convention known as the Domain Name System (DNS). Nick received a very official looking security alert about a subpoena allegedly issued to Google by law enforcement to information contained in Nick’s Google account. A URL in the email pointed Nick to a sites.google.com page that looked like an exact copy of the official Google support portal.

As a computer savvy person, Nick spotted that the official site should have been hosted on accounts.google.com and not sites.google.com. The difference is that anyone with a Google account can create a website on sites.google.com. And that is exactly what the cybercriminals did. Attackers increasingly use Google Sites to host phishing pages because the domain appears trustworthy to most users and can bypass many security filters. One of those filters is DKIM (DomainKeys Identified Mail), an email authentication protocol that allows the sending server to attach a digital signature to an email. If the target clicked either “Upload additional documents” or “View case”, they were redirected to an exact copy of the Google sign-in page designed to steal their login credentials. Your Google credentials are coveted prey, because they give access to core Google services like Gmail, Google Drive, Google Photos, Google Calendar, Google Contacts, Google Maps, Google Play, and YouTube, but also any third-party apps and services you have chosen to log in with your Google account. The signs to recognize this scam are the pages hosted at sites.google.com which should have been support.google.com and accounts.google.com and the sender address in the email header. Although it was signed by accounts.google.com, it was emailed by another address. If a person had all these accounts compromised in one go, this could easily lead to identity theft.

How to avoid scams like this

Don’t follow links in unsolicited emails or on unexpected websites.

Carefully look at the email headers when you receive an unexpected mail.

Verify the legitimacy of such emails through another, independent method.

Don’t use your Google account (or Facebook for that matter) to log in at other sites and services. Instead create an account on the service itself.

Technical details Analyzing the URL used in the attack on Nick, (https://sites.google.com[/]u/17918456/d/1W4M_jFajsC8YKeRJn6tt_b1Ja9Puh6_v/edit) where /u/17918456/ is a user or account identifier and /d/1W4M_jFajsC8YKeRJn6tt_b1Ja9Puh6_v/ identifies the exact page, the /edit part stands out like a sore thumb. DKIM-signed messages keep the signature during replays as long as the body remains unchanged. So if a malicious actor gets access to a previously legitimate DKIM-signed email, they can resend that exact message at any time, and it will still pass authentication. So, what the cybercriminals did was: Set up a Gmail account starting with me@ so the visible email would look as if it was addressed to “me.” Register an OAuth app and set the app name to match the phishing link Grant the OAuth app access to their Google account which triggers a legitimate security warning from no-reply@accounts.google.com This alert has a valid DKIM signature, with the content of the phishing email embedded in the body as the app name. Forward the message untouched which keeps the DKIM signature valid. Creating the application containing the entire text of the phishing message for its name, and preparing the landing page and fake login site may seem a lot of work. But once the criminals have completed the initial work, the procedure is easy enough to repeat once a page gets reported, which is not easy on sites.google.com. Nick submitted a bug report to Google about this. Google originally closed the report as ‘Working as Intended,’ but later Google got back to him and said it had reconsidered the matter and it will fix the OAuth bug.

[transformativeworks]

"Deprecated Fandoms" Spam Bot Alert!

If you get a comment that says AO3 is "deleting works to conserve server space", that is a Spam Bot. There is no such thing as "deprecated fandom content", nor is there any limit on the number of works that can be posted to a fandom tag (regardless of how "popular" it is). AO3 has not changed its content policies. We are committed to upholding our founding principle of maximum inclusiveness of fanwork content, and will only remove content that violates the AO3 Terms of Service. While non-fanworks are not allowed on AO3, we consider both original works and real-person fiction to be fanworks. Please don't listen to anyone telling you otherwise.

Unlike the previous round of art spam, so far these comments have all been from guests, so our advice for handling them is different! We're working on filtering these comments out, and flagging them as spam is how you can help. Read more below the cut!

To help train our automated spam-checker to block similar guest comments in the future:

If the comment is on your own work: 

Note: The "Spam" button only appears when viewing a guest comment directly on your work. This is because the AO3 comment inbox is merely a copy of the work's comments – deleting a comment from your AO3 inbox does not delete the comment from the work itself.

Go directly to the comment on your work, either by clicking on the link in your email or in your AO3 inbox.

Click on the "Spam" button to mark the guest comment as spam and remove it from your work. 

That's it! You don't have to do anything else.

If you see comments like these on someone else's work: 

Feel free to let the creator know the comment is from a bot and that they should mark it as spam. 

You can also report the comments as botspam via the Policy Questions & Abuse Reports form linked at the bottom of every page on AO3. 

If you are reporting multiple guest comments, please submit only one report and include all comment links in your report description. (You can get the direct link to any comment by clicking the "Thread" button on the comment, and then copying the URL of that page.)

AO3's Policy & Abuse committee (PAC) does not pre-screen content on AO3; they only investigate if they receive a report. All reports are reviewed by PAC volunteers, who are real human beings. You don't need to worry that your or anyone else's fanworks will be taken down due to a baseless report or a mass-reporting campaign. 

If PAC were to determine that you had violated the TOS, you would receive a notification of the violation via the email address associated with your AO3 account—not via comments, social media, or any other method. 

[frenchifries]

"you need to regularly check your school email because that's where you will receive INCREDIBLY CRITICAL INFORMATION related to your education and missing even a single email could have LIFE-RUINING CONSEQUENCES"

school email: *is basically unusable because my inbox is constantly flooded with garbage like this*

[jcmarchi]

3 Questions: How to prove humanity online

New Post has been published on https://thedigitalinsider.com/3-questions-how-to-prove-humanity-online/

3 Questions: How to prove humanity online

As artificial intelligence agents become more advanced, it could become increasingly difficult to distinguish between AI-powered users and real humans on the internet. In a new white paper, researchers from MIT, OpenAI, Microsoft, and other tech companies and academic institutions propose the use of personhood credentials, a verification technique that enables someone to prove they are a real human online, while preserving their privacy.

MIT News spoke with two co-authors of the paper, Nouran Soliman, an electrical engineering and computer science graduate student, and Tobin South, a graduate student in the Media Lab, about the need for such credentials, the risks associated with them, and how they could be implemented in a safe and equitable way.

Q: Why do we need personhood credentials?

Tobin South: AI capabilities are rapidly improving. While a lot of the public discourse has been about how chatbots keep getting better, sophisticated AI enables far more capabilities than just a better ChatGPT, like the ability of AI to interact online autonomously. AI could have the ability to create accounts, post content, generate fake content, pretend to be human online, or algorithmically amplify content at a massive scale. This unlocks a lot of risks. You can think of this as a “digital imposter” problem, where it is getting harder to distinguish between sophisticated AI and humans. Personhood credentials are one potential solution to that problem.

Nouran Soliman: Such advanced AI capabilities could help bad actors run large-scale attacks or spread misinformation. The internet could be filled with AIs that are resharing content from real humans to run disinformation campaigns. It is going to become harder to navigate the internet, and social media specifically. You could imagine using personhood credentials to filter out certain content and moderate content on your social media feed or determine the trust level of information you receive online.

Q: What is a personhood credential, and how can you ensure such a credential is secure?

South: Personhood credentials allow you to prove you are human without revealing anything else about your identity. These credentials let you take information from an entity like the government, who can guarantee you are human, and then through privacy technology, allow you to prove that fact without sharing any sensitive information about your identity. To get a personhood credential, you are going to have to show up in person or have a relationship with the government, like a tax ID number. There is an offline component. You are going to have to do something that only humans can do. AIs can’t turn up at the DMV, for instance. And even the most sophisticated AIs can’t fake or break cryptography. So, we combine two ideas — the security that we have through cryptography and the fact that humans still have some capabilities that AIs don’t have — to make really robust guarantees that you are human.

Soliman: But personhood credentials can be optional. Service providers can let people choose whether they want to use one or not. Right now, if people only want to interact with real, verified people online, there is no reasonable way to do it. And beyond just creating content and talking to people, at some point AI agents are also going to take actions on behalf of people. If I am going to buy something online, or negotiate a deal, then maybe in that case I want to be certain I am interacting with entities that have personhood credentials to ensure they are trustworthy.

South: Personhood credentials build on top of an infrastructure and a set of security technologies we’ve had for decades, such as the use of identifiers like an email account to sign into online services, and they can complement those existing methods.

Q: What are some of the risks associated with personhood credentials, and how could you reduce those risks?

Soliman: One risk comes from how personhood credentials could be implemented. There is a concern about concentration of power. Let’s say one specific entity is the only issuer, or the system is designed in such a way that all the power is given to one entity. This could raise a lot of concerns for a part of the population — maybe they don’t trust that entity and don’t feel it is safe to engage with them. We need to implement personhood credentials in such a way that people trust the issuers and ensure that people’s identities remain completely isolated from their personhood credentials to preserve privacy.

South: If the only way to get a personhood credential is to physically go somewhere to prove you are human, then that could be scary if you are in a sociopolitical environment where it is difficult or dangerous to go to that physical location. That could prevent some people from having the ability to share their messages online in an unfettered way, possibly stifling free expression. That’s why it is important to have a variety of issuers of personhood credentials, and an open protocol to make sure that freedom of expression is maintained.

Soliman: Our paper is trying to encourage governments, policymakers, leaders, and researchers to invest more resources in personhood credentials. We are suggesting that researchers study different implementation directions and explore the broader impacts personhood credentials could have on the community. We need to make sure we create the right policies and rules about how personhood credentials should be implemented.

South: AI is moving very fast, certainly much faster than the speed at which governments adapt. It is time for governments and big companies to start thinking about how they can adapt their digital systems to be ready to prove that someone is human, but in a way that is privacy-preserving and safe, so we can be ready when we reach a future where AI has these advanced capabilities. 

[ren-shonen]

I personally also use the Gmail filtering function outlined above to automatically apply a custom label to AO3 emails and skip the inbox. This will basically file all of the notifications in a separate "folder" so your main inbox stays clear, but unread emails in that label will still show up in the sidebar:

...and then they'll wait for you there until you are able to check them!

I keep the emails marked unread until I read the fic update (or decide I'm not going to based on tags/summary). That "is unread" filter button in the upper right comes in handy when I find myself with time/energy for fic reading. :)

Other notes:

If you want to combine the two ideas (file all AO3 emails separately, filter by fandom), you can create sub-labels within the larger AO3 label and create filters with search terms that will sort them as you like.

For temporary filtering, you can also use search to drill down! As an example: New fic/chapter emails always contain the word "fandom," while kudos and comment notifications do not, so I sometimes use the search term [ label:ao3 is:unread fandom -boku ]. This searches my custom AO3 label for unread new fic/chapters from non-BNHA media, letting me sort through them quickly and decide if I want to read them or just mark them off.

AO3 Subscriptions

So, if you didn't know, ao3 has lots of subscription options. As long as you have an account and your email address is up to date, you can get various levels of notifications. You need to be a logged in user in order to subscribe.

Please note: don't use a school email address because when you leave that school, that address dies and you might lose access to your account. Yahoo and AOL emails also don't seem to work well these days, so I'd suggest a different free option than those ones.

Now to continue about subscriptions. You can subscribe in 3 different ways, depending on what notifications you want to receive.

1. Subscribe to a fic. Go to the fic and hit the subscribe button at the top of the page. You will now receive an email each time a new chapter is posted.

2. Subscribe to a series. Go to the series page by clicking on the name of the series at the top of the fic (it's a link, just like the fic title is). At the top of the series page, hit the button to subscribe. This will notify you by email any time a new work is added to a series. You will also get emails about new chapters to any stories in that series.

3. Subscribe to an author. Click on the author's name to go to their profile page and click the subscribe button at the top. Now you will receive an email notification every time that author posts a new work or adds a chapter to an existing work.

These emails will all contain links to take you directly to the story/chapter.

Happy reading!

[vampire-bitch]

It's crazy how impossible it is to build a portfolio using a website built for such a task

[omohole]

had to make two (2) phone calls today and i am now eeady to dissolve into a puddle of Goop and never return auwhwhahhhahhgh - V

[bobthedragon]

Hey webcomic makers and enjoyers!!

My very cool partner has been working on a site called webcomicweb to try to help collect comics and help people find them, spurred on by randomwebcomic's domain expiring

more info under the cut, but it is a voluntary webcomics directory and we'd love to have you check it out to add comics or read comics if you are interested!

----

We're both millennials who grew up with the birth of the webcomic format, spawned from passionate strangers making things out of the human need to make art and stories and connect. When you stumbled from comic to comic through webrings and link pages before the internet got so small and so centralized and before comics became a business model for middlemen who have never cared about them.

webcomicweb can't promise any of the things a big, corporate product can promise because it's run by one person and hosted on neocities as a passion project with a $5 domain. we're not planning on making this a business and we don't know how long it'll last! but at least! we give a shit! my partner's going to keep paying for this and keep updating this directory for at least as long as our own comic is running (estimating 8 years at least at this rate lmao) so if this sounds appealing to you: bookmark the site, send us your links, tell your friends, whatever!

some features I wanna highlight bc I like them:

default randomized comic order - Zani specifically did not want to have the list end up with a bias based on time or alphabet. every time you refresh it re-shuffles so everyone gets seen!

filterable ratings from Everyone to Explicit

comics can ONLY be submitted by comic owners, so if you don't want to be listed you will not ever be dragged in by mass link scrapers or w/e!!

no monetization - this is literally JUST a directory for serving and displaying links to comics. because we like comics. because we want more people to read cool things and we want to read more cool things.

There's categories for paused, scrapped, and finished comics as well as ongoing! it's hard to get people to look at old things you've made in this feed-based world!!! but there's still so many people who wanna see it!!

anyway yeah that's my pitch!!! neither me nor zani benefits from this in any way other than the fact that we get to read and share comics! that is literally the whole goal! They've also been sending out emails asking people if they want in, but anyway they are so cool and handsome check out their site

[alienssstufff]

This Should've Been an Email

His mouth moved without it telling it to, then closed like whoever was possessing him didn’t know what to say either. There was something going on, something Etho could feel but didn’t understand. They were standing on the edge of the world, and Etho didn’t know how to tell Bdubs he was out of time. Was he out of time? Maybe he was just going insane again. Maybe-

“Etho, there’s a lot of void energy going on right now, can you focus-”

You can’t outsmart a god. You can only run.

-

[ READ HERE ] Latest addition to the Should've Could've Would've series and sequel to the YCAOverse byyyy incredible great @goingdownorup cinemaaaa is HERE and we are BACK IN THE BUILDING!!!

[rambling undercut]

you've fallen for my trap card, ramblings not about the actual fic yet sorry - I'm going to talk about art technicalities at you now :]

Ver without the text:

I drew this up on a whim immediately after finishing the first chapter. Other than it being fanart, this year I want to think smarter when making elaborate pieces - this being the one of the first experiments on it.

sketches have always been my starting foundation I usually go through a few iterations gradually building off the rough thumbnail all the way to lineart. Here I'm establishing perspective and rhythm (movement), using background and props to better frame the emphasis (focal) rather than overwhelm the eye with unnecessary detail.

Shirahama's Witch Hat Atelier manga panels were an inspiration for the lineart (reoccuring character. WHA changed my life)

I even started actually putting base colours instead of skipping to shading... BASE COLOURS. BASE COLOURS WITHOUT SHADING? Crazy world we live in. Above were me testing which colours worked best for the background and purpose. Ethubs look a little out of place atm - this changes in solid filters

Shading itself was a lot of back and forth in constant fumbles to maintain the rhythm instructed in the lineart, adding emphasis how values needed to carry the visual communication of this piece especially with a line heavy background because of the wheatfields. Everything uses either cel shading, filters, or gradients - I wanted to find a way to add complexity to my regular rendering style without needing to manually blend/paint (takes too long)

During this stage, Heikala's watercolour art was the study in crowd control (backgrounds with organic repetition)

Smaller misc details that couldn't fit anywhere in the previous pages. Overall while there are some things I still would change/redo, overall very pleased as a first (second) attempt ^_^

[varamacreations]

How to customize any report in MassMailer?

🌟MassMailer let you send mass emails or single email natively from within Salesforce. You can send emails to any standard or custom object. You can view the statistics like opens, clicks, bounces, and opt-outs, etc. You can send email alerts or drip campaigns via the process builder. You can send emails from Salesforce List Views, Salesforce Campaign, or from the advanced MassMailer List Views. You can create templates using the drag-and-drop editor.

[foxtrology]

fallin' (3)

harry castillo x reader

series

word count: 7.1k

warnings: no y/n, 28 year age gap, female reader, fluff, smut.

Harry woke up before her.

Of course he did.

He always woke up early. Even on the rare nights he didn’t drink too much, even on days off. But this morning—it was different.

This time, he didn’t wake up to check the markets or answer a string of emails from London.

This time, he woke up to her.

And for once in his goddamn life, he didn’t want to move.

The sun hadn’t fully risen yet. Pale gold light filtered through the huge windows, casting the entire penthouse in a soft, honey colored haze. The city outside was quiet, unusually so. A stillness blanketed everything, like even Manhattan understood something sacred was happening here.

She was asleep beside him.

Naked.

And stunning.

One leg tangled with his. The edge of the comforter barely covering the curve of her hip. Her cheek pressed against his bicep, hair fanned across his chest like silk threads spun by a dream. She was breathing slowly, evenly—completely lost to the world.

Harry didn’t move.

Didn’t dare.

He just stared.

Her lips were parted slightly, lashes fluttering against her cheek. He could still see the faint marks he’d left on her neck, her chest, the insides of her thighs. Gentle. Worshipful. Proof that he had memorized her the night before with lips, tongue, hands. Proof that he hadn’t been able to stop touching her even after she fell asleep.

She looked…at peace.

Like she belonged here. Like this was her bed too.

Harry’s throat tightened.

Last night had been slow and quiet and aching. All softness and tension and the kind of closeness that scared him more than boardroom deals or billion dollar collapses ever could.

And now—this morning—it was just as terrifying.

Because he didn’t want her to leave.

He shifted slightly, just enough to press a kiss to her forehead. Then to her cheek. Then to her shoulder. Her skin was warm and smooth beneath his lips, and he lingered there, breathing her in.

She stirred.

A small, sleepy hum escaped her throat as she pressed in closer, her hand sliding across his bare chest, curling there like it belonged.

He froze.

Then, cautiously, let himself exhale.

He didn’t know how to do this.

He didn’t know how to wake up next to someone and not immediately put his walls back up.

But with her—it felt different.

He tilted his head and kissed the tip of her nose.

She wrinkled it and groaned. “Harry.”

His lips twitched. “Good morning.”

Her eyes stayed shut. “Why are you awake?”

“Because I wanted to look at you.”

A beat.

Her brows furrowed. “Creep.”

He smirked, kissing the corner of her mouth. “Romantic creep.”

She groaned again, burying her face in his chest. “It’s too early.”

“It’s not. The sun is literally up.”

“Barely,” she muttered. “Go back to sleep.”

But Harry didn’t want to go back to sleep.

He wanted to stay awake and memorize every inch of her like he hadn’t already done that last night.

He kissed her shoulder again.

Then lower.

To her collarbone.

Then down the slope of her chest, right to the curve of her breast.

She squirmed slightly, breath catching. “Harry…”

He didn’t say anything.

Just kept kissing her.

Soft. Lazy. Reverent.

Her skin glowed in the morning light, warm and flushed as he licked a slow stripe across the peak of her breast before taking it gently into his mouth. Just for a second. Just to feel her react. Her fingers threaded into his hair, not pulling—just there.

“You’re trying to distract me,” she mumbled.

He hummed against her skin. “Is it working?”

“Maybe.”

He shifted again, moving across her chest with light, open mouthed kisses, stopping to trace a few lingering marks from the night before with the flat of his tongue.

She shivered.

“It’s cold,” she whispered.

Harry pulled back slightly. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“I was busy being kissed awake, creep.”

He smirked, brushing her hair off her forehead. “You want to go back to sleep?”

She shook her head.

“You hungry?”

“Too comfortable to move.”

He nodded, more to himself than to her, then suddenly slipped out from beneath the comforter.

She frowned, half sitting up. “Where are you going?”

“I have to make some calls,” he said, already walking—naked—across the room like it was the most natural thing in the world. “And turn on the heater before you freeze to death.”

She watched him press a button on the wall panel, heard the low hum of the heat system kicking in. Then, still completely naked, he crossed the room, opened a drawer, and returned with a pair of thick socks.

Her brow lifted. “Seriously?”

Harry knelt on the edge of the bed, lifting one of her feet into his lap with gentle fingers. “Your toes are cold.”

“I’m fine.”

He looked at her. “You’re not.”

She huffed, letting him pull a sock onto her foot. Then the other.

“I feel like I’m being dressed by a butler.”

“I’m naked,” he reminded her. “So, no.”

She laughed quietly as he kissed her ankle through the sock. “You’re an idiot.”

“Maybe,” he said, already reaching for a folded pair of sweats and a soft shirt from the drawer. “Arms up.”

She blinked.

“You’re dressing me?”

“Until you get warm, yes.”

“God, you’re annoying.”

He grinned.

She lifted her arms anyway.

He tugged the shirt over her head, smoothing it down her sides, then helped her sit up and step into the sweatpants, pulling the waistband gently low on her hips before kissing her bare stomach once—soft and slow.

Then again.

And again.

“Harry,” she murmured, breath shaky now.

He met her eyes. “You’re calling out of work today.”

Fuck it was a Friday. Which meant rush hours.

“No, I’m not.”

“Yes, you are.”

“I can’t afford to—”

“You need rest,” he said, pressing a kiss to the center of her chest, right between her breasts. “And you’re staying here.”

“I—Harry—”

He looked up at her, mouth still brushing her skin. “Call.”

She shook her head. “No.”

“Call.”

He kissed the slope of her breast.

“No.”

He kissed her hip.

“Harry—”

He kissed her collarbone.

“I hate you.”

He grinned. “You don’t.”

She groaned, grabbing her phone from the nightstand.

He watched her type the number in, still half laughing as she pressed the phone to her ear.

“Yes, hi—it’s me. I’m… sick,” she said flatly, shooting him a murderous look. “Yes, I can’t come in today. Sorry. Yes. Thanks. Bye.”

She hung up and threw the phone onto the comforter. “Happy?”

Harry nodded. “Ecstatic.”

She flopped back against the pillows, hair spilling everywhere. “You’re ridiculous.”

He climbed into bed beside her, pulling the comforter over both of them, kissing her shoulder again.

“You love it.”

She muttered something unintelligible.

And then she curled back into his chest.

Warm now.

Safe.

Content.

Harry waited until she was dozing again before grabbing his own phone off the nightstand.

James was first.

He texted simply:

Day off. Don’t come by. Will call later.

Then, reluctantly, he opened the other thread.

Danny.

Which already had eight unread messages.

Danny: You alive?

Danny: Blink twice if she’s still there.

Danny: Did she spend the night? Did you confess your feelings? Did you cry?

Danny: I bet you cried.

Danny: You definitely cried.

Danny: Why aren’t you answering?

Danny: Are you dead?

Danny: If you’re dead I’m stealing your office.

Harry rolled his eyes.

Harry: Rearrange all my meetings. I’m not coming in today.

Danny: ARE YOU SERIOUS.

Harry: Very.

Danny: You spent the night with her didn’t you.

Danny: YOU DID.

Danny: DID YOU CRY.

Harry: Stop texting me.

Danny: That’s not a no.

Harry turned his phone off and dropped it to the floor beside the bed.

Then he turned back to her.

Still asleep.

Still tangled up in his clothes.

Still curled into him like she’d never done anything else.

He pulled her closer, kissed her temple.

Then let himself drift.

Into something softer.

Something warmer.

Something terrifyingly close to peace.

That’s where Harry had been when he finally drifted into the kind of sleep he didn’t get often. Deep. Dreamless. Unbothered. The kind of sleep you only find when your body knows, on some primal level, that it’s safe. Held.

But she woke first.

It was nearly dark outside—somewhere between late afternoon and early evening. The kind of Manhattan glow that washed the skyline in a dusky lavender and gold. The penthouse had taken on a stillness that felt sacred, like the city had slowed for them. For this.

She laid beside him.

Still warm, still curled up in his t-shirt, one sock covered foot brushing against his shin beneath the sheets.

Harry Castillo—this intimidating, brooding man who carried the weight of billion dollar deals and decades of grief in his shoulders—was fast asleep, mouth slightly parted, one hand curled around the edge of the blanket like he was holding on to something soft. Or someone.

She stared at him.

Took her time.

Traced every crease and wrinkle of his face with her eyes, memorizing the lines at the corners of his eyes, the faint furrow in his brow that remained even in rest. His jaw she itched to touch. His hair was rumpled. He looked younger like this, somehow—but also softer. Human. Undone.

She reached out and gently touched one of the small age spots on his shoulder. Then kissed it.

Then another.

Her lips skimmed the surface of his chest, lazy and reverent.

A breath caught in his throat.

He stirred.

His eyes opened slowly—warm, brown, still hazy with sleep—and landed on her.

“You’re staring,” he rasped, voice low and gravelly, like he hadn’t spoken in hours.

She smiled. “You snore.”

His brow lifted slightly. “I do not.”

“You do.”

Harry exhaled, a small smirk tugging at his lips. “You’re not supposed to be awake yet.”

“I didn’t want to waste the light.”

He blinked at her, amused. “It’s dinner time.”

“Still light.”

He looked at her for a long moment, then reached up and tucked a piece of her hair behind her ear. His fingers lingered.

“You're wearing my socks,” he murmured.

She grinned. “You put them on me.”

“I was being a gentleman.”

“You were being a pain in the ass.”

Harry huffed a small laugh and leaned forward to kiss her. Slow. Soft. Lips brushing hers like he was still deciding whether this was a dream.

She let him.

Let him deepen the kiss until it turned languid, heat curling between them like it never left. His hand moved down to her waist, tugging her closer, bare legs tangling together under the covers.

They could’ve stayed like that all night.

But then—

“I want a bath,” she whispered against his mouth.

Harry leaned back slightly, one brow raised. “You could’ve just said that instead of seducing me.”

She rolled her eyes. “Seduction implies you resisted.”

He smirked, then sat up, stretching his arms above his head, back cracking slightly with the movement. “Fine. Come on.”

They padded through the penthouse quietly. The floor cold against their bare feet, the room lit only by the fading city light.

The bathroom, when Harry turned on the lights, glowed warm and soft. Marble countertops, gold fixtures, and the enormous tub that looked like it had never been used for anything but aesthetic.

She sat on the edge while Harry filled it, testing the water with his hand. When steam began to rise, he turned and reached for her, peeling off his shirt from her frame and tugging the sweats down her hips slowly.

His eyes never left hers.

“Get in,” he murmured.

She did.

The heat enveloped her instantly—muscles melting, breath catching.

Harry stepped in behind her, water sloshing gently as he settled down and pulled her back into his chest. She fit perfectly against him, back to his front, his arms wrapping around her waist beneath the surface.

They sat like that for a long moment.

The water kissed her skin. His breath kissed her neck.

And then—

His hand moved.

Slowly.

Deliberately.

Sliding along her thigh beneath the water, fingers gliding between them until he found her heat.

She gasped softly.

“Relax,” he whispered, lips brushing the shell of her ear.

“I am.”

“You will.”

His fingers pressed, slow and teasing, circling her clit beneath the water while his other hand smoothed across her stomach, grounding her against him.

She tilted her head back against his shoulder, lips parting as her breath grew heavier. The sound of the water, the flicker of candlelight he must’ve lit when she wasn’t paying attention, the quiet intimacy of it—it was all too much and not enough.

Harry kissed her neck as his fingers worked her slowly, lovingly.

“You’re so fucking soft,” he murmured, pressing his thumb tighter.

She whimpered.

“Let me take care of you.”

She nodded, too breathless to speak.

His fingers dipped inside her, two thick digits curling expertly, sliding in and out with slow, delicious rhythm. She clutched his arm, hips twitching slightly as he moved faster, thumb circling in tandem.

It was overwhelming.

The water. His breath. His hands.

The way he held her like something precious, even while he was making her fall apart.

“You’re beautiful when you let go,” he whispered, his voice wrecked and reverent. “You’re mine when you fall apart.”

That did it.

She shattered in his arms, body going tight, then loose, heat rushing up her spine as she moaned, head falling back against his chest.

He held her through it.

Whispered praise against her skin.

Didn’t stop touching her until she squirmed from the overstimulation.

Even then—he kept his hands on her.

Gently stroking her thighs.

His lips pressing kisses to her temple.

“You okay?” he asked quietly.

She nodded.

He turned her gently in the tub, facing him now, her legs wrapped around his waist. The water sloshed but neither of them cared.

She traced his chest, fingers gliding over the soft curve of his stomach, the line of dark hair leading beneath the surface.

Then—her fingers wrapped around him.

Harry’s breath caught.

He was hard.

Thick. Heavy in her hand.

She stroked him slowly, teasingly.

His eyes fluttered shut for a moment, jaw clenching.

“You’re going to kill me,” he muttered.

She leaned in, kissing the hollow of his throat. “Let me.”

And then—she sank down onto him.

The water made it slow, slick, endless.

She gasped.

So did he.

Her hands clutched his shoulders, his hands grasping her waist as she moved—rising and falling, the water rippling around them.

Every thrust was deep. Intimate.

His eyes never left hers.

“You feel…” he groaned, “Christ, you feel perfect.”

She moaned, hands sliding into his hair, pulling him in for a kiss that was all teeth and tongue and desperate need.

They rocked together in the water, soft splashes echoing off marble, steam rising around them like a fog. The room felt suspended in time. The entire city didn’t exist outside these walls.

Only this.

Only him.

Only her.

Their age didn’t matter.

The years between them, the decades of difference—they melted away with each thrust, each groan, each whispered name and bitten lip.

But still—it came up.

“You like fucking older men?” Harry growled against her throat, one hand gripping her ass to help her ride him harder.

She moaned. “I like fucking you.”

He grinned darkly. “I’m fifty four.”

She rocked harder. “I’m twenty six.”

He thrust up into her, making her gasp.

“Still want me?” he asked.

She kissed him fiercely. “More than anyone.”

That undid him.

He gripped her hips tight, buried his face in her neck, and fucked her through it—slow, hard thrusts that built and built until the pressure was unbearable.

“Harry—” she cried out, nails digging into his back.

“Let go for me again,” he begged, voice wrecked.

And she did.

She came around him, pulsing and shaking, body spasming in his arms.

He followed seconds later, groaning her name into her mouth, warmth flooding her in thick waves as he held her, trembling slightly from the force of it.

They clung to each other in the water, breathless, wrecked.

And when the tremors faded, when the air settled around them again, Harry pressed a kiss to her forehead and whispered, “Come here.”

She curled against him.

They stayed in the bath until the water went lukewarm.

Until the outside world started knocking again.

But neither of them answered.

Because in that moment—there was nowhere else to be.

And for the first time in his entire adult life, Harry Castillo didn’t feel alone.

He didn’t say it aloud.

Didn’t have to.

It lived in his breath as it slowed. In the way he still held her, even after their bodies had stilled, his arms curled tight around her waist beneath the water, as if afraid she might dissolve.

They stayed like that in the cooling bath. The only sound was the occasional slosh of water against marble, the soft shift of her limbs tangled with his.

Harry finally exhaled against her damp shoulder.

His nose brushed along the curve of her neck. “We should get out before we start to prune.”

She hummed sleepily, arms still looped around his neck. “Maybe I like being pruny.”

He chuckled. A soft, breath warmed sound she didn’t know she’d been craving until she heard it.

“I’m serious,” he murmured. “If we stay in here any longer, you’re going to turn into a raisin.”

She tilted her head back, smirking. “And what if I do?”

“Then I’ll have to keep you in a jewelry box.” He kissed her collarbone. “With the other precious things.”

She rolled her eyes, but her smile betrayed her. She grinned.

Harry shifted slightly beneath her, lifting her by the waist with a strength that felt effortless. His hands cradled her as he slowly slid out of her. The sensation made her hiss quietly—she was sensitive now, raw and swollen, and the loss of him felt like a small ache.

Harry noticed.

His gaze flicked up, warm and apologetic. “Sorry.”

She shook her head. “Not sorry. Just…tender.”

That made something flicker in his chest.

He nodded once, kissed her shoulder again, and then gently guided her forward so she sat between his legs, her back to his chest.

She expected him to move. To get out and offer her a towel. Maybe hand her something to dry off with.

But he didn’t.

Instead—

He reached for a bottle of shampoo on the edge of the tub. His shampoo.

Something expensive, of course—subtle and masculine, faint notes of bergamot and amber.

He poured a dollop into his palm and began working it into her hair without a word.

His fingers were gentle.

He took his time, massaging her scalp like she was made of glass. She sighed, leaning into it.

“You ever done this before?” she asked quietly.

“Done what?”

“Washed someone else’s hair.”

Harry paused, thoughtful. “Not since I was a kid. My little sister. Before she left for college.”

Her eyes fluttered open. “You have a sister?”

“I did.” He hesitated. “We don’t talk much anymore.”

She didn’t push.

Just reached for his hand and laced their fingers together briefly before letting go.

He kissed the side of her head, and then rinsed the soap from her hair, his hand cupping the water. He shielded her eyes with his empty hand as he brings the water over her scalp, careful, focused.

Then came the soap.

Body wash from a matte black bottle.

He lathered it between his hands and touched her with more reverence than she’d ever been touched with before. Like every inch of her deserved its own moment of devotion.

His palms smoothed over her shoulders.

Her arms.

Her chest—lingering there for a moment longer, fingers gliding over her breasts with a kind of worship that had her biting her lip.

Then down to her ribs, her hips.

He turned her slightly to face him, hand bracing her back, and ran the soap down her thighs.

“You’re spoiling me,” she whispered.

Harry gave her a look that was almost a smile. “I plan on making it a habit.”

By the time he rinsed the last of the suds from her skin, the water had gone warm again, but they both knew it was time to get out.

He stood first.

Taller than she expected, broader when wet—his hair curling, water running down the planes of his chest, dripping from the soft patch of hair beneath his navel.

She stared.

He noticed.

But didn’t say anything.

He just grabbed a towel and wrapped her in it the moment she stepped out, like she was something to protect. Something to keep warm. He dried her slowly, carefully patting her down, not rubbing. Like touching her too roughly would wake him from a dream.

He even knelt to dry her legs.

Pressed a kiss to her shin when he reached it.

And then—

He dried her hair.

Used a second towel for it.

Ran his fingers through the tangled strands, gentle and quiet, humming low in his throat as he worked through a knot.

Once she was dry, he dressed her again.

A new shirt from his drawer. Soft cotton, worn in, probably older than her.

Then another pair of his sweats, these ones even looser than the last, tied with a ribboned knot at the front.

She laughed when he stepped into his own pair of briefs, then a fresh pair of joggers and a long sleeved shirt that still looked vaguely custom made.

“You look like a dad,” she teased.

He smirked. “You’re lucky I didn’t wear the robe.”

“You mean my robe.”

“Touché.”

He didn’t stop there.

He brushed her hair.

Actually brushed it.

Sat her down on the edge of the bed and carefully, slowly, began detangling the strands with his wide toothed comb before switching to a brush. Then—almost shyly—he began braiding.

It wasn’t perfect.

A little messy.

But it was so absurdly, painfully tender she nearly cried.

“I’m not used to this,” she admitted quietly.

Harry paused behind her. “Used to what?”

“Being… looked after.”

His hands stilled.

Then resumed the braid.

“You deserve it,” he said softly. “Whether you’re used to it or not.”

She swallowed the lump in her throat.

He tied off the end of the braid with a twist tie and kissed the back of her head.

They climbed into bed again, the sheets warm from earlier.

Harry pressed a button on the wall.

With a low mechanical hum, a flat screen TV descended slowly from the ceiling, positioning itself at the perfect angle for lazy watching in bed.

Her eyes widened. “Okay, that’s ridiculous.”

Harry shrugged. “It’s convenient.”

She snorted. “It’s dystopian.”

He handed her the remote. “Pick something.”

“You’re not gonna pick?”

“I don’t watch much TV.”

She narrowed her eyes. “You’re one of those people.”

He smirked. “I prefer books.”

“But not art,” she teased, climbing under the comforter beside him.

“Let it go.”

She didn’t.

Instead, she spent the next twenty minutes scrolling through every streaming service he had—which was all of them—looking at show after show, movie after movie, never landing on one.

Harry just watched her.

Watched the way her eyes lit up when she saw a trailer for a horror movie, or the way her nose scrunched when a rom-com looked too cheesy.

Watched the way she pulled the blanket higher up her body, cold toes pressing into his calves like she’d been doing it for years.

Eventually—

Her stomach growled.

Audibly.

Harry lifted a brow.

“I heard that.”

She groaned. “Shut up.”

“No. Let’s feed the creature.”

She laughed, sitting up as he grabbed his laptop from the bedside table.

“Okay,” he said, booting it up. “Tell me what you’re craving.”

“Something warm. Cheesy. But not pizza.”

“Pasta?”

“...Don’t say it like that.”

“You want pasta,” he grinned.

“No, I—”

He turned the screen toward her, scrolling through a restaurant’s online menu. Sleek. Minimalist.

Then they saw it.

A photo of handmade tagliatelle with truffle cream sauce, cracked pepper, and parmesan.

Her stomach growled again.

Harry didn’t even blink.

He clicked Add to cart.

“Wait—what if I wanted something else?”

He scrolled down. “You hesitated.”

She scowled. “You’re annoying.”

“You’re hungry.”

He added garlic bread, a side of grilled broccolini, and a second pasta—this one with short rib ragu.

Then glanced up at her.

“What?”

He smirked. “I like seeing you full.”

“Jesus.”

“What? You ate nothing last night after a ten-hour shift.”

She didn’t argue.

Just watched him complete the order and close the laptop.

Then she leaned into him, curling up beneath his arm, cheek pressed to his chest.

And for a long, perfect moment, neither of them spoke.

The TV glowed.

The heater hummed.

And Harry held her like he was holding onto something he hadn’t even known he needed.

Not until now.

Not until her.

That thought—quiet but thunderous—was still echoing through Harry’s chest when his phone vibrated sharply on the nightstand.

He groaned, shifting slightly so as not to wake her completely. Her cheek was still pressed to his chest, lips parted, breath steady. Her braid had unraveled slightly, a few strands curled against her temple.

Harry wanted to ignore the phone.

Wanted to stay in bed with her, wanted this ridiculous little bubble they’d built between the sheets to last just a little longer.

But the vibration didn’t stop.

Persistent.

Insistent.

He sighed, grabbed the phone, and answered in a low voice.

“Yeah.”

The voice on the other end belonged to Greg, the front desk concierge. Greg never called unless it was serious.

“Mr. Castillo, I’m really sorry to bother you, sir, but…there’s a bit of confusion in the lobby.”

Harry pinched the bridge of his nose. “What kind of confusion?”

“Well, a delivery driver is here with food—says it’s for you—but security wouldn’t let him up. You, um…don’t usually order things yourself.”

Harry blinked. “What?”

“Sir, you’ve never ordered food before. We weren’t sure if it was a prank or some kind of breach of privacy, especially with everything that happened with Ms. Lucy—”

He closed his eyes, jaw tensing. “Greg.”

“Yes, sir?”

“I ordered the food.”

“Oh.”

There was a pause on the line.

Then—

“You…did?”

Harry’s fingers tightened around the phone. “Yes.”

Another pause. “Should I allow it up then?”

Harry exhaled, glancing down at her—still curled up against him, starting to stir now. Her lashes fluttered, brows twitching at the edge of sleep.

“No,” he said, slipping out from beneath her slowly. “Tell him I’ll be down.”

“You’re coming downstairs?”

“Yes. I’m coming downstairs.”

“Sir, are you—feeling well?”

Harry rolled his eyes. “Goodbye, Greg.”

He ended the call and reached for a hoodie, pulling it over his head. Then he turned to the bed where she was blinking up at him, sleep laced and adorably confused.

“What’s happening?”

Harry leaned down and kissed her nose. “Apparently I shocked the entire building by ordering pasta.”

She frowned. “What?”

“They think it’s a trap.”

She blinked. “Is it?”

He grinned. “Only if they’re trying to poison us with truffle cream.”

She snorted, sitting up and stretching her arms above her head. “You’re going downstairs to get it?”

He nodded. “Want to come with me?”

She squinted. “Into society?”

“You can stay here.”

She yawned, slipping out of bed and reaching for her coat. “No, if you’re dragging yourself into public, I want to see it.”

The elevator ride was silent.

Harry stood beside her in his hoodie and joggers, hair still slightly damp from the bath. She looked equally undone—barefaced, his clothes swallowing her whole, socks mismatched. Together they looked like two people who'd spent the entire day in bed.

Which they had.

When the doors slid open, the entire lobby paused.

The desk concierge, the doorman, a security guard, and the delivery driver all turned to look at them.

It was the doorman, though—Lance—who looked the most shell shocked.

“Mr. Castillo,” he said slowly, as if confirming Harry was real. “You…came down.”

Harry sighed, running a hand through his hair. “That’s what happens when you don’t let the driver up.”

Lance’s eyes flicked to her, then back to Harry. There was something hesitant in his expression. A flicker of confusion. Disbelief.

And then—

Recognition.

The wrong kind.

Harry saw it before it could settle on Lance’s face.

The comparison.

Lucy.

She wasn’t Lucy.

The girl beside him wasn’t perfectly polished. She wasn’t in heels. She wasn’t the kind of arm candy expected on a man like Harry Castillo.

She was real.

And Harry stood closer to her.

Not the way he used to stand next to Lucy—half turned away, distracted, scanning the room for exit strategies.

No.

He was grounded.

Present.

Protective.

Her shoulder brushed his hoodie.

The delivery driver fumbled to hand over the bag. “Uh—two pastas and a broccolini side?”

Harry took it with one hand, nodding. “Thank you.”

He handed the man a tip in cash, despite the man’s hands shaking slightly. “Appreciate it.”

And just when they were turning to leave—

Click.

Harry’s head snapped up.

A camera flash.

A woman in the corner of the lobby had her phone out. Her body was angled perfectly for a stealth shot. She wasn’t staff. Wasn’t a resident either. A visitor, maybe.

Harry’s hand was still holding the bag—but her hand was now clenching his.

Tight.

He looked down.

She was frozen.

Eyes wide.

Breath caught in her chest.

Fuck.

She was panicking—but silently. Internally. He could see it in the way her fingers trembled around his, how she didn’t say a word, didn’t even blink.

His jaw locked.

“Stay here,” he said, already stepping away.

She blinked. “Harry—”

But he was already moving.

The woman had turned, phone raised to her ear.

“I just got a shot of Harry Castillo with a woman who is not Lucy. Yes. At his building. No, she’s not famous. She’s wearing his clothes—yes, I swear—”

Harry stopped in front of her, voice low and lethal.

“Delete it.”

She jumped.

Spun around.

Eyes wide.

“Mr. Castillo, I—”

“Now.”

She hesitated. “I’m with the New York Times, and this is—”

“I don’t give a fuck if you’re with God himself.” His voice didn’t rise, but it sharpened like a blade. “You don’t get to blindside someone in their home.”

“It’s a public lobby—”

“She didn’t consent to a photo.”

The reporter’s mouth opened, ready with another rebuttal.

But Harry took a step forward.

And that was enough.

She swallowed.

Flinched slightly.

And unlocked her phone.

“Deleted,” she said. “Happy?”

Harry stared at her for a beat too long.

Then, with a voice that could’ve frozen fire, he added, “If I see that image anywhere, you’ll be dealing with more than just my legal team.”

He turned.

Walked back.

She was still standing near the front desk, arms crossed, her face blank—but her body was tense.

Harry reached her and slid a hand behind her back, guiding her gently toward the elevator.

“Hey,” he said softly, once the doors closed. “You okay?”

She nodded once. Then again. “Yeah. I just—I don’t like that.”

“I know,” he murmured. “It’s over. She won’t use it.”

She let out a shaky breath. “It just... caught me off guard.”

“I know.”

He reached down and laced their fingers again.

And this time, she squeezed back.

But it wasn’t just a squeeze.

Not really.

It was a silent plea.

A question.

A trembling whisper beneath the surface that she wasn’t sure how to say aloud. Not yet.

Harry felt it.

He didn’t push.

Didn’t speak again until they were back in the elevator, the doors sliding shut behind them like the city hadn’t just clawed a piece of her peace away.

She looked down at her hands—still curled inside the sleeves of his hoodie, fingers stiff from tension.

Harry reached out.

Softly.

Gently.

His knuckles brushed hers, then slid up until he could curl his entire hand around hers again. He squeezed once. Then again.

She stayed quiet.

“Darlin',” he said softly, voice a low hum. “Talk to me.”

She shook her head.

Not in a “no”—but in a not yet.

He gave her that.

The elevator rose in silence.

When they reached the penthouse and stepped inside, she walked ahead of him for the first time all night. Straight toward the bedroom. Not angry. Not retreating. Just… needing a moment.

Harry set the food down on the kitchen counter, then followed. Not too close. Just enough to be there if she needed him.

When he reached the doorframe, she was sitting at the edge of the bed, her head in her hands.

“People are going to know who I am now,” she murmured.

Harry stepped in. Slow. “No one knows anything yet. That photo’s gone.”

She looked up at him, brow furrowed, lips parted slightly in frustration—or maybe something deeper.

“You can’t control everything, Harry.”

“I can try,” he said, and meant it.

That made her smile. Barely.

But it didn’t last.

Her eyes flicked away.

Then back.

And finally—

“Am I a rebound?”

His chest went still.

It was a whisper. So quiet he might’ve missed it if he hadn’t been standing close enough to hear her heartbeat.

But he heard it.

And it hit him harder than any camera flash ever could.

He moved, then.

Sat down beside her.

Not touching her yet. Just there.

She didn’t look at him.

Didn’t need to.

Because she felt his presence in every inch of the room. His heat. His attention. His silence.

“I’m not going to insult you by pretending Lucy doesn’t exist,” he said, after a long beat.

She closed her eyes.

“I loved her. I thought I was going to marry her.”

Her jaw tightened, just slightly.

“But,” Harry continued, turning now—really turning—to face her, “Lucy never saw me.”

She blinked.

He went on, voice softer now.

“She saw what I represented. A future. Money. Control. She saw the suit, not the man wearing it.”

“You’re saying I see you?” she said quietly.

Harry leaned forward.

Rested his elbows on his knees. Hands clasped between them.

“You talked back to me on the steps of the Met. You rolled your eyes at me in front of a crowd. You wear my clothes and steal my socks and talk with your mouth full and look at me like I’m not this...billionaire asshole people tiptoe around.”

He turned his head, eyes locking with hers.

“You see me.”

She stared at him.

And Harry did something she wasn’t expecting.

He got up.

Walked out of the room.

She frowned.

Then—

He returned with the food bag in one hand and a bottle of wine in the other.

Two glasses balanced between his fingers.

Without a word, he kicked off his shoes, set everything on the nightstand, and began unpacking the food.

He didn’t ask if she was hungry.

He didn’t make her talk again.

He just uncorked the wine, poured two glasses, handed her one, and slid the tray of pasta between them as he crawled up onto the bed.

“I’m gonna feed you now,” he said.

She blinked. “What?”

“I’m annoying like that,” he smirked, twirling a forkful of pasta and holding it out.

She hesitated.

Then took the bite.

Exactly what she needed.

She moaned—again—and Harry closed his eyes.

“Every time,” he murmured.

She swallowed. “What?”

“Every time you make that noise, I forget how to breathe.”

She flushed, biting her lip as he twirled another forkful and offered it to her.

“I can feed myself,” she mumbled.

“I know,” he said. “But let me.”

So she let him.

They sat cross legged on the bed, plates balanced between them, their bodies pressed close. He fed her bites of tagliatelle and broccolini, offering sips of wine in between.

She fed him too.

Not as neatly.

At one point, a strand of pasta landed on his chest.

“Oops,” she said, completely unbothered.

Harry looked down, then grinned. “You did that on purpose.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said sweetly.

He leaned in.

Nose brushing hers.

Voice soft.

“I’d let you ruin every shirt I own.”

She stilled.

Harry reached for her hand again, thumb brushing the back of it slowly.

“Everything about this is new,” he said, quieter now. “I don’t know what we are yet. But I know how I feel when I look at you. I know what it meant when you walked downstairs with me. When you reached for my hand.”

She didn’t answer.

So he kept going.

“I’m not looking for a rebound,” he said. “I’m looking at the first person in years who makes me feel like I might want to start over.”

A pause.

“Not to get over Lucy. But to get to you.”

Her heart cracked open.

Just a little.

Just enough.

She leaned forward.

Kissed him.

Not rushed.

Not passionate.

Just…present.

Like she was finally meeting him at the edge of something real.

While across state lines...

Lucy wanted peonies.

Specifically, pale pink ones with feathered petals, soft enough to match the shade of the bridesmaids’ dresses she had not yet chosen and delicate enough to photograph well against the backdrop of a Cape Cod marina wedding.

She did not want roses.

“I think the peonies say soft luxury,” she said, flipping her hair behind her ear with just the right amount of dismissiveness, “and the roses feel…desperate.”

“Babe, roses are literally the symbol of love,” John offered, dragging a finger across a glossy floral mood board.

Lucy shot him a look like he’d just offered to serve frozen shrimp cocktail at their rehearsal dinner.

“They’re pedestrian, John.”

John blinked. “I—I like shrimp cocktail.”

The florist, a woman named Erika with a clipboard made of anxiety, smiled nervously and cleared her throat. “We can source the peonies, but they’re out of season, so it would be—uh—an elevated price point.”

Lucy raised a brow. “Elevated how?”

“Per stem?”

“Yes.”

“Twenty-three.”

Lucy smiled tightly. “That’s fine.”

John coughed. “Per stem?” He turned to the florist, switching into what Lucy privately called his humble bartering voice, which made her want to evaporate into a vase. “Hey, is there like… a bundle option or—”

Erika blinked. “A bundle…?”

“Yeah, like if we get a bunch of peonies, can we do, I don’t know, like...a florist’s dozen?”

Lucy closed her eyes.

Jesus Christ.

She could feel the blood drain from her face.

Erika glanced toward Lucy like you invited this man into your life. 

Lucy inhaled sharply. “Excuse me. I need to take this.”

Her phone was vibrating in her lap.

CARRIE ROTH flashing across the screen in smug little letters.

Carrie had always been one of those women who smelled like Diptyque and journalistic chaos. They met during a Vogue hosted gala in Manhattan seven years ago and bonded over a shared hatred for mutual acquaintances. Since then, Carrie had moved to The New York Times , Lucy had moved to Boston, and the friendship had dulled into one of those semi-occasional connections fueled by gossip, envy, and transactional curiosity.

She stepped out into the hallway of the floral studio, smoothing down her coat.

“Carrie,” Lucy answered, voice clipped. “Kind of in the middle of something.”

“Well,” Carrie said, tone syrupy, “then this won’t take long.”

Lucy sighed. “What?”

There was a pause.

And then—

“I saw him.”

Lucy froze.

“…Him?”

“Don’t make me say his name, it’ll make you twitch.”

Lucy’s jaw tightened. “Harry.”

“Harry fucking Castillo,” Carrie confirmed, practically purring. “I saw him in the flesh, at his building, and babe he wasn’t alone.”

Lucy’s stomach turned.

She stayed quiet.

Carrie went on, delighted.

“He was with a woman. ”

Another pause.

And then—

“She was wearing his clothes.”

Lucy felt something sharp twist in her chest.

She exhaled through her nose. “So? He’s allowed to date.”

Carrie hummed. “Sure, yeah. Absolutely. But don’t you think it’s a little soon?”

“He’s not mine anymore.”

“Oh please, don’t be noble. You were supposed to marry him. This is fascinating.”

Lucy’s throat felt tight.

She hated the way her skin prickled. Hated the flicker of something ugly curling in her chest. Not jealousy. Not really. Just…the unfamiliar discomfort of knowing Harry wasn’t still pining. Of realizing he might be okay.

And she wasn’t ready for that.

“Did you take a photo?” she asked, already regretting the question.

“I did,” Carrie chirped. “He made me delete it.”

Lucy blinked. “He what? ”

“Marched across the lobby and threatened me with a lawsuit unless I wiped it. It was hot, honestly. He had his hand around her back like she was something worth protecting.”

Lucy’s stomach flipped.

She swallowed. “So…you don’t have it?”

“Oh honey,” Carrie laughed. “Please. This is me. I AirDropped it to my editor before he even reached me.”

Lucy closed her eyes.

“I’m writing a piece.”

Lucy’s eyes snapped open. “What?”

Carrie was already rolling.

“It’s about Harry. About how the most untouchable man in New York is suddenly—poof—off the market again. The mystery girl, the penthouse delivery  incident, the whole ‘is this a real relationship or a well timed distraction’ angle. I’m thinking Castillo’s Comeback! A Billionaire’s Return to Romance. What do we think?”

“I think it’s tacky.”

Carrie laughed. “That’s why I called. I want a quote.”

Lucy blinked. “You want me to give you a quote? For an article about my ex and his replacement?”

“Well when you put it like that…”

“Jesus, Carrie.”

“Come on. Just one line. It’ll make the piece.”

Lucy opened her mouth. Then shut it.

Carrie waited.

“Well?” she pressed.

Lucy stared out the window of the hallway. At the crisp Boston afternoon sun spilling through the panes. At the rows of orchids dying in a glass case nearby. At the reflection of herself—still elegant, still perfectly poised, but not untouched.

And for the first time, she realized she might’ve miscalculated.

She thought Harry would wait.

She thought he’d hurt longer.

Lucy swallowed.

Her voice was quiet when she finally spoke.

“I’ll give you a quote.”

Carrie perked up. “Go on.”

“But it has to be anonymous.”

A beat.

Then—

Carrie practically purred, “Off the record attribution, got it.”

Lucy exhaled slowly.

“She won’t last.”

Carrie chuckled. “Ooh.”

“She doesn’t know what he’s like yet. How intense. How obsessive. How cold he can be when he wants to. She’s not built for it.”

“Mm.”

“She’ll realize eventually,” Lucy said, mouth flat, voice sharper now. “It’s a facade. All of it. He doesn’t do warm. Not really.”

Carrie’s smile was audible. “So…source close to the ex?”

“Make it sound smarter.”

Carrie grinned. “Done.”

Then the line clicked off.

Lucy stood frozen in the hallway, phone still pressed to her cheek.

Behind her, John called out from the showroom.

“Babe? Do you think if I offer to DJ the wedding myself we can get the deposit waived?”

Lucy didn’t answer.

Didn’t move.

She just stood there—

Still.

Silent.

And suddenly not so sure that leaving Harry Castillo had been the power move she once believed it to be.

[artfight]

Art Fight 2025 Has Started!

Let's get ready to rumble… ART FIGHT IS HERE!!!!!!!!!! Please see the following newspost or read the summary below it for more information:

Joining the Event

To join a team, click "Current Event" on the top right of your screen. You'll be able to be sorted into a team from there! For more information about how Art Fight works, check our About and FAQ pages.

Attacking

To attack someone, click the Submit tab on the top left to be taken to the attack submission page. Make sure sure that any attacks that need filters are tagged appropriately. If you don't know if your attack needs a filter, be sure to review our Filter Guide. If you're not sure how to rate your attack, check out our Attack Guide.

If you have additional questions, get in contact with a moderator or join our Discord server.

Art Fight 2025 Merchandise

We're so excited to reveal our brand-new merch for this year's Art Fight:

Team Fossil & Team Crystal Stickers | $6 USD each

2025 Themed Limited Art Fight Logo Sticker | $5 USD

2025 Fossils vs Crystals Keychains | $18 USD each

You can pre-order any of our new items TODAY by visiting our Shop! Production will start early August, and shipments are expected to begin in September / October. We'll keep you updated via Shopify's email service!

Please note that 100% of merch sales will be split between compensating the efforts of Art Fight's owner, lead artist, and merch team for shipping/handling - what portion of merch sales the owner receives is currently the only compensation they get from Art Fight, and any leftover funds will go towards site development. Thank you all for your interest as we venture further into producing merch - we hope to eventually have a long-standing store selling Art Fight branded products.

Additional Updates & Announcements

Team badges and banners are here! Please send many thanks to Doodul and Axel respectively.

Fossils vs Crystals CSS has run into some delays and will be released later.

Tier 1 Contribution goal has been reached! Thank you so much to everyone who has supported us!

A few new features have been released as of late, including: the Discovery page, 12 character images for Supporter+ contributors, and several security changes. For a full list of all the changes, please see our Changelog.

Please take the time to review our Rules and Filter Guidelines, as we've made several updates to both in preparation for the 2025 event. It is especially important to familiarize yourself with them before you begin attacking, as failure to abide by either may hinder your ability to participate this year.

This year, we're taking big steps to address concerns regarding excessive competition on Art Fight. As a part of that effort, we'd like to remind you of our Spirit of Art Fight rules, which dictate the code of conduct we expect all users to abide by when interacting with, and creating art for, each other. While Art Fight has always come with a certain degree of competitiveness, it is first and foremost an art gifting game; it is the gifting aspect, not the competition, that is at Art Fight's heart.