#I think? They're from the eighties (?)

[batsplat]

Sepang 2006: After an exhausting race, Valentino Rossi brings a chair to the podium and sits down. Loris Capirossi joins him to sit on his lap.

[stick-by-me]

Got a sweet tooth?

New follower sticker for: @milkycookiereads!

[david-watts]

I was looking through crime scene photos (morbid curiosity took the better of me) and ngl I'm kind of desensitized on the autopsy photos and the ones of the space where the crime took place (mostly thanks to movies and an accident I had when I was a kid)

And it's wierd bc someone's life literally ended there and suffered unimaginable pain and yet it doesn't seem real, it seems like a movie set

I mean I definitely knew I had to stop after looking at the black dahlia photos but still I shouldn't have gotten that far in the first place

Idk it might be the way I was raised culturally but I still feel like something is terribly wrong with me for wanting to know what those things look like

I'm drunk and my stomach feels a little bit off after the last couple pictures and idk I just felt like sharing the realization I had

Maybe the media was right when talking about how much violence we are exposed to

personally? I don't think there's anything wrong with deliberately seeking out gory things like that, so long as the family has given permission for the images to be shared as there is something disrespectful in not asking them before sharing something incredibly tragic. morbid curiosity is human nature, and there really isn't anything wrong with anyone wanting to know those things. it's when people continue to try and seek them out against the family's wishes and push into harassment territory that it becomes a problem, but that goes for anything that gets media attention. that and the pervasive victim complex associated is the issue with popularised true crime, not that it shows grisly things. saying you can't look at a crime scene photo just because it's a dead person, or considered 'gruesome', doesn't really help anyone.

humans are exposed to violence every single day. car crashes, assaults of any sort, accidents, and violent death, these are things that happen to someone at least once a day. if we pretend these things don't happen, it becomes even more hurtful when it does! and on one hand we need to be exposed to things so we're aware of the possibilities. but on the other, the media does give us twenty-four hours of blood and guts a day, every day, because doom and gloom gets people's attention. it makes everyone feel paranoid about what could happen because the news cycle feeds them, in the words of christine chubbuck; 'immediate and complete reports of local blood and guts news', you're not exactly gonna be thinking everything's fine and dandy and nobody's out to getcha. especially in the case of those types of true crime fans.

so basically, you're not a bad person for being morbidly curious, and so long as you're able to expose yourself within your limits and without developing paranoia then there really isn't anything that wrong about it

[alatus-k]

Y’know sometimes I’m happy my family is gone/not a part of my life, lol- I feel like I absolutely dodged how guilty they’d make me feel for leaving things messy or undone sometimes.

[nunyabznsbabes]

Katniss is like Lucy Gray this, Katniss is like Sejanus that, and yes fine that's all good and true and lovely but Katniss Everdeen is also a direct parallel to Coriolanus Snow and people NEED to start talking about this because it's driving me crazy.

Think about it: they both grew up poor and deeply vulnerable, losing parents at a very young age, with a matriarchal adult (Katniss' mother and Coriolanus' Grandma'am) who fails to provide for them emotionally and physically. They intimately understand the threat of starvation, even developing with stunted growth because of it, and their narrations in the books share a fixation on food. Throughout their childhoods, both experienced constant fear and suffered a fundamental lack of control over their circumstances. Because of this, they're inherently suspicious of the people around them. They resent feeling indebted to others, especially those who have saved their lives. They're motivated almost entirely by family and deeply connected to their communities. Both are used and manipulated by the Capitol, both are forced to perform to survive and despise every inch of it, both are thrown into the Arena and made to kill. Both have a self-sacrificial, genuinely sweet sister figure acting as their conscience. Peeta and Lucy Gray - performers and love interests with a fundamental kindness and sense of hope about them - fulfill markedly similar roles in their narrative. Both contribute to the development of the future Hunger Games, Snow throughout tbosas and Katniss towards the end of Mockingjay.

It's easy to ignore these similarities because, as mirrors of each other, they are exact opposites. Katniss is from District 12, viewed and treated as less than human; Snow is the cream of the Capitol crop, given the privilege of a name with social weight, an ancestral home, and the opportunity of the Academy despite having no more money than a miner from 12. Katniss has no agency over her life, and responds by being kind whenever she's able, while Snow justifies horrendous evils in order to continue his quest for complete control. Katniss does everything she can to protect her family; Snow does everything he can to protect his family's image as an extension of his own ego. Katniss loves her District and connects with its inhabitants on a meaningful level, but Snow is indifferent at best to his peers - the apparent "superior people" - and only engages with his community for personal gain. Katniss emerges from the Arena horrified at herself and the system, but Snow takes his trauma and turns it into an excuse to perpetuate the violence with himself at the top. Katniss cares for Prim until her death and then snaps at the loss of her little sister, while Snow survives on Tigris' blood, sweat, and tears and then torments and abandons her, presumably because she calls him out on his insanity. Snow actively adds to and popularizes the Hunger Games because of his vendetta against the Districts following his childhood wartime trauma - Katniss briefly agrees to a new Hunger Games in the pursuit of vengeance, but later stops them from happening by killing Coin and choosing a life of peace and privacy. Snow is obsessed with revenge, but Katniss empathizes with the Capitolites and does what she can to keep them from suffering. He exists in a cruel system and selfishly upholds it; she exists in a cruel system and works to dismantle it for the good of her family and community, at great personal cost. And Peeta and Lucy Gray are incredibly similar, but Katniss and Peeta forge a relationship of genuine love and understanding that shines in comparison to Coriolanus' obsessive projection onto Lucy Gray.

So, yeah, Katniss is Lucy Gray haunting Coriolanus. But I bet you anything that eighty-something year old President Snow looks at her, the girl on fire, bright and young and brilliant, emerging from a childhood of starvation with a relentless hunger for success, a talented and charming performer helping her win the Games, and he sees the ghost of his own past. And that's why he's so afraid of her! Because if he sees himself in her, then he's up against his own cunning, his own talent for manipulation, his own charisma, his own genius. He's up against the version of himself that he once wished to be, with the nightmare army of his childhood at her back and her star-crossed lover at her side, spewing Sejanus' truths in his own voice. This isn't to say that Katniss ever achieved the level of power and agency that Coriolanus did during her time with the rebellion, but it is to say that Snow was taken down by what truly terrified him - his own morality, come to finish the job.

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Greenwashing set Canada on fire

On September 22, I'm (virtually) presenting at the DIG Festival in Modena, Italy. On September 27, I'll be at Chevalier's Books in Los Angeles with Brian Merchant for a joint launch for my new book The Internet Con and his new book, Blood in the Machine.

As a teenager growing up in Ontario, I always envied the kids who spent their summers tree planting; they'd come back from the bush in September, insect-chewed and leathery, with new muscle, incredible stories, thousands of dollars, and a glow imparted by the knowledge that they'd made a new forest with their own blistered hands.

I was too unathletic to follow them into the bush, but I spent my summers doing my bit, ringing doorbells for Greenpeace to get my neighbours fired up about the Canadian pulp-and-paper industry, which wasn't merely clear-cutting our old-growth forests – it was also poisoning the Great Lakes system with PCBs, threatening us all.

At the time, I thought of tree-planting as a small victory – sure, our homegrown, rapacious, extractive industry was able to pollute with impunity, but at least the government had reined them in on forests, forcing them to pay my pals to spend their summers replacing the forests they'd fed into their mills.

I was wrong. Last summer's Canadian wildfires blanketed the whole east coast and midwest in choking smoke as millions of trees burned and millions of tons of CO2 were sent into the atmosphere. Those wildfires weren't just an effect of the climate emergency: they were made far worse by all those trees planted by my pals in the eighties and nineties.

Writing in the New York Times, novelist Claire Cameron describes her own teen years working in the bush, planting row after row of black spruces, precisely spaced at six-foot intervals:

https://www.nytimes.com/2023/09/15/opinion/wildfires-treeplanting-timebomb.html

Cameron's summer job was funded by the logging industry, whose self-pegulated, self-assigned "penalty" for clearcutting diverse forests of spruce, pine and aspen was to pay teenagers to create a tree farm, at nine cents per sapling (minus camp costs).

Black spruces are made to burn, filled with flammable sap and equipped with resin-filled cones that rely on fire, only opening and dropping seeds when they're heated. They're so flammable that firefighters call them "gas on a stick."

Cameron and her friends planted under brutal conditions: working long hours in blowlamp heat and dripping wet bulb humidity, amidst clouds of stinging insects, fingers blistered and muscles aching. But when they hit rock bottom and were ready to quit, they'd encourage one another with a rallying cry: "Let's go make a forest!"

Planting neat rows of black spruces was great for the logging industry: the even spacing guaranteed that when the trees matured, they could be easily reaped, with ample space between each near-identical tree for massive shears to operate. But that same monocropped, evenly spaced "forest" was also optimized to burn.

It burned.

The climate emergency's frequent droughts turn black spruces into "something closer to a blowtorch." The "pines in lines" approach to reforesting was an act of sabotage, not remediation. Black spruces are thirsty, and they absorb the water that moss needs to thrive, producing "kindling in the place of fire retardant."

Cameron's column concludes with this heartbreaking line: "Now when I think of that summer, I don’t think that I was planting trees at all. I was planting thousands of blowtorches a day."

The logging industry committed a triple crime. First, they stole our old-growth forests. Next, they (literally) planted a time-bomb across Ontario's north. Finally, they stole the idealism of people who genuinely cared about the environment. They taught a generation that resistance is futile, that anything you do to make a better future is a scam, and you're a sucker for falling for it. They planted nihilism with every tree.

That scam never ended. Today, we're sold carbon offsets, a modern Papal indulgence. We are told that if we pay the finance sector, they can absolve us for our climate sins. Carbon offsets are a scam, a market for lemons. The "offset" you buy might be a generated by a fake charity like the Nature Conservancy, who use well-intentioned donations to buy up wildlife reserves that can't be logged, which are then converted into carbon credits by promising not to log them:

https://pluralistic.net/2020/12/12/fairy-use-tale/#greenwashing

The credit-card company that promises to plant trees every time you use your card? They combine false promises, deceptive advertising, and legal threats against critics to convince you that you're saving the planet by shopping:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/11/17/do-well-do-good-do-nothing/#greenwashing

The carbon offset world is full of scams. The carbon offset that made the thing you bought into a "net zero" product? It might be a forest that already burned:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/03/11/a-market-for-flaming-lemons/#money-for-nothing

The only reason we have carbon offsets is that market cultists have spent forty years convincing us that actual regulation is impossible. In the neoliberal learned helplessness mind-palace, there's no way to simply say, "You may not log old-growth forests." Rather, we have to say, "We will 'align your incentives' by making you replace those forests."

The Climate Ad Project's "Murder Offsets" video deftly punctures this bubble. In it, a detective points his finger at the man who committed the locked-room murder in the isolated mansion. The murderer cheerfully admits that he did it, but produces a "murder offset," which allowed him to pay someone else not to commit a murder, using market-based price-discovery mechanisms to put a dollar-figure on the true worth of a murder, which he duly paid, making his kill absolutely fine:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/04/14/for-sale-green-indulgences/#killer-analogy

What's the alternative to murder offsets/carbon credits? We could ask our expert regulators to decide which carbon intensive activities are necessary and which ones aren't, and ban the unnecessary ones. We could ask those regulators to devise remediation programs that actually work. After all, there are plenty of forests that have already been clearcut, plenty that have burned. It would be nice to know how we can plant new forests there that aren't "thousands of blowtorches."

If that sounds implausible to you, then you've gotten trapped in the neoliberal mind-palace.

The term "regulatory capture" was popularized by far-right Chicago School economists who were promoting "public choice theory." In their telling, regulatory capture is inevitable, because companies will spend whatever it takes to get the government to pass laws making what they do legal, and making competing with them into a crime:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/06/13/public-choice/#ajit-pai-still-terrible

This is true, as far as it goes. Capitalists hate capitalism, and if an "entrepreneur" can make it illegal to compete with him, he will. But while this is a reasonable starting-point, the place that Public Choice Theory weirdos get to next is bonkers. They say that since corporations will always seek to capture their regulators, we should abolish regulators.

They say that it's impossible for good regulations to exist, and therefore the only regulation that is even possible is to let businesses do whatever they want and wait for the invisible hand to sweep away the bad companies. Rather than creating hand-washing rules for restaurant kitchens, we should let restaurateurs decide whether it's economically rational to make us shit ourselves to death. The ones that choose poorly will get bad online reviews and people will "vote with their dollars" for the good restaurants.

And if the online review site decides to sell "reputation management" to restaurants that get bad reviews? Well, soon the public will learn that the review site can't be trusted and they'll take their business elsewhere. No regulation needed! Unleash the innovators! Set the job-creators free!

This is the Ur-nihilism from which all the other nihilism springs. It contends that the regulations we have – the ones that keep our buildings from falling down on our heads, that keep our groceries from poisoning us, that keep our cars from exploding on impact – are either illusory, or perhaps the forgotten art of a lost civilization. Making good regulations is like embalming Pharaohs, something the ancients practiced in mist-shrouded, unrecoverable antiquity – and that may not have happened at all.

Regulation is corruptible, but it need not be corrupt. Regulation, like science, is a process of neutrally adjudicated, adversarial peer-review. In a robust regulatory process, multiple parties respond to a fact-intensive question – "what alloys and other properties make a reinforced steel joist structurally sound?" – with a mix of robust evidence and self-serving bullshit and then proceed to sort the two by pantsing each other, pointing out one another's lies.

The regulator, an independent expert with no conflicts of interest, sorts through the claims and counterclaims and makes a rule, showing their workings and leaving the door open to revisiting the rule based on new evidence or challenges to the evidence presented.

But when an industry becomes concentrated, it becomes unregulatable. 100 small and medium-sized companies will squabble. They'll struggle to come up with a common lie. There will always be defectors in their midst. Their conduct will be legible to external experts, who will be able to spot the self-serving BS.

But let that industry dwindle to a handful of giant companies, let them shrink to a number that will fit around a boardroom table, and they will sit down at a table and agree on a cozy arrangement that fucks us all over to their benefit. They will become so inbred that the only people who understand how they work will be their own insiders, and so top regulators will be drawn from their own number and be hopelessly conflicted.

When the corporate sector takes over, regulatory capture is inevitable. But corporate takeover isn't inevitable. We can – and have, and will again – fight corporate power, with antitrust law, with unions, and with consumer rights groups. Knowing things is possible. It simply requires that we keep the entities that profit by our confusion poor and thus weak.

The thing is, corporations don't always lie about regulations. Take the fight over working encryption, which – once again – the UK government is trying to ban:

https://www.theguardian.com/technology/2023/feb/24/signal-app-warns-it-will-quit-uk-if-law-weakens-end-to-end-encryption

Advocates for criminalising working encryption insist that the claims that this is impossible are the same kind of self-serving nonsense as claims that banning clearcutting of old-growth forests is impossible:

https://twitter.com/JimBethell/status/1699339739042599276

They say that when technologists say, "We can't make an encryption system that keeps bad guys out but lets good guys in," that they are being lazy and unimaginative. "I have faith in you geeks," they said. "Go nerd harder! You'll figure it out."

Google and Apple and Meta say that selectively breakable encryption is impossible. But they also claim that a bunch of eminently possible things are impossible. Apple claims that it's impossible to have a secure device where you get to decide which software you want to use and where publishers aren't deprive of 30 cents on every dollar you spend. Google says it's impossible to search the web without being comprehensively, nonconsensually spied upon from asshole to appetite. Meta insists that it's impossible to have digital social relationship without having your friendships surveilled and commodified.

While they're not lying about encryption, they are lying about these other things, and sorting out the lies from the truth is the job of regulators, but that job is nearly impossible thanks to the fact that everyone who runs a large online service tells the same lies – and the regulators themselves are alumni of the industry's upper eschelons.

Logging companies know a lot about forests. When we ask, "What is the best way to remediate our forests," the companies may well have useful things to say. But those useful things will be mixed with actively harmful lies. The carefully cultivated incompetence of our regulators means that they can't tell the difference.

Conspiratorialism is characterized as a problem of what people believe, but the true roots of conspiracy belief isn't what we believe, it's how we decide what to believe. It's not beliefs, it's epistemology.

Because most of us aren't qualified to sort good reforesting programs from bad ones. And even if we are, we're probably not also well-versed enough in cryptography to sort credible claims about encryption from wishful thinking. And even if we're capable of making that determination, we're not experts in food hygiene or structural engineering.

Daily life in the 21st century means resolving a thousand life-or-death technical questions every day. Our regulators – corrupted by literally out-of-control corporations – are no longer reliable sources of ground truth on these questions. The resulting epistemological chaos is a cancer that gnaws away at our resolve to do anything about it. It is a festering pool where nihilism outbreaks are incubated.

The liberal response to conspiratorialism is mockery. In her new book Doppelganger, Naomi Klein tells of how right-wing surveillance fearmongering about QR-code "vaccine passports" was dismissed with a glib, "Wait until they hear about cellphones!"

https://pluralistic.net/2023/09/05/not-that-naomi/#if-the-naomi-be-klein-youre-doing-just-fine

But as Klein points out, it's not good that our cellphones invade our privacy in the way that right-wing conspiracists thought that vaccine passports might. The nihilism of liberalism – which insists that things can't be changed except through market "solutions" – leads us to despair.

By contrast, leftism – a muscular belief in democratic, publicly run planning and action – offers a tonic to nihilism. We don't have to let logging companies decide whether a forest can be cut, or what should be planted when it is. We can have nice things. The art of finding out what's true or prudent didn't die with the Reagan Revolution (or the discount Canadian version, the Mulroney Malaise). The truth is knowable. Doing stuff is possible. Things don't have to be on fire.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/09/16/murder-offsets/#pulped-and-papered

[michelle-is-writing]

Unsuspecting Suspect, Spencer Reid

Word Count: 2.2k~

In movies, the "pregnant women always have to go to the bathroom" is a popular joke to use. However, what most people don't realize is that the joke is highly played down. What you see in movies is nothing compared to what really occurs.

What really occurs is getting up from bed after only five minutes of getting comfortable to go to the bathroom for the fiftieth time that day. Not to mention you've become so used to the bathroom that you don't even have to turn the lights on or anything - you already know where everything is. Plus, if you're me, then that also means picking up your husbands lazily discarded pants that are crumpled up on the floor with his gun and all of his badges still hooked on there just so you can wash your hands.

"Spencer, I know you've worked long and hard," I start, picking up his wrinkled slacks from the bathroom floor. "But if your pregnant wife has to continue bending over and picking up your pants every time she has to use the bathroom because your daughter seems to think my bladder is a punching bag," I begin taking everything off of his belt. "Then I might just have to use you as a punching bag."

"I'm sorry!" I hear him apologize from the bedroom, an ounce of laughter behind his voice. "I forget and just leave them there - I'm sorry!" Spencer repeats himself, making me bite my lip from laughter. He has eidetic memory, and yet, he still 'forgets' his pants when he takes them off everyday he comes home from work.

Taking his badge off his belt and placing it on the counter, I begin dismantling everything else as well. The last thing to remove is his gun and holster, and with this clunky thing, I try as hard as I can to not let it make a sound as I put it on the countertop. Spencer has been very quiet for the past few minutes, and if he's fallen asleep, I don't want to accidentally wake him up.

I just hope he's not quiet because he's worrying himself sick. As of lately, he's had a stalker that the BAU can't seem to figure out who they are. They know they're male, going by the style of handwriting, and they know he has a pattern. Every Tuesday, a letter is sent to Spencer's desk at the BAU, and yet, there's never a return address or fingerprints to go off of. Today was Tuesday, and for some reason, Spencer didn't receive anything. It worried Spencer a lot, but I'm just hoping the stalker has given up; however, his previous letters show no sign of him doing this which makes this all more worrisome.

"No, no, please," I hear Spencer's voice from the bedroom once more, making my eyes go wide as I quickly catch onto the fright and panic in his tone. Who is he talking to? Especially when I've been in this bathroom no longer than five minutes, and I didn't hear a phone ring or anything.

"You are Spencer Reid," My ears catch a very unfamiliar voice, causing me to fully come to a halt with Spencer's revolver still in my hand. Who the hell is in my house? And how the hell did they get in?

Silently padding over to the bathroom doorway, I try as hard as I can to crack open the door enough to see who's in our house. As I do so, I feel my heart beat a mile a minute, and the little girl in my stomach still hasn't given up on her kicking assault. "Your birthday is October of nineteen-eighty-one. Your mother,"

The man pauses to laugh, appearing as if he were trying to mock Spencer; I take this chance to open the doorway as much as I can without alerting the man, and thankfully, it seems to be a success. "The poor old broad can't decipher through her own mind - never has been able to," The man continues. "Finally, you turn eighteen, you send her away, and you go on to live your own life in college and, soon enough, the BAU,"

Slowly peeking around the corner, I see the man talking to a very wide-awake Spencer with his gun raised at him, no mask concealing his face. Instead, his entire body is covered in black material spanning from a dark turtleneck all the way down to pitch black slacks and charcoal boots. Yet, his head and face are completely visible to anyone who sees him, and going by the fact that he's doing such a thing, he thinks he's going to get away with it and not get caught. Not on my watch.

"You've spent- no, wasted! Wasted nearly eleven years of your life on a job that prevents you from actually having a life!" At the mans words, I squint my eyes while readying Spencer's gun in my hands. "Face it, doctor Reid - you are nothing! I am smart - we are smart! But you have married yourself to your job that doesn't need you; it needs me," with that, the man pauses once again, but this time, he begins to pant, obviously worked up over what he's been saying. This guy has to be one of the most conceited guys to walk the earth.

"Now," The man states, leveling his eyesight with the gun once again. "Was there anything I missed?"

At this point, I come around the bathroom corner with Spencer's gun raised at the man. Through the sights, I see the two small pieces of metal lining up with the mans head, and in my peripherals, I see Spencer warily nod his head as he glances over me with extreme and utter nervousness.

"Uh, y-yes, actually," my husband answers, swallowing down his worry as the fate of his life rests at the tip of my fingers. Now that I think about it, if it weren't for Spencer's bad habit of leaving his pants in the middle of the bathroom floor, I wouldn't have the ability to save him right now.

Just as the man turns around, I line up the sights with his head once again as I pull the hammer back, the trigger following soon after. Watching as the man quickly goes down with no life left in him, only slight convulsions surging through him now, I slowly let my hands fall back to my side as the realization of what just occurred passes through me. I just shot someone... someone who was threatening my husband's life, but still! I've never done that before, and I never want to have to do it ever again!

Within a few moments of my eyes widening in shock, I feel Spencer take me into his arms while slowly taking the gun out of my hand and tossing it onto our bed. "You did so well, love," Spencer assures me in my ear, making me slowly sit on the ground with him as shock runs through me. I'm so stunned by what just happened that I can barely breathe. "You did good, baby, you did so good. I'm so proud of you."

Despite Spencer's words running through my head, I find myself suddenly gasping as I realize something. "Baby! The baby!" I almost shout, turning my head toward Spencer as my now free hand falls to my thirty-week old bump. "Spence, the-the noise, the noise! Could the noise have hurt her ears?"

Immediately, Spencer shakes his head before moving to place his hand on top of mine, his other hand raising at the same time to wipe away the sudden rush of tears falling down my face. "No, no, she's fine, (Y/n), she's fine," Spencer assures me, gently rubbing his thumb against my clothed belly. "The muscles and amniotic fluid protect her, so when the noise does reach her ears, it's extremely muffled," he further explains, gently taking my face into his hands to turn me toward him. "But I am going to have a medic look over you and the baby when they get here, okay?"

Keeping my eyes on his, I nod before laying my head against his chest, a small sigh falling from my lips. "He was the stalker, right?" I ask Spencer, my eyes flickering up to his face as his hand reaches down to gently card through my hair.

Spencer simply nods. "Yeah, he was," he tells me, making me shake my head. "The way he spoke, it's how he wrote his letters," Spencer further explains, "He was an obvious narcissist with a superiority complex - just like his letters."

That would explain the man's words from earlier and how selfish they all were. Although, what if the cops don't believe us and arrest me in spite of what's been going on? I know Spencer wouldn't have gotten in trouble shooting him as a BAU agent, but what about me?

"Spencer, am I going to jail?" I immediately ask, my eyes growing wide as panic sets in my chest.

"No, no, you aren't, and you need to calm down," Spencer tells me, holding my head to his chest as he kisses my temple. He's trying to comfort me while also preventing me from looking over at the dead man currently lying on our bedroom floor. "You did nothing wrong, that was self-defense, and you protected me as well as save me from the man who was going to kill me, no doubt," he points out, his voice growing softer with every word. "You're awesome, love."

In response to his comment, I find myself lightly laughing with tears rising to my eyes again. That's what I usually tell Spencer when he gets back from a case and they successfully stopped a killer. Even if the case goes awry and Spencer returns home sad or disappointed in himself, I still remind him of my usual compliment. Now, much to my disbelief, the roles have reversed and now it is me who has stopped the bad guy.

Once my breathing is slowed and my panic has settled down, Spencer helps me go back to our bathroom where he makes me stay. Without wasting anymore time, Spencer grabs his phone from his side table and dials the police before walking through the house with his gun in hand to make sure there are no other intruders. Thankfully, there isn't, and Spencer soon returns to the bathroom to take me out to the living room, getting me as far away from the dead body as he can all the while making sure I remain comfortable.

Sitting behind me on the couch, Spencer makes me lie between his legs as I rest my back against his chest, his right hand rubbing soothing circles against my bump while he uses his other to dial up his team. Thankfully, soon of them are still at the office working late when Spencer calls.

"(Y/n) shot the stalker?" I hear Derek's familiar tone over the phone as Spencer explains the situation. As he goes on, the sound of sirens in the distance slowly grow closer, and the only thing I can do is hold a hand to my swollen tummy as our little girl gives the occasional kick to my ribs.

"Yes, directly in the head," Spencer answers Derek with a quick glance over to our bedroom where the dead body remains, the spilled blood from his wound no doubt soaking into floor. I never would have listed 'blood is easier to clean up' as a pro when choosing hardwood over carpet. "She shot like a trained officer."

Spencer's comment warrants a rare chuckle from their boss. "Too bad she wasn't able to help you when you failed your shooting test and needed to retake it," Hotch's voice pipes up from the background, causing Spencer to let out a little 'hey!' in response. In light of the situation, I laugh a little at that. I can remember him calling me after failing it and I had to tell him it was okay. Of course, in his mind, it wasn't.

"I don't fail tests." I remember him telling me, making me laugh. No matter what I said, he still continued on about failing the test, unable to let it go.

"The team will be here in a few minutes, okay?" I hear him tell me, bringing me out of my thoughts and back to the moment. I hadn't even realized he ended the call with his team.

Still, I nod back at him, only a few seconds passing before he's leaning over and pressing his lips against my cheek. "It'll all be okay," He assures me, making me slightly nod with another small shuddered breath. "I promise," He further assures me, sensing my anxiety. "I'd never let anything happen to my hero~"

[minminbunny]

Stalker X Stalker AU - Dom! Lee Minho/Sub Gender Neutral! Reader

*smut part - AFAB/AMAB

💕Drabble Masterlist

❤️Ultimate Masterlist

"Good morning, gorgeous," you whispered, taking a few silent photos from the roof into Minho's room. His sleeping body looked so precious with Dori snuggled against his face. You shuddered an exhale, licking your lips as you pulled away. Minho chuckled, watching you through his phone, "Kitty, you look so desperate," he cooed, zooming in. You realigned your camera, disappointed to see him sitting up, "It's too early, darling. You should sleep more," you whispered, watching Minho scroll on his phone. 

Minho crossed his legs, his back facing the window, "Aww, they're sulking," he chuckled, endeared by your obvious pouting. You hummed, watching the time on your watch, "It's almost here," you whispered, keeping your camera in exchange for a burner phone. The parcel arrived at Minho's doorstep, "I didn't order anything," he murmured, bringing it into his room. You gulped, shakily calling his number. 

Minho felt his phone ring and picked it up, "Hello?" he asked, making your breath hitch. You turned on your voice modifier, "Hope you like the gift, darling. It's curated for you," you said, breathing heavily. Minho bit back a smirk, "How did you find my address?" he asked, faking a worried victim. You shivered at his voice, "You shouldn't sign random forums, pretty. You wouldn't know who's getting them," you said, before hanging up.

Minho faced away from his window, chuckling into his palm. Making it seem like it was crying with his shaking shoulders. Guilt swirled within you but you knew the gift would cheer him up. Minho wiped the tears in his eyes, "Such a sweetheart," he cooed, tugging on the ribbon. The box was a stunning red with a cream coloured ribbon. 

Minho lifted the lid and his eyes widened, "This isn't fair, kitty," he smiled, seeing his favorite pudding, cat treats for his children and a lovely looking letter. He shuddered, smelling a tinge of blood coming from the letter, "As much as I don't like knowing you got hurt, kitten. You really do excite me," he groaned, opening the letter. It wrote: 

"To my dearest darling, 

Was my gift to your satisfaction, I wanted to make you feel special. I hope I didn't scare you too much. The way your face lights up when you take a bite of pudding makes my heart swell. I'm always watching, gorgeous. Please dream of me.

Your admirer,"

At the bottom of the letter lies a kiss mark, Minho gulped, tracing the perverted stain, "Fuck, your lips look pretty," he whispered, checking his phone if you were still on the roof. After seeing the empty rooftop, he kissed the mark and held the letter close to his chest, "Definitely one for my collection," he chuckled, opening a secret door being his clothes, a room filled with pictures and items you've used before. "I wanted to extend our little game but after today. I don't think I can hold back," he chuckled, messaging his friend to set him up on a blind date.

You huffed, getting dressed for a date you don't want, "Lix, I told you. I'm not interested in dating right now," you sulked, letting him comb your hair. Felix chuckled, "It's just one. Plus, Jisung said it was their treat. So, you get a free meal and have a good time," he said, patting your shoulders. You frowned, "I guess," you murmured, looking into the mirror. Felix really dolled you up, your lips plump and glossy. 

Your eyebags covered nicely. It was a total one-eighty from your usual attire. Felix nuzzled his cheek against yours, "Ready?" he asked, raising an eyebrow. You gulped, "Ready as I'll ever be," you said, grabbing the necessaries. Minho loosened his tie, "It's time," he whispered, waiting for you at the table. He laced your glass with sleeping powder, hoping this date would go smoothly. You exhaled, pushing open the door. 

You faked a smile and looked for the table number. 'No way,' you thought, seeing your darling, sitting where your date was suppose to be. Excitement flooded your senses, 'Is this a dream?' you thought, making your way to the table. You tapped the table, "Are you Jisung's friend?" you asked, trying to be calm as possible. Minho smiled, nodded his head, "That's me. My name's Minho," he introduced, reaching out his hand. 

You wanted nothing more than to screenshot this moment like an otome game, "Nice to meet you, Minho," you said, taking his hand. Minho crossed his legs, hiding his growing bulge, 'My name just glides off their tongue. I can't wait to hear them cry it,' he thought, gesturing you to sit down. You took a sip of water, finding the taste to be odd but you didn't want to ruin the mood, "Have you ordered?" you asked, wondering why the table didn't have any menu. 

Minho nodded, "I have, it's allergen free. I didn't want to you wait long for dinner," he said, pouring you more water. You beamed, "Thank you for your consideration," you said, sipping more of the water. Minho allowed his mind to spin, your pretty smile, your stunning figure, the way you dressed up for the occasion. A brief thought of jealousy surged through his thoughts, 'They dressed up not knowing it was me. Does that mean that anyone would've since my kitten like this?' he thought, gripping his knife. 

You anxiously glanced peeks at him, his pronounced jawline, his piercing eyes, the veins on his arms. 'Fuck,' you thought, trying to keep your eyes from rolling back at the thought of his fingers pounding your hole apart. The waitress placed your dishes on the table, "Enjoy," she said, walking away. You jolted from your dazed, smiling at Minho, "Dig in," you beamed, eating your dinner. 

Minho did the same, watching your movements get more sluggish from the powder. 'Don't worry, kitty. I'll take great care of you,' he thought, enjoying the night.

You groaned, waking up in an oddly familiar room. One you've only seen through your digital camera. One you've come to love over the years. You tried to sit up, only to feel your wrists tug against the bed frame. Minho chuckled, sitting by the window the whole time, "Slept well, kitten?" he asked, moving towards you. He stroked your hair, gently grazed your arms and thighs for any weapons you kept hidden. 

You gulped, pressing your legs together, trying to hide your dagger between your thighs. Minho clicked his tongue, "Now, now. Good kittens don't hide dangerous things," he cooed, brushing his hands between your inner thighs. His smirk grew, feeling a leather holster. He unclasp the holster and placed it aside, "There we go, all helpless for me," Minho chuckled, brushing your hair. 

You couldn't help but feel aroused, every sense in your body melting into his dominating presence. Minho hummed, "For a perverted little kit, you sure are obedient aren't you? Did you like watching me, sweetheart. Do you touch yourself while stalking me?" he asked, holding your neck. You moaned from the pressure, you eyes hazy with pleasure, "I do. I'm sorry, Minho. I'm sorry," you whimpered, tears spilling down your cheeks. 

Minho cooed, tightening his grip, "You're not sorry at all, kitten. I love hearing your unbashful moans when you ride your pretty little dildo," he chuckled, loving the confusion on your face. "What?" you whispered, staring up at him. Minho traced your bottom lip, "You should really close your windows, kitten. It was so easy to hook up a camera in your room," he said, booping  your nose. You moaned at the realisation, "You know everything?" you asked, desperation lacing your tongue. Minho kissed your forehead, "Everything, kitty. You're not the only one who's been watching," he chuckled, stroking your cheek.

NSFW BELOW CUT

AFAB

"Hhgh, hah, hah," you moaned, riding his cock at a relentless pace. Minho chuckled, spanking your plush ass, "Clench for me, kitten," he growled, thrusting his hips upwards in tandem with your bounce. You did as told, your ribbed walls contracting around his girthy veiny hot cock, "Hah! Good, so good," you whined, burying your face into his chest. 

Minho groaned, his fat cockhead kissing your tiny crevix with each thrust, "How many times have you imagined this, kitty? Tell me," he growled, gripping your hips hard enough to bruise. You hiccuped, gasping and moaning into his chest, "Every other day. Needed you, needed you so bad," you sobbed, licking his puffy nipple. 

Minho groaned into your hair, his face buried in the scent of your shampoo, "Yeah? Needed my Fat. Throbbing. Cock. dragging within your swollen little cunt, huh? I watched you play with that girthy dildo the other day. Tell me which is better, kitty. My cock or that toy?" He rambled into your ear, his tongue licking your earlobe with a lewd squelch. 

You whimpered, shuddering within his hold, "Your cock. Yours Minho," you cried, tears dripping onto his chest. Minho grunted, pumping his thick shaft up your cunt, his hand reaching down to rub your puffy clit,  "Say my name. Say it," he growled, picking up the pace. You arched your back, clawing his chest in sheer pleasure, "Minho! Min, Min, Hhgh," you whimpered, your thighs sore and aching. 

Minho groaned, feeling his cockhead ease beneath your cervix, "Cum for me, sweetheart. Let me feel your obsession," he hissed, feeling you clench hard around his shaft. Broken moans escaped your lips, drool got mixed with your tears and snot. "Hah, hhgh, cumming!" You gasped, creaming around his throbbing cock. Minho groaned, his head pounding from your tight searing cunt. 

"Fuck, fuck, hah," you moaned, his semen coating your inner walls white. You panted, catching your breath from the raw intensity. Minho kissed your forehead, "You can't escape me now, sweetheart," he whispered, licking your jaw. You clenched around his sensitive cock, "Neither can you, darling," you beamed, staring into his equally possessive gaze.

AMAB

"Hhgh, hah, hah," you moaned, riding his cock at a relentless pace. Minho chuckled, spanking your plush ass, "Clench for me, kitten," he growled, thrusting his hips upwards in tandem with your bounce. You did as told, your ribbed walls contracting around his girthy veiny hot cock, "Hah! Good, so good," you whined, burying your face into his chest. 

Minho groaned, his fat cockhead kissing your tiny prostate with each thrust, "How many times have you imagined this, kitty? Tell me," he growled, gripping your hips hard enough to bruise. You hiccuped, gasping and moaning into his chest, "Every other day. Needed you, needed you so bad," you sobbed, licking his puffy nipple. 

Minho groaned into your hair, his face buried in the scent of your shampoo, "Yeah? Needed my Fat. Throbbing. Cock. dragging within your swollen little hole, huh? I watched you play with that girthy dildo the other day. Tell me which is better, kitty. My cock or that toy?" He rambled into your ear, his tongue licking your earlobe with a lewd squelch. 

You whimpered, shuddering within his hold, "Your cock. Yours Minho," you cried, tears dripping onto his chest. Minho grunted, pumping his thick shaft up your hole, his hand reaching down to rub your puffy cockhead,  "Say my name. Say it," he growled, picking up the pace. You arched your back, clawing his chest in sheer pleasure, "Minho! Min, Min, Hhgh," you whimpered, your thighs sore and aching. 

Minho groaned, feeling his cockhead ease against your prostate, "Cum for me, sweetheart. Let me feel your obsession," he hissed, feeling you clench hard around his shaft. Broken moans escaped your lips, drool got mixed with your tears and snot. "Hah, hhgh, cumming!" You gasped, creaming between your torsos’. Minho groaned, his head pounding from your tight searing hole. "Fuck, fuck, hah," you moaned, his semen coating your inner walls white. You panted, catching your breath from the raw intensity. Minho kissed your forehead, "You can't escape me now, sweetheart," he whispered, licking your jaw. You clenched around his sensitive cock, "Neither can you, darling," you beamed, staring into his equally possessive gaze.

[tofixtheshadows]

Btw I don't think tallmen in Dunmeshi have an average lifespan of 60 years because they're physiologically different from real-life humans. I don't think they actually become "fully grown" (difficult concept and partly social anyway) at sixteen either, just like I don't think it's that simple with real 18 year olds. I think it's just because of differing health outcomes for people in a quasi-medieval period, which we know is artificially enforced.

I don't think it's a coincidence that Marcille's dad lived well into his eighties while married to an elven mage. He absolutely had access to quality healing and medicine, as well as a safer lifestyle (seems like he might have been a stay-at-home dad).

Galaxy brain: tallmen and half-foots are dying like crazy from cancers and other diseases exacerbated by having to live in regions that have already been strip-mined by dwarves or had their ecosystems unbalanced by elves.

[amongsnot]

wip!!

gonna draw the gang in using my favorite just dance songs as refs. will be back shortly.

[catelyngrant]

So I'm thinking about the Fourteenth Doctor, and the bi-generation, and how he may have come to an end. What happened to him after those years he spent with Donna and her family, and with so many other friends on Earth (oh, I am headcanon-ing, friends), existing day-to-day and beginning to heal? After he learned how to let himself be loved, and shown compassion, and forgiven—and, eventually, learned to love, forgive, and care for himself? What happened when, at the end of this journey, his regeneration energy (I assume?) traveled back (in some hand-wavey fashion) to become the Fifteenth Doctor, who is born out of that love and forgiveness and compassion and is ready to move forward in the universe?

Fourteen becomes Fifteen—but what about the TARDIS?

Fourteen's TARDIS was created for the same reason Fourteen was: they needed to slow down, to be gentle. They needed to find a home that wasn't moving at the speed of light. So maybe this TARDIS is a little gentler, too. Maybe she's a little more careful of herself and her charges.

When Fourteen takes Rose to Mars, they land right where they're supposed to, and Rose sees wonders. Nothing bad happens, and they return home five minutes after they left.

When Shaun wants to see a football match from 1988, he opens the TARDIS door and she takes him right there, flying all by herself, to Fourteen's chagrin.

When Fourteen takes Mel to New York, they have adventures that don't involve running, or hiding, or screaming with anything but laughter. When Fourteen takes Jo, Ace, and Tegan to the Jurassic era, the only danger he faces is when he makes an age joke.

When, after Sarah Jane dies (yeeeears in the future, tyvm), Fourteen takes Luke, Maria, Clyde, and Rani to see Florana—the place he promised to take Sarah Jane all those years ago—the TARDIS chooses the safest, most beautiful moment in time for them to honor her memory.

When Donna and Martha and Yaz and Shirley sneak in for a joyride, they have the time of their lives, and the TARDIS covers for them. (Fourteen suspects, but can't prove it.)

When Fourteen is struggling, and chafing at life on Earth, and just needs to run, to fix things, to solve puzzles, to get away from the day-to-day of it all, the TARDIS lets him. She takes him so many places he's never been before, and they're all beautiful and wild and remind him what he loves about the universe.

(He tries, a few times, to go places that might bring him pain, and she gently refuses.)

And every now and then, someone will try to get in. This TARDIS doesn't have a key; she just opens to those in her care, and refuses entry to those she doesn't trust. She is safe, and so are they.

When Donna's in her eighties and can't get around as easily, the TARDIS takes her where she can manage. When Rose is overwhelmed with the pain of the world, the TARDIS takes her to places where none of that pain exists, and lets her stay as long as she needs to.

They live magnificent lives, and the TARDIS takes care of them. And then, at the end of it, Fourteen is ready for what comes next, and he becomes Fifteen. There's only one Doctor again.

But this TARDIS...

I think she stays, right in the corner of that yard. She leaves and then lands so precisely that roots and ivy grow over her. The Doctor is gone, and eventually Mel and Sarah Jane and Jo and Donna and Martha and everyone that traveled with the Doctor once upon a time in a different TARDIS are gone too.

But Rose is still there. Luke, Maria, Rani, and Clyde are still there. Their families, their kids. The TARDIS opens to them, and shows them the universe. She takes them only where she chooses to, and it's always exactly where they need to go.

She always takes them home, to the garden that once belonged to Donna Noble.

The Doctor finds new companions. Some of them come home to Earth after awhile, but they're not stuck dreaming of the universe. You showed me the furthest reaches of the galaxy, Sarah Jane said. You showed me supernovas, intergalactic battles, and then you just dropped me back on Earth. How could anything compare to that? We get a taste of that splendor, but then we have to go back.

These new companions, they return to Earth and their lives there, but every now and then, they swing by that old house that the Noble family has lived in for generations. They say hello to this old/new box, and she invites them in.

They don't have to say goodbye to the universe. She's right there in Chiswick, waiting for them.

And sometimes—on rare occasions, when they need it, or when he (or she, or they) does—she takes them to the Doctor.

[david-watts]

I swear to god the weather is evil atm

[terezis]

ok here's the hot goss from the nycc taz gn panel

i don't actually know whether or not it was recorded/ if they're going to put it online so here is my summary. also if i miss anything and u were there pls feel free to chime in. spoilers obviously!!!

got eight new preview pages (four two-page spreads), not the pages on the macmillan website!!!

ok i will tell u about those pages but the main thing discussed at the panel was how they went about adapting this arc into gn form. the actual time spent in wonderland has been trimmed a lot bc they had to think about what was actually important to the narrative as they are building to story and song.

basically in planning out the suffering game they also really had to decide what the rest of the series would look like, bc whatever they include now is seeding the stuff that's going to happen later.

cam is not in this book. it was implied there's less wheel spins. rowan/ash/sterling get much less screen time

almost half of this book is lunar interlude stuff (pre and post suffering game, INCLUDING REUNION TOUR!!! no word on where it ends but they made it clear that a LOT of thought went into what to include and where to end it, and what that would mean for the next book)

ok so about those preview pages

first one was post-taakitz date with kravitz sensing a lich and the umbra staff shooting at him <3 <3 <3

i thought they were going to show us the preview pages that were on macmillan so when i saw kravitz i was so shook

second spread was magnus visiting the voidfish, which now happens right before they leave for wonderland; the whole beginning of tsg from magnus trying to talk to pringles to him kidnapping those guards to the chimera fight was cut LOL bc it never really got… addressed again in the podcast

angus comes to get him for the mission but magnus has been going Through It (outright stated, they were like. he found out he's a red robe. he would probably not be handling it well. he has eyebags now. LOL) and snaps at angus when angus presses him on what's wrong.

more angus content, he will be investigating what's going on at the bureau more (his scene w magnus ties into this)

same for lucretia! more content/ stuff for her to do

third spread was merle w his kids getting saved by the red robe, is at a carnival instead of a random street this time LOL

last one was the boys arriving just outside of wonderland

wonderland looks fuckign cool

what else… oh confirmed like eighty panels of bare ass naked magnus after he gets his body back. so i think we really are getting the full reunion tour this book???

ALSO NAKED BARRY COVERED IN SLIME. WHEN HE GETS OUT OF THE POD. CONFIRMED. CANON. LOL

omg ALSO!!! ben (editor) said he campaigned REALLY HARD to have the umbra staff break during the suffering game, freeing lup early, bc he really wanted more time with her, but griffin campaigned really hard NOT to do this, and in doing so his arguments solved a lot of other problems they had been having at the time LOL

travis is the fans' champion when the others get too edit-happy. he's the one who has a good idea of what moments are important to the readers so he's like hey… too far. don't cut that. and then they don't

justin leaves great notes and when they couldn't figure stuff out ben would often say "no it's fine justin will solve this." and he ALWAYS DID

this was news to justin

??? i think that's all the main points honestly i'm v picky about adaptations but overall i feel like these are good changes that make sense when translating the podcast to gn

that said i do hope taako still gets a washing machine dropped on him <3 do this for me carey <3

[shanastoryteller]

HAPPY HALLOWEEN GRANDMA!! You already know what I want, nay, what I crave when the days get shorter and the only thing that brings me any solace is my favorite rarepare. Please, Tonks x Percy siat - specifically something abouth Tonks telling Percy about her powers maybe, just an incredibly intimate scene please and thank you 😩🧡

The first time Percy rushes to the St. Mungo's on the heal of a battle and bursts into Tonk's room, he doesn't understand why he'd needed to threaten his way in in the first place. She's stripped to her underwear and looks perfectly fine.

But there are three healers surrounding her and completely ignoring him. "Time?" the oldest asks, her hair pure white and her face a layer of wrinkles.

Tonks closes her eyes. "Eighty seconds."

"External first," she says briskly. "It doesn't do us any good if you bleed out."

She breathes out.

Then blood floods across her body, soaking the bed instantly as wounds big and small erupt over her skin. In some places he sees flashes of what he thinks are bone.

Tonks doesn't scream as magic starts flying, and he doesn't either, keeping himself plastered to the wall.

"Internal," the healer says.

What little of her skin he can see beneath the blood pales and they're casting more healing spells, longer and more complicated the any he's heard before.

"Head," she says. "Go slow."

Tonks swallows and then there's another rush of blood as her eyes roll and she passes out and all three of the healers are flinging spells with a speed and intensity he didn't know was possible.

He's almost grateful that he can't see what injury they're treating.

Then the other two step back and the old healer casts a diagnostic spell that Percy tries to interpret and can't. Her shoulders drop and she says, "Good," casting a scourgify to take care of the blood and pulling the blanket over her with a flick of her wand.

She turns, noticing Percy for the first time. Instead of anger, she just raises an eyebrow. "You're the boyfriend, then?"

He really hates what that implies about how often Tonks needs to be treated by healer quite this talented. "Is she going to be okay?"

His stomach had twisted itself in nots but it finally starts ease when she gives a short nod. "We'll let her get some rest and keep her overnight from observation." She tilts her head to the side. "I'd kick you out, citing the no visitors policy for this ward, but you're already here. Seems like a big of wasted effort."

"A bit," he agrees, pulling a chair next to Tonks's bedside and collapsing into it. "Thank you."

~

Tonks wakes up slowly, feeling the hospital sheets that she hates with the smell she can't stand and she's already trying to figure out how she can get herself released early without bringing Nanu's wrath down on her.

She pushes herself upright - or tries to. She can't mover her arm.

She looks down, alarmed, but her arm is just being used as a pillow.

By Percy, who's asleep and hunched over her bed. Percy, who needed to be coaxed and cajoled into leaving his desk for so much as a tea is here. He doesn't even have any scrolls or work spready out. She wouldn't blame him if he didn't, but he's just here, and from the way his clothing's rumpled he's been here for a while.

Tonks's heart feels so full.

She's going to marry him.

He only just accepted that they were dating, so she'll give him some time before introducing the concept of marriage, but she knows. This man is going to be her husband someday.

[luvsturniolo]

ー ★ !! STRANGER

pairing : matt sturniolo x fem!reader

synopsis : having been dared to kiss a random stranger, you're the first person matt choses to approach

a/n : guys ive been needing to write another fic so badly that i got this prompt off of pinterest and i'm completely winging it (this is a cry for help. pls send reqs bc i'm running low atm.)

i hate how this is written & this is prob the worst thing i've done on this app but i need to post something so ur gonna read it anyway !

wc : 2.5k

nick, matt, chris, nate, and madi are currently on an expidition to the mall. they hardly ever hang out as a complete group, so everyones moods are sky rocketed from the simple fact of them all being together. it honestly doesn't matter what they're buying or where they are. they'll all have smiles on their faces regardless.

"i'm surprised nick isn't trying to record a video right now." chris says as the group enters a random clothing store. "it's one of the very few times we're all together and everyone is in good moods. nick would normally take advantage of that."

"just say you want to record and move on." matt grumbles, walking over to one of the racks to flip through the t-shirts on display.

"i don't want to record! i was saying nick probably would!" chris tries to defend himself, earning weird looks from everyone due to this very clearly being a lie. chris lets out a sigh when he realizes that nobody is believing him. "whatever. i'm just saying that i don't think we should waste the opportunity to make good content. the fans love nate and madi."

"woww," madi says sarcastically, feigning offence, "you're just using us for content?"

"oh, shut up." chris replies, dramatically rolling his eyes at her teasing. madi giggles and takes a sip from the cup of lemonade she got from lunch earlier today at the food court. everyone else already finished their drinks, she's the only one with anything leftover from the meal.

"i didn't bring the camera anyway." nick says with a careless shrug, causing chris's jaw to drop with shock. "i wanted this hangout to be authentic. just everyone laughing and smiling together as a group. no cameras. no new friends. just us."

"since when did you ever leave the house without your camera?" chris asks him with his jaw still hung loose on its hinges. "it's practically glued to your bag at all times."

matt finds himself zoning out of the conversation as he looks around at the clothes. their argument about recording is only relevant to him if they decide that they are going to record. otherwise, it's unimportant and frankly quite boring. and now that nick admitted that he didn't even bring the camera, the conversation is no longer of interest to him.

they continue to stay near the front of the store, nick and chris arguing about the camera predicament while nate and madi laugh at them from the sidelines. but matt strays away from the group. he has about eighty bucks he brought with the intent on spending it all today. well, at least half of it or more. so he begins to get distracted with the task of finding new clothes to add to his wardrobe.

he made a mental note before leaving the house that he wants more hoodies since the weather is started to get colder. knowing this, he wanders over to the back of the store. he's been here enough to know that there's a rack of jackets and long-sleeved shirts in the right corner beside the employee exit door.

matt flips through the clothing. he wants more bright colors in his closet. most of his hoodies are black or dark grey. nick said that his wardrobe looks like a funeral home and he needs something more lively. but nothing here seems to catch his eye.

"need help finding anything?" a random female voice asks him. he turns to face the sound and sees a worker standing to his left. you. and lets just say you definitely catch his eye — unlike any of the clothes you're selling. he likes the style of your hair, the color of your eyes, the shape of your face, the bridge of your nose, all of it.

damn! matt's never been this whipped for a random stranger. it's normal for him to find random girls attractive in public, but something about you is making him unable to take his eyes away yours.

"okay? i'll take that as a no." you say before turning on your heel and leaving. as soon as you walk away, matt feels the urge to call out and stop you, but he doesn't know your name. he was too busy admiring you to read the tag on your uniform.

he lets out a sigh before walking back across the store and rejoining the group, his mood now soured completely. when he walks up to his brothers, nick turns around with a camera in his hand, recording.

"what the hell?" matt says. "i thought you didn't bring it."

"he lied so he didn't have to film." chris says with an eye roll. "but i didn't believe him. so i dug through his backpack and guess what! i found it sitting on the very top, fully charged."

matt just nods, not having anything to say to that. plus, now that he's in a bad mood it's be best to stay away from the camera so his bitchiness doesn't ruin the video. he feels guilty for being like this while everyone else has such high spirits, but he can't help it. he embarassed himself in front of the most beautiful girl he'd ever seen. there's no coming back from that.

the group exits the store and they begin to wander around. they're looking for a sunglasses store for nate so he can buy a new pair seeing as he broke his last ones while leaning out of the window of the van. the slipped off of his face — never to be seen again. but nate claims he needed new glasses anyway due to how old and scathed those ones were.

"you okay?" nate asks. the fact that he noticed matt's fatigue takes him by surprise. matt wants to continue sulking in his soured mood, but when he looks at nate's genuine worried expression, he can't help but confide in his friend about the events from earlier.

matt tells him about how he was looking for a jacket when you approached him. you came up so casually as though it meant nothing to you, when it meant everything to him. matt describes you, accentuating your beauty to paint the picture as well as possible. he tells nate that he feels like he's being dramatic, but he can't help it. i mean, you're a complete stranger whose name he doesn't even know. and yet he can't take his mind off of your guys's short interaction.

"i wish i had some wise words of advice for you, but i don't." nate says. "but judging just by the way you talk about her, you need to get her number or something. i've literally never heard you talk about a girl like that. you're fuckin' whipped, man."

"i agree." matt says. "but how the hell am i supposed to get her number when she's a literal stranger? i don't know anything about her."

"you know where she works." nate points out.

matt thinks about this for a moment before deciding that nate's right. he knows where you work and that's more than knowing nothing. someones job says a lot about them — how much money they make, what means a lot to them, etc. i mean, he's not the type of guy who gives a shit about your income, but if he wanted to know something about you, he could easily find out a lot.

"lets buy your sunglasses." matt says, confidence slowly overtaking him now that he doesn't feel like this whole thing is hopeless. "then, we can all go get a snack at the food court so i have some motivation to go talk to her."

nate agrees and hurries to catch up with the rest of the group. matt does the same, rejoining everyone now that his mood is boosted once again. they go to the glasses store and nate picks out a pair that he likes. the whole time, matt is back to normal. everyone notices the shift in his demeanor, but they decide not to point it out.

after nate purchases the glasses he chose, matt tells nick that he's hungry. madi agrees with matt, saying she could eat something seeing as it's been a few hours since they had lunch. not thinking much of it, nick agrees to go to the food court.

"fuck." chris says, sitting in the plastic chair beside matt. "i didn't know they had mozzarella sticks! if i'd known that, i would've gotten them too!"

matt just shrugs, eating another bite with a smug look on his face. chris shoots him a glare and scoffs, turning back to his cheesy fries with a frown. just as chris is about to insult matt, nick and madi come over to the table with their food. nick is still carrying the camera around, filming everything for their next blog. most of what he's filming will be edited out, but he's still taking the footage just in case.

as they all begin eating their food, nate — who had been using the bathroom for the past few minutes — comes back with a slushy and a small grin. he sits on the other side of matt with a weird look on his face. matt gives him a strange look and nate just giggles and looks away.

"i'm bored guys." nate says. "we should play truth or dare."

"okay." chris agrees easily. but nick shakes his head, not thinking this is a good idea. but chris insists. "c'mon, it'll be good content. plus we're not gonna do any stupid dares that will get us in trouble or anything."

when matt and madi take chris's side, nick has no choice but to give in play the game. his only condition is that he gets to ask chris first, and he has to pick dare. chris agrees to his terms.

"i dare you to say yes to everything i ask for the rest of the day." nick tells him with a sarcastic smile. chris rolls his eyes, but has no choice but to do as he says.

"can i go next?" nate asks excitedly. it's supposed to be chris's turn next since he was the one who did the dare, but nick answers dow him. he nods, letting nate go ahead. and chris can't argue since he has to say yes to whatever nick wants. nate grins widely and continues. "matt, truth or dare."

"dare." matt says without hesitation.

"i dare you to kiss a random stranger." nate tells him with a grin. "they have to be in the food court, though."

"what the fuck type of dare is that?" nick shouts. "we're not bringing random stranger into this! plus, isn't that against some kind of law? kissing random people can't be fucking legal."

matt is about to agree with nick, saying it's a horrible idea. but he notices nate flicking his eyes back and forth between matt and someone over his shoulder, gesturing for him to look at them. matt turns around and follows nate's gaze to find you sitting alone at a table. you're wearing your work clothes, sipping on a smoothie while scrolling through your phone.

matt changes his mind in an instant. "it's my dare, nick, not yours. so fuck off and play the game like everyone else."

with that, matt stands up from his seat, causing the legs to scrape against the tiled floor beneath it. he awkwardly approaches you with a giddy smile. god, he feels like an idiot. he feels like he went back in time to when he was a child, getting nervous to talk to literally any girl on the playground.

he stands in front of your table and clears his throat to get your attention. you look up at him and raise a brow in confusion. "mind if i sit down?" he asks, pointing to the chair beside you.

"go ahead." you tell him. you're still confused about who this guy is as he sits down at your table. he's attractive and seems sweet, but who is- oh. as he runs a can through his hair, you remember who he is. "you're the guy from the store. you were the one who stared at me instead of answering."

matt feels his cheeks heat with embarrassment. that's not the first impression he wanted to make. but at least you remember him! it's better than you not knowing who he was at all.

plus, you're not talking to him in a weird way. you're smiling as though you find his awkwardness amusing rather than strange — which it is.

"that's me." he says. matt glances over his shoulder at his friends only to see that they're all staring at you guys intently. chris waves him on, urging him to hurry the hell up.

"they're nosy." you say with a laugh. "i'm assuming they're your friends. otherwise, i'd be extremely creeped out."

"uh, yeah." matt says, looking away from chris to refocus on you. fuck. every time he looks at you, he's taken aback by your beauty. like time seems to slow when you guys make eye contact. "listen, they sent me over here as a dare. i'm supposed to kiss you."

you laugh at him for a second. but then you realize he's not kidding. he's being serious. "god, take me on a date first." you tell him sarcastically. matt laughs, but is still pretty serious about the dare. you feel weird agreeing to kiss a stranger, but it'd be even weirder if you were to say no.

not to mention, the boy beside of you is insanely attractive. it wouldn't be such a bad thing to kiss something this hot. "i'll let you kiss me if you agree to give me your number afterward." you tell him.

"i would have asked for it anyway." matt says with a teasing smile. knowing you have an interest in him as well gave matt a boost in confidence. and you honestly think that his confidence makes him even more attractive.

he leans forward and you do the same. you were expecting a small smooch the way little kids kiss at recess, but this guy went all in. he places one hand on the back of your head to tangle through your hair while the other hand cupped your cheek. the kiss was passionate and needy. and you fucking loved it.

when he broke it to catch his breath, you felt deprived of something more. you were practically craving this guy you met only a few minutes ago.

matt smirked at you before you guys exchanged numbers. you were still distracted by the fact that you guys nearly made out in the middle of the food court to process what was going on. as your confidence left, his was refilled.

"i'll come back to your shop before i leave the mall." matt says. "maybe next time i'll actually catch your name before we make out in the storage room."

@kasqnxx @lvrsparadise @prettysturniolo @strniolo @urmyslxt @cupidsturniolo @opheliaofficial07 @thetriplets3 @sturn1olo-ffics @uhnanix @deadxrx @kitaysworld @lovelysturniolo @wilmalovegood @ladylokilaufeyson5 @sturniolopepsi @strnilolo @knowingnothingnoel @its-jennarose @lea0518 @slaysturniolo @sturnlover @tcvazq @ifilwtmfc @poopydroopt @cl0esblogg @ellaynaa @itzdarling

[the-kr8tor]

Reporting for duty Captain!

A tasm Peter Parker request for a shy reader who likes Peter but backs out when she wants to talk to him or- OR, (more like and) a reader with w rizz who's known Peter since forever and ever. Who has the same interest in photography as he does?? Works in a photo store??

Cook chef!

*gasp* a peter parker request?! Got you, my love 🫡 happy to oblige.

Pairing: TASM! Peter Parker x fem! Reader/ TASM! Spider-Man x fem! Reader

Tags: use of Y/N sparsely, no specific physical description of the reader, CW food mentions, Love struck Peter, Fluff.

ʕ⁠·⁠ᴥ⁠·⁠ʔ

Peter doesn't need to ask around campus for you, he already knows where you are, a perk of knowing you since grade school. He evens his breathing when he finally reaches the worn out doors.

The bells jingle as he enters the old store, yellowed wallpaper greeting him and drab shelves lined with rolls of films, the vintage cameras make up for the boringness of the gray shelves. Ancient posters of movies lined the walls, a time capsule of the early eighties. It's silent inside, no other customer than him.

His sneakers squeak on the linoleum as he walks towards the cashier, expecting to see your smile, your hands occupied with whatever book you're currently (hating) reading. He finds it empty.

Peter's spidey senses don't tingle so he can relax knowing that you're in the back of the store. He jumps over the counter effortlessly thanks to his abilities. Knocking on the door, he hears the muffled sound of your speaker.

“Y/N?”

“In here, Pete—! Wait!!” With a creak, Peter opens the door without skipping a beat. The light from the store filters through the dark room, white covering and filtering out all the red. “No! Close it quick!”

“Oh shit!” He shuts it quickly behind him, too fast and harder than he thought, the wood almost cracks at the sheer force. Wincing, you both mirror each other's expression.

“Pete…” you sigh, closing the distance to check the door, you can't afford to lose a chunk of your paycheck for repairs. But you don't blame him, it's hard to stay mad at Peter especially when he's looking so apologetic at you, almost like a kicked puppy. “You got too excited to see me huh?”

He shuts his eyes with a smile, head falling down, chin atop his chest. He looks exasperated but he did it to hide the blush on his cheeks, hoping that if you manage to glimpse it you'd think it's from the red light.

This won't do, you thought. You missed him too much today just for him to hide his face from you. To remedy the feeling, you grasp his cheek, thumb gently placed right under his eye.

“There you are webhead,” your voice is saccharine, the ruby light bouncing off your face, illuminating your features perfectly. Peter thought he'd melt right on the spot. “Missed me?” In truth, you're the one who misses him most.

He wants to say yes without a second thought but knowing you, you're already aware of his answer. Even though you refuse to acknowledge it. Under all the teasing exterior there's shyness underneath it all, with just one flirty comment thrown your way you'd probably collapse.

Peter finally meets your smiling eyes and for a moment you're the only thing that matters.

With classes and spiderman responsibilities, hanging out with you has been scarce, he needed a fix right away, that's why he came sprinting towards the store immediately after a three hour class and after swinging across town to your favorite deli with his wind swept hair and shirt that definitely needs ironing.

“Not really.” A lie, an awful lie on his part.

“Aww,” you dramatically clutch at your chest, hand leaving his skin to his dismay. “Hear that? You just broke my heart, Parker.”

“D’you even have one?”

“Hey!” You playfully punch his shoulder. “You're the one who ruined my pictures.”

His eyes flick towards the clothesline filled with pictures that just screams ‘you.’ “I can see from here that they're not ruined.”

You click your tongue, hands on your hips, you walk back towards the table. “What are you doing here then, webhead?” Lowering the volume of your speaker, you decide to shut it off when his voice is a much better alternative.

“I feel like I should be offended by that.” Peter stands beside you, hip to hip, arm brushing along yours.

Placing his hand on the small of your back casually, he loops his thumb around your belt loop, pressing softly on your skin. He's done this a hundred times during your friendship but it never fails to wake up the butterflies in your stomach.

“I've called you that numerous times.” Holding the tongs, you carefully place the developed photo in the chemical mixture in the basin, eyes watching the picture pop up slowly.

“Stop being mean, I've come bearing gifts from the deli you like.” His voice is quiet, soft just for you.

“The one that's on the upper west side? Peter, that's really far away.”

“I don't mind, that's what web swinging is for right?”

You scrunch up your nose, Peter has the best seat in the house while he admires your expression.

“And here I thought it was for fighting crime.” You chuckle, pushing the paper further down in the basin. His deep chuckle stops abruptly at the sight in front of him.

Peter's own smiling face greets him and your charisma cracks.

“Oh” you manage to let out with your dry mouth.

You can hear him shudder a breath next to you. The picture is framed perfectly, his face centered in the middle amongst the crowd, zoomed in more like. You clearly avoided having other people in the frame, your main subject was him and him alone.

“...Good picture.” He slaps himself mentally.

“Yep, one of my best, I think.” You say quietly, too quietly. Clearing your throat, you avoid his eyes, “why don't you ready the food? Outside, please?”

Peter shakes himself awake. His skin feels like lava, there's a bead of sweat rolling down his temple. Hands clammy, he nods wordlessly. He awkwardly pats your back before leaving your side.

Walking towards the exit, your back turned towards him, shoulders slouched and tensed. He turns towards you before exiting, “looks like you missed me more, sweetheart.” He's called you that millions of times, all filled with more affection than the last but this one, oh this one he added with so much love that it could stop your heart.

And you think it has.

Peter hears you squeak, a sound he hasn't heard you make since high school when he asked you to dance during the winter formal.

You whirl around, catching sight of his Parker smile, charm oozing out of him that's already gone before you could admire him in the crimson light.

He leaves, shutting the door quickly. Laying his sweaty forehead on the door, he tightly closes his eyes again, feeling like a lightning just struck him and adrenaline coursing through his veins, needing to swing off the extra energy.

Blowing hot air, he takes his clammy hands off the doorknob to take out the food he bought, grinning through it like a mad man.

Meanwhile, you clutch the table with a grip, heart threatening to jump out of your chest, heat in your cheeks as the photo of Peter smiles at you.

Laughing to yourself, you take out his picture to clip it on the clothesline next to the other pictures. You have no idea what to say to him once you leave the room, or do you just stay in the dark room forever? Either way, you're absolutely fucked.