#everything else is built on algorithms

[jenjensd]

Just did a few weird searches and had the instant thought of “damn, I just fucked up the algorithm”, only to remember blessed tumblr has No Algorithm. More reasons I couldn’t leave this Hellsite

[atrwriting]

future problems — coriolanus snow x fem!wife!reader

hi everyone :) jumping on the bandwagon

this man is so fine i couldn’t help myself. i hope everyone had an amazing holiday if they celebrate — i celebrate christmas, so here is my almost 10k word christmas gift to all of you xoxo love u all v much thank you for reading !!

as always, warnings: corio-lame-o is a fucking warning holy fuck, smuuuuut, arranged marriage (i think this counts?), coriolanus is a distrustful evil fuck (but he’s super hot), fem!reader, reader is married to this dickhead (i say as if i wouldn’t want to be lmao), angst, sexism and misogyny is def in here, p in v penetration, m receiving oral, choking, dom!corio, asshole!corio, sub!reader, subspace kinda

informal warnings: bro what the fuck was i on this is literally 10.2k words and i refuse to edit because im super lazy anyway we die like men you've been warned

anyways… here is future problems:

he never wanted to get married.

he saw it as a potential problem, one that would most definitely lead to loose ends — and he hated loose ends.

despised them.

however, his innate need to maintain an image was far more important to him. he weighed the costs and benefits in his head like an algorithm — check, check, check. coriolanus’ mind left no stone unturned, especially when future problems were to be squashed before they could ever be wiped from memory. in the end… he decided he would marry.

and it would be you.

he never allowed himself to be naive — so he would never allow himself to marry someone he already loved. lucy gray? a child’s want for something they can’t have, and something they wouldn’t realize until later that it was a walking regret. no — he could never marry someone that would harm him. absolutely not. out of the question. therefore, it had to be you.

it had to be you because what harm would you cause him? you were shy, quiet, of satisfactory social standing, and uncontroversial. everything a patriarch of the snow family would want. deserved. be entitled to.

he needed someone that wouldn’t be a problem — a loose end in the future. he had conquered so much — he refused to let anything else, especially as irrelevant as a significant other, stand in his way.

however… it did not aid him in his stone-cold lack of a love affair conquest that you were absolutely breathtaking.

at first, it was just an ego boost. he simply couldn’t stop his thoughts from voicing, of course she’s perfect. the snow legacy can only have perfect.

but then… oh, then…

then he saw your smile.

oh, your smile.

your fucking smile.

the first time he caught himself enjoying it — he scolded himself. he refused to see you for a week. a punishment of sorts. more so for him than for you. after, he refused to let his eyes wander on the pretty features of your face for him to witness a reaction to something someone had said or done. he didn’t want to be reminded of what it was like to experience joy or peace because someone else was experiencing it — that was what almost costed him everything he had built.

no one would ever tear that down. not again, not ever.

no one.

when the day of your marriage came, it was business as usual. he refused to meet eye contact, and did not partake in more conversations with you than he had to. he could tell you felt uncomfortable — but he forced himself not to care. he drove it down, down, down like a miner drilling for more coal — hoping, one day, it would be worth it.

and it was… until he was sick.

it was a minor ailment — nothing major, but he was on bedrest for about a week or two. he had employed enough adequate members to his staff to feel that things would at least be taken care of until then. he also found comfort in the fact that two weeks was not long enough for something irreversible to occur. if a problem had taken placed, he would be able to rectify it once he was well and able and… set aside the responsible party.

however, he did not expect one problem.

and that would be you.

he knew you were asking to see him. he knew, he knew, he knew, but he refused to let you in. you were not disrespectful — you had only asked once a day, which happened to be every day in the afternoon. he had picked you specifically because you were too quiet to be annoying. however, his own perfect, pristine, and proper plan had stabbed him in the back. he had never considered that the perfect, pristine, and proper wife would be this dutiful to him, checking in once a day on his condition and to speak with him. despite his illness, he laughed at himself — leave it to him to not expect the expected: the hand-selected dutiful wife would, in fact, be dutiful.

he had to put an end to it. he couldn’t keep saying no for another week. how was he expected to get better if you kept bothering him?

so he let you in. this once. just this once. he reasoned that if he let you in this once, you would be less persistent. just this once — and another problem would cease to plague his mind.

just this once, he chanted in his head. just this once.

he sat up straighter, and attempted to shape his hair so it wasn’t terribly unkept. he reasoned that if you saw him appearing to be healthy, you wouldn’t feel the need to come back. he thought —

but he couldn’t finish the thought.

because you walked in.

smelling like fucking lilacs.

lilacs, of all things. lilacs! not roses, not anything else — lilacs. he did not hate lilacs, but he despised the actual flower. only beautiful for so long before it died and the stench was intolerable. an inconvenience. a nuisance. a guaranteed future problem.

however, when you gifted him with a small smile — you realized why small shows of beauty were so valuable in this world. no one else saw your smile — except for those closest to you. people he hand selected to be around you to prevent future problems. he realized then — he had more control and ownership over your smile than either of you thought.

he was so stunned by your smile he didn’t even notice the tray of tea and cakes in your hand. you took a few steps towards him and he shifted in place.

“i brought your favorites,” you spoke softly. “i know you should rest — i just wanted to ask if there was anything i could do to make your recovery easier.”

“no, thank you,” he replied, voice raspy. “i should be well in a few days.”

you nodded and offered an uneasy smile. his eyes flickered over to how once you had set down the tray on his beside, you slowly wiped the palm of your hands down the front of your dress. your eyes were cast absentmindedly in front of you, on the wall — and he could tell something was plaguing your thoughts.

he then also realized there was a book on the tray, much to his dismay.

“someone had mentioned that this was your favorite author. this was published a few days ago,” you began. “i understand that you have been experiencing headaches, and may find it difficult to read… so i wanted to offer to read aloud for you, in case you found these walls dull.”

you smiled — it was an attempt at a joke. he smiled back, but only to be polite. “today i find myself wanting to sleep. i appreciate your offer.”

you smoothed your hands over your dress once more before nodding and forcing a smile. “i’ll leave you to it, then.”

you did not bid him farewell — and he found himself wondering if he was annoyed or grateful. you simply exited the room, and let the door shut softly behind you.

he scrunched his eyes at the door, swallowing hard.

however, he didn’t understand why.

he had wanted this. the perfect wife — knowing when to take a hint and frankly, fuck off. you had done that, perfectly well — so why was he pissed?

he then found himself glaring angrily at his favorite tea cakes. the swap of sugar for honey, another one of his favorites. his favorite author, a book he was excited to read when he was better. he knew that you hadn’t asked about him — he employed people with the requirement to let him know when you were asking questions. he knew your every outward thought and concern, and sometimes even the ones that weren’t shared aloud because they were so evident on your face.

and then he realized: you noticed things like he noticed things.

however, he knew why he went out of his way to notice things, but why did you?

his jaw clenched as he glared angrily at the wall in front of him. he picked up a tea cake and chewed it aggressively, swallowing it half-intact. he coughed at the barely there food, anger rising further to his flushed cheeks.

he needed to understand how, and he most certainly needed to understand why.

he never went out of his way to get to know you, because he thought he already did. he thought he had you boiled down to one thing, and one thing only: passive. incapable of proving to be any sort of roadblock that was capable of getting in his way. now that he knew you shared something with him, what else was shared? was there something he had to look out for? was there something he missed? was he wrong about you?!

he had to know. he had to.

to do that… he called you back that evening. it was two hours before midnight, and he knew you were awake. despite having separate chambers, he knew your daily schedule. you would be reading at this moment, and he would ask you to read for him.

as if on cue, he heard a soft rapping on the wood of the door. he beckoned you in, and you entered the room. you were clad in a night dress with a matching robe over it, all pink silk. this time, he returned your smile.

"i apologize for the late hour," he spoke. "i hope you had not retired for the night."

you shook your head, your tendrils of perfect hair shaking slightly. "i was reading. i am glad you sent for me — can i get you anything?"

"i was hoping the offer to read for me was still on the table," he rasped. "i find myself unable to sleep."

you blinked once, staring at him. in an instant, a small smile was threatening to overtake your face into a large one. you cast your eyes down to a blushing manner, but his eyes narrowed slightly on your face. what would you get out of reading for him? what we he not seeing? what did he miss?

"of course," you responded. "i have not had a chance to read anything by this author. i am glad i have the chance now."

why. why. why.

he did not show his discontent. he simply rested back against the pillows as you reached for the book on his bedside table. you sat down on a chair on his side, and you crossed your legs. he eyed the small portion of the exposed, soft skin of your legs and wondered if your new ploy would be to try and seduce him. however, you quickly covered your skin with the extra material over your robe and placed the book in your lap. once opened, you read for him.

he was not listening to what you were saying, but he was listening to how you said it. the tone, the enunciation, the pauses, and the speed. he wanted to find some clue as to why you had made it a point to be at his beck and call, and he wanted to see how long the act would last until it dropped.

the act would drop. it always did.

the hour would approach midnight before he found that he could not discern anything from how you were reading aloud. his plan did not yield the results intended, as you had not broken from fulfilling his task for two hours. two hours. you had not stopped out of boredom or exhaustion, nor to talk to him. you were poised, soft, and he hated to admit it... but sweet. he found your voice sweet, and he hated it.

and he fucking hated himself for it.

he needed this to end so he could plan further. out of necessity, he yawned. if you were to apt at picking up clues, then hopefully you would believe that he was finally tired. you had succeeded in his given task, and you were free to go.

but you had kept reading for him.

he grew angry.

when you had paused to breathe, he spoke up. "I think i am able to sleep now. thank you, sweetheart, for indulging me."

your eyeline raised with your eyebrows, almost out of surprise. you either were not expecting him to ask you to stop, or you did not want to stop. he wondered which, and if that would answer his ultimate question.

"my apologies, i should've inquired sooner," you replied. "he is a very talented writer... i found myself enjoying his perspective."

you grabbed a piece or scrap paper from his bedside table, and tucked it in between the pages where you left off.

"most people would fold the corner," he remarked, eyes drifting closed — a show.

you smiled. "i didn't want to ruin the integrity of your book. goodnight, coriolanus."

she left with another smile — and all he was left with was confusion, and rage.

the next morning, he found himself wanting to call you back in for a further rouse interview. he would have if he had a plan in place.

that was the second thing about you that annoyed him: you annoyed him to the point where he wanted to act without a plan in place. a loss of control —which he was highly against.

that would have to be righted immediately.

he spent the morning reading the pages that you had already read to brief himself as if he was listening last night. he reasoned with himself that the best course of action would be to ask you to read to him again to see if you had grown comfortable enough to let a few of your true colors slip.

they always slip.

the sudden task that was presented to him gave him a new bout of energy that he needed to inch closer to recovery. it gave him the push he needed to be closer to walking out of this room and continue to run panem, and he was lost grateful to you for giving it to him — almost. at the moment, you were a problem — and that needed to be corrected. immediately.

he found comfort in control, so he was very content with routines. he had grown accustomed to bracing himself for your check-in in the afternoon. however, it did not come until the approaching hours of the evening had almost descended upon the capitol. he waited, and waited, and waited — so long that he considered asking you to come for himself. the hour would approach dinnertime when you had finally asked about his well-being, and he sent for you.

how dare you ask so late in the day, as if you didn't care? he allowed you access to his life that he had denied you for so long, and you return his kindness with carelessness? this would not do. this most certainly would not do.

you had knocked on his door, and he had to stop himself from sounding to eager. he permitted you entry, and you entered with the same soft smile.

"good evening," you greeted.

"hello," he replied, voice still raspy from his sickness.

"I wanted to ask if you need anything," you announced.

he offered a small smile. "i enjoyed our time last night. perhaps you would read for me, again?"

your eyes fell to the floor in a blush. "of course. I was hoping to read more of the book eventually. i found it intriguing."

you sat down in the chair and pulled the book in your lap. as you were opening it, he spoke, "i thought when you had not checked-in in the early afternoon you found the book dull — afraid i would ask for you to read it for me again."

you shook your head as you smiled. "i like his writing very much — i was concerned as to whether i had prevented you from sleeping the night prior, and didn't want to disturb you further."

he swallowed. "why would you have disturbed me?"

your eyes glanced upwards from the pages to rest on his face. coriolanus stared back as slight concern washed over your features, making your lips part and your eyes widen. your tongue darted out from between your lips, and smoothed over the skin of your bottom lip. you responded, "before you fell ill, we hadn't spent much time together and i understand that is because of your position — but, to be frank, i wanted to respect your space.”

your answer perplexed coriolanus. he wanted to find out what type of person you were — and your answers were not yielding the expected results. there was no obvious form of manipulation in your words, which then worried him. were you smarter than he believed you to be? were you as cunning as him? more so?

so he went with what was natural: manipulation.

“i apologize my station has not granted us the freedom to get to know each other further,” he replied, holding your gaze. “it is a regret of mine.”

you smiled in an affirmative manner, like you didn’t believe him but accepted his answer anyway. this expression arose the same feelings he now detested your presence for: he acted without calculating his actions and the outcome they would produce.

“what troubles you?” he asked.

your lips parted and slightly quivered. you were not expecting him to ask.

“i-i was worried that i may not… please you,” you admitted. “that… you may regret our union.”

“you have been a kind and dutiful wife,” coriolanus spoke, eyes holding yours. “there is no regret.”

there was that affirmative smile again. he found himself hating it — wishing it would be replaced by the warm, soft one.

“i guess i was hoping that, when i was married, the marriage would be more than… a union.”

your candor shocked coriolanus. he would never have expected you to say something… so out of turn.

“please, forgive me,” you spoke, slightly laughing and waving your hand in the air. “the hour is almost late and i was hoping to read more. do you still wish me to?”

“please,” he answered and nodded.

you gave him a quick, thankful smile, and began reading.

this would be the second night coriolanus had not listened to a word you had said.

he had gotten his answer, and it was possibly as bad as the one he was actually afraid for.

you were good. pure, innocent, and your outlook on the world untainted. you were not striving to find a loose screw and let the empire fall. you wanted… to support the man who built and kept the empire together. it was worse than anything he could’ve ever imagined — you actually cared for him.

you cared for him, and now coriolanus snow was fucking terrified.

and yet... he had asked you to return to his chambers every night after that.

for research purposes, of course. only research purposes,

to read to him, but his goal was to learn more about you rather than the text.

you would sit there and read until he asked you to stop. when he did, you would close the book, smile at him, place it back on his nightstand, and bid him goodnight.

after, he would wrestle with the blankets and pillows in order to find out how to deal with this.

how had he not expected this?

his only fault was that he neglected to realize how far your shyness would go. you had grown comfortable with him — and you admitted that you wanted something more, something he always felt he could not give. you weren’t shy — you just weren’t open with people you weren’t comfortable with.

he should’ve known. he should’ve. fucking. known.

he didn’t know how to deal with this, if he was being honest with himself.

he told himself that he asked for you every evening to get to know you better, for his own sanity and safety; but then he began to realize he had found out everything he needed to know.

good and honest. how fucking unfortunate.

he saw a part of you, but now he needed to know more.

so what did he do? he sent you flowers. flowers. an arrangement of red roses and lilacs.

he hated himself for the lilacs.

he got somewhere with you when he had made the first move before — maybe this would yield more promising results.

however, it didn’t.

all he received in return was an extra tray of food that had arrived in the afternoon. his favorite tea cakes, and a handwritten thank-you note detailed in your appreciation for the beautiful flowers. you signed your name, and that was it.

she doesn’t make first moves, he thought. she responds to them.

he knew what he had to do.

he found himself feeling better that day — well enough to end his sick leave and return to his matters. dinner was approaching, and he sent for you to join him for a private dinner this evening.

he was washed, dressed, and coiffed within the hour.

he found you in the dining parlor waiting for him, inspecting his large bookcase. you were trying to reach a book a bit above where your height would allow, extending yourself onto your toes. coriolanus walked up behind you, towering over you, and retrieved the book for you.

you glanced up at him with wide eyes. “thank you, coriolanus.”

“what intrigued you?” he asked, grinning softly.

“first one i couldn’t reach. i was working my way up.” you smiled at him, and then the book. “please — you must be hungry. let us eat.”

you sat down at the table across from him. dinner manners were rather stiff and uncomfortable, but your upbringing that was similar to coriolanus’ prevented you from straying from them. you ate in silence for a few moments before you spoke.

“how do you like his new book?” you asked.

coriolanus cleared his throat. “i find it riveting. i wouldn’t have been able to read it for some time if it hadn’t been for you.”

you smiled at your plate, blushing. “his points are very interesting. i was never very interested in politics — so the insight of someone so heavily involved with them is very informative. do you find that your opinions align with his? or does he not share your perspective?”

he appreciated your willingness to engage with him about topics you weren’t very fond of. an underrated trait, not found very often — he had to admit.

“a bit of both,” he responded. “the one thing he does not discuss is how important it is to have a certain type of person or persons in your regime that allows the flow of success to continue.”

you nodded. “you have built a strong administration — i’m sure he would admire what you have to say.”

“what do you believe?” he asked. “about partnerships?”

you swallowed, contemplating your answer. “i think… a successful partnership is where everyone is complimented by another. for instance, someone is better at briefing documents rather than the presentation of them, and another is the opposite.”

“which one are you?” coriolanus inquired.

you paused once more, folding your lip under. he realized that was a sign you were uncomfortable — unaware of how to proceed. after a moment, you answered, “i feel the most confident under a strong leader. i prefer to be behind the scenes. minute details are easier to be taken care of that way. while you and i are different, i respect you for being the strong leader panem needed. i am sure the majority would agree with me.”

now was the time.

“it is easy to be strong when one’s wife makes sure they are well,” he replied, eyes resting on your face. “i hope you know i appreciate your willingness to accept change and make sure needs are met.”

you smiled at him once more, then turned back to your food.

damn, he thought. didnt bite.

“and for being the companion i… didn’t think i would come to enjoy the company of,” he added.

you glanced up at him then, astonishment written in your eyes as plain as the words on the paper you read for him every night. “may i ask you… a question?”

he nodded.

“did you believe you wouldn’t enjoy my company before, or after you had first met me?”

“i don’t understand.”

you swallowed, clearing your throat. “were you… wary of the idea of marriage, or wary of me?”

your gaze did not break from his. you were braver than he thought.

“marriage,” he answered honestly, hoping to witness your reaction.

there was the affirmative smile — the one he hated. “thank you for — for being honest.”

your eyes didn’t wait for a response. you turned back to your food, and left him dumbstruck.

“i hope i have not displeased you,” he stated.

“no, coriolanus,” you spoke. “if i am being honest… i was wary i would not be suitable for you. if i have not displeased you, then i am well.”

“but you stated you wanted more,” he countered, tone even.

“i hoped we would… spend time together,” you answered. “and we have.”

it was coriolanus’ turn to be at a loss for words. what would this admission relay? it only solidified what he was afraid of — you wanted a marriage filled of love, and he was not prepared for that. ever.

“the flowers were beautiful,” you spoke, interrupting his thoughts. “thank you for sending them.”

“your lilac perfume is a wonderful addition to the capitol,” he spoke, unsure where this had come from. “i wanted you to know that.”

you weren't supposed to say that you weren't supposed to tell the truth you weren't supposed

you smiled at him appreciatively, that accompanied a slight twinkle in your eye. you were quick to return to eating, but coriolanus couldn’t stop staring at your face. he realized then that was his new favorite smile.

there was a moment, a small moment, where he wondered whether it would be such a crime if he did allow himself to enjoy your company more than he had. in that moment, he couldn’t think of how it would go wrong. for that moment, you were a simple, low-maintenance, beautiful woman on the other side of the table with him that just liked spending time with him — and he enjoyed that you weren’t a problem. would it so bad if he entertained the idea?

he immediately cut himself off. of course it was a bad idea.

once dinner has finished, he had requested to walk you back your chambers. if time spent together was what kept you at bay, he could manage that. he most certainly could.

when the pair of you had approached the door, you stopped for a moment and paused reaching for the handle. you spoke, “would you… like to come in?”

“not tonight,” he rasped. he gave you a polite smile. “another time.”

he watched as you blinked your eyes a few times and your lips quivered. you didn’t meet his gaze, for it fell — in what appeared to be embarrassment.

oh.

you invited him in to… to…

that he had not expected.

before you had the chance to leave, he swooped down and grabbed your chin in his thumb and forefinger. he pressed his lips to yours ever so softly, holding it there. the moment your breath caught in your throat, there was a strange feeling inside his chest that made him feel like he’d like to quell your worries by catching you off guard another time. and another. and another. and another. he couldn’t have you feeling rejected, no — not when he didn’t want to reject you. he needed heirs, sure — but they could wait. he would contemplate how long later.

once he pulled back, you smiled. inside you were bursting, and you wanted to hurry behind a closed door so he could not see your reaction. he continued to hold your chin and gaze at your face. feeling brave, you looked him in the eye as you bid him goodnight and went into your room.

you left him standing outside your door, facing its wood paneling.

what was he to do?

he wanted to keep you as emotionally far away as possible to avoid anything like this occurring. he was prepared for people who had an ulterior motive… not a young woman who only wanted to be good to her husband.

the worst part was… not every part of him wanted him to keep you away.

would it be so bad, if he had actually courted you?

you were not anyone from his past, no. you were not irresponsible and impulsive, and you could be trusted to remain within a designated role and space. you were rarely outspoken — you never strayed from your cue cards, nor did you get smart in private. you never spoke out of turn, which coriolanus always knew — this was just the first time he was more turned on than he was just grateful.

he reasoned a reward was in order.

he found his knuckles wrapping on the door before he could stop himself.

the small movements inside your apartments stalled for a moment, pulled taut like a string in an instrument. he could picture you — standing still and silent, waiting for an explanation.

then he heard footsteps approaching the door before the door handle turned. when you opened the door, the first thing he saw was your eyes.

those big, beautiful eyes that looked at him with surprise — and the slightest bit of hope. coriolanus would most likely try to convince himself that he stayed completely still to exercise a form of control over you — but deep down, he would never be able to believe that completely.

however… when you reached out with your soft, delicate hand, and pulled at his own — it didn’t matter why he did it, because he won.

he shut the door behind him, keeping your gaze.

“i would be coy and ask if we could spend time together in a... different way than usual…” you began, sighing. “but up until this moment i was convinced we would never…”

coriolanus was in no mood to quell insecurities and anxieties. he understood that words could not compare to actions, and so he would do just that.

coriolanus stepped forward, and pressed his large hands against the sides of your face. for a split moment — you almost looked terrified. he usually relished in that look from others, but with you it only made him concerned — angry, even.

“i don’t know what it is about you.” his voice was shaky. it was the first moment in your entire marriage that coriolanus had shown even a shred of weakness. “you smile, you obey, you take my transgressions like they’re fucking sweets. why?! tell me!”

your big, round eyes were blown wide as your brow was knitted together. your lips were parted in an innocent manner, and it only fueled his anger. one of your hands came up to gently lay across the back of his. “coriolanus — have you ever considered that i just wanted to get to know you?”

his eyes searched yours like they were an important document and he couldn’t believe what bullshit he was reading. his lips pursed in a manner that suggested a sour taste, and you felt your joy slipping, slipping, and slipping.

“coriolanus — if you want to go, then go.” your voice was breaking. you knew he was a cool, hard man — but this? this? it was almost too much. “you don’t have to stay if you don’t —“

he couldn’t take your nonsense anymore. he shut you up with a kiss.

he smashed your lips together like it was the first thing he should’ve done when he walked back into the room. a squeal died in your throat at the contact, but coriolanus held you there and upright. both of your hands found the firmness of his chest for balance. when he pulled away — he barely did. he kept his lips an inch away from yours as little tuffs of air pushed past. he leaned his forehead against yours, almost bonding the two of you.

“my greatest displeasure will be making you regret this,” he rasped, eyes screwed shut.

your breathing began to hasten as you contemplated your next words. you began to stroke coriolanus’ hands with your thumbs, hoping to coax him. “you say that like it’s inevitable.”

“it is not far from,” he choked through anger and sadness.

you couldn’t help but stare back at him as he almost glared at you — but then you realized that wasn’t the case. he wasn’t glaring at you — he was glaring through you. whatever traumatized him, whatever made him so distrustful of the world around him and the people in it… you realized then that you represented all of that to him. you had to be different. you had to show him that you were different than all of that.

“i’ve trusted you,” you whispered, almost pleading. “i would like for you to try and trust me. please, coriolanus… i’ve never asked you for anything — just this once —“

coriolanus shook his head, dismissing you. “it’s corio.”

he slammed his lips to yours. his kiss was that of a fight; burning with every cut of anger, frustration, desperation, and sadness in his soul. you weren’t sure if he accounted for your inexperience, but you let him lead as you swallowed all of his suffering. you knew you may never be everything you wanted to be for him — but for this moment, or for whatever he would allow — you could be his escape, and he could be yours.

just this once, you both thought. just this once.

his hands were on both sides of your face, caging you in as you were at the mercy of his bittersweet affection. you tried to keep up with him, almost afraid that you wouldn’t be enough for him — but corio didn’t care. he couldn’t have cared less as he backed you into the foot of the bed. he didn’t stop kissing you as the back of your legs hit your soft mattress, and you were forced to sit down.

with his tongue tangling with yours, you managed to lift your hands to the top buttons of his shirt. he batted your hands away and went to work on his own buttons. you reached behind for your zipper to your dress and attempted to undue it.

corio then pushed your hands away with that too — ripping the zipper down its track and pushing the sleeves down your shoulders.

“corio —“ you gasped through the kiss, struggling to keep up with him.

he pulled away for a short moment, staring into your eyes. “i have denied myself being with you for so long — nothing is stopping me now.”

he held the glare, and you could only stare back at him in fright. however, that was when you realized that he had felt the same way, or at least similar — you both wanted each other, and had been scared to approach the other. your heart filled with warmth, threatening to explode, but all you could do was nod.

he seemed to calm down then, glancing down towards your lips where he prodded your bottom lip with the tip of his numb. “i have wondered for so long what it would be like to kiss my perfect wife — and now that i know, i don’t think i’ll ever give it up.”

you smiled at that. “can i tell you what i have been wondering?”

his eyes met yours once more, almost a warning. you didn’t falter, though. he replied, “yes?”

“i’ve wondered what it would be like to please you,” you spoke softly, a pink hue rising to your cheeks.

his flat look broke then, softening. a smirk greeted his features and you could see his confidence in himself rise. “my lovely wife wants to please me?”

“yes,” you spoke, holding your breath. “if you’ll let me.”

bright and striking, flames of mischief came to light in his irises. emotions of excitement and fear rose within you, and you weren’t sure which was stronger. all you could do was watch as your strong, powerful, larger than life husband stood over you, chin raised, looking down his nose at you, as he unbuckled his belt. his pants and briefs, once around his ankles, were discarded — but you didn’t see that. you couldn’t look away from his eyes — holding you, and your gaze, in place.

it was like you were an enemy he was testing. you didn’t know what he expected, let alone what would make him happy — but you hoped his expectations were slightly lower in light of your inexperience. you swallowed the hard rock of nervousness in your throat, stood up, and gestured for him to sit down on the edge of the bed. he raised an eyebrow at you, but complied. you sat down on your knees in between his, and waited patiently for direction.

“can you…” you began. “can you teach me?”

he smirked once more. “take me in your hand.”

you bent your head lower, and grabbed him by the base. he was hard and warm in your hand as you saw him trying to fight the twitching feeling in his limbs. his muscles were tight, afraid to show weakness. you grew uncomfortable — you didn’t want him weak, but you did want him to feel comfortable enough with you to enjoy a fucking blowjob.

holding his muscle upright, you stuck your tongue out and licked around the tip of his cock. he was salty, but smelled so masculine after a long day. his scent infiltrated all of your senses and had captured your attention. it made you hungry, greedy — so much so that you closed your lips around his cock and began to suck.

he jumped then. “teeth,” he spat.

you paled in embarrassment and fright — but didn’t allow your fear to show for long. you adjusted your tongue and lips — so that your top lip was folded under your top set, and your outstretched tongue covered your bottom set. hollowing out your cheeks, you took him into your mouth once more.

a low hum filled his chest.

you couldn’t see him, and could barely hear him — corio was being a selfish lover and not letting you know whether or not he was enjoying himself. he told you once before you were doing something wrong, so you tried to trust that he would tell you.

that was easier said than done, frankly. with your free hand, you reached up and began to massage his sack in the soft skin of your palm. the hum in his chest turned deeper and louder, and you felt his hips twitch once.

maybe it shouldn't have mattered that he wasn't vocal — but it wasn't like he was shy. you would not fault him for not doing something he didn't want to do, but it was like he was denying you that. if you were making him feel good, and he was fighting the volume of his moans — how fucking dare he deny you of that! there you were, constantly at his beck and call, and he couldn't even freely moan with you? you were obedient, quiet, grateful, everything he wanted — but this? this? too much. absolutely too much of an ask.

you had to do something.

"mr. president," you cooed, twisting your soft tongue around the tip of his cock. "you're awfully quiet above me."

he let out a laugh as he struggled to keep his composure. one of hands found the back of your head as his fingers struggled to tangle themselves in between your strands. they were tugging and pulling, but there was no strength in his grip. his grip — wouldn't catch. couldn't catch. corio, you husband — struggled day in and day out to keep the control in the capital and inside his castle. there was a part of you that believed he just needed to let go, let someone else be in control — but you were his pretty little wife after all. you had until death to try everything. losing control could wait, because tonight... tonight was about making corio the grateful one for once.

you let your loose grip run circles up and down the length of his cock. his shaft was wet and thick, begging the attention of the light from above so the skin was able to glisten. the tip of his cock, red and angry, almost neglected — never had you seen something so delicious, nor deserving of affection. your lips, swollen, wrapped themselves around the tip of his cock as you sucked. notes of salt and sweat mixed together on your tongue, and you hummed at the taste.

"taste sweet, mrs. snow?" you heard from above you. your eyes glanced up to find corio's eyes glazed over with pleasure. his eyelids were drooping over, and all you could think about how badly you wanted to make him close his eyes in bliss. your eyes watched his eyes, but his eyes watched the way your mouth sucked him in. "being so good for me. let your husband see what else you can do."

your ears perked in interest. you didn't know what he meant, but you were intrigued to see if he would teach you.

"please... show me what you like," you spoke, extending your neck as he lowered his face to yours.

"so eager to please..." he spoke, staring down at you in awe. his hand slid down for your scalp to cup your cheek. he looked into your eyes like he was studying you — searching for something surface level. a flaw, or something good... you weren't sure. "i suppose some would say i'm lucky."

you didn't like the sound of that... but you didn't let it show. you gave him a hint of a smile. "i don't think it matters what anyone else thinks. i think what matters is you telling me what you like... so you can decide if you're lucky or not."

he chuckled at that, but his laugh was reserved. always holding back, your husband. "you really want to be a good little wife for me... don't you?"

you fell into the strength behind the hand on your face and keened into his touch. his hand was warm against your skin. "please, corio... please let me."

he stood then, and your gaze raised with his body. you gazed up at him as he stared down at you. there his eyes went again — searching yours. he stood closer to you then, bending down slightly. "it would please me if, at any point, you told me to stop because of the pain. i don't want to hurt you." his voice was low and soft then, immediately striking you. "can i trust you to do that? hmm?"

"i'll tell you," you replied, nodding your head. "i promise."

"never break a promise you make to me," he warned.

you nodded your head once more, unsure how to proceed. he led you over to the side of the bed where he gestured for your to lie down. with the passing of time, you became more and more aware of how bare you both were in front of each other. you were ready to let down every fence of insecurity for the man before you... but there were still walls of his that threatened to come down. he was hot and cold every other moment, it seemed... and you weren’t even sure where to begin.

“husband,” you spoke, unsteadily, as he found his place between his legs. “you seem so… distrustful of me. what can i do? please, corio, i just want this moment to be special for us — for you.”

there his eyes went — searching yours again. it was like he was rereading a page in a book over and over, hoping to find the hidden message in the black and white scripture. his eyes, going back and forth, appeared to be looking over unclear smudges and scribbles as his lips began to purse. you almost said something — stopped him from withdrawing into himself, but he moved before you could.

he sat back against the pillows, which faced a mirror across your bed. you rose curiously, hoping that he would finally give you some direction. he simply took your hand in his, and gestured for you to come closer. “come,” he spoke.

in his lap, maybe? you thought curiously. you went to throw your leg over his, before he stopped you. with a furrowed brow, you watched as he adjusted you so your back laid against his chest.

“do as i say,” he whispered against your ear, sending shivers up and down your spine.

your eyes were cast to the side, his outline in your peripheral vision. you nodded, letting your lips fall apart. you felt one of his hands on the soft skin of your thigh, grazing upwards towards your hips. you almost let your eyes fall closed, hoping to lose yourself in the sensations, before corio stopped you.

with that same hand, he reached upwards and grasped your chin between his fingers. your eyes shot open as he moved your head to now face the mirror, and the pair of you in it.

shallow breaths were pushing past your lips as you stared into the mirror. your cheeks were flushed, your hair in a slight disarray, and your lips were swollen. with a flutter of your eyelashes, your gaze flickered towards corio’s reflection. your husband was always perfect — so even the slight persuasion from tidiness was a remarkable sight to you. his eyes were focused — unable to remain cool, calm, and collected as usual.

his eyes, you thought. his eyes will always tell me.

“you will watch,” corio spoke suddenly, voice hard. “you will keep your eyes on my hands. you stray, and i leave. understand?”

you nodded, looking into his eyes through the mirror.

he cocked an eyebrow.

“yes,” you spoke, almost breathless. “i understand.”

corio’s hand then found its way to your center. the tips of his finger tips, soft and hot, lightly drew a line up and down your slit. your eyes wouldn’t leave the mirror — focused on his fingertips. it was like your skin knew every correct button to tap, tap, tap. every part of you was so sensitive, so keen to his touch that you were embarrassed. you felt so pathetic against his chest, bent to his will — but you wouldn’t have had it any other way. the voice in your head was whining and hoping you would give in, just give in, let down your guard, give in, forget manners. you wanted to keep your composure as long as possible, but when corio’s middle finger found your clit…

oh… you were done for.

one of your hands immediately snapped up to find corio’s bicep and clutch onto whatever foundation he could give. you didn’t dare let your eyes meet his, even in the mirror — what if he stopped? what, huh? what then? when you were the closest you had been ever? you couldn’t allow yourself to be greedy, not when he was being oh, so selfless.

the circles he was drawing taunted your ability remain calm. he rolled your tiny clit underneath the weight of the tip of his finger and pressed down with every circle. it pushed, and pulled, and fucking pried at every fiber of your being. you could only force yourself up and back against corio, whining like a pathetic mess.

“running away from me, my sweet?” he whispered in your ear. “when i’m being so kind?”

his words bit at your ear, reminding you of your position in his world. your eyes were threatening to drift closed, hoping, praying, that corio would let you slip this once from your responsibilities. naive, you were, to believe that.

“remember our deal, wife,” he darkly cooed in your ear. “one request was all i had. i refuse to be denied it.”

“i know, i know…” you whined, rolling your hips with his hand. “it just feels so good, corio… i’ve never… no one’s ever…”

“i can tell you never knew how bad your body would crave it,” he spoke, nipping at your earlobe. “even your pussy obeys me, drenching my fingers. too sweet for this world, aren’t you?”

“just wanna be sweet for you, corio,” you whined as your vision began to blur.

the approaching orgasm was anything but a warm and fuzzy feeling around you. it was hot and jagged — making your muscles jerk, yet force your hips to roll into every movement of corio’s. the cloud over your brain felt like a warm haze of the finest whisky or tobacco the capital could offer. you were numb, drunk, and unable to process the world around you unless it was corio. his touch, his taste, his scent, his look, his orders… everything was setting you off and keeping you in place all at once. your body was hot to the touch, feverish as it tried to fight your sophistication and just fucking —

“that’s it, sweetheart. so focused on the mirror you can’t even find the strength to let go for me,” he spat, pressing a kiss to your cheek and breathing in your scent. “ride my hand like the good girl you are. you wanted to show me, remember?”

tears were brimming your eyes and blurring your vision. your teeth were gritted and bared for him. one of his hands came up to loosely grasp your throat as your hips began to spasm. it was so much, too much, so much —

“corio, please —“ you cried. “please let me look away. i can’t — i have to cry, i can’t —“

there was no softness in his movements against your aching clit. corio had now employed two fingers to dip into your core, collect your slick, and rub it along your sensitive bud in harsh circles. it sent your mind through a suffocating tube and gasping for air. you were begging, pleading — unsure what would happen if you were denied the ability to finish in peace. you began to cry in frustration and fear, so sensitive to the touch and his approval.

“corio…” you whimpered. “please, please let me…”

“do it,” he spat, holding your throat and kissing your face. “show your husband how fucking messy you can be for him.”

you grasped onto him and threw yourself back.

it was like a rollercoaster. twists and turns, yanking your body every which way. corio’s body rocked with yours as the sensations climbed and fit into every single one of your limbs. your lungs, burning, were screaming for air as you tried to fight for consciousness. the world was white, milky, foggy — unable to navigate, let alone exist in. all you could feel was corio’s body moving with yours and coaxing you through the most insane moment of your entire life.

tears fell down your face, and you struggled to conceal it. corio refused to let you hide from him. he bent his face low to yours and pressed the side of his face against the side of yours.

his breaths were heavy, similar to yours.

“corio…” you whimpered, almost whining.

“i know, sweetheart,” he cooed. “so good for me, weren’t you? asking so obediently and politely.”

you nodded, pressing your forehead against his. “i’m sorry that i was —“

“what’re you sorry for?” he demanded.

you clenched your jaw. “i was — i am — i’m worried i was too much — i was so — out of control —“

he shut you up with a kiss. coriolanus snow refused to allow you to continue, or else he knew he would be offended if he had let you finished.

“i wanted that,” he stated. “every bit of that. what, you don’t find it agonizing to be prim and fucking proper every day?”

you laughed uneasily, a bit spooked by his outburst of aggression. “i thought you — i thought that was what you wanted from me.”

he shook his head. “out there — it’s necessary. in here, when it’s only the two of us? don’t ever hide yourself from me. you must promise.”

you swallowed as your haze began to disappear. “only if you promise the same."

you saw his jaw pulse from the corner of your eye. “i promise.”

“i promise,” you returned.

you quickly reconnected your lips. you couldn't let the moment slip away. you needed to seize him while he was there — trusting you for the first time in your entire relationship. you found both of your hands on the side of his face and held him to you. corio fought for control, but you gave in immediately. the need for him to need you was stronger and more satisfying that anything else you could've experienced in that moment. you turned around, straddling his lap and pushing him down to the bed.

everything you were doing was improper: grabbing your husband, forcibly kissing him, sitting in his lap, pushing him down... you almost stopped. you almost gave into the insecurity and made friends with with meekness and shyness once more. however, you made a promise — and you intended to keep it.

"i want you inside me, corio," you whispered against his lips. "please, i want to feel you —"

"again, sweetheart?" he ripped himself from your lips to grunt out his teasing. "one taste, and you're addicted?"

you hummed approval against his lips, tangling your tongue with his. with one hand on the back of your head, holding your face to his, corio's other hand fished between the pair of you and grasped his leaking cock in his hand. the tip was red and swollen, aching for some stimulation or attention. he spread his precum over his tip and with a firm hand, corio slid his cock inside of you.

you arched your back away from corio. the feeling of him being fully sheathed inside of you bent your attention in every which was. both of your hands cradled the back of his head into your chest, where he found himself nestled between your breasts. his breaths were hot and heavy, moist against your skin. his swollen lips found one of your perky nipples and sucked it into his mouth, caving to his primal urges. coriolanus snow wanted every part of you for himself, and needed to place that claim on every part of your body. he wanted your thighs to shake and ache from being locked around him, your fingers to tremble from your hard grip, and he wanted your lips to be bruised from how hard he made you bite them. and, most of all, he wanted every loud moan to rip itself from your aching throat and fill the perfectly painted walls of this damned room.

he cursed you when you threw a hand over your mouth, and he immediately ripped it away. "don't you fucking dare," he spat.

you ignored him. he was your husband, and he was the scariest man you would ever meet, and yet you ignored him. most of all, your hips ignored him. they began to roll against his own the best they could for their inexperience. up, down, and grinding down was the best they could manage before corio grabbed you by the flesh of your hips and moved you to his liking. and when your mouth parted and a loud cry made your throat shake when he twisted your hips forward, he knew he found the spot.

"do not ever deny me what i am owed," he spat, fucking into that spot that wrapped a tight band around your abdomen. "i want to hear how good i am making you feel, and i will. i get to hear. those are mine. i am owed those."

again, you ignored him. what did he expect when your eyes began to roll back into your head and you began to match his pace? you were close, you were so, so close...

that was when corio grabbed you by the chin, refusing to let up his pace. his eyes were full of darkness, yet focus. like he had found his prey. you tried to focus, tried to give him the respect the deserved... but you couldn't. your mind was swimming, and your arching cunt was dripping down his length and onto the skin of his pelvis. you were lost. so fucking lost.

"yours, corio!" you whined. "all yours. only yours."

his voice was gruff against your lips as his thrust became rougher. "say it again."

your eyes began to drift closed as you leaned your head into the crook of his neck, rolling your hips against his. his cock had found its way to the most sensitive and purest part of you and ripped down every wall you had. you sobbed, "yours, corio. only yours."

corio threw you off of him and your back hit the bed. he was on top of you in an instant. he threw your legs up and pressed them against your chest. with your ankles on his shoulders, he pushed himself inside of you and began to relentlessly punish your perfect fucking pussy.

"mine, you got that?" he spat against your ear. "i have watched you, day after day, put on this fucking act! perfect and proper — but i made a proper whore out of the most desirable woman in the capital, didn't i? and now she's mine — forever warming my bed."

"forever, corio," you whined. your sobs were music to his ears, going straight to his cock. your cunt was raw from the friction and slick, unsure if corio should stop or keep going — but you didn't let him guess. "inside me, corio, please... want it to bad. been so good for you..."

his hand was around your throat and demanding your attention. "as if i'd waste a drop when every man in the capital would be able to see you round with my child. you want that wife? my seed, my child? you want to be fully claimed by me?"

"yes," you cried, tears falling down your cheeks. "give it to me, husband, please —"

corio reached down in between your hips and rubbed your clit with whatever energy he had left. his thrust were growing sloppy, but his movements against your swollen bud were worse. he was hissing in your ear as he continued the assault against you. your moans were loud as they escaped your lips and filled the room, setting corio's skin on fire. sweat dripped down from his brow and down his neck to mingle with yours as your second orgasm of the evening began to approach. it snapped the rubber band in your lower belly and you immediately sobbed into corio's neck. his hips continued to rut in you, forcing you down onto the bed as he swallowed all of your sobs for himself. your nails dug into his back and down his spine, hoping to rip parts from him that he had taken from you.

when corio came, you were in a stupor. cock drunk with your mouth hanging open, dazed. when corio came, one of his hands grabbed your messy pile of hair, wrenching at the roots. he pulled you to the side to suck on the sensitive skin of your neck as he pumped your cunt full of his cum. your walls were hot and sticky, full of him, but it only caused the most sickeningly warm feeling to spread throughout you. every primal need of yours was satisfied, and corio could see every bit of it on your face. the pride that welled within your husband... shameful. no man should be in possession of such an ego boost like making the prettiest, more desired woman in all of panem break from all bounds of social etiquette. you were warm, and wet, and craving every bit of his touch, so he couldn't deny you... not anymore. not when he felt the same. with each sob that left your mouth, he felt a kick in the pit of his stomach as his balls throbbed. never in his life had a woman ripped from him what he had taken from her, cheeks hot and muscles worn out.

he would regret it in the morning, maybe, but not now. no — not now.

"husband, forgive me, but..." you spoke. "my mind is a mess. i don't think i can read to you this evening."

corio rolled his eyes and laughed. "that good?"

you pressed a kiss to his lips as you hummed in approval. "never wait that long to bed your wife again."

he chuckled darkly. "watch it, sweetheart."

---

love u guys sm sorry it was so long ty for reading love u love u love u

-L xooxoxooxox

[stewpidcheescatarinabluu]

Taste Of Millions.

Chapter 2: “Mask”

Synopsis: You have everything — power, fame, a five-star empire built on your tongue alone. But to complete The Palate Atlas, your lifelong culinary magnum opus, you need one final dish. And it just so happens the only person who knows how to make it is a rude, no-name chef hidden in the back alleys of Seoul — a girl who couldn’t care less who you are, and whose recipe may cost you more than your pride.

Word Count: 1,340

Karina X Male!Reader

You didn’t say anything else.

Not a word of praise. Not a compliment. Not a goodbye.

You stood, slow and measured, placed your spoon down like it was part of a ritual, and turned without looking back. The door clicked behind you, muffled by the heavy Seoul night.

The Royal Suite had everything — heated floors, imported silk sheets, a view of Seoul’s skyline that cost more per night than most people’s annual income. The minibar was stocked. The bath was drawn. Classical music played softly, algorithmically selected based on your previous stays.

And yet, for the first time in years, you didn’t taste anything.

You sat in silence. Jacket still on. The smell of her broth — earthy, deep, with that one untraceable note — clung to the collar of your coat. You poured yourself a glass of something expensive and let it sit untouched on the glass table.

You had eaten everything.

From the spice-soaked alleys of Mumbai to the quiet, tea-steamed inns of Kyoto — flavor was your currency, your obsession. And now, at 99%, the last chapter of The Palate Atlas was supposed to be ceremonial.

But she ruined that.

That girl.

That kitchen.

That taste.

You didn’t sleep. You didn't even lie down.

At 6:00 AM, you were dressed again. No need to alert the assistant this time. You knew where you were going.

Jongno looked different in the morning — pale light stretching across damp stone, laundry flapping from unseen windows, the city’s noise still rubbing the sleep from its eyes.

The same red lantern hung above the door. Flickering again, like it was laughing.

You opened it without knocking.

Inside: chaos.

She hadn’t heard the door. A small radio played trot music on the counter. Karina was hunched over a rice cooker, yelling into her phone with a half-burnt toast in her mouth.

“No, I said two cartons of eggs, not twenty — where the hell am I gonna fit twenty?! I live in a shoebox, not a warehouse—oh, crap.”

She turned too quickly and knocked over a stack of plates. You caught one mid-air.

She froze.

“…you,” she muttered.

You set the plate down without a word.

She blinked at you, eyes narrowed like she was trying to will you out of existence. Her hair was a mess — still tied, but haphazardly. One slipper on, one barefoot. Apron inside out.

“I didn't open yet,” she said, voice flat.

“I’m not here for the opening.”

“Of course you're not,” she scoffed. “You’re here to lurk in that chair again and stare at me like I’m some undercooked dish.”

You moved toward the seat. Same one.

She groaned. “God. Do you ever talk?”

You adjusted your coat. “Not unless the food’s worth it.”

She walked to the stove. This time, no theatrics. No silent grace. She cracked an egg with one hand — it broke messily, yolk spilling off the side of the pan. She didn’t react.

“Don’t expect miracles. You’re getting whatever’s left from testing.”

You watched her. No judgment. Just silence.

She burned the edge of the toast, tossed it, muttered something in a dialect you didn’t recognize. Then she turned around and saw your eyes still on her.

“What now?” she snapped.

“You were graceful yesterday.”

She blinked.

“Now you’re tripping over yourself.”

A beat.

“Wow. Your first joke,” she said. “Did it hurt?”

You didn’t smile.

But you did lean back slightly, watching her stir a pot with too much force.

“You know, I don’t trust people who cook like that,” you said, voice low.

She scoffed. “And I don’t trust people who talk in riddles and act like gods.”

You paused.

“Do you trust anyone?”

She didn't answer right away. Instead, she turned the flame down to simmer. Wiped her hands. Poured coffee into two chipped mugs — no cream, no sugar.

She set one down in front of you, keeping her own.

“Not really,” she said finally.

You took the mug. No thank you. No nod.

Just a sip.

Still too hot.

You didn’t flinch.

“Good,” you said. “Trust ruins flavor.”

She raised an eyebrow. “That's the most psychopath thing I’ve ever heard.”

You didn’t deny it.

And she didn’t ask you to leave.

She moved mechanically now — pan sizzling faintly, the egg finally cooking right, toast less burnt. The clumsy fog of her morning missteps slowly lifted as the kitchen air thickened with garlic, sesame oil, and gochugaru.

Still no small talk.

You were used to silence. You preferred it.

But then your eyes landed on a small, glass container set off to the side of the counter — an unassuming jar, filled to the brim with deep-red kimchi. It didn’t look plated. It wasn’t dressed up for a guest. This was someone’s real breakfast.

Without asking, you stood.

She was plating the eggs when she heard the snap of the lid.

She turned just as your chopsticks dipped into the jar.

“What are you doing?” she asked, sharp.

You didn’t answer.

You lifted a bite.

Cabbage cut just right — not too thick, not stringy. Fermentation perfectly timed. The chili paste wasn’t factory-processed, it was hand-ground. You could taste it in the punch, the patience, the balance.

“This isn’t for the public,” you said.

“Obviously,” she snapped, walking over. “It’s mine. I made that.”

You looked up at her.

“You’re wasting this.”

She scowled. “I’m eating it.”

You took another bite. Slower this time. As if listening to something in the flavor only you could hear.

“It’s the best thing I’ve tasted since coming back to Korea.”

She crossed her arms. “Are you always this invasive? You just walk into kitchens and eat people’s breakfast?”

“You left it on the counter.”

She pointed a spatula at you. “That’s not consent.”

You placed the chopsticks down. Precise. Intentional.

“You made this when no one was watching,” you said. “That’s why it’s good.”

That shut her up for a beat.

You didn’t elaborate. You never did.

She rolled her eyes again, muttering something under her breath.

“You rich types always love pretending you see through people,” she said, walking back to the stove.

You stayed seated, eyes still on the kimchi.

“But tell me,” she added, over her shoulder, “Did it taste good enough for your world-ending project? Or do I have to start charging admission to my fridge?”

You didn’t reply.

You just reached for the jar again.

She swatted your hand away with the spatula.

“Nope. That’s all you get.”

You didn’t say anything else.

Not a word of praise. Not a compliment. Not a goodbye.

You stood, slow and measured, placed your spoon down like it was part of a ritual, and turned without looking back. The door clicked behind you, muffled by the heavy Seoul night.

Your fingers had just grazed the lid again when your phone buzzed in your coat pocket.

One vibration. Then two. You sighed quietly.

Karina looked up from the stove, brow raised. “Let me guess. Michelin’s calling?”

You ignored her and answered.

“Speak.”

A familiar voice — smooth, efficient, always on the clock — filtered through.

“Sir, apologies for the early disturbance. Just got off a call with your mother’s estate manager.”

You didn’t say anything, but your jaw shifted.

“She’s asking about the timeline again. Specifically why Korea’s taking longer than anticipated.”

You let silence answer for you.

The voice continued, trying to fill the void.

“She’s… growing impatient, sir. She said, and I quote, ‘If he’s chasing flavors instead of legacies, he’s wasting more than just money.’”

Karina turned slightly, eavesdropping without guilt.

You looked at the red kimchi again. The way it clung to the edge of the chopsticks like it had a story to tell.

“Noted,” you said finally.

“Should I inform her of your current status?”

“No.”

“But, sir—”

“I said no.”

Click.

You slipped the phone back into your coat.

[pianokantzart]

I’ve been seeing some people claim that the new summer Luigi render looks AI-generated. Even though, IIRC, Nintendo is against AI. Like…wtf.

Even if you don't trust Nintendo to keep their promise, I can say with confidence that the Luigi image definitely isn't AI generated. Here's of an example of something generated using a fairly high quality AI program:

Often AI pictures will involve lots of motion (sometimes needless motion) to cover up the tell-tale signs of being computer generated. If the hands and the face show no direct signs of AI (let's pretend that the difference in the way Samurai-Mario's eyes are shaded is a stylistic choice), it helps to look at the clothes to see if they are coherent. Look at that armor. Yikes. Each of the shoulder pads are built completely differently. The chest plate has a vague and unintelligible pattern. There is a nonsensical amount of swords, and if you look closely at the cloth around his hips he has three thigh guards as well. Everything is arranged in a way that you can't tell how the armor is layered. There's patterns of water and air and fire all smashed together in a nonsensical way, completely void of care and intention. It's meant to look cool for a half-second of internet scrolling, but if you look any longer than that the image completely falls apart.

Now let's look at the Nintendo cover:

Though it has the glossy smoothness you often see in AI, everything else holds up. The background and the foreground don't ever accidentally blend together. The textures of Luigi's drink, shirt, hat, skin, and mustache are distinct and make sense. You can see care put into the details: the way the ice cream changes color as it sinks into the drink, the vague impression of Luigi's thumb visible through the cup, the tiny water droplets of condensation outside the cup that stand out from the soda bubbles inside the cup, the way the stitching of the L on Luigi's cap is made of a different material than the green felt of the rest of his cap... Not only are there are a lot of details, but every detail makes sense! Luigi's eyes and ears look normal, his clothing pattern is simple, comprehensive, and consistent, but the thing that makes me most certain that the cover is artist-made is Luigi's hands:

AI art of The Mario Brothers will usually put them in gloves, since almost all existing images fed into the algorithm shows Mario and Luigi wearing gloves. But the magazine cover not only shows Luigi without gloves, not only do his hands look good and match the lighting, casting a shadow on his shirt and reflecting a slight hint of red onto the drink in his hand, but the artist added very very vague impressions of fingernails for those who care enough to look extra closely!

So while I will never fault anyone for being suspicious of the promises of a big company, I don't see any signs Nintendo hasn't held to its word regarding AI.

[geoledgy]

Does anyone else have a complicated relationship with posting/sharing art publicly online? I've been finding it very difficult to have any motivation to share art/crosspost anymore. It doesn't sit well with me.

With the way that social media sites are built, it feels more like posting my art is meant for others to "consume" it and that I am expected to always share anything I make for the entertainment of others rather than start a conversation or connect with community, because everything on social medias is so fast paced and my posts are often visually competing on the feed (if not working against an algorithm) to be seen by a person. And it's like, it's not that I don't appreciate all the likes and shares on my art, I really do and I like sharing stuff I do that I'm proud of but unfortunately it just feels so superficial after a certain point especially on Twitter/Bsky/Instagram, when anything I post racks up thousands of notes yet no one says anything about it. It's shared around the internet space but I get no gratification (And honestly I'm so glad people on Tumblr are more inclined to comment on art but I wish I could respond to tags to tell them how much I appreciate their response and have a conversation!!)

On Sheezy, I just post whenever I want and it's for organization and gallery purposes, also bc I really want to have my art posted there and honestly no where else, just like back then on dA when that was my only site to post art. And since nothing can be shared the way art is shared/RT'd/etc on social media, I did it because it was fun and more of a community thing than really wanting popularity or anything. I post art to start a conversation, to share my knowledge, and to express myself. I honestly even set a small goal for myself to comment on 3-5 pieces on Sheezy whenever I log in, and say something nice about someone's art because I know they'd appreciate something small like that on an incredibly fast-paced internet.

I get more gratification from posting my art in RP discord servers where likes/shares are not a thing, and everyone is more encouraged to comment and talk about the piece.

The art side of the public internet just makes me very sad nowadays, and it just isn't fun to post publicly most of the time anymore. I have no reason to do so either because my main job isn't art lol

[jellyfishsthings]

The Gala of Rivals

Warnings: my terrible writing and semblance of a plot, Dick doesn't appear in this part... um I don't know what else to say here...

She stood in front of the mirror, adjusting the collar of her tailored navy blue dress. She allowed herself a fleeting thought of inadequacy but brushed it aside. A quick glance towards her laptop made her heart race—running the code in her mind was what calmed her. But tonight was different. Tonight was about legacy and rivalry, about her mother’s past and her own future. Tonight was the gala held at Wayne Enterprises, featuring a host of the wealthiest and most influential people on the planet. She was not just another guest; tonight, she would be magnetic, the future of her mother’s enterprise, Hart Technologies.

Her mother, Louise Hart, had built her company from the rubble of a financial crisis, establishing it as a formidable competitor against Wayne Enterprises. The two women had spent countless nights fighting over algorithms and marketing strategies, pushing each other to their limits. Louise's firm hand in the boardroom had transformed her into a business titan, but under that iron exterior lay vulnerability; she had sacrificed everything for their success, including the chance to show affection toward her only daughter.

“Are you ready,Snoopy?” her mother’s voice called with a mixture of excitement and possessiveness, drawing her from her thoughts.

“Almost!” She responded, taking a deep breath. The gala was not only crucial for her mother's business but also an opportunity for her to vie for a prestigious scholarship at one of the world’s leading universities—a chance to prove her worth beyond her mother’s resources. The scholarship would not alleviate financial stress but would instead be a testament to her independence.

As they descended the grand staircase of the Gotham City Museum, the echo of their heels interspersed with the excited murmur of the crowd made her heart race. She felt the weight of expectation pressing down on her. Louise’s eyes sparkled like diamonds as they entered the shimmering hall, decorated in the finest silks and illuminated by ornate chandeliers. High society never ceased to astonish her, but she felt out of place, yearning for the presence of code and data, not the intricacies of social pleasantries.

Amidst the swirling gowns and tailored suits, she caught a glimpse of him. Bruce Wayne stood conversing with a group near the entrance, his demeanor exuding charm and confidence. The air in the room shifted as his laugh reverberated through the space; Louise, however, stiffened like a coiled spring.

“Mom, do you know him?” She asked, suddenly feeling a dark cloud settling over them.

“Trust me, Snoopy. He’s a man you should steer clear of,” Louise muttered, her eyes narrowed, revealing years of fell grudges. The rivalry was palpable, their gazes linked like a taut string ready to snap.

Before she knew it, Bruce sauntered over with an easy smile, eyes glinting with the mischief of old rivalries. “Louise Hart, the fortress of tech invincibility. I must say, it’s quite impressive.” His voice was smooth, almost disarming, but she sensed the undercurrent of encroaching tension.

“A compliment from Bruce Wayne? What a fascinating world we live in,” Louise replied, her tone dripping with sarcasm as she slid an arm protectively around her shoulders.

“Is this your daughter?” Bruce inquired, his gaze sweeping over her, a hint of curiosity in his dark eyes.

“Yes, this is ...,” Louise said, the word ‘my’ lingering in the air like a claim. “She’s applying for scholarships.”

“Interesting, she follows in your footsteps,” Bruce said, the words cheerful yet condescending.

She stepped forward, her heart racing. “Actually, I’m carving my own path,” she explained, surprising even herself with her outspokenness. “I want to earn my place rather than rely on my mother’s success.”

"Such noble sentiments," Bruce replied, his eyebrow arched in bemusement. "But shouldn’t one cherish the hard work of their predecessor?”

“Cherish? Is that what you call it? Relying on the shadow of someone else’s past? I want to stand on my own merit,” she shot back, her pulse quickening.

The air suddenly felt thick. Bruce’s brows furrowed in contemplation, but the tension between Louise and Bruce was tangible, crackling like static electricity. The familiar narrative of rivalry slipped through the strands of their interaction—a rekindled flame of old grievances.

“After all, it’s a small world, isn’t it, Bruce?” Louise’s voice was ice. History loomed between them, unspoken words that echoed louder than the gala music. “Competition breeds excellence.”

She could feel their shared history throbbing like an open wound, centuries of pride and pain captured in stolen glances.

"You wouldn't have to worry if you had known how to compete more fairly. Maybe then you wouldn't have needed to build your success on an explosion of opportunism," Bruce countered, the challenge igniting their familiar animosity.

Her breath hitched. Beneath Bruce Wayne’s calm exterior lay the tempest of their past, but she sensed something more—the miscommunication, the judgement that had sealed what bond they didn’t know they could have.

Louise's eyes blazed, while Bruce, unaware of her’s true identity, only rooted himself deeper in the embers of rivalry. But beneath the bluster, a deeper truth lingered, one that wounded her as it danced just out of reach.

He had abandoned Louise all those years ago after that fleeting encounter, leaving a background of despair and a secret that had twisted itself into twisted pride within their hearts.

And now here they stood, on the precipice of knowledge and ignorance, unaware of the child who represented the blend of two legacies. The very offspring of her mother’s choice to nurture ambition, but also the product of his unwillingness to confront the painful truths of his past.

Bruce's smile faded, awareness creeping into his eyes as he detected the vibration of unresolved history thicker than air. But before he could make the connection, Louise intervened once more, her voice filled with determination, “Enough of this petty bickering. We have both carved our ways. Let’s hope our legacies serve the world better than our pride.”

And just like that, the moment shrouded in tension slipped away, propelling her into the realm of anonymity once more, a third party to their entanglement.

As the night wore on, the trio separated; Louise was whisked away to discuss business ventures, while Bruce mingled elsewhere, a shadow lingering in his heart. She was left with questions—about her concepts, her dreams, and the complex lives their choices had intertwined.

Against the backdrop of the gala, amidst the glitz and glamour, the quiet truth remained tangled in their thoughts. A daughter stood waiting, yearning for recognition, for a legacy unwritten.

But in the silence, a thicker fog settled over the past—one that might never unveil the truth that could have altered their destinies. For tonight, at least, pride and ambition forged a barrier, leaving her to ponder the twin legacies, the stories that might never be told.

[letteredlettered]

Related to your last post: For me tumblr would work better as a community site if there was a function that would hide reblogs of the same posts. I get overwhelmed if I follow more than ten people in the same fandom because of the repeating posts. With work and everything else, I don't have the hours to find the original things people are saying. Reddit works better sometimes except the subreddits often have very surface level discussions with high amount of newcomers asking the same questions and the topics are quite limited. Maybe I should just try if there is life on Dreamwidth :P

This ask is a response to this post I made about feedback to fic and fandom community.

Anon, I agree 100% regarding the difficulties of tumblr for discussion that builds community. If you're following this discussion, than you may have already seen these follow-ups:

@eleadore added their thoughts about preserving reader spaces in a reblog here

@yiiiiiiiikes25 added thoughts similar to yours re tumblr's poor functionality as a community space here

@thehoneybeet added to the post that sparked my post here, about how to foster the kind of community we're all saying we want.

I'm linking these posts because I want to call attention to them; I think they're great. But I'm linking them in response to you specifically because yes there are multiple vectors to this problem--the web enshittification I described in my post, the splintering of fandom after the death of livejournal, and the difficulty of tumblr as a venue.

But it's that last, the difficulty of tumblr as a venue, that means that even like-minded people who want the community we're discussing can't really have it. Some went to, and are still on, dreamwidth. Frankly, I still find myself deeply irritated that fandom didn't move there, that it accepted AO3 and not DW. But I think a large factor in that particular exodus actually has to do with the fact that AO3 is closer to the direction the enshittified web went than DW ever could be. AO3 has a "like" button and is not built for deep, meaningful interaction. Again, this is because it was meant to be a limb of the fandom community, not replace community entirely. I'm not claiming that AO3 is enshittified but rather that it bears more similarity to current social media sites because it's only one part of a community that was at the time, thriving (yes, in spite of strikethrough and everything that was happening on LJ at the time).

In my opinion, tumblr straddles the divide between that old style of community website and the new one. Like livejournal and DW, you can view tumblr chronologically, without an algorithm feeding you content. You can remain anonymous, and everyone can see anything you post. But like other more modern social media sites, you can reblog and like, which you couldn't do on LJ and DW. The fact that tumblr is sort of both--and that it wasn't sold to the Russians and torn apart, like LJ--is why fandom fled here and why scattered pieces of it remain here, despite so many others moving on.

One thing I wanted to talk about in my original post, but couldn't find a place for, was how so much of the "community" aspects of fandom are now private. I think that's happened partly because tumblr isn't a great place to hold a conversation, so the conversation quickly gets moved elsewhere--but instead of somewhere where everyone is still welcome (ahem, like Dreamwidth), it gets moved to private spaces. Or the conversation never starts and exists only in the kinds of spaces meant for such things.

@thehoneybeet makes great points about this in the post I linked above. They mention "the invite-only server, the private ao3 challenge, groups and experiences that you need to be in-the-know about to even begin to participate in. that, essentially, require an invitation."

@eleadore mentions it at the beginning of their reblog (also linked above), saying, "i feel discussions of this nature have been severely crippled over the yrs, and people prefer to take to private group chats and such instead of engaging [...]" But they go on to mention "private discord book club servers."

To be clear, I'm 100% with @eleadore about the necessity for spaces for readers, and also 100% with them at the idea that there can be spaces authors don't have to touch. Writers don't "deserve" to hear every single thing anyone's ever said about their fic, positive or negative. Earlier this year I in fact made an impassioned post about the fact that I believe that bookmarks are for readers, not writers, and that making them a space purely for an author's comfort limits the functionality of bookmarks for readers, both in terms of finding fic but also in terms of finding friends.

So, yes, I agree that it's okay to have private discord book club servers. But the mention of discord did make me do a double-take, because in my opinion, discord is a huge part of what I perceive as the problem. You can't find a discord for your chosen fandom by searching discord. You have to have the link. Even if the discord isn't invite-only--which many of them are, you can usually only get the link by knowing someone.

There are all kinds of reasons for why discord is so private. Discords are run by mods, who feel responsible for what happens to people in spaces for which they are responsible. And mods who take a laissez-faire "everyone just do what they want" approach often have servers dominated by people who make the environment difficult, sometimes through racism, sometimes through bullying, sometimes by constantly bringing up traumatic or triggering content, sometimes just by making everything about them all the time. It's not like lj or even tumblr, where you can just unfollow. You're kind of stuck, unless you've got a mod who is policing vigorously, which is a huge job and impossible to do in ways that will make everyone happy. It's just easier if you don't have anyone and everyone wandering through.

I hate that. It makes me want to throw things. To me, fandom is about a space that's for anyone and everyone. You shouldn't have to know someone to get to have discussions about the thing you love. That's not why I'm here. In fact, in some ways I'm in fandom to get away from that kind of bullshit, so I don't have to construct some kind of social persona that is palatable enough to be accepted. I'm hear to talk about blorbos and read porn, maybe write a thing or two. A private discord book club made intentionally as a safe space for readers is a great use for discord. But discord as a place for fandom actually makes me feel a little ill.

I don't have a good suggestion of where fandom community should be built. To me, the best place is dreamwidth, and I think that after fifteen years, I really need to give up on the idea that enough people will move there (in this economy????) to really get the numbers you need to be able to find the people with whom you really click and connect. When tumblr tried to ban nudes, a lot of people talked up other possibilities--and some people went, to Mastadon, to pillowfort, even to twitter and IG. But those spaces all have their downsides, and none of them have the critical mass to be a real fandom home. As before, I have no conclusions about this. I just wanted to highlight some other aspects of this problem and describe some other food for thought.

[scribble-dribble-writes]

Hello there ! I thought about this while watching across the spiderverse : what if Miguel s/o's (also a spider-person) decides to help Miles behind Miguel's back without him knowing ? But he ends up realizing it when he sees his s/o alongside Miles back on earth 1610. The reason his s/o did that is because they believes there has to be a way to save Miles' dad while protecting the balance of the Multiverse.

Is it possible for you to write something with this scenario ?

Thank you in advance and, also, thank you for your beautiful writtings ❤

Ooooh very interesting but I could only write a short bit to keep it in line with the movie. It happens when Miguel traps Miles and I thought if he had to deal with heartbreak there, it would lead to more angst. Hope you like it!

The adverse effect was, I cried 😭

Don't make me choose

Word count: 800

Part 2>>

You stood in the middle. It was almost like this was another one of your canon events. To choose between doing what is right and the one you love.

Chaos swirled around, all the members who had gathered around you in Miguel’s lab were in an uproar, everyone trying their best to convince this teen boy that he had to accept his fate, that he was about to lose his father.

The spiderverse spread out around you, highlighting the common connection, the sacred thread you do not mess with but all you could focus on was the fear in Miles’s eyes. The poor kid was terrified and yet no one was paying any heed to it. You turned to see the one who meant everything to you.

He stood there, in the middle of it all with his hands resting on his hips, his shoulders slumped from exhaustion but you saw through him like no one else could. If everyone missed the panic that Miles was in, they also missed out on the tears glistening in Miguel’s eyes. Because you knew, you knew how deep he felt the pain of losing someone and yet standing in this position of leadership with his hands tied, he was going to deal this situation with a firm hand.

“You know this is the only way.”, he spoke to you, his eyes pinned on your every move as though he could tell that he was losing you in this mess.

But there had to be a way out. You can’t just let someone die because it was stated by an algorithm, if there was any chance to save Miles’s father, then you were going to take it.

You heard your name be called with authority as you took a step away from Miguel. He was ordering you back, to be by his side. But with the second step, there was fear in his voice and then there was only pain as you slipped further away.

“How can we just let someone die? When we all wear the mantle of a hero?”, you asked, the crowd falling silent to your question. You placed your hand on Miles’s shoulder and he gave you a relieved smile.

“But that is how it is.”, Miguel yelled and you turned to face him.

“The whole fate of the multiverse resides on this one event.”, he furrowed his brows, frustrated and stressed at the same time.

“And I stand to lose everything I’ve built.”, anger flashed across his face as he towered over you.

“I could lose everything.”, now his gaze was fixed on you as he said the words, his tone a little softer, a little broken.

“But Miguel,”, you reached out to place your hand on his chest, to calm him down, to get him to listen to you.

“what if there is another way?”, you pleaded with him. Tears threatening to fall.

“There is no other way.”, he broke free from your hold as he shook his head, his eyes fluctuating between his hazel brown to blood red. You waited for him to see sense but it was too late.

“LYLA lock him up.”, was the command you heard when you felt his grasp tighten around your wrist, pulling you to his side and away from Miles, who was now stuck in a red cell.

“Don’t do this to me.”, he spoke fast in hushed tones but that was because he was about to break.

“Don’t make me choose.”, he pulled you close, with the way he was lowering himself, it was almost as if he was on his knees.

“Miguel just listen to me.”, you were trying to contend with him as the situation around you got out of hand.

But instead he held your face in his hands to get your focus to just be on him, almost like he was at his wits end, pleading you to stay out of it

“This once, just this once turn a blind eye.”, his face contorted in anguish, his attention only on you, his eyes hoping to catch your compliance.

“You know I can’t.”, you felt the tear escape your eye and he bit down on his lower lip, his eyes closing for a second in defeat.

“I’m sorry Miguel.”, you leaned forward to kiss his forehead and break away from his hold as you generated an anomaly cell around him, trapping him within it and your heart broke when you saw the shock in his eyes as he registered what had happened.

Miles broke free from his cell with Hobie’s help and your focus turned to him as he waited for you, unsure if you were going to join him.

The second passed by slowly, as you took off running with him and you threw a glance over your shoulder.

You watched in slow motion as Miguel unleashed all his fury against the red cell walls, his claws scratching away at it but it was the way he screamed your name that made your eyes blur with tears, you couldn’t help but witness the utter devastation in his eyes and the wet stains that marked the sides of his face.

[ophernelia]

Hello! I'm interested in becoming a sims 4 storyteller on youtube, but I'm in need of someone to talk to about the process that comes with using that platform. You're the only simmer I know that utilizes youtube, so I was wondering if you were okay with receiving questions like how long did it take to build your followers on there? do you use a mixture of gameplay animation and machinima animations? do you have any other useful tips for getting started and 'putting yourself' out there?

heyyyyyyyy! i don't mind answering questions at all! i love talking lol. there's loads of other simmers who use youtube for storytelling! i was inspired to start my channel after watching simlivncolor & trapgoddessshawty for years. there's so many other new people who have started creating more recently that i really enjoy too! (you should check out the showcase tab on my channel. i need to update it again too.)

i'll answer the animation question real quick because the building and tips kinda go together. i don't use many in-game animations these days. i don't really like them for the most part. the sims' movements are always very big because they're meant to be cartoony. it's something i tend to stray from just as a preference though. there's nothing wrong with using them though. especially if that's the vibe you're going for.

i've been doing youtube since about february of 2023. i hadn't started running lykaia on there until late feb/early march. it was a slow journey, but an exciting one. i still have the screenshot from when i reached my first ten subscribers, first ten views on a video, everything. a lot of my traffic came from tik tok because i started on there. though it definitely wasn't much. only a small percentage really transfers over from platform to platform. trick of the trade, i guess. i did a giveaway once, i believe but quickly came to realize i didn't like it. things like giveaways are quick gimmicks to get people to follow you, but most times most of them don't stay. not to mention- a lot of them aren't invested in the content. they're just there for the prize, so it's not the best method to try to boost your following. i will say i've been pretty consistent with posting and that's helped a lot. you really wanna just take your time with things and develop an audience that's invested in your story organically. you can and should utilize other platforms if you want to grow. youtube's algorithm isn't necessarily built for discovery, so it is a lot harder to grow there and gain traction. tik tok, twitter, bluesky, tumblr, and suprisingly- pinterest, are all good options to choose from. i will say to not get fixated on numbers or doing things just to gain traction. numbers don't validate your work, your work is already valid from the jump. a lot of this shit is just straight up luck. your viewership numbers, be it big or small, are not a testament to how good your story is. make what you wanna make because you like it. there's no right way to do anything, really.

with that said though- having high quality content helps A LOT for a platform like youtube. by that i mean having footage that's good quality. all of my footage is recorded and uploaded at 4k resolution. using reshade in game will help the game look better. color grading your footage when you edit it. enticing thumbnails help get clicks. (which has been so hard for me. the thumbnails always stump me lol) even having a game that is aesthetically pleasing. i don't mean utilizing a trendy aesthetic, but whatever your vibe is- make sure it looks nice. make sure the textures are good quality. having builds that look nice help and interesting. having good fps. (which is tough since ts4 LOVES to lag but I digress.) however you want it to look, just make sure it's the best quality of that. um i don't really know what else to say. any other questions you have- feel free to ask!

[the-most-humble-blog]

“THE WINGMAN TO MY OWN APOCALYPSE — Loving Her, While My Best Friend Gets the Girl”

---

You ever been best friends

with the man who took the only woman

who could’ve made everything feel right?

I don’t mean “took” like theft.

I mean life arranged it that way.

Placed her next to him.

Not me.

Even though I was the one who saw her.

Really saw her.

Down to her nervous system.

---

We worked together.

I was across the building.

He was across the desk.

She laughed at my jokes from afar.

But she reached for his shoulder when she was tired.

The proximity.

The positioning.

The algorithm of heartbreak disguised as architecture.

And now I’m supposed to smile.

Be happy for them.

He’s my brother.

My boy.

He shares the stories.

Even the ones about the bedroom.

How she rides.

How she tastes.

How she cried when he held her the right way.

I laugh.

I nod.

I sip my drink like it’s holy water

and not acid in disguise.

---

There is no emotion for this.

If there is,

they haven’t invented it.

Or maybe it was only designated for me.

Maybe I was built to carry the unnameable.

To witness my own romantic extinction

from the front row.

To be the wingman to my own apocalypse.

---

This isn’t jealousy.

This is a different species of pain.

The kind that belongs to a man

with an asynchronous brain.

The neurodivergent type.

The pattern-seer.

The anomaly.

I see the threads no one else does.

I watch them align.

And I know —

I know in some timeline

she was mine.

But not this one.

Not the one I woke up in.

Not the one that decided my insight came with a curse.

---

I am a neurodivergent polymath outlier.

Not as a flex.

As a sentence.

It means I process emotions faster, deeper, longer

than the world thinks is functional.

I am cursed to understand things

before they happen

and long after they’ve already hurt me.

So I saw it coming.

Her smile at him.

The way his voice made her pause.

The laughter in the parking lot

that wasn’t meant for me.

And now I watch them flirt.

I hold the door.

I make the jokes.

I’m their emotional chaperone

while my insides rot

like a mansion abandoned

after the owner died alone.

---

I don’t hate him.

I love him.

He didn’t steal her.

> Life just positioned him closer to the sunlight.

And me?

I was designed to feel the shadow.

Because this world wasn’t built for men like me —

men who love with their cognition,

who ache across timelines,

who carry emotional maps

to places no one else can see.

---

I would trade it all.

The insight.

The intelligence.

The mythos.

The pattern-finding.

The accolades.

The awareness.

Just to not be the best man

at the wedding

between my heart’s savior

and the man life positioned next to her

before I ever had a chance.

---

🔁 CALL TO ACTION

💔 Reblog if you’ve ever smiled through the loss of the one your soul never stopped crying for.

🧠 Save this if you’ve ever loved someone across timelines… and watched her laugh with someone else.

🕳️ Comment: “I was positioned wrong.”

🔗 Tag the friend who got everything you never said you wanted — because saying it would've broken you.

[starakex]

Neocities Website Launch!

Between the projected unknown future death of this here website and my absolute dread at losing the history built on this blog (and, well, the dread of also having to start over on another, shitter Social Media Platform full of "Whimsical" Ads and "Helpful" Algorithms), I just spent the last two weeks building a website over on Neocities! You can find what is essentially an archive of all the crafts I've made since I started cosplaying in 2010 over at starakex.neocities.org. (There's a lot of costumes on it that never had a proper coverage on this blog!)

Going back on an HTML journey was kind of healing, to be honest, even if I'm rusty as all shit. I've spent a lot of time on modern internet platforms and even if I avoided a lot of the worse offenders... I still kind of lost my human touch. I don't want to think of the bits I post about myself online as "content", anymore. We're not meant to be consumed in a chain. I'm still adding to the neocities website; I've got a very empty blog section to futureproof my ability to yap online, a couple unrelated pages that aren't just costumes and stuff, and I'm hoping to add a page with some of my OCs in the future. But it's currently in a solid v1.0 with all craft projects covered alongside some photography and collecting hobby stuff! I love being able to keep a complete backup of the site locally, so if Neocities croaks I can just... Take everything and host somewhere else. It makes me feel safer, to have a slew of options. As for the social media part, well, I intend to stick around here until the website explodes. If it comes down to it, I'll probably open an account somewhere else on one of the least hostile options. Nothing's jumped at me yet as the right candidate; Tumblr's got that crumb of user-experience control nobody else has matched in a long while. I love seeing posts exclusively from my follow-list, the chronological feed, the tag blacklisting, how human interactions between users are, and the trove of browser extensions to customize as needed... As grumpy as I am about modern web though, I still enjoy interacting with people on the internet, so I'll try to compromise on a good-ish platform in the event of hellsite death. Hope you enjoy the website! It's been fun to go back through my costuming journey while making it.

[valkyrievoid-15]

Snippet Thursday tagged by @fruchtfliege (🫶🏻) sorry it took so long, i know today isn't Thursday, and i don't write anything, but anyway, thank you so much 🥰

it's snippet from the idea of «theo × tracy (teenager friends to lovers»), cuz i kinda liked them being together earlier. I have no intention of publishing this actually.

/////

Fear is not something that appears on dark nights or in moments of solitude. Fear is what haunts you when you begin to lose control over what once seemed the most familiar and safe.

It sneaks up unnoticed, at first merely a slight unease and a faint hint of anxiety. But the further you go, the more it grows, seeping into your thoughts and making you doubt every action you take.

You feel it in your trembling fingers, in your quickened heartbeat, in the way familiar things begin to feel strange. What was once a support suddenly becomes shaky and unreliable. The people you trusted now look at you differently, and your voice sounds uncertain even to yourself.

Fear is not the monster under the bed or the shadow in the corner of the room. It is the whisper in your head telling you that you’re losing control, that everything is falling apart, and you can do nothing to stop it. It’s the realization that safety is only an illusion, and the world around you can change in an instant.

And perhaps the most terrifying thing is understanding that fear never fully disappears. It simply waits for the next moment to remind you of its presence.

Theo Raeken knew this all too well. He had always tried to keep everything under strict control: his study, his daily routine, his plans for the future. His life was built like a precise algorithm, where every detail mattered.

But today, something went wrong.

His gaze was fixed on the sheet of paper lying on the table. It was an ordinary white envelope, unremarkable except for one thing: there was no return address, no stamp, and inside was only a short note written in uneven handwriting.

«You can change cities and change numbers, but one day it will catch up to you when you least expect it. And when you think you’re finally free, the past will remind you of itself».

His hands trembled. Scenes from the life he left behind at seventeen flashed instantly in his memory. The city, the gray streets, the cold house, the smell of cigarettes that always surrounded his stepfather.

When he left, he thought all of this would remain far behind, like some old file that could simply be deleted.

— Utter nonsense, — Theo muttered, crumpling the note and tossing it to the corner of the table.

But the feeling of unease wouldn’t let go. Inside, something scraped at him, as though an invisible predator was stalking him.

This was not just fear, but something much deeper — the sense that his carefully constructed world was beginning to crack, and he couldn’t put all the broken pieces back together.

The phone rang, making him jump. The screen lit up with a number not saved in his contacts. Hesitantly, he pressed the green button and held the receiver to his ear.

"Did you get my message?" The voice was altered by a special program, making it impossible for him to recognize it.

"Who is this?" he asked, trying not to let the tremor in his voice show.

"The one who knows why you ran" the stranger replied. "You didn’t think you could forget, did you?"

The connection was abruptly cut, leaving Theo in the silence, where the only sound was his heartbeat pounding loudly.

"I won’t go back there. Never" he thought, but he wasn’t sure whether he was saying it to himself or trying to convince someone else.

He nearly jumped out of his chair when the door to the room flew open. His body reflexively tensed, and he was about to get to his feet, but he immediately relaxed and let out a relieved breath, recognizing Tracy in the doorway.

— Relax, Raeken, it’s just me, — she said, noticing how he tensed. Her tone was light, but her eyes scanned his face with concern.

Theo exhaled, trying to regain his composure. Of course, it was Tracy. Who else could barge into his room without knocking?

— Ever heard that knocking is a sign of good manners? — he said, turning away and pretending to focus on the papers on the table.

She rolled her eyes and walked into the room, setting a cup of coffee for him on the table.

— You look like you’ve just seen a ghost.

He stayed silent, trying to focus on anything other than his intrusive thoughts.

— Just... nothing, — he tried to brush it off, but his voice gave him away.

She narrowed her eyes, folding her arms across her chest. Tracy had an uncanny ability to read people, especially him, and she immediately noticed that something was wrong.

— Theo, you’re terrible at lying. I figured that out back when we sat behind Randy’s old garage, and you tried to convince me you weren’t drunk after you drank half a bottle of his awful beer.

He couldn’t help but smile. Her straightforwardness always brought out mixed feelings in him — irritation and relief at the same time.

He handed her the crumpled note he’d just been about to throw away. She smoothed it out, read a few words, and froze, as if she’d seen something more there than just text.

Then Theo saw her tense up. It was strange — as if she already knew everything, because she didn’t even ask what it meant.

— Before you arrived, I got a call, — he said quietly, — They said they know why I left Beacon Hills.

Tracy cursed under her breath, and her usually calm face darkened. He stood up and walked over to the window, gazing out at the snow-covered streets of the campus. The evening light seemed cold and unnatural.

To everyone else, the world continued as usual, but to him, at that moment, everything felt wrong, like the ground had cracked beneath his feet.

— Then we need to figure out who this is, — Tracy suddenly said, getting up from the bed and walking over to his desk, —And why now, after we left Beacon Hills four years ago.

Her determined tone made him finally turn around.

— You really want to dig all of this up again? We decided to leave it behind, — he said, returning to the table.

— Decided, — she agreed with a nod, — but it seems like the past decided to catch up with us. We need to at least figure out who called you and slipped you the letter.

She picked up the note again, studying it as if she hoped to find something she’d missed the first time.

She examined the envelope and the letter itself with a focus that always amazed Theo. Over the years of their friendship, he had grown accustomed to her analytical mind.

Even back in school, Tracy had an incredible ability to notice details that others overlooked.

It was this ability that had helped her survive in Beacon Hills — a town where even the slightest inattention could cost too much.

— The handwriting is male, — she finally said, not taking her eyes off the paper, — It’s bold, with heavy pressure. Look at how deeply the pen has torn through the paper in some spots — it’s like the person was writing with aggression or tension. We need to figure out who’s behind this.

Theo watched her movements. He had always been amazed by her attentiveness. Tracy could think logically even in the most tense situations, and it was this quality that kept him afloat.

She suddenly jumped up, as if remembering something, and rummaged through her backpack, which was on his bed, before finally pulling out a dark sketchbook she often carried with her.

Tracy shook it over the table, and a small note, rolled up like a tube, fell out. He barely managed to catch it in mid-air, his body tensing instantly.

Theo slowly unrolled the note and looked at the handwriting, which was exactly the same as on his letter. Now he couldn’t deny the obvious — these notes, like the one he had just received, came from the same person.

— Fuck... — he muttered, clenching his fingers around the damned scrap of paper.

Tracy, as if reading his mind, shot him a quick glance before sitting back down on the bed. She didn’t try to hide the worry on her face.

— I tried not to pay attention to it, — she said, slowly putting her things back in her bag, — but when we first moved to Sacramento, these notes started showing up in my things. I thought it was just a coincidence, that someone had left them by mistake. But when I started finding them more often, I realized — it wasn’t a coincidence.

Theo still held the note in his hands, his fingers slowly caressing the paper as he tried to grasp the full extent of what was happening. A thousand questions flashed through his mind, but not a single clear answer.

He had always believed that by leaving Beacon Hills, he had left the past behind. But now, that seemed impossible.

— You never told me about this before... — Theo said, looking up at her, — Why?

Tracy fell silent, as if unsure how to answer. She was nervous, though she was trying to hold herself together.

— I didn’t want you to worry. You’ve been so on edge since we moved, — she finally replied, — I thought it was just some damn coincidence, that it would stop if I just didn’t pay attention. But now, with this letter showing up at your place, I realize I was wrong.

— So, someone’s been following us... and now they’re trying to remind us of what we ran from? — he asked, trying to make sense of the madness.

Theo rubbed his palm over his face, trying to steady himself. His thoughts were a blur, and his head couldn’t keep up with the events.

He glanced at his laptop screen, where notes on bioengineering, his theories, and the work he’d been writing for months flickered. All of that seemed so insignificant compared to what was happening now.

— We can’t just sit here and wait for it to stop, — Theo said, trying to organize his thoughts again, — We need to understand what’s going on. Why are these notes appearing now, after all these years?

— Maybe because we started forgetting? — Tracy suggested. She had clearly been thinking about this for a long time, — Maybe it’s someone from the past who decided we can’t move on. Someone who wants us to never forget what happened there.

Theo felt his breath quicken. He imagined what it would be like when the past catches up. But he couldn’t understand who could be behind these notes.

In Beacon Hills, he had enemies, but that was a long time ago. And his stepfather couldn’t be the one haunting them, because he was dead.

— Theo, what if... — she trailed off, unsure whether to say it.

— What if it’s someone we left behind? — he finished for her.

Tracy nodded, she had always been ready to act when it came to dealing with something that could threaten both of them.

— We need to find out who this is and what they want. First, we need to trace the source of these notes. And then… if it’s someone we dealt with in Beacon Hills, we have to figure out why they won’t leave us alone.

Inside, everything tightened, but Tracy was there, and her confidence helped him stay calm. He couldn’t afford to panic.

Now their tasks were clear, though still frightening. They needed to find answers. She looked at the note again, and her face grew even more serious.

— It’s time to find out who’s behind this. Maybe it’s time to fix some of what we left behind. Otherwise, we’ll always be hiding and running.

Had everything they’d been through begun to resurface? Someone was clearly watching them. Someone who knew them too well.

The answers were still unclear, but one thing was obvious: their past was not behind them yet. It was still chasing them.

[miela]

Shattered Memories • Chapter III: A Sense of Reunion II • {Peter Parker x Stark!Reader}

Chapter Genre: Angst (???) Chapter Warnings: Mentions of Substance Abuse Masterlist

↪ divider by firefly-graphics

VIDEO LOG #20 / 10 JUNE 2026

Hey (Y/N),

 It’s me, Peter.

It’s been almost two years since you have forgotten about me. And to be honest, these two years have been absolutely hell without you. I got a redo on life as most people wish for but be careful what you wish for I guess. I have a new life and it’s okay. I have friends from school but they’ll never compare to you, Celina, Ned, and MJ. I have two jobs and they pay okay. It helps with rent. I’m still out there being Spiderman, I haven’t heard anything about you though which I guess is understandable. I hope you’re doing okay.

I miss you….I miss you so much. In times like these, I know I could always turn to you, lay my head on your shoulder, and cry…you would rub my back, kiss the top of my head, and tell me that everything is going to be okay...because we had each other. I feel like I took those moments for granted even though I know I didn’t. I just really miss you. 

I hope one day…I could be in your arms again. I love you so much.

[END RECORDING]

I know who you are. 

It rang and echoed in Peter's head after you said it. His heart didn’t know what it wanted to do; stop and explode or race and explode. He looked at you with an expression he could only imagine was a mix of shock and anticipation. How long did you know? Is that why you came to find him? Because you remembered him? There were so many things he wanted to say, ask and do.

But before he could even react, your words knocked his cathedral of hope down to the ground just as quickly as it was built up.

"But I don't remember you."

And there it was. The catch. His heart dropped.

Of course, it wouldn’t have been that easy for him. Even though five years went by and that was more than plenty of time for you to figure it out with what little information you had, Strange’s spell was thorough and very effective. Peter wasn’t sure if he wanted to scream or cry or to crawl in a dark hole and whither away. He didn’t even know how to respond. How was he supposed to explain everything to you? How was he supposed to explain his reasoning for not following through with his promise five years ago?

He just looked at you dumbfounded.

You pressed your lips together and nodded slowly at his response of silence. “When going through the Avenger files, I saw your file. Funny how I recognized everyone else but I didn’t recognize you. Even funnier that we were partners in justice and crime fighting and I didn’t even remember your face. So I did a month-long deep dive.”

Peter never took his eyes off of you and you never took your eyes off of him. He could tell you were getting serious although your expression was still pretty relaxed. On the other hand, he could feel his jaw clench from his nerves making the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.

“I asked around. I asked Sam, Bucky, Dr. Cho, Ned, MJ, Celina…anyone who has a connection to you and none of them know who you are. Well, MJ and Ned said you come into the coffee shop a lot, but they don’t know you. See, memories can be erased from people, but not from algorithms. We went to the same high school, both were in the academic decathlon with MJ, and we had almost all the same classes together. We were both Avengers, we were a duo team because we have the same powers, I remember every single mission, Hell, I remember fighting you,” you continued with emotion in your voice that Peter could only guess was frustration. “But I don’t remember…you.”

Peter decided he wanted to scream. He wanted to scream and then tell you everything, but he had his reasons for not telling you.

“For five years I’ve been dreaming of this guy. I call him the Faceless Boy. I have dreamt of him every single night since that day five years ago. The dreams are more than dreams, more than that dream-walking shit Celina talks about. These dreams are memories with someone who is so foreign to me.” You walked over by him slowly and stopped when you were about three feet away and you looked up into his eyes. “When I snuck through your window today, I expected a different response from you after webbing me to the wall.”

Peter gulped slightly.

“You talked to me like you knew who I was. A long-time friend that you haven’t seen in a while and one you weren’t expecting to see for an even longer while. And then when we shook hands…?” You chewed on your lip nervously, almost like you were afraid to say the next bit. “For five years, I’ve had this hole in my chest, as if something was carved out of my life when it wasn’t supposed to be. I’ve tried to fill it with anything and everything and I failed every single time. So tell me why when we shook hands I never felt it so whole before. A simple handshake from a boy from Queens filled my emptiness like he was the missing puzzle piece.”

Peter’s heart raced as you spoke and looked at him with a desperation for answers, but he couldn’t speak. He didn’t know how to respond as you searched his dark eyes for answers. He didn’t want to lie to you but…he also didn’t want to tell you the truth. The truth is what is keeping you safe and what is keeping you sane. 

“I know you feel it right now,” you said. “The pull.”

The pheromonal connection.

Peter could feel it, He didn’t stop feeling it since he sensed you in his apartment, especially after the handshake. His senses were in a frenzy, he could only imagine how yours were, especially when you couldn’t even remember who he was to you. He pressed his lips together. 

“So tell me, Peter Parker,” you started again. “What happened?”

Peter looked deeply into your eyes and slowly brought his hand up to your cheek and gently caressed it before laying his hand on it. You leaned your face into his touch and closed your eyes. His senses instantly focused on you. Your breath hitched as you opened your eyes again to look up at his dark ones.

He wanted to tell you everything so badly. He wanted to tell you how he knew you like the back of his hand. He wanted to tell you that he knew your favorite things and that you couldn’t cook to save your life, and that you loved to dance and you did ballet since you were a child. He wanted to tell you how in high school you would viscerally defend him every time Flash Thompson opened his mouth and called Peter “Penis Parker” and how when you found out Flash’s real name you started using it just to piss him off and shut him up. He wanted to tell you about how MJ didn’t like him at first because she was afraid that the same situation that happened with him and Liz would happen to you. He wanted to tell you how you and Ned would constantly bicker over who was the coolest character in Star Wars and that everyone thought your favorite anime was Chainsaw Man but he knew it was actually Sailor Moon (and that you constantly argued that Usagi would floor Goku anytime any day and any era). He wanted to tell you everything about yourself and your memories until his jaw hurt from talking too much.

But everything in him told him not to.

“(Y/N)...” he began. “I-”

Before he could finish his sentence your eyes blinked rapidly and your brows furrowed before you winced and hissed. You held your head as you let out a noise of pain and Peter instantly pulled back. 

“(Y/N)? (Y/N)! Are you okay? What’s happening?!” Peter panicked.

After a moment you looked up at him catching your breath softly. “Yeah….yeah. I’m fine. Like I said before. Stark Stress.”

Peter called total bullshit on that. 

“What were we talking about?” You asked softly to no one in particular.

Peter looked at you wide eyes filled with confusion and concern. 

“Uh…” he searched his scatterbrain for something to say. “The…uh…Avenger Files? You were going to tell me why you were going through the Avenger files, yeah…mhm…”

You looked at him with a knowing expression. “Parker, I remember everything I said. It was a rhetorical question.”

“Oh…!” Peter squeaked. 

You rubbed your temples and smiled up at him. “You won’t tell me anything. That’s fine I won't force you. Whatever you did, you did it for good reason.” You leaned back on the table. “I’ll figure it out anyway. Just promise you’ll be honest with me when I ask about something.”

Peter nodded. “Y-yeah! Yeah, sure, yeah I’ll be …uh….I’ll be honest.”

“Great!” you clapped your hands together. “Now down to business. I didn’t just drag you here to interrogate you.” You turned to the table to avoid his gaze.

You were deflecting the situation. Peter knows because you tend to do that when you have felt like you came off too strong in a situation and your way of reacting was to pretend like it was nothing big in hopes that the other person would follow suit. At this moment, Peter was glad you did, because he would’ve done it if you didn’t. Especially when those Stark Stress Migraines seemed more like Parker Stress ones. Both times you guys made contact you had a strong reaction. It scared him and he wanted to know why. He wished he could have asked Strange about this, but Strange didn’t remember him and probably wouldn’t even remember the spell. 

He guessed that was his big sign to keep his distance from you. 

Later, he was taken back home in time for him to go out patrolling once more. He swung across the veins of New York City as he thought about the events that happened.

Today was a really strange day.

After your whole interrogation, you told him about your plans for the NAI and the scholarship that Tony had left for him. 

 “My dad had an actual internship and scholarship set aside for you but obviously it was meant for MIT. I changed it up a bit for your sake. So your last five years will be compensated and paid off tuition-wise and the rest of your time in school will be paid in full. You will also have an internship opportunity whenever you’re ready for it. It will be a summer internship so you can have full focus on it without any distractions, or you could do it during winter break. Whatever works for you.” You pointed at the holographic screens respectively. 

Peter looked at the holograms in shock. Tony was planning on doing all of this for him. He shouldn’t be surprised but he was…and was touched by it. And you modifying it to fit his needs made it all the more… meaningful. He did remember Tony offering him a grant when he first came to visit him but he thought he wasn’t serious about it and was using it for code to add to the stark internship.  

He almost didn’t take it, but you insisted. 

 “Parker, this was something my dad set in place years ago. Consider it a token of gratitude. He would want this for you.” you explained. “But I won't force it on you if you really don’t want it.”

Peter sighed when he stopped on a building to think. He hated keeping the truth from you, and he hated that you were suffering all this time because of your migraines. He remembered your big reaction to both times that he touched you. 

It was hurting you. 

He wondered if it would be the same for Ned, Celina, and MJ. Would they have a splitting headache if he got close to any of them too? The whole point of this stupid spell was to protect the ones he cared about, not cause them pain. 

He really, really hated magic.

He sighed and sat down at the edge of the building. He thought about what you went through in the past years without him. He had hoped that you would have been living your best life without worry, but instead, you were dreaming about him without knowing who he was, and he had to sit there and not tell you that it was him that you were dreaming about. 

It was best to just stay away from you all. Like it was intended five years ago.

He needed a distraction. He remembered one of his friends from school mentioning a party at his Fraternity House this weekend that Peter initially said no to going to. But after today he could use it. He took out his phone and called him.

“Parker,” Harry Osborn, chimed. “What’s up, my guy?”

“Hey Harry,” Peter greeted. “I changed my mind, I do wanna go to that party tomorrow.”

To say you were a mess was an understatement. 

You didn’t seem it though. You were working with Nika on the list of foundations and non-profit organizations that would be attending the charity gala that you were hosting in a month. You’re first act of Philanthropy would be donating at least one billion dollars each year to different organizations and you wanted it to be a well-rounded event but you were distracted by the recent ones that happened.

Nika could tell.

“(Y/N),” she said, folding her hands in her lap. “Are you okay? Did that Avenger boy do something to you?”

“Huh? What? No,” You replied a little defensively. “He’s harmless.”

“Then why do you seem so upset?” She asked with concern in her tone. “You were fine earlier.”

You sighed and rubbed your temples with your fingers gently as you closed your eyes. “Migraine,” you responded, only giving part of the problem. 

She sighed knowing that you weren’t telling her everything. “I’m going to talk to you as a friend.”

You looked at the redhead expectantly.

“You haven’t had much of a life since…well…since I first met you four years ago.”

You met Nika Eyrewolfe, back in the recovery center. She was in for substance abuse herself. Since then you guys have been great friends and been a good support for each other. When you found out that she had no place to call home or anything to her name, you got her a job at Stark Industries before she was promoted to your assistant. She’s done nothing but a great job at it. She has been with you most days since you became CEO. So to say the girl knew your life and schedule like her life depended on it was an understatement.

“You’ve worked yourself so much that your headaches are getting worse and worse,” she continued. “The only person you hang out with is Morgan, who’s ten years old. You haven’t made time for Celina, Ned, and MJ in forever. But you had time to get Avenger Boy.”

“He has a name,” You retorted. “Peter. Peter Parker.”

“That’s nice,” Nika replied sarcastically. “And who is Peter Parker to you exactly?”

That’s the problem. I don’t know, you thought.

All you know is that he was the cutest guy you have ever seen in your entire life. His brown curls were soft and silky on his head. His eyes looked tired but they were soft and kind. He had boyish features that only added to his softness. And his smile. God, that smile. It lit up his whole face. His black tee shirt hugged his muscles nicely, and his dark denim jeans hugged his thighs and legs in just the right way. You had to catch yourself from staring at him too long before it got really weird.

You stayed silent and leaned your head on the back of your chair.

“Exactly,” Nika stated. “Nothing. So, you should make time for your friends. I’ll clear your calendar this weekend.”

The thing was that Peter wasn’t “nothing” to you, he was definitely a big something. You were at least eighty percent sure he was the faceless boy from your dreams. And when he touched you…? You couldn’t ignore that no matter how much you tried. The way his hand was so heartbreakingly gentle on your skin as all your worries faded away for a small moment before the splitting headache came again. It’s not like you could tell Nika any of this.

But she was right about one thing. It had been a while since you hung out with your friends. You kept in touch with them in the group chat, but it wasn’t the same as seeing them. 

“Okay,” you gave her a small smile. “Thank you, Nika. What would I be without you?”

“I dunno, probably insane.”

You snorted in response.

Maybe it would be good for you to step away from everything for a little bit. Especially with how crazy your day was. You especially wanted to pretend this day never happened, crawl into the void, and scream until your voice was gone. You deserved to relax for a moment and maybe next time you make the impulsive decision to climb into the window of someone you think you know but you don’t…

You won’t.

~

tags: @riordanness @chrisevans-realwife @peterdarlingg

[friedwings]

is there any place online that is good for artists to gain a following or sell stuff cuz like. i would like to do commissions and make items to sell but every platform i have considered is bad and i also hate social media.

I also have a GoFundMe because I'm in a lot of debt and I don't know where or how to post to get the traction required.

Instagram did nothing for me when i used it because i would get likes and not follows. i get more follows on here but it's still not a lot and people unfollow me a lot also. i don't post my art or photography often on here right now anyway so im not sure if i can change that. but most users prefer to like posts instead of reblog them which is not helpful.

xitter is obviously a dump right now. i don't feel like selling my soul to Facebook or any Meta derivatives. YouTube algorithms actively shut down small creators. don't think I could keep up with the amount of content you have to churn out to be seen on there. everything else I've seen is either too small to gain a following or is just not built for that.

RedBubble takes big chunks of your money and is very oversaturated. Etsy is oversaturated and mostly full of AI generated drop ship garbage and people reselling mass produced items from Ali Express. the search on there sucks. Patreon needs to be paid for. Paypal and Stripe fees make Ko-Fi cost money also. Paypal can decide to shut down my account for no reason and steal my money. Stripe requires business information I don't have because I'm not a business yet. Shop requires a website to be integrated into which costs money, I assume they also charge fees. many merchants don't work in many places which would limit international sales. even local fairs have been taken over by drop shipping and 3d printed things (not original designs, multiple booths will have the same items...) and they are pretty expensive to attend, especially since they want you to have insurance.

I'm just totally lost on this.

[bagalois]

2 minutes and 22 seconds... my times are gonna get a lot longer before they start getting shorter lol, just because the process of learning how to grip the cube and do the finger flicks right is really hard. i'm only doing finger flicks for a few algorithms, and everything else i'm moving the cube how i normally would. i didn't realize how much muscle memory i had already built and need to unlearn and relearn for this lol.

[midnightsslut]

the whole thing is mostly confined to twitter. And even there, not much of it is coming up on my TL. But I think this constant cycle of people needing her to represent all their moral values else be punished by vitriol, sexism, and threats is getting so old.

it depends entirely on the algorithm you’ve built based on prior interests/interactions. I guarantee you that as soon as she does something exciting (football game, tour), everything will be fine. it’s just annoying for us.