#(I'M VERY PROUD OF IT)

[leavemetoplaythesims]

i almost forgot to show you the christmas present i painted for my sister!!

[your-gay-emo-cousin]

G NOTE

reblog to g note your moots

[lixenn]

Time warp

[cappybawa106]

This came out so well, hooray for fire cat!

Extras:

[horridcassette]

True Stories (1986) - a comfort film.

[padfootagain]

THE FIRST DRAFT IS DONE!!!!!!!!!!

I'm crying, at this point...

The first draft of the Prof!AU Love in Verses is officially done!!! All 44 chapters are complete!!!

The posting schedule will be posted next week!!!

[atypical-artisan]

I spent too long on this

Editing to add my blog name since this has been stolen by a redditor, and say the bbq thing is a reference to this meme made by @twentydaysofmay which itself is a reference to the 'bbq sauce on my titties' vine

[godzillawithahoodie7]

in my turf.

[green-socks]

2024 fic reading stats / AO3 Wrapped - Reader Edition

Last April I got the idea that I wanted to, in some form, get a better understanding of how much and how often I read fic, and some other stats as well. Obviously I knew the answer was a lot and often. But you know the urge to make lists and sort things when you're stressed? Yeah, that hit, so I started up a spreadsheet starting May 1st. In my spreadsheet I logged the date I had read the fic, the fic's title, author, fandom, ship, rating, and word count. I also added the AO3 link to the fic which has proven handy in looking up recs and stuff like that!

I just wanted to share some of those stats now that I've made lil graphs to go with them and everything lol

Starting with the totals:

Last year, from 1 May to 31 Dec, I read about 3,928,191 words of fanfic. (Now, that's the logged amount, but it's not... perfect. I won't go into detail but let's just state that that amount is still very telling!)

Total of different fics I read during the logged time was 478. (There are 479 logged entries but one of them was a reread, so.)

The most amount of entries for a single day was 8, and it happened three times lol. Two of those I know I was sick but idk what that third day was, probably a wonderfully lazy sunday.

Authors:

I logged at least 141 different AO3 authors. (Some people using several pseuds may have confused my count a little but give or take a couple!)

Here I have to shout out @fuddlewuddle because if I read 478 fics, 93 of those were hers. I don't even know what to say except that I'm glad our freaks match each other <3

A fun thing to note was that I myself made it on my top 10 list of "favorite" writers based on the amount of fics logged because I reread my own stuff frequently enough! That's kind of uplifting to think about. If sorted by word count, however, I am farrr from the top, because I tend to write shorter fics :D But I'm happy to keep it that way!

Fandom:

Showing off some percentages based on the 478 logged fics. Ahem, as you can see, Top Gun continues as the ruling fandom in my life, but there were some new smaller fandoms coming in as well! And that strange, two movie fandom fusion is, of course, courtesy of Fuddle...

If I were to sort these by word count instead, the percentages would stay pretty much the same, except Other fandoms would give a tiny bit of its slice over to Ted Lasso.

Ship:

Again, this is based on the total of 478 logged fics. Quelle surprise, I'm a hangster girl and there's a lot of that on the market, so 183 out of those 478 were hangster fics. Other ships here entails multi-ship fics (where the ships are equal instead of clear main ship & background ship type of thing), poly ships with a number of varying character combinations, and ships that had less than 5 logged fics with it as the main ship.

(The tiny red dot says roykeeleyjamie and it had 6 logs in total. The purple dot with the name not fully showing is macheresin with 10 fics.)

Rating:

This is again based on the total of 478 fics.

My own writing stats:

I posted 18,687 words' worth of fic last year (though some thousands of words haven't made it to AO3 yet, but were still written last year). As you can see, I am still very much a reader rather than a writer, but it's the best of both worlds, getting to do both!

Overall, I thought this was a fun experiment, and I'm going to keep up with my spreadsheet for the new year – because what is life without spreadsheets, really.

Guess if I realized I had forgotten to log at least one longer fic after finishing up the last of those graphs!!!! Sighhh

[ulubionywuja]

I made an uquiz that I hope shows how insane working in a museum can be

https://uquiz.com/quiz/zhsIXL?p=7532580

[obimaulartfire]

What will he do with the star in his hands?

I really wanted to draw a Maul with his original legs and tattoos bc I think he's pretty. He's holding light (not sure what it represents, you all can use your imagination :))

Obi-wan companion piece: [x]

[https-hunter]

see more seymour's week day 5: free day

I wanted to make an art piece, one that symbolized the whole of the town. And in true Seymour's Bay fashion, it's in the style of Bruce Springsteen's Greetings From Absury Park album (a town I think inspired Seymour's Bay!)

@seemoreseymoursbay

[billygaysanguine]

billygaysanguine is a banger url

thank youuuu<3

[proudplantpoet]

Lament

Hi, I'm...

Hi, I'm...

I'm... I'm... What's my name?

You tell me it's this, but are you sure?

It doesn't feel right, or like mine anymore.

Sure, it's me, but who am I?

Someone to gape and gawk at in awe?

Who am I but who I seem to them?

My story in syncopy with your sight,

Overlapping in my tapestry of lies.

I'm Atlas, and I bear a bitter burden.

I sing two melodies, I stand between

two worlds, while I dream

of a time when they both intertwine.

Painting the silence with my bleeding cries,

Howling at the heavens with my fever-red pitch,

The dissonance echoes in my brain,

These headaches are making me fucking insane,

Am I punk or classical?

Do they even care at all?

They just want control, to make us feel small.

I'm a — girl, named redacted.

The words leave a bitter aftertaste,

Like nails on my chalkboard heart.

If i peel off my skin, will the real me emerge?

Can I purge myself of sin?

Will the pain make way for pride?

Will I rise from my chrysalis a new man?

Can I cultivate character, sculpt a self

from this tumultous heap of flesh and fright?

If I claw out my eyes, will the blood

running down my cheeks

feed my famished heart?

I may be blind but perception I can't escape

Please help me flee this hellscape

This isn't me, but who is?

This name is not mine, nor is the other

All my selves in fragments, scattered.

Will you be the Isis to my Osiris?

Breathe a rainbow of tones into my soul,

Let them ring.

Harmonise with my heart,

Sing.

[gregorygerwitz]

Moustead + The Hockey AU

warnings: brief mention of chronic/terminal illness and death, implied alcoholism, depression, behavior that could be considered self harm

Gregory Gerwitz IV liked hockey. It was his favorite sport. He had the family pull that let him get tickets to every home Blackhawks game, and he usually spent every minute at glass level, watching all the action with only the protection of the plexiglass shield a foot in front of his face. But that was the Hawks, NHL, the big leagues, even if their playoff outlook wasn’t very high.

What he didn’t particularly care about was the minor league team that his father bought between seasons when he was a teenager, like adding to the weight of the family business he was supposed to inherit was somehow a birthday gift. He’d wanted a car that year, or the freedom to spend more time at the stables with Phil and Amelia, or even better, to not be forced into a business track at a college barely half an hour away from home. He definitely didn’t want to be promised the Chicago Mice, a hockey team that no one had heard about because they sucked, had never won a single game, and gave him the mocking nickname Mouse for his entire senior year of high school.

So, he ignored it. Greg ignored the family name on all of the merchandise and swag he saw around the city. He ignored the change in the Mice’s record when they started winning games. He ignored all of it. It was easier to ignore it than acknowledge that he’d have to handle that some day, too. It was another weight on his shoulders he didn’t want to deal with.

But he could only ignore it for so long.

After college, and after he established himself working in the office with his father, he got pulled from a meeting early to go to lunch. Only, lunch didn’t involve food, just a mostly empty arena and a warm up for the team on the ice. Besides the coaches and the players, they were the only ones there, and it wasn’t exactly fun.

He got a bag of popcorn for his midday meal, and glass level seats, and normally, that would be just fine with him. He’d done it at a few matinee games, living off junk food and rooting for his team, but this was different. Because one day, it really would be his team, whether he wanted it to be or not.

And he really didn’t want it.

Jay Halstead didn’t know what he wanted to do when he finished high school. He knew it had to take his attention, be a good distraction from everything going on at home, not let him linger on any of it. With his brother off to school in New York and his mother in and out of the hospital with medical bills to keep up with, he didn’t have a lot of options. It had to be something with a steady income, enough to keep up with unforeseen expenses.

Hockey had started as a hobby, something he did at the local rec center when he had free time and a few extra bucks. He’d tried out for the Mice as a joke - maybe they weren’t a great team, but the paycheck would be enough to make a dent in the medical debt he was helping with while still paying for his own apartment. The fact that he made it on the team at all was some kind of miracle, and it felt like the universe, or some other force, was telling him he was doing exactly the right thing.

It was the final game of his first season with the team when he got a phone call from the bench. He didn’t even get to see the rare victory, too busy rushing to the hospital on the other side of the city. He picked his brother up at the airport the next day, and by the end of the weekend, they had to shift their efforts to planning a funeral instead of any other medical next steps. It meant the owner of the team wanted him gone, wanted him and his odd penchant for never showing up on time off the team.

He got lucky again. He was one of the players who had gained them as many small victories as they’d gotten in the months he was playing. He got another chance.

But after such a loss, it was hard to go back to live as usual. He could keep playing the game he’d grown to love, but it wasn’t enough of a distraction anymore. And, after another season, he didn’t exactly need that much money when the bills were paid and no longer accumulating. He was free and clear, he could quit and go off and do whatever he wanted with his life. He could even stop making money all together and live in his childhood bedroom where the fridge was always stocked with snacks and more beer than he could drink. It’s what he wanted to do, some days, give up and retreat, let the sadness take him and swallow him whole.

When that wasn’t an option, he did something else. Every single play that seemed a little too rough could end in a punch. He could skate a little faster and push a little harder. He could leave the ice with bruises or a bloody nose that made him feel a little more solid, like he was still a part of his own life instead of just floating through it. It wasn’t healthy, and it got him more penalties than he cared to count, and it almost made him lose everything. It almost got him kicked off the team, again, and that was when reality forced him to look it in the eye.

So Jay pulled himself back together again, made himself play the way he knew he could. It was less aggressive and more calculated, passing and scoring and improving the team’s record year after year.

It wasn’t like he did it singlehandedly, but he knew he was a big part of it, the Mice going from the worst team in the league to the top five in almost no time at all. And, when he heard whispers of the owner of the team coming to watch a practice one afternoon at the start of the season, he didn’t let that opportunity pass him by. He showed Mr. Gerwitz that keeping him around was a good idea, that he was very capable of playing at the level he needed to in order to keep his position on the team.

And, when he turned around and took his helmet off after scoring a warm up goal, he found that the only person near the bench who was even looking at him wasn’t the owner of the team at all - just his son.

[luimagines]

Good food thank you, delicious

Anon (I think I was the one to send the trope ask lol)

That was sent nearly (or over) two years ago. XD

But I'm happy to get requests like that! Let's me write what I've actually been brain rotting over. Those tend to do better than the other prompts. ^.^*