#queue for sample size

[i-did]

*I'd love to know what it depends on, feel free to send me an anon or message about it

[mystery-incorporated-whore]

I'm curious about something. So my blog has been EXPLODING for the past week or so and I can't help but wonder if it's @biblicallyaccuratemoth's fault. So question to my followers: were you following mina first and found me through her, or has my shitposting actually gotten good enough that people are starting to take notice. Personally, I'm assuming it's the former

[iguessmyfishisgay]

SUCREABEILLE IS RELEASING AN EX ALTIORA PERFUME !!

YOU'RE TELLING ME I CAN SMELL LIKE A THUNDER STORM ?!

[mctreeleth]

I work in printing and one of the machines that images printing plates for me does so at 2500dpi. There is still absolutely a use case for a new years resolution of 2025.

[curiositypolling]

pls reblog for sample size etc

follow for more occasional useless polls

[sunshineandspencer]

Coffee shop

A/N: I have never had an original experience, because every woman I’ve ever known has always wanted to run a mix of a coffee shop and a library/florists, I am no different. That isn’t what this fic is about, but I’ll take any chance to lament about my lack of funds for a coffee-floristry-library shop 😔😔😔

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader.

Summary: If Spencer Reid had a nickel for everytime he ran into someone on his daily routines that he believes might be a serial killer, he’d now have two nickels, which isn’t a lot, but it’s weird that it’s happened twice.

Word Count: 1.6k

Warnings: talking about blood(??), nothing really

I have redone the form for the taglist now that I’m apparently expanding from Criminal Minds

Spencer liked his routines. He’s invested a lot of time in developing a comfortable routine whenever work in Quantico goes for longer than usual. For whenever he’s home.

Part of that routine is treating himself to breakfast. Knowing damn well that he wouldn’t eat otherwise - the toaster is his mortal enemy and has been unplugged since he moved into his apartment, refusing to repeat the mistake that lost him his favourite mug.

He sampled a lot of coffee shops that are close to his apartment, not wanting to walk further than 10 minutes away just for a decent cup of coffee and some breakfast. Until, finally, he found the one that fit his very specific - and not at all autistic - guidelines for what he needed, finding himself pushing that door open at 07:09 everyday he’s home.

‘Virgin’s Coffee House’, probably a little too on the nose considering he’s.. himself, but the owner explained that it was actually ‘Virginia’s Coffee House’ until these two kids stole the letters four separate times and the owner just gave up. Accepting their fate.

That specific time, too, was well tested to get just the right moment. 07:09.

Just quiet enough that he’s comfortable but not suffocated by an overwhelming silence, they have a gentle radio choice that he adored, excellent warm pastries, and in those early hours his little space was permeated with a soft floral scent, the notes of which are heavenly.

Then, of course, being a man with an eidetic memory, his brain swiftly catalogued the regulars that he would see every single time he visited, the NPCs to his daily routine.

There’s the man who drops his girlfriend - the barista - off to work, the man who is always hunched over his laptop by the window and is seemingly constantly perplexed at the sun slipping through the blinds he pulls down. The owner that ignores her barista ‘sneaking’ free pastries to her boyfriend to go and smoke out back, and the woman that is somehow always directly ahead of him in the queue.

For a while, and because of her consistency with it, he wondered if she might wait somewhere to spot him coming, and then dart into the shop to get ahead of him. A thought he quickly dismissed as crazy, and one only a profiler would get to a conclusion with. Settling with the answer that they just have similar routines.

He has some sense of her job, from the lanyard usually haphazardly shoved into her bag, and the clothes she wore. But he isn’t the kind of person to just strike up conversations with women - hell, anyone.

Until today.

On her hip, over the top of her very pretty, sage sundress, she had a handprint. A small, child-sized handprint in, what he was hoping, was paint. Dark red.. dried paint. Right.

Tapping her shoulder, it clearly surprised her that her own routine was broken from the usual quiet queue for her coffee, although she turned to him with a confused smile. This action, merely turning to face him, immediately gave him the revelation that the pretty floral scent he keeps coming back for is her.

Quickly smiling back and pointing down at her hip, going for blissfully unaware rather than alerted FBI agent.

“Hallowe’en in September?”

Nice, casual question, not at all giving away the inner screaming of Jesus Christ, don’t let this beautiful woman be a murderer.

Keeping his eyes on her face to see what kind of reaction she has, as she looks down. Tugging at the fabric so she could see it clearly, tutting softly and immediately worrying her bottom lip between her teeth.

“Oh.. yeah, that looks worse than it did yesterday.”

Fuck, fuck, fuck. He’s found a serial killer. In his coffee shop. How the hell does this keep happening to--

“What about this one, I haven’t even tried to get it off yet because we’re doing more today.”

Pulling the skirt of her dress back to normal to show him a neon orange - slightly smaller - handprint on her knee, like a child had smacked her leg with a handful of paint.

Which, thankfully, confirmed his previous assumption that she works in Kindergarten.

“That’s very uhm.. well.”

He tried to say something nice, but the longer he searched and shuffled through all the words in his brain, the brighter her smile got. And the more nervous he got about saying the wrong thing to this genuinely really pretty woman. Christ, he’s making himself look like an idiot.

Coming to his rescue, before he started spewing out Shakespearean compliments because that’s all his brain could focus on, she waved with a softly dismissive hum.

“Don’t worry, I know it’s not really my colour. Some of the kids took ‘paint your teacher’ a little too literal. But it’s only their first week so I’m letting it slide.”

Now that the fear of her being a serial killer is gone, he’s left with the brutal realisation that she’s beautiful. Which, unfortunately means that acknowledgement of her looks causes his brain to stop working. Beautiful women, as Emily has eloquently stated, slash his IQ to 60.

“You- You work with children?”

Thankfully, she doesn’t seem to mind his sudden stutter, or that he’s unconsciously fiddling with his tie. Only smiling brighter, despite him now being apparently unable to get a full sentence out compared to before.

“Yeah! Real young kids, who haven’t learnt that paint goes on their paper and not the teacher, not yet anyway. Why? That handprint make you think I was a murderer?” She was clearly teasing, but his flushed cheeks and averted gaze told her the truth. “Oh my God you did.”

Her jaw dropped and she didn’t look away from him as they shuffled up the queue, from where he was desperately trying to explain.

Searching his bag, diving into it really, to try and find his badge to prove who he is. This is the first time he’s ever felt genuine hatred for his messenger bag, everything just falling in the way of his ID that would prove that he’s not crazy, he’s just insanely observant.

Finding it with a breathless laugh and holding it out to her, giving a pleadingly nervous smile.

“I’m- I work for the FBI! The Behavioural Analysis Unit, I catch serial killers and, well, it looked--”

He just gestured again to the dark red paint dried into the fabric of her dress. Terrified he’d ruined this interaction by assuming incorrectly.

But she just laughed, and not at all insulted or upset like he thought, just seemingly amused by the whole thing. Hand falling back to the print, thumbing at the dried paint, some flakes falling to the floor between them before being swept away by the wind from the open door.

“It’s okay, I knew it didn’t look great, but catching the attention of an FBI agent? I’ll take it.”

Still stumbling over his words, he desperately looks for the right thing to say, wanting to get the mush in his brain out to apologise again and again. Something about her smile made him want to reassure her a hundred times over.

“Not that, of course, you look anything like a serial killer. Although female serial killers are, usually, far better at hiding that they are killers, and are actually called silent killers. So even if you were, you seem way too smart to leave a handprint on your dress. Not- that I’m saying you would know how to be a murderer, but I just- I had to make sure--”

“Really, it’s alright, uh..” looking down, she runs her fingers over his name before handing his ID badge back, “Spencer, really. It’s a nice thought, knowing I have such observant agents in my area. Makes me feel.. safe.”

And not a hint of sarcasm, paired with a genuine smile. Her name was called for a coffee and that split moment she turned away gave him a chance to react.

Hearing his name in her gently teasing voice had made his heart beat so damn hard against his chest he half expected to look down and see it beating out cartoonishly. Pressing the heel of his palm to the centre of his chest to try and calm down before she turned back around.

That smile still on her face when she did, her name written all pretty on her cup, and fitting her perfectly.

“Could you explain what the Behavioural Analysis Unit does? I’m still not sure.”

He went to open his mouth, happy to spew facts, knowing that’s his comfort zone more than anything else, and wanting to show that he can do more than word vomit whatever comes to the tip of his tongue first.

But she shakes her head, taking out her phone and tapping some things before handing it over to him. An empty contact page, except for the name which was already filled in with ‘Spencer (the cute coffee guy)’ at which his eyes darted back to hers, although his thumbs were already putting in his number.

“How about tomorrow? About six-forty?”

Handing back the phone after checking the number, and replying with a breathy ‘yeah’, at which she smiled and walked past him. His own name getting called for his coffee, but not turning to get it until she left the shop.

When she turned to look back at him with a small wave, he knew he was absolutely done for wherever this woman is concerned.

“I’ll see you tomorrow Spencer. Six-forty, it’s a date, don’t be late.” Slipping out so that he could take that in himself, not actually moving until his name gets called for the fourth time, and the barista throws a balled up napkin at him. A daft smile on his face as he whips out his phone to text Garcia all about the date he’s going on tomorrow morning.

Want more?! Good!

taglist ( ˘ ³˘)♥ @peliides ║ @peachsodameg ║ @angelinajolie0213 ║ @jiggly-puff-12 ║ @khxna ║ @kennedy2156 ║ @trulycayla ║ @none-of-your-bullshit ║ @alexxavicry ║ @meg-black ║ @princess76179 ║ @chicken-fifi ║ @averyhotchner ║ @punkyghoulz ║ @person-005 ║ @aaronlovesava ║ @Optimisticsandwichgladiator ║ @cultish-corner ║ @xox0_emma ║ @whatyagottado ║ @wonderland2425 (if your tag is here and not working check out this reblog to see if any of it could hopefully help!!)

[toothlesssoul]

Reblog for bigger sample size and to add why you don't use it or why you do.

[merlyn-bane]

WIP Poll

Alright, y'all, I have decided that since I've just got the two remaining Foelu snippets in my queue, it's WIP poll time! Please select whichever WIP you would like to see me working on and posting next, and of course feel free to add any propaganda you so desire or send me any further questions you might have. I'll be leaving this up for a week and reblogging frequently just to make sure to give you all plenty of time.

Please feel free to reblog as well to get a larger sample size. Thank you in advance for playing! 🧡🧡

[cometlevi]

Levi Week - Day 1: Teashop ☕️

Tags: @leviweek2023

After the war, Levi didn’t really have a clear plan on what he wanted to do. To him, the mere idea of not having to be on guard 24/7 was absurd. It’s safe to say it took him quite some time to get used to his new life, a life of peace. Around a year and a half after the war, Levi decided to pursue one of his life long dreams. Opening a tea shop. Levi is a picky man so finding a property he liked proved to be a challenge. He would spend hours viewing potential properties but he didn’t like the majority of them, mainly due to the locations.

Eventually, he struck gold and found a gorgeous little property with a medium size front deck that overlooks the picturesque harbour. There were two large willow trees on either side of the deck, the leaves swaying along with the gentle sea breeze. The moment Levi laid eyes on the property, he couldn’t help the small smile that graced his angelic face. Sure, there was quite a bit of work to be done before the teashop was up and running but Levi was more than eager to get the renovations underway. His dream was finally coming true.

9 months later

“Hello, what could I get you?” Levi stated calmly whilst looking at the tall black haired man who stood at the counter.

“Hm, I’m not too sure…what’s better, Assam or Darjeeling?” The man asked inquisitively whilst eyeing the large display of tea leaves.

“In my opinion, I’d say Assam. It has an extremely pleasant malty taste. Darjeeling on the other hand, has a more fruity taste” Levi answers confidently.

“Ok! It’s settled then, could I please get a pot of Assam tea with two butter croissants?” The man states exuberantly.

“Of course, please take a seat inside or outside and I’ll bring your order to you when it’s ready” Levi says smoothly whilst tapping the mans order through the till.

Since Levi first opened the doors to his shop 5 months ago (Kuchel’s teashop, a name everyone in town was familiar with), business was booming to say the least. The day he first opened the shop, there were queues of people waiting to sample the infamous Captain’s wide selection of teas and pastries. Levi was overwhelmed, in a good way of course. The amount of support he had received from the local people moved him, more than he’d like to admit.

During the first week, Kuchel’s teashop had received a hugely positive influx of reviews. Everyone loved Levi’s tea and the warm, welcoming atmosphere of his teashop. But most importantly, people loved Levi. They loved how passionate he was about tea and they loved how knowledgeable he was about the numerous different types of tea he offered.

Levi was getting ready to close the teashop for the night, he had finished cleaning the tables and counters and was now restocking the large display of tea leaves as low classical music played throughout the shop.

Once he has finished the closing tasks, he walked to the storage room and grabbed his belongings, throwing on his black trench coat and hanging up his beige apron on the peg behind the door. He turned all the lights off and walked outside to lock the front doors. As he walked down the deck stairs he stopped on the middle step and looked back at his shop, a huge sense of achievement and joy filled him.

Levi smiled to himself as he looked at the wooden sign that hung above the door. The words ‘Kuchel’s teashop’ laid on the wooden sign in bold black writing. He reflected for a moment, he knew his mum would be so proud of him. That thought brought him happiness. He was finally where he wanted to be.

[phantomstatistician]

Saturday Status Update

REQUESTS: CLOSED

Upcoming charts (if the sample size is large enough):

Wings of Fire - Sunny

Genshin Impact - Lumine

Naruto - Itachi Uchiha

Older woman/younger woman (Tag) - 10 most popular ships (AO3)

Darker Than Black - 10 most popular ships (AO3)

Berserk - 10 most popular characters (AO3)

The Owl House - Viney

Avatar: the Last Airbender - Ozai (non-explicit vs explicit)

Do you want to jump the queue?  Or do you want to support me as a content creator?  Buy me a Kofi!

[lestatslestits]

Reblog for increased sample size etc., etc., etc.