#just a side thing I wrote for fun

[starcurtain]

Aventurine Fans Eating Good

Finished the Fate/Star Rail collab last night and enjoyed it much more than I expected. I don't know much of anything about the Fate series, so I figured it would be a slog, but it was both funny and a nice breather after the main story of 3.4. Also--a surprising feast for Aventurine fans in terms of both lore and characterization. I am definitely the fan that was served.

Some of the stand out stuff:

Hope this event will finally put the nail in the coffin for those people who kept insisting that Aventurine secretly hates Jade or that she's abusing him somehow. Their first scene was very nice, giving us insight into their relationship within the IPC; we see them discussing the plan, and it's clear that although Aventurine is very smart and clued into exactly what Jade is thinking, she's also certainly got the upper-hand when it comes to strictly business sense. Watching Aventurine follow her thought process to the conclusion tells us a lot about how Jade has mentored him throughout his time with the Stonehearts.

Aventurine is also willing to discuss his personal concerns and vulnerabilities with her:

And, ridiculously important for lore and dropped completely casually into the conversation: Aventurine told Jade about his dalliance with Boothill. This pretty much confirms that Aventurine and Boothill's deal is to hunt down Oswaldo Schneider specificially, and Jade not only approves of it but is encouraging it. Oh they hate his ass, for real.

This also implies that Aventurine isn't keeping secrets from Jade; he trusts her enough to tell her even about his under-the-table dealings.

I think it's clear they have a much better relationship that most of the players were giving them credit for.

In terms of other treats from the event, look! Aventurine is comfortable sharing space with Boothill and (later) Archer:

I've written before about how the devs normally position Aventurine's character further away from others during conversations and cutscenes, but it seems that he's a little more in his comfort zone now than he was in his first visits to Penacony. It's not just anyone that Aventurine is willing to stand shoulder to shoulder with--it says a lot that he was willing to put aside the space bubble here!

(This is also funny because Boothill in particular is the opposite of Aventurine, in that he's almost always positioned RIGHT NEXT to the people he's talking to--the space bubble is kind of nonexistent--but it still looks hilariously out of place to see him standing so close to Aventurine because Aventurine doesn't normally stand with anyone lol.)

Also: Boothill making a reference to xenophobia while the two indigenous characters from colonized worlds are on the screen? Wow, one of the members of the writing team actually remembered and cared enough to make note.

In fact, I thought whoever handled the writing for this questline in general did a much better job than the HSR writers normally do with characters' pasts affecting their current behaviors. Aventurine's consistent discomfort with the Master-Servant dynamic was excellent to see.

"Dead class structures"--my goodness, the word "master" showed up and the Proletariat just jumped straight out of Aventurine. A very good note for those interested in his characterization.

And speaking of characterization, Archer and Aventurine's dynamic was a definite high-point for the collab questline. I don't even know anything about Archer but his chemistry with Aventurine was great--mostly because it was actually just Ratio/Aventurine with a stand-in because the devs are allergic to giving Dr. Ratio screentime nowadays lol.

Aventurine's type is clearly "strapping, competent, reliable men who will lightly bully me into becoming a better version of myself."

We even got the "Trust me and my plan so we can trick everyone and beat our enemy." The fact that Archer was able to catch on with just one sentence from Aventurine was great, and the fact that he was even worse than Ratio at acting was pretty funny ngl. (Well, at least he put less effort into it!)

Archer and Ratio even have the same complaints:

Ratiorine fandom, I am politely requesting 5956760 fanfics of Ratio's eye twitching at some random new man showing up and folding Aventurine's laundry without asking and then just "poof" disappearing lol. Thank youuu~~

And pointing out some other fun snippets:

Aventurine being a horror movie buff was not on my bingo card, but it's an interesting tidbit to add to his characterization. Understandably difficult to spook someone who has beaten people to death with his bare hands to survive the Hunger Games. You know he's the person who watches the gory slasher flicks and is just devouring the popcorn while everyone else is getting grossed out.

Also interesting to note that Aventurine, the "give me two of everything at the highest-end luxury shops in Penacony" guy also apparently still shops at "interstellar junk markets." You can take the community bazaar out of the nomad but you can't take the nomad out of the community bazaar, apparently.

I want to know what dev managed to get this past the censors!! 😂

And Aventurine's tininess... I know the devs writing this quest were Aventurine fans; I know it.

This moment in general:

When are we getting our Bonnie and Clyde/Aventurine-Boothill western shootout with Oswaldo Schneider, Hoyo, when?

And, despite the tone of Aventurine's text messages post-Penacony sounding very much "I want to be friends" with the Trailblazer, it seems that, canonically, Aventurine hasn't made much headway in actually becoming Trailblazer's friend. Trailblazer's reactions to Aventurine were pretty :T through the event, and Aventurine's first claim is that maybe Trailblazer wouldn't even want to come out to meet with him. This is why Jade sent you to the Penacony Daycare Holy Grail War to make better friends, Aventurine. You gotta work a little harder at it, my dude.

Finally, I really appreciated this event taking the time to acknowledge that Aventurine is actually extremely smart and adaptable, capable of keeping a cool head under pressure, figuring out the enemy's strategy, immediately developing a plan to solve the problem, and executing it flawlessly.

And even more so than just painting Aventurine as a smart cookie who can see through others' ploys, I love that the reason Aventurine was able to see the ploy wasn't because of his status as a movie buff... It was because of his interest in business.

Aventurine can be a fake idgafer about his work all he wants, but when it comes right down to it, he was so interested in Grady's marketing strategies and business acumen that he went through the entire archive of Grady's works and learned the full history and tactics of this completely no-name director from a totally foreign planet. He's being unironic when he calls himself a "fan" of Grady's--not of Grady's terrible films, but of Grady's ability to achieve success.

My boy isn't just smart, he's still building his portfolio of tricks to get ahead in life.

Repeatedly, Archer asks whether Aventurine doesn't want to be a "hero of justice" sometimes, to which Aventurine never really fully responds. Yet in the team's time of greatest need in this quest, Aventurine was the actual "hero" of the moment--not using noble tactics, but by being true to exactly who he is: the shrewd schemer whose knowledge of underhanded methods and the cutthroat world of commerce can be applied even to righteous causes.

Aventurine's character in this event was, in essence, a perfect microcosm of the IPC's role in the game's overall story. Their methods might be less than ideal, their perspectives on right and wrong might be skewed at a 90 degree angle--but when push comes to shove, you're really going to need someone who isn't worried about getting their hands a little dirty, someone with the know-how to scheme their way out of the pitfalls, so long as they--deep, deep down--(mostly) have their heart in the right place.

A++ Aventurine content, thank you Hoyo~

[embryoed]

Me when the writers wrote the line “I know you think that that mohawk defined who you are, but it didn’t. Not to me.” and then expected people to NOT interpret it as gay

[shitpostingfromthebarricade]

Help I recently reread a very old work I'd written over 100k for that I abandoned unpublished for characterization reasons and discovered it kinda fucks.

[necrotic-nephilim]

What do you think about the fab five polycule

(Dick x donna x wally x garth x roy)

i'll be SO honest i wish i had like. insightful interesting opinions on them but i've always been a Young Justice kid and sort of. breezed past consuming Fab Five Teen Titans content-

but of what i *do* know, from the few comics i've read with these characters is this is one of the best ships for Dick, honestly. it always deeply annoys me when fanon content breezes past the Titans as if they're just some distant teammates and not some of Dick's closest friends, if not a second family. *especially* the Fab Five. for most, if not all of them, it's the first time getting to actually connect with other teen heroes. so there's something fun about how sort of terrible they are at it, at first. they all care about each other a lot. but they're kind of chucked into the deep figuring out how to work with each other and get along with *very* different personalities, so it's fun to see where the conflict comes.

as a ship, i do really love it. the Titans are a family. like we call a lot of teams found families, but for the Fab Five, that shit is the truest. they depend on each other and trust each other. when Dick and Bruce are on outs and Bruce fires him, he goes to the Titans.

i also enjoy how, to an extent, all of them are outsiders of some kind. Donna is alone in a new world she's never experienced, the same as Garth. Roy is still new and awkward to living the rich life with Oliver. Wally doesn't connect to his parents well. and of course, Dick has lost his parents and only has Bruce, who isn't the most emotionally available. of course they're going to cling to each other, as the first people they can really develop connections too. they're very clingy with each other and i think that's both cute and *fun* to explore like, codependency issues with them. how protective they can be of each other, how they default to trusting each other over their mentors, etc. it's all very interesting for a polycule, especially since for most of them, it's their first real relationship. i'm a big fan of "none of us know what dating looks like bc we've had such strange childhoods so we don't understand the Rules very well. we're all just going to date each other bc why would i date only one of you. do teamups count as dates now." vibes with teenage polycules. and the Fab Five just. have that on lock. they each fulfill a different "niche" in the group. Garth is the softer, more emotional one you can go to if you're upset. Donna is the one for planning bright fun trips and making sure you don't wallow. Roy is protective and can pretend to be suave, but he shows affection through gift giving and grand gestures where words fail him. Wally can cheer any of them up with jokes and distractions. and of course Dick is the logical one who makes sure they all keep their heads on and don't drown in the responsibility.

overall i think it's a really cute ship and i do wish i just. knew more about them to be able to write them/read fic of it because i do love their dynamic. and i'm just a firm believer in the Titans being Dick's family, just as important to him as the Batfam. they're a disaster and for that you gotta love them.

[boatboys]

actually on the topic of old drawings; the first-ever drawings I did of Rich, Liam, and Sol turned up on my deep-dive of old discord messages and I was compelled to redraw/compare!

Rich very much predates the worldbuilding of the Michigan Fleet universe, as one of Key/rollerskatinglizard's oldest OCs, and was originally just a normal amount of un-tweaked big and buff dude, although I also sucked at drawing people with body mass back when I drew these lol. It does make me laugh that the huge crooked nose and sad, downturned eyes have been a constant from sketch one!

Liam predates the Michigan Fleet as well and was originally mine! He..... hasn't changed much actually haha. Although his size/prettiness/temper being a genetic modification is new, from the first lengthy discussion of mods where fourhands and hastings both got established (although not by those names). It looks like I coined the mod name "Babydoll", which I do NOT remember doing.

Sol was the most Group Effort of these three, looking back at the messages: Key invented a salty little gorgeous asshole with modded hearing for a snatch of interaction in a wildly different context than his new introduction; roach was the one who suggested the elf ears and iridescent hair to go along with it, I was the one who suggested he was from New York and threw several large pinches of "a big tsundere about Rich" into the mix, and a lot of the much later patrician worldbuilding was roach.

[piliiiiconfusionf]

Have more fanart from Imagi-cation Getaway because I physically cannot stop with them. This is from Patton's trip

@fandombead you gotta stop possessing me with your talent I can't keep doing this 😭 YES I CAN I'M GOING NUTS

I WON'T STOP THANKING YOU FOR WRITING THIS THING AND THE OTHERS THEY ARE SO DANG GOOD SGGS

Heavily recommend this, is so unique and she managed to, through ONLY descriptions, say too much I can't, sthap.

[skitskatdacat63]

And here is the bull himself >:)

+ lore notes

I was like, ah I should make the shadow something interesting, and then I'm like GIVE HIM BULL HORNS???? OKAY SURE !!!!! I'm glad such thoughts can strike at 7 in the morning....thanks brain. But hehehe I'm glad bcs now this matches up super well with the Nando one!

New ship dynamic: who's the bull and who's the matador :)

I think, in this AU, Fernando is generally pretty fond of Seb when he first meets him. Like "ah yes my very own protégé, very nice, I shall mold him in my image." But then Seb starts veering off that course. Bullfighting is all about being dramatic, but Seb maybe has a bit too much(🤏) flair for the dramatic. This escalation starts while he's still Fernando's assistant but he keeps it generally at bay. But god when he becomes a matador himself, he's just off the rails insane.

Bullfighting, to me, is a sport about reckless endangerment of one's self in the pursuit of drama and performance(its literally described as a tragedy in three acts.) But Fernando thinks Seb endangers himself *too* much, not because he cares or anything, but he's making a mockery of the sport!! Especially when Seb starts doing that bull hand symbol(seen above), Fernando just keeps become more enraged with him, not anything to do with the fact that Seb is threatening his records and threatening his own wellbeing, nah of course not.

Seb's gesture is making a mockery of the sport, he's disrespecting the culture, the very nature of it, blah blah blah. Jenson once asks Fernando, after noticing him seething while watching Seb do his gesture, "Which bull are you really trying to defeat?" One could also describe Fernando and Seb's relationship as a "tragedy with three acts."

Anyways Fernando gets very tied up with this rivalry. Even after suffering a severe injury(I have yet to decide, but y'know mchonda electrocution core), he quickly returns to the sport, loath to let Seb get any more headway. And then Seb gets injured, poor little sweet Seb, and neither of them can handle it. Though I already covered this in my prev lore post 🤭 and I think I put it pretty viscerally there so!! I digress.

They're both matadors, but the bull itself is not the only bull Fernando wants to conquer. Conquer as in death? Hm.

[justalittlebluetiefling]

Not going to lie, I've been unsure how to feel about a lot of things writing, but I just made myself cry writing a character death that I've had planned since I plotted this novel out and that is reassuring to me for some reason.

[cerealmonster15]

Hi Cereal! Hope

Your day is going well so far! 9 and 15 for the fic asks? :)

HI ISA THANK YOU!!! i was waiting til i got home to answer!

9: How did you get into writing fanfiction?

I can't really remember EXACTLY, but back when i was a child in the early 2000s days of internet and on neoseeker forums, i liked seeing stories people would write in the forums dedicated to more creative things, be it fanfic or original stories. i read fics on ffnet, and my cousin even wrote some harvest moon fics that my other cousin and i would read and talk about lol. honestly it always comes back to harvest moon; i liked reading and posting in the threads/forums for harvest moon fics/roleplays [they were BAD bc i was like. 10 years old more or less lol, but i had fun and no concept of what good writing meant]

i don't really remember what got me into writing fics again more """seriously"""" when i got a little older. i never made a ffnet account despite reading and commenting anonymously for a good few years, and i dont remember how or why i made an ao3.

i was under the impression that rvb was what started it, but i remembered recently that like. i KNOW i wrote some homestuck oneshots back in the day. i very specifically can recall a silly croxy oneshot i wrote, but it's nowhere to be found on my ao3.... and there's even evidence of me having done a homestuck secret santa fic swap bc i have one in my gifts from someone and im p sure thats what it was from. so like, i THINK i mustve made ao3 during my homestuck era [bc that came before rvb; i got into homestuck in high school and i didnt know rvb until i started college] but i guess at some point i got embarrassed about my old homestuck fics and deleted them? which i dont really remember doing, so i have no idea when that happened lol. that or i only ever posted them on tumblr.... if i even posted them here? idr!

anyway. tldr: it always comes back to harvest moon / video game forum neoseeker / in general i just get possessed by The Madness and have to write it down. thats what drives me more recently lol.

15: Does anyone you know in real life know you write fanfiction?

jdkfhsklg. there's a small handful of people from irl that follow me here and i do cross post my fics to tumblr so i'd imagine yes, but none of them are into twst which is currently the only thing ive really been writing fics for these days. i also get too embarrassed if i think about it too long so i like to pretend no one knows LOL please dont perceive my antics....

but also when i got BACK into writing fics after like a year or two of not writing anything, when i started writing twst fics, i was just writing them in word docs and sending them to my friend over discord based on our inside jokes and au brainstorming we used to do in the dms bc we got into twst together and there wasnt really much of an eng fanbase back in the early days. and i still send her the google doc links when i write them even tho we dont really talk twst aus like we used to lol. ill just be like "i had an idea / ive been writing this a few weeks here" and then i go put it on ao3 lol jsdklhgksjd shes an irl buddy, so not on tumblr or ao3.

and then my partner. he knows. and he also knows everything i do in life makes me feel irrationally embarrassed so we often joke that my doodles and fanfiction are like, the biggest sin in the entire world. he'll jumpscare me in my room and i slam my laptop shut and hes like 🧍 what are you doing. you better not have been in the google docs. what da hell were you writing 🧍 but he also doesnt know twst outside of what ive told him / random stuff he makes up to try and get a rise out of me lmao so he's never read them. but he knows i write them.

aside from that. NO. and i would like to keep it that way fjksldjfklsjg only people that i think will be cool about it can maybe know and even then im. shy. fjsdklfjskldhlksdjkfl like it's hard enough posting my fics HERE!!!!! the second i hit post i get anxiety jitters and need to go walk around to distract myself from the everything.

i love talking for 900 years to answer 2 questions LOL

[question post🧡]

[watery-melon-baller]

ive been yapping forever abt switching majors but god it would be so awful and embarrassing if they just,,,, didn't accept me. id just crawl in a hole and die of shame

[sherlock-is-ace]

.

[axreliono]

trying to add a scene into an old chap bc a specific plot thread has been bothering me for a while now but ITS SO HARD TO CHANGE SOMETHING THATS ALREADY PUBLISHED WITHOUT ENTIRELY REWRITING. my editing style is quite literally "if sucks, rewrite from scratch" which isnt useful rn. pain and suffering for ten thousand years

[basicallymyentirepersonality]

Athena. Goddess of wisdom, strategies blah blah blah.

My new hyperfixation (or rather, a re-ignited one because she’s always intrigued me).

I’m going to admit she’s my favourite goddess not because of how nice or incredible she is- she isn’t. She’s a horrible person/goddess (no offense). And I think part of the reason why shes so intriguing is she actually has many layers to her and how different people interpret her is always so interesting.

People who know the myths will start to think she’s horrible and incredibly petty, always out for vengeance and stuff, yeah they’re not wrong.

“Canon” Greek Myths:

One of the most iconic myths about Athena is obviously the myth of Medusa. But if you’ve been hyperfixating long enough you’ll know that there’s so many versions of the myths. The original one was the Medusa was born a gorgon, Ovid’s version was that Athena got jealous (some even more recent interpretations) / mad at Medusa for breaking her vow of celibacy then turning her into a gorgon. Or Athena turned Medusa into a gorgon to protect her. They sound like very different goddesses. Other gods always seem to have straight forward personalities, Hermes a prankster always mischievous he delivers mail sometimes, Apollo he does music, drives a cool car. Of course each god has minor differences when it comes to version but never as jarring as Athena’s.

My interpretations/headcanons:

(Hot take)In my head, Athena is a bad person. She believes she’s being wise, she’s doing things for the greater good. Sometimes she fails to notice whether things are for the greater good or her good. She’s selfish. She’s delusional. Maybe even a bit of a narcissist who refuses to believes she can be wrong. Which makes her even more fun to imagine!!!

Modern retellings/greek mythology ‘fan fiction’:

Aka Percy Jackson. Her show and book version is already a bit different. In the book, she can be seen as a bit of a deadbeat parent, absent, a perfectionist. But ultimately someone Annabeth looked up to (at the beginning, at least). In Mark of Athena, we (I) see her to be a bit of a bully, kind of guilt tripping Annabeth to do stuff. In the show, however, she’s hasn’t even made an official appearance and she’s already so cruel. Not helping Annabeth because she ‘embarrassed’ her. This slight change did make her more similar to the more popular myths, but slightly altered reader’s impression of her.

Which is what makes her interesting.

I can go on and on about stereotypes (what’s the definition of wise?), societal standards, the change in people’s attitudes towards different things as time passes, how time passes. Heck, if I keep going on I’m certain I’m going to end up talking about the scale of time and our insignificance in the grand universe. But I’m not going to because that draws away from the main point of the blog. Greek mythology.

To me, Greek mythology is something that is timeless and up for interpretation all the time. I love debating about Greek mythology so come debate with me 🥊 (ignore my headcanon part tho leave that niche part of my brain alone).

If you noticed anything I got wrong (or maybe this post is utterly wrong in your eyes, do tell but maybe word it nicely sorry 😅) , tell me cuz I’m always up to learn more about other people’s opinions and different Greek myths!

[startrekgirlie]

OK but you'd be a fool to say a deep humanist ideal doesn't follow most iterations of the doctor, even if he often times operates and acts with the morals and reasoning of a man who spent his entire, unimaginably long life travelling time. Even the cruelest doctors tend to feel something when someone dies who did not need to, who should not have and only did good, but that feeling is calloused at best and repressed at worst. It's what makes him an interesting character, that, even with an aloof and often alarming perspective that ends up treating most of the world around him as more or less disposable, one of the main drives for his actions (when not merely boredom curiosity or even just happenstance) is a legitmate adoration and want for protection for the idea of the 'little people,' and aiding them- even if sometimes he finds himself frustrated, angry, or dismissive of their ignorance. Its the basic idea behind the companion, that even if we question his morals, we know there's at least one person he'll get home safe at the end of the episode. (though this isn't the foundational narrative or structural reason for the companion, it becomes its strongest and most intentional character benefit)

Anyways, yes the dr should be a dick, and somewhat inconsiderate, but it's not as if they don't hold anyone's interests at heart- just, not everyone's

Holds casual Dr who fans by the shoulders. Hey did you know that the doctor isn’t a usually a good person with other people’s interests at heart? Did you know that? Did you know they do terrible things for that they believe to be the greater good all the time? That they aren’t a good person?????

[25rats]

Had a dream last night in which I was trapped in this hellish world with no logic or rules (also in a time loop?). I knew of a way to escape and had practiced it and perfected it. I was incredibly desperate. I woke up before the plan was finished, still a bit dazed. When I snapped out of it, I felt the overwhelming relief of finally getting out, despite the fact I was never trapped.

Also Will Wood was the bus driver

[pedgito]

𝐀𝐂𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐒 | Harry Castillo x reader

↝ masterlist | requests? | ao3 | update blog | fic rec | ko-fi

summary | Five years of being his assistant and five years of failed attempts at finding love with your help, but maybe the obvious answer has been there the entire time. Alternatively, you fucked your boss? Uh-oh.

author's note | harry...randy...who knows. i'll change it if needed but given the name tag, this is what i'm sticking with for now. skip the lecture about not writing until the movie is out, this isn't hurting anyone so don't bother me about it, xo. the horny demons always win. i listened to this song i repeat while i wrote, felt fitting.

content warning | 18+ MDNI, power imbalance (boss/assistant), work wife/work husband type beat, mentions of failed dating, being superficial, mentions of sugar daddy things, expensive gifts, reader is a godly assistant with a will stronger than mine, he smokes, they drink, sex while inebriated, he's down so bad, also oral!, tense morning after, open-ended

word count — 4.5k

You knew him better than anyone.

From his breakfast order down to his specific choice of underwear, like you weren’t making the weekly purchases and filling up his rarely used fridge in the apartment that was way out your price range, arranging his schedule down to the minute, booking his flights, packing his bag.

Really, Harry should just marry you.

…it was more of a joke, but you’ve teased him about it once or twice.

He called you his work wife anyways, but in reality, you were just his assistant.

He did trust you with his life, though.

More importantly, his love life.

“Kim flaked,” he tells you over coffee, perched at his kitchen island as you typed away on your laptop, looking up briefly with eyes that begged for him to explain, he does and makes a show about, mimicking a more feminine voice as he relays the message she gave him, “same song and dance—you’re great and fun but I can’t do anything serious right now,”

“Were you nice?” you ask curiously.

Harry rolls his eyes at that, like it was a stupid question to ask. But, eventually he nods.

“Did you ask questions?” you continue, fingers folding over the screen of your laptop to close it.

“Plenty, she works in finance, loves the color blue, wants to travel,” he could go on and on, throwing his hands up in defeat before they slump to his side, “maybe I should try out a real matchmaker—not that you’re bad at it—”

“You think I’m bad at it,” you smile knowingly, “don’t you?”

“No,” you’re unconvinced, “besides—you’re my assistant, I never meant for that type of responsibility to fall on you, you know?”

“I’m doing both of us a favor,” you remind him, “I think…it just takes time.”

And fortunately, all you had was time.

It felt pointless for Harry to spend a chunk of cash to have someone pair him up with the supposed love of his life, though you knew that money wasn’t a problem, you felt a weird responsibility to protect him, unsure how quickly someone would take advantage of his kindness.

“There’s a gala,” you tell him offhandedly, “next week. I already cleared your schedule for it. I think…maybe you should just peruse this time.”

“Peruse?” he chuckles, eyes creasing in amusement, his crow’s feet deepening with the emotion, “You’re a control freak, you sure about that?”

“That’s just mean,” you retort, “you’re paying me anyways—if you didn’t like it you’d fire me.”

He knew you were right, sipping quietly at his coffee in response.

He was frustrating, predictable, and painfully superficial. 

Every date was an exercise in appearances—perfectly tailored suits, dinner at the most exclusive places, charm turned up to eleven. And yet, none of it ever stuck. He was overcompensating and you weren’t sure why.

He was a good guy, down to his core, and in the five years you had worked with him there was never a moment you thought he didn’t deserve love, he was perfect. Too perfect.

That was the problem.

“You know, you’re like prime age to be a sugar daddy,” you tease him, knowing how he felt about the topic, “there’s plenty of apps that I can—”

“You’re relentless,” he grumbles, “if you ever did that, I’m firing you on the spot.”

“You wouldn’t,” it was a gentle challenge, smirk flashing across your face as he returned it with fondness, “without me you would crash and burn, Mr. Castillo.”

And he knows it.

–

The gala is a bust.

So, as a bandaid to his wounded ego, you order takeout and keep him company in his big, lavish apartment—it wasn’t the first time, it wouldn’t be the last.

You knew what the issue was, but there was a sinking feeling in your stomach that told you he wouldn’t receive the information well.

It was after every failed date, every expensive dinner.

They saw him at the surface, the charming man with an easy, warm smile.

You saw the man who kicked his shoes off and stripped himself of his suit jacket the second he walked through the door, who couldn’t resist a late-night binge of his newest streaming obsession, someone who insisted on stirring his coffee counterclockwise because it made it taste better, a man would text you pictures of squirrels in the park that he would feed on his way home.

It wasn’t that you were pining over him. You just knew him better than anyone.

“Why are you so dead set on marriage?” you ask him over dinner, turned toward him on the couch as he reaches for the remote to pause the show on screen.

He’s had this conversation before, but he’s never asked you any questions on the matter.

“What’s your opinion on it?” he’s avoiding, clearly, but you’ll bite.

“I don’t date, I’m not interested, signing a piece of paper isn’t going to signify my feelings toward someone if it came down to that,” you admit, “I’m not cynical, marriage is fine, but this stuff takes time,”

“Well, I’m not getting any younger,” Harry gripes, arms reaching over the back of the couch as he mirrors your position.

“Oh, please,” you scoff, “you’re forty-nine.”

“Almost fifty,” he corrects, “I’m ancient.”

“O-kay,” you sigh, “do you want honesty?”

“I’d hope you were being honest with me all the time.”

“No,” you laugh softly, “like…brutal fucking honesty?”

He’s silent, but attentive. 

“You keep choosing women who treat you like they’re next getaway vacation and you fall for it every time,” his forehead creases at the words, looking hurt by your words, “I see your bank payments every month, the activity—”

“It’s not like money is an issue,” he defends, causing you to sigh dramatically and fall back against the arm of the couch in faux distress.

“This is impossible,” you groan, staring up at the ceiling before you feel his hand circle around your wrist, tugging gently,

“Okay, I’m listening,” Harry says softly, pulling you upright, “I’m sorry—I am.”

“You want it to work so bad,” you tell him, “I see it—every time you approach someone you put on that smile and it works, but you’re giving so much and yeah, maybe some of them like that, but I’m sure a few would just enjoy a nice dinner here, or something simple. I think you forget to realize that someone can just be interested in you, for you, not for what you are or have,”

It’s profound, the way his face softens at your words, his touch still lingering around your wrist.

You’ve never even considered or entertained the idea that you might find Harry attractive or even attainable—for one, you had signed a contract that agreed to a professional work relationship, as a benefit for both of you, not that he ever had any intention to begin with.

You’ve been with him for so long, it feels, a fresh and young mind to help keep him active and busy, constantly refreshing ideas and helping him not feel like he was stuck, and you were damn good at taking care of him when he’s often tended to neglect himself.

The only thing you know is that he’s never looked at you like that.

Like you could see straight through him, all his flaws on display.

But, that was because you knew all of them.

You knew everything about him, even the worse bits.

His bad habits, his self-inflicting ones, everything that he refused to bring to the surface.

Harry’s fingers still lingered around your wrist, the weight of your words sinking in. 

But then, just like he always did, he broke the tension with a huff of laughter and frowns as he brushed you off.

“You just think I’m a sucker, don’t you?”

You shook your head with a faint smile, returning your arm to your lap.

“No—I think you like to see the good in people. So much good that you’re willing to ignore red flags.”

“Jeez,” he chuckled, clutching his stomach like you had physically wounded him, “that hurt.”

You shrugged and reached for the remote to resume the picture on screen, “You’ll survive.”

–

It was your day off—Sunday, the one day.

“Have you seen my cufflinks laying around?” he asked over the video call, “Shit—my tie, too. I can’t find it anywhere. I thought you said you laid it out for me.”

“No, I said I had it hung up and for you to lay it out before you showered,” you correct him, laying tiredly on your couch as you watched him search around frantically, hair damp and his bare shoulders on display, only catching the briefest glimpses of the towel around his waist as he turned the camera around, “Waitwait—go back!”

“There’s no fucking way you saw it,” Harry argues, “I’ve been looking for the last ten minutes—”

“In the pocket of your suit, the tie is there,” you tell him, “and given that you probably tossed the suit on the bed like you always do, the cufflinks are probably somewhere hiding under the blanket,”

He tosses you against the mattress, your screen succumbing to darkness as you wait, some shifting of the sheets before you hear him make a sound before he appears again, cufflinks pinched between his fingers and a look of defeat on his face.

“What would you do without me?” you ask with a cocky grin, finger hovering over the end call button as he shakes his head.

“What was this for again?” Harry asks curiously, laying you down upright as you caught a glimpse of his bare chest as he shrugged the crisp, white button down over his shoulders.

“It’s a charity auction, your favorite,” you chirp, “and you’re flying solo, so—don’t do anything stupid or…crass,”

“If I paid you double a day of work would you go?” Harry asks after a long pause, glancing down at the screen, “Triple?”

“Triple?!” you gawk, “see—you’re insane, this is what I’m talking about,”

He chuckles despite your response, “You’re good at keeping the sharks away,”

There were particular hawking businessmen who made it their mission to hunt Harry down at events and keep him occupied, eager to do business, whatever it may be—you were the unspoken master of redirection, as much as he refused to admit it.

“Can we grab dinner on the way?” 

“Burgers?” Harry asks, perking up slightly.

It was a constant go-to for you and him.

You nod through the screen, “Don’t even bother with the tie either, I’ll do it.”

–

“I can’t believe you roped me into this on my day off,” you whisper at his side, earning a half-smirk from him.

The charity auction was as lavish as you’d expected.

Crystal chandeliers, gold accents, and far too much champagne and hors d'oeuvres. 

Harry’s hand found the small of your back the moment you arrived, steering you through a sea of designer gowns and tuxedos, feeling uncomfortable in the tight dress and stilettos that you only wore on rare occasions, biting at your heels.

“You’ll survive,” he grins, grabbing you both a glass of champagne and pressing it into your waiting fingers, “I’m gonna…peruse, alright?”

“Don’t say it—that just makes you sound like a creep,” your face scrunches up in disgust as you sip at the alcohol, “just go—go, I’ll…handle everything else.”

The evening passed in a blur of small talk and polite smiles, but somewhere between the endless speeches and bidding wars, you found yourself on the balcony, the cool night air a welcome relief in the stuffy ballroom.

You smell him before you see him, the thick and rich scent of his cologne so familiar you swear you could find him on that alone, turning over your shoulder to see him closing the door quietly, cigarette pack tucked in his palm as he approached with a neutral expression.

“You okay?” you ask, leaning against the railing of the balcony.

Harry sighed, rubbing the back of his neck and then plucking a single cigarette from the box, “Honestly? I’m just tired of it.”

“The auctions? Charity?” you inquire, a small smile tugging at your face.

“All of it.” He looked at you, his gaze lingering as he lit the tobacco, “The events, the dates, searching for—I don’t even fucking know at this point,”

“The offer stands…” you say jokingly, though he knows exactly where this is heading.

“If I wanted a sugar baby I’d find one.”

Your eyes roam over his figure as he puffs at the cigarette, pulling a deep laugh from his chest before you’re pushing him away playfully.

“Let’s go,” he tells you with a deep sigh, stubbing out the end of the cigarette and tucking it away for later, tossing his arm over your shoulder as he readied to guide you through the crowd, always protective in spaces like this, another thing that was special to him.

–

The ride home is quiet, like it always is, both of you sitting in the backseat with the partition up, watching as he looked through his phone with a scowl, occasional typing and sending a message.

Eventually, he looks at you.

“Thank you,” He says with a soft tone, “I know this isn’t your favorite thing to do.”

You tilted your head into the headrest and smiled, crossing one thigh over the other as you worked at your heels to remove them, “Oh, it wasn’t that bad—the free alcohol is always a plus.”

He chuckled at that, silently helping you remove your shoes with a soft squeeze to your foot.

That was normal—but, it forces you to pause.

His natural instinct to help, to touch, to comfort you.

Your brow furrows at the gesture before you shake it away, blaming it on the buzz of alcohol in your system, watching as he continues the gesture with the other foot.

“Having you there makes it bearable, is all,” he explains, looking up at you briefly as he undid the tie around your ankle, “you…calm me, I guess.”

You swallowed. Hard.

The warmth of his words lingering in your chest, in his touch against your ankle, “You’d do the same for me.”

And he would—if you ever needed anything, anything, Harry was there.

“Yeah,” he agreed quietly, “without question.”

The sincerity caught you off guard. 

You turned to study him, the familiar slope of his nose, the line of his jaw. There was something about the way he looked tonight—tired, maybe, but softer. 

And he keeps looking at you, checking.

The car moved smoothly through the dimly lit streets, the city blurring past in streaks of gold and blues and reds. The hum of the engine was steady, the faint sound of music barely audible from the front, through the glass, the back lit up dimly by the trim of lights on the roof and door.

Harry leaned back, one hand moved against the seat, his other hand dragging slowly over his thigh—restless. 

Instinctually, without thinking, you reached for his hand.

It wasn’t purposeful. Just a simple act of absentmindedness.

You’ve done it a hundred times before. 

Tugged at his sleeves to fix his cufflinks, brushed lint from his lapel or pants, adjusted the collar of his shirts. Constantly fixed his hair, touching him wasn’t new.

His skin was warm. Not hot, not cold.

You felt the slight twitch of his hand, like he was debating whether to move. Instead, his fingers shifted, just a fraction, enough that the edge of his thumbnail brushed over the inside of your wrist.

The contact was thoughtless, nothing.

But, in the same moment, it felt like everything.

The way his eyes watched the movement, roamed your body like they had before but with a different implication, his eyes half-lidded and relaxed, wondering how much alcohol he had consumed himself—this wasn’t friendly.

And it definitely wasn’t professional.

Harry’s gaze was on you now, your face, as you couldn’t tear your eyes away from his hand.

Then his thumb moved. 

Up. 

Barely. 

A soft drag along your pulse.

It was half a decade of avoidance, defeat in his heart and mind, and fear in your own.

Broken, by the car rolling to a stop outside of Harry’s apartment building.

“We’re here, Mr. Castillo,” the voice of the driver came from the front, a nod of acknowledgement as his hand slipped from yours.

“Oh, hold on,” you were scooting aside to let him out, readied for the next stop as he cocks his head toward the building, “I’ve got something for you—I’ll drive you home, don’t worry,”

“Harry,” you stress, looking down at his hand that waves you toward him, extending out for you to grab, insistently as his fingers wiggle in wait.

Turns out, he wasn’t totally lying.

That something was accompanied by a seven thousand dollar bottle of Leroz Aux Brulees—you knew that because you had purchased it during his trip to France, the supposed city of love.

“I’m going to murder you,” you tell him as he places the bottle on the counter and keeps the closed case of mystery at his side, “hide your body, flee country—I hate surprises, you know that.”

“I think you’ll like this one,” he grins, popping the cork on the bottle and pouring two hefty glasses, eyeing the deep red as it glugged into the glass.

“You know, if you wanted company you could have just asked,” you tell him, “I get it, you’re lonely,”

He knows you’re only teasing but it stings nonetheless, both of you taking a long and heavy sip as his fingers swirl over the velvet casing before he’s pushing it over quickly, tapping it with his fingers, “Open it,” he encourages, eyeing you over the rim.

You place your glass down and pry it open slowly, carefully, like you were deconstructing a bomb, but as the piece inside comes into view you find yourself at a loss for words or thoughts.

Your eyes are wide, staring up at him with parted lips that tingled from the lingering alcohol, knowing you should have cut yourself off at one glass of champagne and refused to come inside, that you should have just went home and enjoyed what little bit of the day you had left to yourself.

Now, you were looking back at a necklace so delicate you were afraid to stare at it too long, embedded with a cluster of diamonds and nearly two years of your rent if you were doing the math correctly in your mind.

Always about the numbers, Harry constantly teased.

“I saw how you looked at it the other day,” he admits, “and I owe you a hell of a lot more, but it…I’m trying to say thank you for…being you,”

“I’m not taking that,” you refuse with a laugh of disbelief, sliding back over to him gently, downing the rest of your wine in one go to forget how fast your heart was beating in your chest.

“You are,” Harry insists, “consider it a bonus—Christmas is in a couple months, too.”

“You know…this is exactly that kind of stuff a sugar da—”

Harry makes a noise, shaking his head.

You bite your lip in thought, ignoring his subtle annoyance at your comment.

It was fucking beautiful, really.

You sigh, using one finger to turn the case back toward you, examining it closely.

Quietly, Harry presses his glass into the counter and rounds the edge toward you, his chest at your shoulder as he reaches for the jewelry, working carefully at the clasp before he’s motioning for you to relax your shoulders.

It wasn’t the stillness of the moment, but his touch, again.

He’s methodical in the way he touches you, dragging his hand around your neck as he fits the necklace into place, his fingertips pressing against the column of your throat in a way that tickles slightly, shifting uncomfortably until you hear the faint click and he breathes behind you, hands resting at your shoulders.

You’re not sure why he hasn’t moved, but you find yourself turning to speak.

“I’m just going to call an uber,” you tell him, “probably shouldn’t drive since we’ve both been drinking,”

“Yeah,” he agrees, but it sounds hollow, his eyes not following you as you move.

You hop from the chair and bend down to grab your shoes, but his hand is curling around your bicep and pulling you up and he’s staring again, the charge of his touch sending a jolt through your body as freeze,

“Come here,” he beckons, too natural.

And you listen.

He’s soft, every part of him. Skin, clothes, hair, lips.

He’s kissing you gently, like you might break, but you can tell he wants more.

Needs more.

“Are you going to regret this tomorrow?” you find yourself asking as he parts from you, licking at his lips as you both take a breath, letting the moment settle.

He shakes his head, “Are you?”

“Maybe,” you answer honestly, “maybe…not—fuck, I don’t know,”

“It doesn’t have to mean anything,” he promises, but you knew that was a lie.

Still, you nod in understanding.

–

He’s so tender with his touch, slipping you out of the dress in the dim light of his room.

Even softer as he guides you to your back and spreads himself on his belly between your legs, fingers interlocked with his at your hips as he buries his nose between your folds, his tongue splitting your cunt open in a sharp gasp that has you throwing your head back. His lips traced a slow, deliberate path down your body, igniting sparks along every inch of your skin. 

He kissed along the curve of your thighs, teasing, tasting, until the tension was unbearable and with each flick of his tongue, each gentle suck, it pulled you deeper into a haze of heady desire. 

This was reckless, dangerous, but neither of you found the moment to pause and think.

You wonder if things had been building to this for a while—if it was always supposed to happen this way or if he was acting off of greed; lust and companionship, even if just for a night.

You know you can ask him to stop at any point and he would, but even as his tongue brings you to your first orgasm of the night and he’s guiding you to your stomach, reaching blindly into his bedside table for a foil wrapping the crinkles loudly in the silence, you want this.

It was embarrassing how badly you wanted this.

He fucks you slow, too. 

It was torturous, his chest flat against your back as he palms his cock and feeds it into you.

You don’t talk, neither does he.

But, his low moans and stuttering breaths speak for him.

If you could see him, you’d know how furrowed his brow would be, a hand sliding over the curve of your ass until he can reach your thigh, beckoning for you to raise it without speaking.

You oblige, the angle of his thrusts changing on a dime.

“I can’t believe you’re real sometimes,” he admits like he’s confessing a sin.

“Please,” you plead—please stop talking, please keep going, please fuck me.

You couldn’t decide.

You feel him nod where his forehead is pressed between your shoulder blades as his fist curls into the sheet beside your head.

“Another, gimme another,” he pleads, the fingers on his other hand curling under your neck to life your chin, not expecting to meet his eyes as he leans over you.

The expression on his face so raw it makes you flutter around him, his lips parting in a deep, guttural groan, “I know you can,” he nods hurriedly.

And damn, does the praise work.

Your whimper breaks him, breathing out shakily as you locked eyes when he comes, slow and forceful thrusts until you’re nothing but an exhausted pile of tangled limbs.

“Greedy girl,” he comments through the haze, a weak giggle bubbling from your chest.

He pulls out slowly, a low grunt as he does so.

You’re not sure when you fall asleep, but you wake to a startling amount of weight over your stomach, an arm splayed possessively, the faint outline of a ring as you drag your hand over the limb.

It’s only as your eyes pry open that reality hits you, stumbling out of bed quickly.

No…nononono, where the fuck were your clothes? Jesus.

You stumble around half awake, searching for the silk dress on the floor, feeling accomplished when you find it and hastily redressing yourself as Harry stirs in bed, encouraging you to hurry, to slip out before he can say anything.

Your shoes are already on and you’re reaching for the doorknob when the voice comes, the weight of the necklace that still remained on your neck, two empty glasses of wine on the counter, a night of hasty choices and urgency laid out like a crime scene as his voice rings out from behind you, pleading.

“Don’t—don’t go,” Harry begs, “You don’t have to go,”

So much of this was wrong—it complicated everything.

Your life, your job, your relationship with him.

He can see you slipping, fingers inching toward the knob as he approaches you in a hurry, barefoot and shirtless, the kind of scene you shouldn’t be comforted with, like this was all normal to the both of you.

You’ve seen him like this a thousand times, but not when he’s looking at you so vulnerable, heart tore open and stapled to his chest, beating against your own as his hands splayed out over your cheeks.

“I don’t regret it,” he assures you again, “so please—stay, okay?”

“What changed?” you ask, voice trembling, “Five years, Harry. Five.”

“I’ve been running in circles this entire time,” he admits, “you know it—I know it.”

You had been there the entire time, learning every part of him without judgement, cataloging his flaws and skills, learning how he ticked and what motivated him. You had never quite settled on the ideal person to fit in his life as his partner, it surely wasn’t you.

It couldn’t be you.

“Please, don’t go,” Harry echoed once more.

The sick, cruel joke of it all was that this was your job. 

You had nowhere to go. If it was any other morning, you would just be arriving, leaving his breakfast in the kitchen and starting your day.

You nod solemnly, “Of course, Mr. Castillo.”

It was painstaking, forcing the mask back on.

But, you couldn’t deal with this now.

Or ever, even.

Harry looks at you with a confused sadness, thumbs rubbing at your cheekbones before his hands fall to his side.

You’d figure this out, you always did.