#just seems like overkill. OVERKILL I say.

[starsreminisce]

I've heard some people say that Elain and Lucien's mating bond was merely a plot device to get Lucien to leave the Spring Court with Feyre. There are still others who are convinced that Elain and Lucien's mating bond is fake, but it seems like a lot of work to go through when SJM could have just not mated Elain and Lucien in MAF and continued the story as is without their mating bond, and had Elain send Lucien to the mate he never thought he would have, almost like Chaol and Yrene's story.

The plot device to have Elain and Lucien be mates to get Lucien to do whatever is over now. Not only that, but it's absolute overkill when Lucien knows Feyre well enough to realize she was acting too calm about her sisters being taken and was aware something was off. Lucien could look at the bright painting she did in ACOWAR and know something was wrong.

SF confirms that the mating bond isn't enough to keep Lucien unintentionally unbiased. Otherwise, Rhys would have found another way to snare him, like what Maeve did to Rowan. Maeve didn't just fake his mating bond to Lyria. She used it to further manipulate Rowan into accepting her blood oath.

Rhys specifically told Az that Lucien himself was their link to keeping up the fragile peace between three factions (technically four since he is the Day Court heir) and his death would disrupt it. Not that Elain is the key for Lucien to stay in line for those alliances.

There is a reason why Lucien was developed alongside Feyre, the same reason why Azriel was developed alongside Nesta. There is a reason why Elain and Lucien barely showed up in SF, because they are not a part of Nesta's storyline toward how these worlds interconnect. Any development and characteristics that Elain ought to have to be primed to be with Az have been given to Gwyn. Including finding more comfort to be in the shade.

Elain stood at the wall of windows, clad in a lilac gown whose closefitting bodice showed how well her sister had filled out since those initial days in the Night Court.

If the mating bond between Elain and Lucien were meant to get Feyre out of the Spring Court, that purpose has already been fulfilled.

Not only that, but SJM had Lucien running across the field, killing his way to get to Elain to ask if she was okay. She had Elain look at Lucien's bloodied appearance and ask if he was okay. She gave him her second smile in the entire book.

If the mating bond between Elain and Lucien were meant to aid Koschei in any way, then she did a poor job of setting it up when she planted hints toward a secret tunnel underneath the Court of Nightmares in ACOSF to have them explore it in HOFAS.

And guess what else she confirmed in HOFAS: the mating bond cannot be duplicated.

Cassian snorted, and jerked his chin to Eris in a silent order to go on. “We don’t know why they exist, but do you not find it strange that two out of the three have underground palaces carved into them?” “I’d hardly call the Prison a palace,” Cassian cut in. “Just ask the inmates.” Eris gave him a mocking smile, but continued, “Unsurprisingly, the Illyrians were never curious enough to see what secrets lie beneath Ramiel. If it, too, was carved up like the others by ancient hands.” “I thought Amarantha made the court Under the Mountain herself,” Nesta said. “Oh, she decorated it and made us act like a sorry imitation of your Court of Nightmares, but the tunnels and halls were carved long before. By who, we don’t know.”

[novelconcepts]

It’s not that I enjoy my usual anxiety dreams of “back in school, forgot to go to a class all semester, and now the final is happening”.

But I DO find it vastly preferable to “got tossed onstage in a play I don’t know and am expected to act my face off”, so…let’s just…run that back.

[nomaishuttle]

i wish i had a smaller bag or wallet...

[proteuus]

im actually stupid for real i think

[semercury]

Should I get irrationally angry over people enjoying a ship from a game I haven't even played based on what I've heard other people say happens in canon? No. Am I? Ha ha...

[nyxire]

finished a book 😊

[bunniesanddeer]

Touch- Pt 1

Alastor x GN!Reader

Part Two

Plot: Alastor realizes the reader is starting to get comfortable touching the other residents of the hotel, despite their discomfort with touch before. He suddenly realizes that he is not receiving any of these touches, and it annoys him.

Tags: GN! Reader, fluff, angst, short fic.

Word Count: 1,049

Touch Pt. 1

He had never noticed it before, but now that it had been mentioned, he couldn’t stop noticing it. Every time someone leaned too close, or went to bump you, you leaned away, or shrunk in on yourself. It was a visual reaction that lit up his brain; something close to kinship. You were much like him, in the way you cringed at the slightest, unprovoked touch. Unlike himself, however, you never seemed to initiate it, either. 

Alastor could see why someone like you wouldn’t bother. You didn’t have the power to make people back off if you made it seem like you were okay with casual touches. Better to avoid them altogether!

Alastor was confused, however, when you seemed to suddenly grow more… tactile with the others. It had been just before dinner, Alastor had Niffty setting the table, and everyone was slowly gathering near the dining room. 

“Gosh, how do you even do that, Angel?” You exclaimed. Your face was colored in your bafflement and disgust, even as you let a laugh out. “That’s just, overkill!”

“Just say that you’re jealous, toots. We both know ya’ wouldn’t be able ta’ handle that,” Angel said, leaning his large frame down to wiggle his eyebrows in your face. 

You were laughing again. The sound always caught Alastor’s attention. Even down in Hell, you managed to have a very happy sounding laugh. It felt strange and out of place, but not bad, per se. (Alastor did not like to linger on the ‘why's’ of such thoughts. There was no point. The one time he had, it had spiraled out of control. Not again). 

When Alastor turned to look, he always did, not that he would admit it, your hands were on Angel's face, pushing him back with a grin. 

“Keep yourself away from me, you weirdo! You gotta have like a snake jaw to do that. I want nothing to do with it!” Your hands were still on Angel. Why? You didn’t like touch. Why were you doing it now?

That moment plagued him for a few days, especially as he noticed you touching Angel more. Were you and the effeminate fellow an item? He thought for sure that Angel’s tastes swung the other direction. His theory was smashed to smithereens when he saw you and Husker later on.

You were helping Husker clean smashed glass from the ground, listening to the cat-demon talk. It was often Husker listening to others, so the sight cough Alastor’s attention. He lingered off to the side, and watched, as he was wont to do.

Something the demon said made your eyebrows furrow, and sympathy flit across your face. Alastor watched your lips move, as if you were speaking softly. Then your arm was across Husker’s shoulder, a soft squeeze pulling him against you, for only a moment.

The moment was said and done in mere seconds, but it idled in Alastor’s memory. He could not fathom why things had changed. It only got worse as he realized you were doing it with near everyone in the hotel. Charlie got soft shoulder pats, and light hugs. Vaggie received fist-bumps, (what a strange gesture), and some small hugs. Angel got hip checked and often pulled into impromptu wrestling matches, (he could always hear Angel complain about them, but he never bothered to try and stop you. Maybe the spider didn’t hate it?) Sir Pentious, the cowardly snake, was allowed to pick you up and move you sometimes. Niffty got head pats, and she got picked up by you, sometimes. Husker received the least amount of physical contact, but there were moments where the cat’s tail would brush up against you, or you would squeeze his hand.

Over the course of a few weeks, Alastor couldn’t fathom why everyone else in the hotel was receiving these tender touches from you? He couldn’t tell what the change was. You were still your chipper self, and you helped out as normal. Nothing had changed except the way you interacted with the others. And then it hit him. Others. Your interactions with him hadn’t changed in the slightest.

Your smiles were always soft, and you still laughed at his jokes. You still got spooked when he snuck up on you, and you still shied away when his anger made his form change. He couldn’t spot a single difference! It was after a particularly long day of dealing with Vox, that things hit a tipping point.

Alastor had just gotten back to the hotel, having torn apart goons sent to bother him. Vox was always pulling stupid things like that, but it was more annoying when his technique was suddenly being ridiculed on every screen in Hell! He had managed to send a nasty message to Vox at the end of it all, but it remained a dampener on his day. And then he had spotted you, milling about in the lobby.

“Good afternoon!” He had practically yelled, forcing exuberance into his voice. “How are you this fine afternoon, dear?”

You whipped around, a smile already on your face. “Hi, Alastor! I’m doing okay.” Then a wince washed over your expression. “Saw that stuff on TV, earlier. Hope you got back at him, for it.”

Ah, of course you would mention it. Always worried about how others feel. (He would tell himself that it meant nothing. Because it did. Mean nothing, that is). 

“Of course I did, my dear! The belligerent fool will remember today as a failure, for sure!” He had finally made it over towards you, and had moved to pull you against his side, when you ducked under his arms, stepping a few feet back. 

But you just kept talking to him, like you hadn't moved! The static of his power surging made your words blur in his mind. He couldn’t hear a single word as his mind raced. How dare you? Was he not good enough? Why did each of the others get to touch you now, but he was a problem?

It was the frown on your face that pulled him back down. “Are you okay,” you asked, your face full of concern for him. It didn’t help. 

When Alastor had finally waived away your worries, he had shadow-stepped to his room. He needed to think.

[devotedlystrangewizard]

stepdad asked why "straight people dont get a day" 1 dead (him)

[woso-dreamzzz]

Teeth

Hardersson x Child!Reader

Part of The Big Adventures Universe

Summary: Pernille does it again

"I don't want to talk about it," Pernille says as Georgia slides into the cubby next to her.

"I wasn't going to say anything!" Georgia lies.

"I still don't want to talk about it," Pernille insists," No comment. I'm not talking about it with anyone. I'm not answering any questions."

"You don't need to," Georgia assures her," Because your kid is letting everyone know what happened."

Currently, you're on Sydney's lap, pealing back your upper lip to show off the gap that your two front teeth used to occupy.

They'd both come out last night.

Only one had been wobbly.

Pernille buries her head in her hands and forces herself not to scream. "I need to teach her that not everyone needs to know our business."

Georgia chuckles. "I don't know," She says," She seems pretty happy to tell everyone. You'd take that joy away from her?"

"It's humiliating."

Georgia keeps giggling, especially when you gesture wildly over to Pernille to accentuate your story.

It was an accident again, like the first time you lost a tooth. Thankfully, a ball hadn't been kicked in your face but this time it seemed liked it was much worse.

It had been hot out yesterday and Magda insisted on a barbeque while her family was visiting.

You'd been inside, dragging your new schoolwork down to show your grandparents because you'd gotten a certificate for it.

You'd taken your time so Pernille thought it would be a little funny to scare you as you came out.

She'd jumped at you when you came through the door and you'd shrieked, jumping in the air before stumbling.

Everyone was laughing before they realised you had gone face first into the steps of the outside decking.

Magda sat you up which was when you spat out your two front teeth into her hands.

It was mortifying that it had happened a second time, Pernille accidentally being the cause of your teeth falling out.

This time though, a little older than the first, you didn't seem to care much about the pain in your mouth, just that you were going to get a big cash out from the tooth fairy.

You also seem incapable of keeping the story to yourself, having come into training today ready to show off your tooth gap, your newly acquired lisp and the amount of money you got.

It's the money bit that has Magda staring daggers at Pernille from across the locker room and Pernille agrees that she may have gone overkill but she'd already set a precedent and she doesn't want you staging a revolt against the tooth fairy for your lack of money this time.

No matter what Magda says about explaining the concept of inflation to you, Pernille knows that you won't accept anything else then the ten euros you got previously.

Plus the amount added on that Pernille knows will wave her feeling of guilt.

"The tooth fairy gave me thirty euros!" You tell Sydney and Scottish Sam," Fifteen for each tooth!"

"So cool!" Sydney tells you while Sam's mouth hangs open in shock.

"Because of inflation I got more!" You continue," The tooth fairy wrote me a note saying so. I don't know what inflation is but I like it!"

"I'm sure you do," Magda says, picking you up and setting you back on the floor," But let's put the money away now."

"Thirty euros?" Georgia hisses at Pernille as you and Magda go off to put your money because in your little puppy purse," Can you be my tooth fairy?"

"Don't," Pernille groans," It's guilt money. I feel really bad."

"Why? They were bound to come out at some point."

"That's not the point! They weren't ready and now she's got no front teeth."

"But she's thirty euros richer. That has to count for something."

"It counts for me not sleeping in my bed tonight," Pernille mutters.

You're back to flitting around the room now, practically skipping on air to tell everyone how Pernille made you smack your face against the decking steps in front of the whole family and how you had to have your barbeque cut up for you instead of just scoffing it down like everyone else.

That seems to be your main annoyance with this whole thing. How you couldn't eat your barbeque like normal. In the grand scheme of things, Pernille supposes, you could have had a much worse reaction.

She should take the small wins when they come.

The small wins like now as you sit on the bench next to Magda and inspect your gap with your tongue.

The space from the wobbly tooth is already being filled in, its replacement already coming in.

You seem to be fairly distracted by inspecting your mouth rather than complaining about your gums hurting so Pernille will take the win for what it is.

"Momma," You call out to her," Next time, can you knock out three of my teeth so I can get more money?"

[lis-likes-fics]

Perfection

Pairings: Spencer Reid x bau!adhd!Reader Word Count: 2.6k words Warnings: Mentions of rape, mentions of murder, dead body, crime scene, descriptions of gore, typical Criminals Minds stuff, character with ADHD, mentions of medication... A/N: This is a little more self-indulgent than I meant for it to be, but I do want to point out that this is some of my experience with ADHD, so I'm not just writing random stuff. It is slightly exaggerated, but I also say that about everything I do and it is pointed out that this is based off an off day.

The long alleyway makes for a nice crime scene, specifically because, despite the busy streets of this city, it's secluded and easy to overlook. It's not too small that the police team cannot fit, but it's small enough that you couldn't cram a really small building into the space. You don’t know how that’s relevant, but somehow it is.

The scene is relatively fresh, the latest of three that brought the BAU to the case. The police handling the scene had it cleared off for you, Spencer, and Derek to examine, via Hotch’s orders.

Spencer's watching you because he loves watching you, and because you're a little off today. There's something about the way you shuffle on your feet or the way you chew on the dead skin of your lip that he finds peculiar. To be fair, you're like this a lot, but today your symptoms are more obvious than usual.

Your eyes scan over the scene with a million different thoughts rushing through your head, less than fifty percent of them actually coherent and fit for conversation.

The three of you spitball ideas back and forth as you look at the man laying cold on the concrete. He's white, lean with light hair and a relatively thin frame. He's nothing like the other two victims, who's physical profiles were all over the place. The only thing they have in common with one another is a single occupation—male prostitution. While this and the first worked on the streets, the second’s job actually took place within a gay strip club a few blocks away from here.

He's got a starting blow to the back of the head, like the other two, and a number of bad bruising and heavy brutality to the rest with overkill to the chest, hands, and genitals. The message feels clear, but there's something a little off.

“Judging by the position of the body,” you speak, your hands restless, “and the way the weapon is discarded, I think our unsub snuck up on our victim in a blitz attack, hit him with the lead pipe, and ran that way.”

You don't point in any particular direction. Spencer glances up from his spot crouched next to the body. Your eyes are stuck on the bloody pipe several feet away from the body toward the secluded area around the back of the building that leads to more secluded walkways through more alleyways.

There is a long pause where they wait for you to explain, but you never do. Spencer thinks you look far off as he examines your face. Derek looks at you, his brow furrowed as he glances around. “Which way?”

“What?” you hum, looking up at him.

Derek elaborates, “Which way did the unsub go?”

It’s your turn to furrow your brow, turning the thin ring on your middle finger. “Did I say something about the unsub?”

Spencer stands, moving over to your side without spending too much time looking at your face. He doesn't want you to feel dumb or awkward, because he loves you and you're just a little forgetful sometimes.

“Yes,” he says in no particular way. “You said the unsub blitzed the victim and ran. Which way did he run?”

He achieves his goal, because you seem to make an “Oh, duh!” face before pointing in the direction of the street. “That way.”

He follows your finger, his brows knitting together. “That way toward the street?” He looks at the pipe, sitting in the exact opposite direction, like they ran and dropped it. “The pipe looks like he'd run the other way to avoid the street. Why do you think he ran toward?” It's a genuine question.

“To throw us off,” you shrug. “It's riskier to go toward the street, but it's also less suspicious than walking alone in the opposite direction where someone could see you and the victim and assume fault.”

He hums. You add on, speaking as quickly as Spencer usually does, “It also means he looks normal enough that he blends in with the crowd. Someone would see a strange figure coming out of a dark alley, no one would really notice a passerby turning a corner. And if this is a popular spot, it's too loud to hear anything going on all the way back here anyway, or no one thinks much of grunting noises when they do hear it.”

You trail off at the end, tight brows staring at the corpse. Derek shrugs, “But what was our victim doing all the way over here in the first pla–”

“There's something in his mouth,” you interrupt accidentally.

“What?”

You kneel down, taking the offered gloves from Spencer and putting them on. You open his mouth just a slight, spotting the white sticking out from under his tongue. Upon seeing it, both of the boys furrow their brows and tilt their heads. Spencer hands you some tweezers he'd borrowed from forensics for this reason.

Carefully, without disturbing the body as much as possible, you remove the strange object from under the tongue. It's a tiny slip of paper, folded up very small and still a little damp from saliva and any other bodily fluids it may have come in contact with. You unfold it.

“‘Unclean’,” Spencer reads from over your shoulder.

“That makes sense for the victimology mixed with the profile. He's a male prostitute,” Derek points out.

“Which explains the locale,” you say, rocking back and forth on your heels.

“What?”

“The locale,” you look up. “You asked why he was here. He must have been working, lured down here by the unsub, who waited for him to turn his back before he struck.”

Spencer agrees, taking a picture of the slip to send to Hotch. “He was killed at night. The streets are crowded, easy to slip into and not be seen. It's more risky to stray by yourself. What you said makes sense.”

You look up at him, standing to your full height again. “What did I say?” There you go again.

Morgan speaks up, “What you said about him runnin’ toward the street.”

Confusion passes your mind momentarily. “He ran toward the street.” You don't say it like a question, you say it like you're trying to back yourself up on it.

“That's what you said,” he insists.

You remember thinking that, but you don't remember saying that out loud.

Spencer swoops in like your hero, brushing his knuckles against the side of your arm. “Remember? You said,” he licks his lips, “ ‘it's riskier to go toward the street, but it's also less suspicious than walking alone in the opposite direction where someone could see you and the victim and assume fault.’ ”

You nod, remembering his word-by-word recitation as you watch him. “Yeah. I did say that.” You flag down one of the forensics workers to bag the evidence. She does so, taking your contaminated gloves with her as she leaves. You squirt a hefty amount of hand sanitizer on your hands from its place on your belt loop. “This is the first victim who's been left behind with a note, right?”

“Yes, autopsy results found nothing like this on the other victims.”

“If the victim was working when he was attacked, it’s possible that, paired with the brutality of the assault and the note left behind, our unsub may be experiencing some kind of internalized homophobia.” You trail off at the end.

Derek shrugs, looking down at the body. “There’s no evidence of sexual assault. Not on the other victims, at least.”

“How old do you think this building is?”

Spencer looks at you, your eyes scanning the wall of one of the buildings you’re between. Your bottom lip is pulled between your teeth, picking at the dead skin again. He thinks you’re cute.

“Focus, honeybun,” Derek reminds you, pulling your attention again.

“Sorry.”

“Judging by the faded color and uneven edges of the brick, and the decay in the mortar,” Spencer says, “I’d say this building is at least 50 years old. Well kept at one point and then let go not long after its production.”

You nod along slowly, taking in the information with a hum. “That’s cool…” Now that that’s out of your mind, you think for a moment. What were you saying again? Spencer watches your eyes light up. “Oh!” You turn to Derek. “He’s obviously confrontational, but he may still be very insecure in his ability and, thus, have to make up for his pent up energy with an excess of violence. Homophobia would explain the obliteration of the chest, hands, and especially the genitalia.”

Derek raises a brow. “What?”

“You asked about sexual assault,” you shrug. “If he continues to escalate above the note, we may see these words carved into the skin as a substitute for sexual violence, or even just blatant rape activity.”

Derek thinks about that, considering your analysis with a nodding head. He sighs and hums, “Alright, I’ll talk to Hotch.” He begins to turn away, grabbing his phone.

Spencer thinks you may have gotten distracted again because you ask, “Did I do something wrong?”

Derek looks back at you, shaking his head and flashing you one of his charming smiles. “No, honeybun, you’re perfect.”

“Oh.”

He leaves to take that call. You start to walk after him and Spencer gently takes your hand. You turn to face him, confused at first but giving him a sweet smile only a second later. “Are you okay?” he asks gently, his voice soft.

You tilt your head, “What do you mean?”

Spencer shrugs, taking your other hand just to rub his thumbs over your knuckles. “You’re hyper today, a little more distracted.”

As if proving his point, you begin shifting back and forth on your feet, shrugging and then shaking your head at the same time. “I’m okay,” you assure him, squeezing his hands gently. “I haven’t taken my medication in a couple days.”

He furrows his brow, suddenly a little worried. “Why not?”

“Didn’t feel like it. Also, I forgot it.” That makes sense. Spencer makes a mental note to remind you to take them as soon as you get back home. “But I’m okay, prommy.”

He smiles. “Prommy?”

“Promise,” you clarify, letting both your hands down so you can swing his from side to side. He lets you.

“I know what you mean,” he says. Though he knows he should probably be more professional because you’re both in public and leaving a crime scene (and Hotch might reprimand the both of you for it if he saw) he raises a hand to cradle your cheek because he doesn’t care. He just wants you to feel safe and loved. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

You nod definitely. “I’m good.”

“Okay,” The way he says it is soft, as soft as a kiss to your forehead or a brush of his knuckles on your skin. “You know, I love you, right?”

You nod, smiling at him like he’s the world—because he is. “Yeah. I love you, too, honey.” You kiss his cheek quickly and pat it. You probably shouldn’t have done it right then, but you did, and you don’t regret it for even a moment.

Spencer’s just happy you know he loves you. “Okay,” he says. “Let’s go before Morgan leaves us.” He takes your hand as you both begin walking. He swings your joined hands, just as he knows you like it.

“He wouldn’t leave me,” you shake your head. “He likes me too much.”

Spencer chuckles. “Everyone likes you.”

“Not everyone.”

He looks at you, furrowing his brow. “Who doesn’t like you?”

“I don’t know,” you shrug. And then immediately after, “Why does the sun look yellow? Isn’t it supposed to be white or something? I heard that somewhere.”

Spencer is happy to answer your questions as he opens the car door for you. Derek is already sitting in the front, his hands on the wheel. The passenger’s seat is empty, but Spencer sits in the back with you. You both speak gently so you’re not disturbing Derek. “The Earth’s atmosphere scatters blue light more efficiently than red light, so the slight deficit in blue light means the eye perceives the color of the sun as yellow. But, yes, the sun is actually white.”

“That’s cool,” you mumble. “I think sharks would look cool as hell with piercings. Do you?”

“I do,” Spencer chuckles. In the front seat, Derek shakes his head and smiles to himself, amused by your conversation.

“Did you know that sharks don’t have bones, so when they die, the saltwater dissolves their bodies so the only thing that’s left is their teeth?” You begin ranting, absent-mindedly picking at dirty under your nails. “And also, their bodies are primarily made of cartilage and connective tissue. It’s lighter than bone and keeps them flamboyant. Also, their skin has a similar feel to sandpaper.”

When you ramble, you sound like Spencer. You spend so much time with him and endorse his info dumps so much that you take on his speech style when you go on info dumps of your own. Spencer loves this because he knows that people tend to mimic the people they love as a sign of affection, and you mimic him a lot more than you think.

He also knew about all your shark facts, but he’s happy to listen. He smiles, “Is that what you were doing up late last night?”

You smile a little, turning away from him. “I got distracted.”

“What’s your thought process behind getting from the sun to sharks?” he wonders. “I’m curious.”

You shrug. “Well, you said your thing and I said it was cool. And then I remembered a post I saw that sharks would be cool with piercings. Then I remembered my shark things.” You glance down at your fingers, bringing them to your lips as you notice a tiny part at the very edge of the nail where it would probably tear off. “I just think sharks are cool,” you mumble around your finger.

“They are cool,” he says. He doesn’t want you to accidentally hurt yourself so he adds on, “Will you hold my hand? It’s a little cold.”

You look down at them, “Yeah.” With a nod, you take his hand between both of yours and let them warm his back up. They’re a bit chilly but they don’t feel that cold to you. You hold them anyway, because you love holding his hand. You intertwine your fingers with his and then cover what’s left.

“Thank you, sweetheart,” he says. He thinks for a moment. “Did you eat today?”

You nod, still watching his hand as you turn it to look at his palm. You gently trace the lines of it, forgetting for the moment that he’d wanted you to warm his hand up for him. But, as usual, he doesn’t mind. “I had a cereal bar this morning. One of those Coco Puff ones. They’re like Rice Krispy Treats.” He doesn’t think that’s sustainable. “And, before you ask, I did have water.”

He smiles. “I know. I told you to drink some before we left. You hungry?”

You shake your head, “Not really.”

“You want a snack?” he compromises, hoping—and knowing—you’ll say yes.

“Yes, please.”

“Okay,” he hums. “We’ll grab one on the way back.” Derek nods gently, remembering to do just that. It will only take a moment.

“Thank you.”

“Thank you,” Spencer says, his voice lowering to a whisper. He knows Derek can still hear him, but he always just wants to whisper to you.

You look up at him, “For what?”

“Being so perfect.”

You scoff, rolling your eyes but ultimately smiling at the warmth in your chest. “You’re so cheesy, Spencer Reid.”

He’ll gladly be cheesy for you.

Criminal Minds taglist: @queermaxwooo @mdanon027 @lilianhallee @hpstuff244444 @thegr8estpuff @niktwazny303 @bubbles2300 Tag yourself here...

[luveline]

𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐚 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲 𝐯𝐚𝐦𝐩𝐢𝐫𝐞𝐬? | 𝐦𝐢𝐠𝐮𝐞𝐥 𝐨’𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚

you have a bad habit and miguel finds a solution —a begrudgingly in love miguel deals with his gf’s oral fixation. 1k. requested here

cw mildly mature themes/love bites. mdni

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

Miguel knew when he passed you his hand that you'd start some weird shit like this. You withhold for a while, but eventually his fingertips end up by your mouth. You brush them against your lips absent-mindedly. He knows you like the feeling, knows you draw an unconscious comfort from being able to chew on something, and he's not interested in demonising you for something you can't help. 

What he can't abide is your using him like a dollar store chew toy. The second he feels your breath against his fingers, he pulls your joined hands down into the gap between your thighs on the workbench and warns, "Don't." 

"Sorry, Miguel," you say, blinking back to attention. 

"Can't you chew on a pencil like a normal person?" 

"Sorry," you say again, not really sorry. Miguel's not really mad. "I forget that it's you." 

He likes the sound of that, even if he's still disapproving. It's hard to be mad when the level of trust you have for him extends so far, the comfort he gets from your mere presence reflected in you and your lack of shame surrounding a bad habit. Miguel sighs and goes back to his sketching. You squeeze his hand twice and do the same. 

If you can't bite him, you'll bite yourself. It starts with your nails and stretches to your cuticles. You've hurt yourself doing it before, and Miguel doesn't want to see you do it again. He winces at way you nibble your skin.

"Could you cut it out?" he asks. 

"I'm not doing anything." 

"You're trying to start the next apocalypse." 

"It's not hurting anyone," you insist. 

"It's hurting you." 

You let go of his hand to take the computer mouse, dragging and dropping a file from the first monitor onto his. He doesn't bother opening it. It's some flirtatious drivel or tech he doesn't want to deal with,  undoubtedly. 

"It's okay," you sing-song quietly. "You're such a worrier."

He thinks, Fine. Leaves you to your work, gets on with his own, and tries not to worry about your poor fingertips. Ten minutes become an hour, and he forgets what you'd been squabbling about, distracted by work. You drop file after file onto his screen until he gives in and opens one, finds a note drawing done with a jagged cursor of him, he assumes, frowny-faced with a bright red heart drawn around himself. The majority are the same, though the first one you sent him is Miguel with a smile, his cartoon version captioned, "secret softie :3". He puts a couple in his files and the rest in the recycling basket. 

He's retrieving the ones he deleted guiltily when you hiss. He checks on you from the corner of his eye, and notices the little red line of blood building in your cuticle. 

"There's actually something wrong with you."

"Ouch," you murmur, waving your finger around. "Stings." 

"I told you." 

"D'you have a bandaid?" 

Miguel doesn't have a bandaid in the workshop. His first aid kit is half nano tech, half traditional wrap around bandages, all overkill for your surface wound. He takes pit on you and your crinkled face and pulls your hand toward eye level to inspect the damage. You've pulled the cuticle skin up toward the bed and torn skin that should be left alone, blood quick to congeal in the air. He should've just let you bite him. 

"Idiot," he says, and kisses the side of your hand. "Don't do it again."

You grumble at his name calling but seem otherwise appeased. It's not long before your hand is going back to your mouth, but you must remember his demand, choosing to tuck your hands between your thighs. You squirm in your seat and can't focus on your work. 

Miguel thinks, Fuck it. 

"Alright, come here."

You wheel your chair closer.

"What, I have to do all the work?" he asks, holding out his arms. "Come here." 

You stand and slide between the desk and his legs. His thighs are big, and your own press to the top of the desk from the lack of space. You put a hand on his arm curiously. 

"Kiss me," he says. 

You lean in quickly and kiss him. A tentative thing where you're usually confident laying one on him. 

"What was that?" he asks. 

"A kiss?" 

"Kiss me properly," he says. He bracelets your elbow in a big hand, a soft touch to reassure you. "You've wanted to all day." 

You have the decency to pretend (albeit weakly) that he's wrong. "Whaaaat? Who told you that?" 

Miguel sighs and takes your face into his hands instead. He takes in your expression slowly, your eyes, your pupils like black dimes, lashes kissing in the outer corners as you look down to his mouth. You bite the inside of your lip and he loses it —Miguel tugs you against his chest and kisses you firmly, hand at the small of your back and pulling urgently upward in an attempt to bring you closer. 

He can feel the little line from your own biting on your lips as he presses against the seam of them, and he doesn't know what he's going to do with you besides kiss you: he won't let you chew on him, no matter how nice your mouth is. He'll just have to kiss you until you can cope. 

Or you could always bite him in other places. 

"Wait, wait, I can't breathe," you say, pulling away. 

Miguel works his fingertips under the back of your shirt, feeling the slope of bare skin there absentmindedly. "My bad. How's your compulsion?" 

"Wanna play vampires?" you ask. 

He laughs and leans away from you, a feigned disapproval. "Wanna play get a grip?" 

"Grip on your neck?" you ask. 

"How about I bite you? See how you like it." 

You pull your knee up, socked foot digging into his thigh as you lay your cheek on his collar, straining up every time you want to kiss his neck. You press sweet, chaste kisses into his skin, seemingly unbothered by the pretzel-like position you've twisted yourself into. 

"You act like I'm a chair."

"You told me," —kiss, kiss— "to sit here, Miguel, I don't know what you want from me." Third kiss, then a fourth. 

He tamps down goosebumps and gives up. "Can you chill out while I work?" 

"... I can keep kissing you?" 

"Do what you like. I need to finish this net." 

You lounge. Miguel struggles to keep it together, but at least you aren't biting your nails anymore. 

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

thank you for reading! i hope you enjoyed!! if you did and you have the time, please think about reblogging <3

[strangersmunsons]

Eddie, My Love! eddie munson x reader // valentine's day special series Day 4 Prompt: Baking 🍰 ~ 1,700 words you bake some cupcakes for your handsome older neighbor, Eddie. (implied age gap, intentionally vague)

You wipe sweat off your brow with the back of your hand, leaving a smear of frosting on your forehead. 

This process has taken up more of your day than you expected it to, but you’ll spend as much time as necessary to get this right, because it’s for Eddie Munson.

Your handsome older neighbor has been occupying an alarming amount of space in your mind lately. It’s a recent development; you’d been moved into the new house for quite some time before you actually met him. He seemed to keep odd hours, and you only ran into him by chance one day, when you were both walking to the corner store up the road.

At first glance he was intimidating, with his long hair and all his leather, but he chatted with you easily during the whole impromptu excursion. Once inside the market he quickly bought his pack of cigarettes and then insisted on staying with you, so he could escort you back home, too.

He dragged on a Lucky Strike as he strolled down the sidewalk, his pretty face silhouetted against the setting sun in the distance, and you couldn’t look away. He left you at your door with a cheeky grin and a “Good to finally meet you. ‘Night, little lady.”

If those words had come out of anyone else’s mouth, you’re not sure what your reaction would have been. But spoken by Eddie? Your knees had gone weak.

Since then he seemed to be popping up more and more frequently. Every time you happened to glance out the window he was there. Sprawled out in a wicker chair on his porch, a paperback held flat against his knee; peering under the hood of his car, tinkering away on the engine; he even stopped by a few times when the weather got cold, offering to shovel the snow from your driveway and scrape the ice off your windshield, each time armed with a charming smile and a twinkle in his eye.

The self-indulgent part of you wants to believe it’s because he likes you, and so he’s making an effort for you to see him; the more rational part of you knows you’re seeing him now because you want to see him.

Regardless, you were thinking that you wanted to do something nice for him. Some neighborly gesture that’ll give him some indication of your interest, without requiring you to be too forward. You just hope that he’ll pick up on what you’re putting down.

The kitchen table is a mess of baking utensils and splatters of cake batter, but you’re pleased with the results. Six red velvet cupcakes iced — and filled — with cream cheese frosting and pink sprinkles are all neatly arranged on a platter, just waiting to be carried over to Eddie’s house. The heart-patterned liners feel appropriate but also a tad cheesy, maybe even overkill; but if he seems weirded out by the whole thing, you’ll just tell him they’re leftover from a batch you planned on taking to work.

You lose the apron and wash your hands in the sink, then skip to the bathroom to give yourself a final once over. You clean the frosting off your face, and fix your hair nervously with your fingers. Quit stalling.

You slip a coat on, and keep your hands as steady as possible as you carry the platter cautiously outside. Small, quick steps lead you to Eddie’s doorstep, and you balance the edge of the tray against your hip so you can rap your knuckles on the door.

The seconds tick by, and the door finally swings open. Eddie’s in black sweats and an Iron Maiden t-shirt, hair looking wild and disheveled; his eyes look puffy with sleep, but they light up when he realizes who he’s looking at.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he says, voice husky from his afternoon nap. “What can I do for ya?”

“Hi,” you respond, soft and breathy with nerves. Your mouth opens to continue and then snaps shut again, a realization of horror creeping upon you: the lines you’ve been practicing in your head all day have evaporated into nothing. Poof! They’re gone, and now you’re standing here like an idiot. 

Eddie stares at you curiously. You thrust the tray forward clumsily, any illusion of poise shattered. “These are for you!”

He looks startled. “Those are for me?” he repeats, like maybe he misheard you. 

You nod.

Now he’s the one at a loss for words. “Thank you,” he says automatically, gazing down at the dessert-laden plate clutched between your hands. He shakes his head as though trying to clear it, and steps back inside the house, gesturing for you to enter. “Here, come inside. You’re not gonna have me eat these all by myself now, are you?”

You suck in a quick breath and scurry over the threshold, entering Eddie’s home for the first time. It’s a little messy but surprisingly cozy, with a squashy-looking furniture set and knick knacks on every flat surface. Music posters hang in black frames along the walls, showcasing a lot of long-haired men who, quite frankly, all look sort of the same to you, although they’re apparently all different bands.

“Have a seat,” he says, gesturing to the couch, “and I’ll get us some napkins.” You gingerly perch yourself on the soft leather cushion, while he disappears further back into the house, presumably into the kitchen. When he returns he plops down in the seat next to you, taking the platter and setting it down on the coffee table with a pile of napkins. Then he stifles a yawn as he slumps back into the couch.

You feel bad. “Were you asleep? I’m so sorry if I woke you up.”

He waves you off. “Don’t worry, my alarm went off a few minutes ago. If I don’t set one when I nap, I’ll sleep the whole day away. These old bones are tired, you know,” he jokes. 

You shake your head in disagreement. “You’re not old.”

He pokes your shoulder. “I’m old next to you.”

You try to laugh but there’s a pang in your heart. Is he trying to tell me something? You wring your hands, and don’t reply.

Eddie peers at you with a gentle smile on his lips, his dark eyes crinkled at the corners. “Did you make these yourself?”

“I did indeed.”

“They look amazing.” He picks one up and takes a large bite, the frosting smearing clean up his nose. You giggle through a bite of your own dessert.

“What?” he says thickly, giving you a deadpan stare. “Something on my face?”

Hesitantly, you reach out with your napkin, wiping the sugary cream from his nose and upper lip. He scrunches his face but pushes into your hand, letting you clean him up. A thrill shoots through you at being able to touch him, even if it’s through a paper barrier.

“Thanks, sweetheart. These are incredible, by the way. Thank you for bringing them.”

“Of course.”

He clears his throat, and sets his cupcake down on the table so he can give you his full attention. “If you don’t mind me asking, um…why did you bring them?”

You’re answer evasively, still unsure of how he sees you. “Because I thought you’d like them.”

He gives you that penetrating stare again, and it’s like you’re being swallowed up in those dark irises. You feel as though he must see right through you, all your intentions laid bare. 

“Thank you for thinking of me. You’re real sweet for that.” He raises an eyebrow at you. “Do you do this for all your neighbors?”

“No. But my other neighbors don’t walk me home from the corner store and shovel my sidewalk.” 

He purses his lips, as though he’s deep in thought, although still half-teasing you. “I see. So these cupcakes are purely transactional?”

You bite the inside of your cheek. He’s not really giving anything away, and this game is too hard for you to keep playing. “Well, no. I also…just wanted to do something nice for you. To make you happy.”

His face is impassive. “Rest assured, you’ve certainly done that.” He leans in closer to you, hand rubbing his chin pensively. “But you know what would make me even happier?”

You hold your breath. “What’s that?”

“If you stayed for dinner.”

Your heart leaps with joy. “You mean it?”

“Yes.” His warm expression suddenly flickers with worry. “But only if you really want to.”

“I really want to, Eddie.”

There’s a brief silence, and the energy in the room shifts. Eddie lets his hand wander over to your knee, gazing at you with heavy-lidded eyes. “I like it when you say my name,” he whispers, staring unabashedly at your lips.

Feeling both validated and bold, you close the distance separating the two of you. “I’ll just bet,” you whisper, letting your smiling lips ghost over his with every word.

Strong, tattooed hands hold both sides of your face as Eddie finally seals his mouth to yours in a kiss. It starts out firm but gentle, and you sigh; his tongue slips in between your parted lips, sugary-sweet, and you press your body closer to his. He moves to embrace you tightly, winding one arm around your waist, and cupping the back of your head with his other hand, his kisses becoming deeper and more frantic. 

He suddenly breaks away, gasping. 

“Everything okay?” you ask dazedly, not finished with him. 

He laughs. “Everything’s perfect,” he reassures you. “I’ve been hoping this would happen. But I want you to know, regardless of what happens in the next few minutes, I really do want to cook for you.”

You melt, fingers playing with the curls at the back of his neck. “You’re a really nice guy, you know that?”

He brushes your kiss-swollen bottom lip with a calloused thumb. “I’m glad you think so.”

His tone confuses you. “Others don’t?”

“I have a certain look.”

“I like how you look.”

He presses another quick kiss to your lips. “You’re a sweet girl,” he says quietly, echoing his statement from earlier. 

You fall back into him, and although it’s several hours later, Eddie makes good on his promise. Over dinner, he poses the question again, “You know what would make me even happier?”

You bite, fingers intertwined with his. “What would make you even happier?”

“If you just stayed.”

thank you for reading!! xoxo Valentine's Day Special Masterlist

[alllgator-blood]

I have ten billion WIP sketches I need to finish, but for some reason I stayed up from 9 PM to 4 AM conceptualizing, making patterns, sewing, painting and applying makeup on this stupid fucking felt squid......the detailing needs to be cleaned up cause there's only one coat of paint so far, but he's pretty much done

my neighbors probably think I'm insane because I was running around the yard clenching this toy kallamar in a death grip and flying him around like an airplane/putting him in the barbecue/poking him with a stick. I want to tie him to a string and recreate the opening of napoleon dynamite >:) ALSO I MADE HIM SMOKE OUT OF A STUPID CRYSTAL PIPE BUT PLEASE DON'T ACTUALLY USE THOSE, THEY ARE SUPER TOXIC LMAO MINE IS FOR DECORATION

I don't have any process pics because I had tunnel vision autism style and forgot the rest of the universe existed while I was working on him. BUT if you're curious I'll ramble below the cut

Okay I am not a seamstress by any means. I've sewn my entire life but very, very infrequently. I've done plushies, clothes, cosplays, fursuits, accessories, etc. but I only do one like once a year, so while I planned to make all 5 bishops, I'm not really sure I'll get them all done. The material cost was like 20 bucks tops so I'm not too upset if I don't finish them. I AT LEAST WANT TO GET SHAMURA OR HEKET DONE.

here is the concept sketch ft. heket's toes and shamura's fingers. I decided to do his pre-schism version so I could fit him with jewelry! I did him first because like I said I sew infrequently and don't know wtf I'm doing, everyone else seemed a lot more complicated.

So I basically just traced this drawing on a printer paper-sized canvas in SAI, and guesstimated how everything would look in a 3D space. His head is four pieces, one triangle identical to the one in the picture, two wide triangles that are sewn together in the back, and a circle for his chin. You can't really see it in any of the pics but he's literally like a black cylindrical stick with little tentacles sewn on where his mantle connects to his cloak. The leg tentacles are one piece of felt that look like tassels, where they're connected by a rectangle but branch off into individual pieces. He can't stand up very well, so his cape keeps him up (that's gonna be an issue for every other bishop too except heket cause she's gonna be ROUND). Mostly everything like the crown, cloak, head, etc. are cones so I just had to make a lot of wide triangles.

For the details, I just used acrylic paint that was watered down so he's not especially crunchy, and for the blush tone I used a makeup palette my mom bought me 10 years ago in hopes I'd get in touch with my "feminine side", but I grew up into a nonbinary butch lesbian so OOPS. Kallamar looks better with makeup than me anyway. I'm kinda sad I couldn't get his freckles as lopsided as I draw them but it probably looks better in plush form to have them even anyway....

I could just post the pattern so I don't have to explain this but 1. I am mentally ill about the thought of my kallamar being in someone else's house and 2. the original pattern had to be tweaked while I was working on him so the final pattern straight up doesn't exist, I winged it the whole time

OH and the jewelry is just scrap pieces I had laying around, I might repaint it all to be gold instead of silver + bronze. I used 20g aluminum wire for his armlet thing, jumper rings for his earrings + ring (+ a diamond dot from my mom's kits for the gem) and chain for the bracelet. I made him an amulet as well but it felt like overkill so I took it off. I'm probably gonna make him a plague doctor mask and medicine bag sometime because I think about nurse kallamar more than I probably should :') I've already sewn one as a prop for a toy raven before so it shouldn't be too hard

[impishjesters]

Time out for Jax

warning(s): Jax, temper/anger issues, inappropriate reaction, unhealthy coping methods, suggestive/implied sexual content, cursing note(s): I'm at a loss for the correct words I wanted to use in the tags, but Jax's anger is a little overkill and the reader admits to him not having great coping methods when he's really pissed off and at a breaking point. I'm in no way saying that type of coping/behaviour is acceptable, just that it exists. I also want to state that the sexual implications at the end are completely consensual! A/N: I don't know why this popped into my head but the idea of Caine putting Jax in time out only for it to not really be effective is absolutely hilarious. Plus I told my mom about it and she agreed it'd be something Caine would do and fail at.

“That’s it!” Caine shouted. He raised a hand and gave a quick snap, summoning thick iron bars from the ground that formed a small jail cell around Jax. “You sir, are in time out!”

You and a few others let out a surprised gasp. Caine had never gone so far as to actually do something to punish Jax for his behaviour, if you could even really call it a punishment.

Even Jax seemed surprised if you could get past the obvious miffed expression coupled with a few censored curses being thrown at the AI. Caine did nothing in response to the words except fix his clothes that had seemingly gone astray amidst his anger.

If you could call it that.

Caine turned to the rest of you and rushed through a more dramatic rendition of what was basically I Spy meets hide and seek, the activity he initially had started explaining before Jax’s little stunt. As soon as he finished explaining he let out a huff and disappeared with a poof of smoke.

“God dammit Jax!”

“Holy shit, I’ve never seen Caine so upset.”

“Oh, that’s worrying…”

“He didn’t give us a list of what we’re looking for…”

“Oh, maybe this thing?”

Everyone spoke over one another the moment he left, except for Jax who was still irked at being put in time out like a child of all things. “Oh c’mon this is bullshit, he’s the one who wants to keep us entertained.”

“You tried to pants him, baby.��� You approached the bars with arms crossed, staring up at your idiot of a boyfriend. “I don’t even think you can pants him.”

He scoffed and copied your stance, crossing his arms. “It’s his fault we’re stuck here, he wants to entertain us then that would’ve been fucking hilariously entertaining.”

Of course, Jax didn’t feel guilt for literally taunting the entity that was likely your captor. He barely found himself feeling guilty when you did something stupid enough to make him laugh. Entertainment was entertainment, no discrimination there.

“How long do you think Caine will keep you in there?” Gangle asked, slowly approaching the two of you.

“Knowing that bastard? Who knows.” he shrugged.

“Hold on a second..” You took a step back and let your eyes roam the little makeshift prison before letting out a laugh. The whole thing was as tall as Jax and had at least enough room for him to stretch, but that wasn’t what made it so hilarious.

“What? What’s so funny?” Jax sneered, this whole thing wasn’t funny in the slightest. Weren’t you supposed to be on his side, as his partner? He was fucking stuck in this thing until you guys either finished this dumb little activity or got his attention to let him out.

The laughter caught the attention of the rest, causing them to slowly inch closer. “What’re they laughing at?” Ragatha asked.

“Heck if I know.” Jax threw his arms up and stared you down. “You gonna tell the rest of the class angel?”

It took a few moments to compose yourself, but the faint giggle never left you. Rather than answer them out loud you simply walked closer to the cage before slipping yourself between the bars, joining Jax. Caine had been so focused on putting Jax in a cage that he didn’t even take into consideration the spacing between the bars. Sure the bars were thick but they were spaced too far to really matter.

“Baby, you were never trapped.”

You walked back through the bars with little difficulty and Jax’s eye twitched with irritation. “You’ve gotta be shitting me…” He slapped a hand over his face and growled, stepping between the bars and finding himself outside the very useless prison. “I’ll kill him…”

“No, you won’t.” A sigh left you, the giggle dying down completely. At least for you, the others were still varying levels of laughter and giggles accompanied by Kinger’s slightly confusing questioning as to what everyone was laughing about. You could hear someone try to explain it to him but focus your attention on the man before you.

Jax was still agitated and like this, he would be nothing but bad company for the others. You turned to Ragatha and asked if they’d be able to handle the activity for now. She agreed, telling the two of you to return before they finished and got Caine back. Who knew how he’d respond to finding Jax outside of his time out punishment?

The others left and you turned back to Jax before offering an open palm. “How about we go to our room and let the others handle the game? I’ll even help you plan a few pranks.” If only to make sure that none of the others suffered too harshly at Jax’s irritation.

Sometimes his outbursts could get particularly nasty and would often result in some less-than-ideal words or pranks aimed at others. You’ve been on the receiving end a few times and while the first few times hurt, you knew it wasn’t anything to take personally over time.

It wasn’t healthy but it beat letting him keep everything pent up. Plus it had its rewards, Jax would always make it up to you in some way or another when that happened. The worse it was, the better the reward, and boy were those rewards worth it.

“Oh angel I’ve already got a list of pranks planned, but what I want to do is blow off this steam in other ways.” He jabbed a thumb behind himself. “Get walkin’ sweetie.”

Oh, this kind of blowing off steam was your favourite. Double reward in your book.

“Yes sir.”

Jax let out a low growl before following close behind. He’d definitely make it up to you for getting him out of that, his own anger clouded his judgment, and had it not been for you he’d still be stuck there. No, he was going to blow your back out and then reward you with a long, tender round two.

[headspace-hotel]

also. late quaternary extinction of a tree species in Eastern North America.

I've posted a little bit in the past about end-pleistocene megafauna extinctions, the overkill hypothesis, and the impact on "humans are the virus" type interpretations of ecology. This tree is the only documented end-Pleistocene plant extinction, which seems really striking, but this paper (from 1999) is like "yeah we haven't really studied it, and pollen deposits don't really allow for distinguishing plants on the species level, and most macrofossil sites have barely been analyzed."

I tried to do some research on end-pleistocene palynology in the USA and found this paper, which if anything gives a decent glimpse into what palynology does and doesn't allow us to analyze, and it is noted that "Nyssa, however, is distinctly entomophilous (Smiley Apiaries 2014), so just about any amount of its pollen in a sample suggests that the plants grew quite close to the site of deposition, where the discarded flowers accumulated. Because Nyssa is exclusively a freshwater entomophilous genus, the presence of its pollen in any significant quantity (>1%, F.J. Rich, personal observation) marks the site of a former freshwater wetland"

In other words, "Nyssa (blackgum) is insect pollinated, so its seriously weird that its pollen shows up in this fossil pollen sample, and would have to mean that there was a big grove of them with flowers falling to the ground right where the sample was collected."

Most of the species detected in this study are wind-pollinated species that are mega abundant and produce shit tons of airborne pollen, and they are identifiable down to either genus or family level. This means we can't say much about plants pollinated by insects, plants that were a small part of the total plants in the area, or plants that differed from modern ones only on species level.

Which means that it's misleading to say "there was only one End-Pleistocene plant extinction in USA" because we couldn't know that either way!

In fact the presence of plants like Torreya, Franklinia, and other "relict" plants along the Gulf Coast with ultra tiny ranges that likely used to be more widespread suggests that tons of plants could have gone extinct during the Last Glacial Maximum, since all it would take is a plant being 5% more intolerant to the glaciated climate than any of the numerous plants that got severely bottlenecked

It seems like the plants haven't gotten as much attention in research and that keeps being interpreted as "nah, there wasn't really an effect on the plants, only animals went extinct mostly" NO!!!!

[trashytoastboi]

Hello! Can I request headcanons of Cracker, Katakuri, Usopp, Marco with S/O waking up finding a bug in their bed? This happened with me and my BF and we were freaking out haha

Hi hi! Of course~ Honestly bugs and beds... nope. Don't want any strange bedfellows thank you very much. Sorry for the long wait and hope you enjoy ~

Headcanons: Cracker, Katakuri, Usopp, Marco x S/O – Waking up and finding a bug in their bed

> Gender neutral

Charlotte Cracker

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

🍪 Cracker took a long time, detailing his day and laughing at the idiots at World Government, he walked right past the marines and they didn’t even know it’s him. To further his little taunt he stood RIGHT beside his own wanted poster and those idiots never even picked it up. Cracker did this often and boasted of his tales before bed, to his partner who always willingly listened. He enjoyed the attention, how attentively {Name} listened. “Well enough about me-” he cut his own story short upon seeing how sleepy {Name} was. 

🍪 He crawled into the obnoxiously large bed, right besides {Name}, doing his usual routine. Surprisingly when he wasn’t boasting about his own achievements, or speaking enthusiastically about his family he could be quite affectionate towards his partner. Maybe it was his pride as a lover, or something of the sort but he had a strange softness to his biscuit coated heart when it came to {Name}. He pulled them closer, pressing a soft kiss to their shoulder. He felt a tickling on his thigh, he chuckled thinking it was {Name’s} hand. Until he realized that unlike him, {Name} wasn’t exactly tall enough, with long enough limbs to reach his thigh the way they were laying. So what was tickling his thigh? 

🍪 Cracker decided to ignore it. Surely it was nothing. The prickly, tickling sensation kept moving. Squirming, he could not ignore it. It stopped for a moment and {Name} shrieked at the sudden feeling and practically launched themselves from the bed, entrusting Cracker to find the culprit. He scoffed at seeing their terror, when he lifted the blanket. A monstrosity, some hundred legged demon wriggled and wreathed all over the bed. It set its sights for Cracker and aggressively squiggles towards him, Cracker would tell everyone it was his partner who shrieked high enough to crack glass, but it was him. He discovered he'd rather face an admiral instead of a centipede. 

🍪Cracker unleashed the full force of his devil fruit, making sure there was no possible way for this foul creature to survive. Sure {Name} was scared and grossed out but the extent Cracker went to seemed like overkill. Even after all of that, practically decimating his entire room…He noticed it again. Nonchalantly marching along as if nothing ever happened, the centipede was alive and well, its presence tormented Cracker. Eventually {Name} worked up the courage to approach it, trap it in a container and toss it out the window while it sailed on the wind until probably landing safely somewhere to strike fear to everyone else. 

🍪 Cracker was exhausted. He refused to go to sleep in his room, not until enough time has passed and he was double- no triple sure that it was clean and free of insects..He felt itchy and thought about how long the centipede tickled against him. One thing he can say for certain is he now knows that he has a fear of centipedes. Well any creature with more than four legs already raises his danger bells, this was just the epitome of it. What’s worse, it was a giant centipede! It’s unnatural how it could even get that big. 

Charlotte Katakuri

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

🍩 Katakuri is very soft, and finds he really enjoys the nights when he can sleep next to his partner. Their presence is so warm and comforting, evoking the same kind of fluffy and comforting feelings as his tea time. Katakuri rarely expressed this but you could easily tell, he acted noticeably softer and more gentle during these times when his heart felt at ease. With one of the most comfortable beds to ever be created and his partner, what more could he need for a restful night. He had prepared a small plate of snacks, something light to go with a late night beverage, he relaxed with {Name} sharing snacks and talking about the day. 

🍩 After that Katakuri so naturally snuggled against {Name} well seeing that he is as tall as he is, {Name} was designated the role of little spoon every time. Once they tried to be the big spoon but they made Katakuri burst out in laughter. Everything seemed peaceful, although it was warm so Katakuri opened a window in the hopes of a pleasant breeze to come drifting through. Although the breeze was not the only thing that came drifting into the room. 

🍩 Maybe the slightest hum of wings was not enough to alert them. Not even when it got louder, and closer. Until Katakuri felt something tap against his cheek. He thought nothing of it, until it moved. He casually brushed it off and it fell to the bed and made its way towards {Name}, the slightest tickle of an antenna gave them an itch. Although they didn’t expect to feel something when they went to scratch what was tickling them. They went to have a look, maybe they left something on the bed earlier? They spotted some odd creature. A scorpion? The silhouette seemed to match, but they had never heard of a scorpion that had an antenna? It started flying and {Name} shrieked to high heaven - Not a scorpion. 

🍩 Katakuri could see {Name} panicking, being chased by some very tiny thing that had them running for their life. So nonchalantly asked them what the problem was. In their panic Katakuri heard {Name} complaining about ‘it’ crawling into their ears and tickling their brains. The idea actually sounded quite disgusting even by his standards.  He easily captured it in a mochi cage and threw it outside to ease his partner’s concerns. Katakuri didn’t even see it for that long but the sheer terror that it evoked in his partner was strange. {Name} described in great detail about earwigs and all the horrific old wives tales that exist about them. 

🍩 After hearing the tale about how they’ll crawl into your ears and lay eggs Katakuri started sleeping with earbuds in to prevent such. He brushed it off saying that he’s not affected but {Name} knew otherwise, plus Katakuri no longer opens the windows. So there’s something to suggest that maybe he’s not as unaffected as he makes himself out to be. 

Usopp

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

🏹 Ussop said goodnight to all of his lovely little plants, making sure everything was ready for tomorrow and he kept telling {Name} that he’d be there in a few minutes. In the meantime, {Name} prepped the bed making sure it was all comfortable and ready to turn in for the night. They knew Usopp could get stuck with his plants for hours, talking to them, tending to them and deciding they’d turn in before him. They got comfy and were in a half asleep state. 

🏹 They’d just managed to lightly fall asleep, they felt the weight shift and the bed dip when Ussop climbed inside. He was talking to himself about the to-do list for tomorrow to remind himself of everything he wanted to attend to. He climbed under the blanket humming to {Name} with some random lullaby. {Name} shifted closer out of habit and all was well until something very evidently came crawling on the bed. {Name} could faintly make out the silhouette of the thing coming closer, closer, - it wasn’t big enough to have significant weight but they could see the blanket move underneath it so clearly it was big enough to do that. They silently watched as it got closer before being unable to take it anymore. 

🏹 {Name} didn’t know what it was but they flailed, and flung themselves all over the bed to get away from it. Usopp obviously woke up from all the panicking wondering what had his partner so riled up and perturbed. When Usopp lifted the blanket to catch the culprit it revealed a spider. Eight legs, walking along like nothing could go wrong. Usopp chuckled and scooped the spider onto his hand “Don’t worry this little guy won't hurt you.” He reassures {Name} while admiring how pretty the little fellow looked. {Name} was terrified, reassured and surprised to see Usopp so unphased while he let the spider run around his hand and arm. 

🏹 Usopp moved the spider to a container and he took it outside, while {Name} just remained inside, confused and too scared to look in the bed. Maybe they should just sleep elsewhere; they wracked their brain until they heard Usopp return. He fixed the bed and invited them to lay beside him. {Name} asked if there were any more bugs, evidently afraid to return. Usopp reassured them that it was just that little guy. {Name} told Usopp just how surprised they were to see him handling that with no issue ever, he’s never found bugs scary and rather on the cute side. 

🏹 {Name} was too scared on their side of the bed and scooted closer and closer until they were practically sleeping on top of Usopp. Not that he minded all that much, he thought them being afraid of a little spider was adorable. They protested that they’re cute until they bite, Usopp couldn't really argue with that but explained he’s never been bitten. 

Marco

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

🍍 Marco quite enjoyed his midday naps, granted if everything was quiet enough to permiss that. He even roped {Name} into joining him and it almost became routine when they would disappear for an hour or two to just rest and recharge before getting back to the grind. He didn’t even bother opening the bed and threw a soft blanket on top instead, without checking it. Had he checked things might have been different for the two of them. He plopped down and awaited {Name} wondering why they were so late. 

🍍 {Name} arrived to find a very half asleep Marco who greeted them with a sleepy tune and an interrupting yawn. They walked over and plopped over, smiling as they saw Marco’s resting face. The moment felt so serene and peaceful, warm and comfortable. {Name} wished it would last forever until they felt some hard, cold thing MOVING next to them. A slight hissing sound arose and they froze, a snake is easy no big deal. But this didn’t feel like a snake. It was smaller, still sizable and more rigid. 

🍍 “Marco-” {Name} called softly, trying not to move, “Marco!” They called a little louder, before reaching up and shaking him. Marco woke up, flustered “What’s wrong? Enemies? Marines?” he searched around, when {Name} shuffled closer to him “There’s something behind me…Take it away please” Marco was confused but noticed the genuine fear that lingered in their expression. He came closer and reached behind them, to feel something. For a moment relief washed over him, it was probably a random item. He thought that until it moved in his hand and Marco threw whatever he was holding across the room with a muffled shriek. 

🍍 Marco and {Name} skedaddled to the polar opposite side of the room and looked for any sign of movement and there it was. Red, brown and black amalgamated onto a palm sized insect. An intimidating and shrill hiss escaped the creature, Marco did the only rational thing. He took {Name} and left the room before burning it, the flames would leave nothing behind. After watching everything turning into ash, Marco seemed relieved. Until he saw something JUMPING at him through the ashes.

🍍 They shut the door and Marco called for someone who was better at dealing with such things than he was. To his surprise it was easy to find someone…Enthusiastic about bugs amongst the eccentric crew. They were excited while ‘admiring’ the fine specimen which they identified as a parktown prawn. Marco didn’t care what kind of creature it was but more to the fact that his whole room had been overturned by its existence.