#round 3.6

[polish-art-tournament]

round 3.6 poll 2

tap for full images

Burza (The storm) by Zdzisław Jasiński, 1925:

propaganda: the atmosphere of this is unreal (no pun intended), the colors, the motion, drama and chaos, all over an unsuspecting peaceful landscape.

Smok (Dragon) by Witold Pruszkowski, 1896:

propaganda: można się zakochać od pierwszego spojrzenia (you can fall in love at first sight with this one)

read about Pruszkowski here (PL)

submitted by @rascal-rodent (<3)

[lmchaptertitlebracket]

Round 2, Matchup 76: III.vi vs III.viii.1

[exandriacityshowdown]

Round 3 Poll 6

Ank'Harel, Marquet: Ank’Harel, the Jewel of Marquet, is a large city in the Rumedam Desert. It is a bustling metropolis known for its mysterious ruler, J’mon Sa Ord. Vox Machina visited the city during the Chroma Crisis, to seek help and resources.

image from the postcard merch by pretty useful co

Rexxentrum, Wildemount: Rexxentrum is the capital of the Dwendalian Empire. It is a massive metropolis, the political centre of the Empire, an economic hub and the base of operations for the Cerberus Assembly. There is also a prominent Archive for the Cobalt Soul. Between that and the Cerberus-run Soltryce Academy, a renowned school of magic, Rexxentrum is seen as a centre of learning. Although not originally from here, the Mighty Nein’s Caleb Widogast lived here for several years. The Mighty Nein’s involvement in the war between the Empire and the Kryn Dynasty eventually brought them to Rexxentrum. 

image from the postcard merch by pretty useful co

[chansdoll]

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ 방찬ㅤㅤ♡ㅤㅤfirst timeㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

★ pairing。nerdbf!chan x afab!reader ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎g. ╰・ fluff & smut‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎cw。loss of virginity , oral (f rec.) , shy channie , mentions of panty sniffing , mentions of male masturbation , implied round 2 , aftercare and cuddles (channie is so cute) 。 wc。 3.6 k

lana's note!  ᰍᩚ this was a request ! ive always wanted to do nerdy channie but ive seen so many people do it and i felt my work would be inferior :<

♡ masterlist

you and chan had been dating for a few months now, and honestly? it had been perfect.

it was your third year of college.  a hectic, stressful mess of deadlines, exams, and late nights. but somehow, in the middle of all that chaos, you’d met him. you were studying alone in the library, desperate for a quiet spot, when you spotted the only empty seat left in the building-across from a quiet, glasses-wearing guy with a physics textbook and two mechanical pencils lined up perfectly on the table. you asked if you could sit, and he nodded, barely looking up.

that was the first time you noticed just how adorable he was. soft black curls that flopped over his forehead, pale skin that flushed easily, plush pink lips that looked made to be kissed, and a delicate, perfect nose that held up his glasses like it was crafted just for them.

he always dressed the same, you’d come to realize. a cozy college sweatshirt, jeans, and converse. or, on days he was feeling a little bolder, a flannel layered over a tee. nothing flashy. nothing attention-seeking. but he pulled it off in a way that made you want to pull him into your lap.

you learned pretty early on that chan was a virgin.. which surprised you. it wasn’t common around here. most guys at your school were shameless partiers who hooked up with anything that moved, chasing cheap highs and body counts.

but not chan.

he wasn’t like them. he didn’t go out. he didn’t flirt unless you made the first move. and despite being sweet, attentive, and.. let’s be real, hot as hell, he was painfully shy. soft touches made him twitch. a kiss to his cheek turned him beet red. he’d mumble compliments under his breath but clam up the second you tried to make things sexual.

still, what you didn’t know, what he kept so carefully tucked behind those sweet smiles and nervous laughs.. was that chan, your shy nerd of a boyfriend, was the dirtiest pervert you’d ever met.

but only in private. only in the dark. only when he was alone.

when he had the room to himself, with the door locked and his laptop shut, his thoughts were filthy. he’d imagine you in every position, in every room. he’d stroke himself slowly, desperately, to the thought of stealing your panties and holding them to his face as he came. he’d edge himself for hours, his cock leaking as he imagined your cunt wrapped around him, imagined your face when you came.

but the thought that ruined him the most? the one that made his thighs shake and his eyes roll back as he fucked his hand?

going down on you.

he couldn’t get it out of his head. your thighs over his shoulders, your taste on his tongue, the way you’d sound when you moaned his name with your fingers tangled in his curls. he didn’t even need to fuck you. not yet. he just wanted to devour you. he wanted to make you cum again and again with his mouth alone, wanted to feel your thighs trembling around his ears while you gasped that no one had ever made you feel that good before.

in his mind, he was so bold. shameless. obsessive. but the moment he imagined asking you for it, saying the words out loud?

he nearly choked on the fear. his mouth dried up. his palms got clammy. you were everything to him, and the idea of ruining it by revealing how desperate he was for you?

it kept him silent.

at least, until that night.

you were curled up in his bed, legs tangled under a blanket, his laptop resting against his knees while a movie played between you. something romantic. not your usual, but soft enough to match the mood.

then, suddenly, the scene changed. the couple on-screen began making love, slowly, tenderly, with soft gasps and bare skin. it wasn’t even pornographic, just… intimate. raw. real.

and it broke him.

chan went still beside you. you didn’t notice, but he stopped breathing. the second the actress moaned softly, he was gone. his eyes stayed glued to the screen, but his mind wandered far from it. it wandered to you. to your body. your breasts, full and warm and perfect in his hands. your legs, spread open just for him. your soft skin and your soft moans and the sweet, intoxicating smell of your cunt.

he bit down hard on his lip as the blood rushed to his cock. fast, urgent, impossible to ignore. his dick twitched under the blanket, growing stiff in his sweats, and he tried not to groan. tried not to squirm. tried to breathe.

but all he could think about was you.

and what it might feel like to finally,  finally,  have you.

you shifted slightly beside him, just enough for your thigh to press against his, and that’s when you felt it.

the stiff outline beneath his sweats. firm, hot, twitching with every shallow breath he took.

at first, you weren’t sure. maybe it was the blanket. maybe you were imagining it. but then he made this tiny sound. this quiet, shaky whimper, almost inaudible.. and it was like something clicked.

you turned your head slowly, eyes narrowing just a bit.

“chan?” you said, soft enough not to spook him.

his whole body tensed like a wire. his eyes snapped away from the screen, and when they landed on you, you could practically see the panic ripple across his face.

“i-uh-yeah?”

your gaze dropped, then lifted again. you didn’t say anything, didn’t have to. his cheeks went red. not pink. crimson.

“shit-fuck-i’m sorry,” he stammered. “i didn’t mean to-it’s not because of you-or, no, it is because of you, but not in a bad-fuck, i don’t know-”

“chan,” you cut in gently, pressing your palm against his chest. “hey. it’s okay.”

he looked at you like you’d just told him the earth stopped spinning.

“it is?”

“yeah,” you smiled, brushing his hair back. “you don’t have to freak out over a hard-on. especially not around me.”

his throat bobbed as he swallowed. he was trying to calm down, but the embarrassment clung to him like static. you could see it in the way his fingers nervously curled around the blanket. the way he couldn’t hold your gaze for more than a second.

but then you touched his jaw. gentle, slow.. and tilted his face back toward yours.

“tell me the truth,” you whispered. “what were you thinking about?”

he inhaled sharply. you could see the war playing out in his head. fight or flight. but instead of backing down, he exhaled shakily, eyes fluttering shut for a second.

then, with a voice barely louder than a whisper-

“you.”

your heart skipped.

“the scene on screen just made me think of you. what it would be like… to be inside you. to feel you under me. to touch you, taste you-fuck.”

he clenched his eyes shut again, face burning, hands fisting in the blanket like it might save him from the weight of his own need.

“i’ve wanted you for so long,” he confessed, voice cracking. “but i didn’t know how to bring it up. i didn’t want you to think i was some… creep.”

you climbed into his lap without hesitation, straddling his thighs under the blanket, letting your weight settle slowly against the aching bulge between his legs. he let out a broken little gasp, his hands flying instinctively to your waist.

“you’re not a creep,” you said, brushing your nose against his. “you’re my sweet, shy, very horny boyfriend who’s clearly been holding this in for way too long.”

a whimper slipped from his throat. he squeezed your hips like he didn’t know what else to do.

“you have no idea how bad it’s gotten,” he murmured. “i’ve thought about you every night. i-i’ve looked stuff up. how to do it. what to say. how to eat you out, how to stretch you properly. i memorized diagrams.”

you giggled, and fuck, the way his eyes flicked down to your mouth like he couldn’t help it.

“i want to learn,” he whispered, breath hot against your cheek. “i want to be good for you.”

you kissed him, soft and deep and slow, and he moaned against your mouth like he was already half undone. when you pulled back just enough to look into his eyes, you cupped his face.

“then let me teach you.”

he nodded, fast,  needy,  like he’d been waiting his whole life for that.

“please.”

you slipped your hand beneath the blanket and palmed him through his sweats, loving the way he gasped and twitched under your touch.

“we’ll take it slow,” you whispered, voice low, lips ghosting over his jaw. “you don’t have to prove anything. just let me show you how good it can feel.”

“and if you want to try anything, anything at all, you can tell me. no judgment.”

he let out a shaky exhale and nodded again.

“can i…” he started, then stopped.

you waited.

“can i taste you?”

you smiled, warm, soft, completely in love with how filthy he could be underneath all that shyness.

“yeah, baby,” you murmured, fingers slipping under the hem of your shirt as you straddled him tighter. “you’ve waited long enough.”

you kissed him again, this time deeper. not soft and sweet, but slow and heated, full of intention. you could feel the way his whole body reacted to it. the stiffening of his fingers on your waist. the way his hips jerked slightly beneath you. the way he whimpered when your tongue brushed his.

when you finally pulled back, he was panting softly, eyes wide and glassy, his lips pink and kiss-swollen.

“i want to take this slow,” you whispered, dragging your fingertips up his chest. “i want to show you everything.”

he nodded, almost dazed.

“okay,” he breathed. “please.”

you slid your hands under his hoodie and gently pushed it up his chest. he lifted his arms without a word, letting you undress him. slow, careful, savoring every inch of soft, pale skin as it was revealed. his torso was warm and lean, still trembling slightly as you explored it with your palms. when your thumbs brushed over his nipples, he gasped. eyes fluttering, hips jerking up into you again like he couldn’t help it.

“sensitive,” you teased.

he covered his face with his hands, groaning.

“fuck-don’t tease-”

you grinned. “oh, baby. you can handle it.”

he let out a helpless little sound, muffled behind his fingers, and you kissed your way down his throat. warm, open-mouthed kisses that left him gasping. you dragged your tongue along the sensitive skin below his ear and smiled when he shivered under you.

“you okay?” you whispered.

“no,” he whined. “i’m losing my fucking mind.”

you laughed, soft and breathy, and sat up just enough to start tugging off your own shirt. his hands dropped from his face immediately, and the second he saw your bare skin.. your breasts free, your skin glowing in the low light, he froze.

his mouth parted. his hands hovered in the air, like he was afraid to touch.

“can i…?” he asked, already breathless.

you took his hands and placed them on your chest, guiding his palms gently over your skin.

“touch me.”

he did.

tentatively at first, then with more curiosity. his thumbs brushed your nipples and he let out a breath like it punched the air from his lungs.

“they’re so soft,” he murmured, staring. “you’re so-fuck. i don’t even have words.”

you smiled and leaned in, brushing your lips against his cheek.

“you don’t need words. just follow my lead.”

your hands drifted down to the waistband of his sweatpants. you could feel how hard he was, how the heat of him pulsed against your palm even through the fabric. he twitched under your touch, chest heaving.

“i’ve never been this hard in my life,” he whispered. “it hurts.”

“poor baby,” you cooed, rubbing him gently. “you’ve been pent up for so long, haven’t you?”

he nodded, lips parted, completely at your mercy.

you pulled his pants down slowly, freeing his cock. flushed, thick, leaking. his hips bucked instinctively, and his hands fisted in the sheets.

“you’re beautiful,” you said, and he moaned.

then you stood up and slid off your panties slowly, watching his eyes track every movement like he was watching something sacred. his breathing stuttered the second he saw your pussy. already wet, glistening in the low light.

he sat up straighter, lips parted, completely transfixed.

“lay back,” you said gently, climbing onto the bed. “and look at me.”

he obeyed instantly, chest rising and falling fast.

you crawled forward and straddled his chest, knees pressing into the mattress on either side of him. you hovered just over his face, not quite letting him touch, letting him see.

“this is what you wanted, right?” you whispered, voice soft and teasing. “to taste me?”

“yes,” he breathed. “please.”

“how bad?”

“so fucking bad it hurts. please, i—i need to.”

you slid forward, just enough for your heat to brush against his lips, and he let out the most desperate moan you’d ever heard.

“then make it worth the wait.”

chan didn’t hesitate this time.

his hands came up to grip your thighs, trembling but firm, and he pulled you down with surprising strength, burying his mouth between your legs.

the first lick was slow. hesitant. but the second? the second was filthy.

he moaned like your taste alone had short-circuited his brain. his tongue flattened and dragged up your slit, then circled your clit carefully, exactly the way he’d read about in all those late-night research rabbit holes.

“fuck, baby-” you gasped, your hips rolling involuntarily. “that’s it. just like that.”

he whimpered against you, tongue flicking again, more confidently now. you reached down to thread your fingers into his curls, tugging gently, and he groaned like he liked it.

and then he started eating.

no rhythm, no holding back. just raw, desperate need. he sucked on your clit like he was trying to pull your orgasm from the root. his tongue dipped down to your entrance, tasting everything, moaning like he couldn’t get enough.

“so sweet,” he murmured, voice muffled. “mmmmpphh..”

you couldn’t even reply. your thighs were shaking, your back arching. he was messy, too messy, saliva slicking your folds, but it didn’t matter. the intensity of it made your nerves light up.

“chan-fuck-you’re gonna make me-”

he doubled down. his lips sealed around your clit, and he sucked hard. like he wanted your orgasm, needed to drink it from you.

and when you finally broke, shaking, crying out, grinding helplessly against his face, he moaned into your pussy like he was the one cumming.

he didn’t stop licking until you were twitching, oversensitive and breathless.

then he pulled back, dazed, lips glistening, hair wild, eyes dark and shining.

“did i do okay?” he asked, breath hitching.

you looked down at him, flushed, trembling, wide-eyed.. and smiled.

“it was perfect, baby,” you whisper. “you did so good.”

lips wet, hair messy, pupils blown so wide his eyes are nearly black. his chest is rising and falling like he’s just run a marathon. he’s still beneath you, blinking slowly like he can’t believe any of this is real.

you lean down and kiss him, moaning softly against his mouth when you taste yourself on his tongue.

he whimpers into the kiss, hands still gripping your thighs like he doesn’t want to let go. but his cock, flushed and twitching between you, presses against your hip, and you feel him shift, just slightly, like he doesn’t know what to do next.

you pull back, cup his jaw gently.

“do you want more?”

his eyes meet yours. his throat bobs as he swallows.

“i want everything. i want to be inside you.”

you nod, brushing your thumb over his cheek.

“okay,” you whisper. “we’ll go slow. i’ll guide you.”

he exhales shakily. his hands are trembling, but he shifts as you climb off of him, letting you lay back on the bed and open your arms. he crawls between your legs like he’s being pulled by gravity.

you open them wider.

he settles there, between your thighs, his cock brushing your entrance, and he gasps, loud, raw.

“is that…?”

“mhm,” you hum, stroking his hips. “that’s me, baby.”

he moans like he’s in pain. you reach between your bodies and wrap your hand gently around his cock, guiding him, lining him up.

“you ready?”

he nods, eyes glassy, lips parted, and you help him press forward.

the tip slips in, and everything changes.

his face crumples, like he’s never felt anything like it. his hips jerk and he gasps your name like a prayer.

“oh my god- you’re so warm-so tight-i can’t-fuck-”

“shhh,” you whisper, one hand on his cheek, the other steady on his hip. “breathe, baby. you’re doing so good.”

he shudders, jaw clenched, cock twitching inside you as he slowly sinks deeper. inch by inch. you guide his hips, keep his pace slow, until he’s fully inside.

“is that… all of it?” he asks, voice barely there.

you nod, smiling through the delicious stretch. “you’re all the way in.”

he moans. not loud, but so full of disbelief. he leans down, pressing his forehead against yours, his body shaking from the sheer intensity of being inside you for the first time.

“i don’t want to move,” he whispers. “i’m scared i’ll cum.”

you giggle softly and kiss him.

“it’s okay if you do. you’ll just get hard again later.”

“but i want to make you feel good. i want it to last.”

you run your fingers through his hair, whispering sweet praise as you roll your hips just enough to make him twitch.

“you already feel amazing. just move when you’re ready.”

he starts to thrust slowly. awkward at first, shallow and unsure, but you keep your hands on him, grounding him, whispering where to go, how deep, how slow. he listens to every word like it’s gospel.

“that’s it,” you murmur. “just like that. you’re doing so good.”

his forehead is still pressed to yours. every time he sinks into you, he lets out a broken little gasp, like the feeling is too much.

“you’re perfect,” he breathes. “you feel so good-i-i think i’m gonna-”

“it’s okay, baby,” you whisper. “let go.”

and with one more thrust, deep, shaky, his body jerking, he cums inside you, moaning your name into your mouth. his hips stutter. his hands grip the sheets like he might fall apart.

you hold him close, stroking his hair as his breathing slowly evens out. he collapses on top of you, completely spent, still buried inside, still trembling.

you kiss his temple.

“you did so good for me, chan.”

“i love you,” he whispers. “i’ve never felt anything like that.”

you smile, heart full.

“i love you too, baby.”

he stayed inside you for a while after, breath stuttering against your neck, body heavy and warm on top of yours.

his hands kept moving. not groping, just touching. tracing lazy circles on your waist, smoothing over your hip bones, tucking stray hairs behind your ear like he couldn’t get enough of you.

“you okay?” you whispered, one hand stroking gently down his spine.

he nodded, then nuzzled into your shoulder with a breathy little sigh.

“better than okay,” he murmured. “i feel like i just saw god.”

you laughed softly and kissed the top of his head. he was still trembling slightly, overwhelmed, over-sensitive, emotionally cracked open in the best way.

“you did so good, baby,” you whispered. “i’m so proud of you.”

he let out this little sound. half-whimper, half-moan, and curled his arms around your waist, holding you tight. his body pressed even closer, like if he could melt into your skin, he would.

“don’t let go,” he whispered.

“not going anywhere,” you promised.

you stayed like that, tangled in the sheets, his softening cock still resting inside you, his breath warm against your neck. you could feel how damp his hair was at the roots. his cheeks were flushed. his lashes fluttered every time you stroked his back.

“you’re so soft,” he whispered after a long pause, kissing your shoulder. “and warm. you always smell so good, too. like—like home.”

your heart clenched a little.

he tilted his face up to look at you, cheeks still pink, pupils wide.

“can you stay here tonight?” he asked quietly. “can i just… hold you?”

you smiled and cupped his face, guiding him into a slow, lazy kiss.

“i can stay forever if you want.”

he smiled, sleepy and starry-eyed. his lips brushed yours again and again, small, sweet pecks, like he couldn’t stop.

eventually, he pulled out with a shaky breath and collapsed beside you, immediately wrapping both arms around your body like a human blanket.

“you’re mine now,” he mumbled into your shoulder.

“i’ve always been yours,” you whispered back.

he stayed there, cuddled up close, his thigh between yours, hand on your stomach like he needed to keep at least some skin touching at all times. he was calm, but you could feel him starting to stir again. just barely. his cock, still soft but twitching slightly, pressing between your thighs as he shifted in his sleepiness.

“i can feel that,” you teased gently, kissing the top of his head.

he groaned and buried his face in your chest, completely wrecked by the observation.

“don’t tease me,” he whined. “i’m already addicted and i’ve only done it once.”

“oh, you’re definitely addicted.”

“i wanna do it again,” he whispered, sheepish and wrecked. “i wanna be better next time.”

you grinned and ran your fingers through his hair.

“then go to sleep, baby. you’re gonna need the energy.”

he let out a soft, breathy laugh, then tightened his grip on your waist, kissing your skin again like a sleepy little habit.

“i’m not letting go,” he whispered. “ever.”

taglist: @ritsmith @bluesungology @jeonginsleftcheek @babigriin @tirena1 @geni-627 @bbokvhs @wavetohannie @hhwangsmoon @staytinyluva

[diamondzart]

I 3D MODELED KIWI SNIPER YES

That artwork by @redmarqar made me lose my shit and I realized that if I don’t turn him into a low-poly 3D thingy right here and now I’d DIE on spot. So I sat down and made this in one evening!

🎷You spin me right round baby right round~~~

🔧Blender 3.6, Eevee render engine. 422 polygons (802 tris). I'm so proud ahaha

If this gets recognition I may even decide to rig and animate him... So please, if you like it, reblogs appreciated!!!

[camficdiner]

hi queen!! i love your fics so much!! could i pls get 1.1, 2.4, 3.6, 4.3??

Cam’s Fic Diner - order 036

🍒 thank you

To the angel who sent in “fake dating at a wedding” — you had no idea what kind of chaos you were about to unleash. This request started as a fun trope and turned into a full-blown summer saga with soft launches, PR contracts, and a very real Jack Hughes confession under silk sheets 😮‍💨

You lit the match — I just followed the fire.

Thank you for trusting Cam’s Fic Diner with your brilliant prompt. You’re always welcome back for another round 💌

💬 “The Golden Hour Contract”

✨ Description and prompts:

Character: Jack Hughes

Prompt: fake dating for PR, athlete!reader 

Word count: ~2.1k

Type: Mixed smut/fluff 

🛼🍒✨🧁

You were used to headlines. But never the good kind.

Tennis’s “dark darling.” The “racket-throwing riot.” Uncoachable. Cold. Impossible to brand. Your last post-match conference ended with a water bottle launched into a camera lens. Your agent nearly quit. Again.

So when you got the call — We’ve got a meeting in Jersey. Pack for two nights. Big opportunity — you assumed it was a last-ditch sponsorship fix. A new racquet deal. Maybe some lifestyle brand willing to gamble on your bite.

You did not expect to be sitting in a conference room at the Prudential Center, staring across the table at Jack Hughes.

He looked… exactly like he did in the media.

Lean, clean-shaven, collared shirt rolled up at the forearms. One chain. One dimple. Arms crossed, smile faint. Like this wasn’t the weirdest meeting of his life.

Your manager cleared his throat.

“So here’s the pitch.”

You blinked. “Pitch?”

“You and Jack,” he said, gesturing vaguely, “are going to date.”

You turned to Jack. His expression didn’t change.

“For… PR,” your manager added.

A beat of silence.

“Excuse me?” you said.

The Devils’ team rep slid a folder toward you. “Public sentiment’s down across both sides. You’re polarizing. Jack’s too clean. This is mutually beneficial. It’s… strategic.”

Jack’s voice was dry. “We take a few pictures. Couple events. Look cozy. Maybe smile at each other once or twice.”

You glared. “You want this?”

“I want the media to get off my ass about not being interesting,” he said. “And apparently, you’re chaos incarnate.”

You stood up. “Absolutely not.”

But your manager didn’t flinch. “You’ve got three fines and zero endorsements this quarter.”

“And you,” the Devils’ rep added, turning to Jack, “keep getting accused of being too soft. Too vanilla.”

Jack raised a brow. “So now I’m supposed to date a girl who threw a racquet at a ref?”

You snorted. “He deserved it.”

Jack’s lips twitched.

“And,” the rep added with venomous calm, “you’ll both be attending a wedding together next month. In Capri.”

You froze.

Jack blinked. “I’m sorry—what?”

“A destination wedding,” your agent said, chipper now. “Very photogenic. We’ve already RSVPed.”

You sat back down slowly.

Your fingers tapped the table. You looked at Jack.

He met your eyes.

Smug. Calm. Challenging.

“You game, Hughes?” you asked.

His grin spread. “Always.”

—

The press release dropped two weeks later.

BREAKING: Hockey’s Golden Boy Jack Hughes Spotted Courtside With Tennis’s Baddest Bitch

Jack Hughes’ New Flame? Fans Lose It Over PR Power Couple

Your post? A cryptic Instagram story: a pasta dish, expensive sunglasses on the table.

Caption: you wish you were invited to this dinner.

Jack reposted it.

With a heart emoji.

That’s when Quinn called.

“You’re dating her?”

Jack held the phone away from his ear. “Good to hear from you too, Quinn.”

“Jack. Be serious. You’ve seen what they write about her. She threw a racquet at a judge—”

“She’s not that bad.”

“Jack.”

“I’ve met worse.”

“Jack.”

“She makes it interesting, okay?”

A pause. Then: “This is about Lily, isn’t it?”

Jack’s jaw ticked.

“Jesus,” Quinn muttered. “You’re soft-launching a PR girlfriend to recover from a real breakup?”

Jack hung up.

Luke was worse.

He just sent a screenshot of the article with a voice note: bro… bro. Her? Seriously?

Jack deleted it without opening.

Because here’s the thing — he hadn’t been able to shake the way you looked at him that day in the conference room. Like you didn’t care who he was. Like you were two seconds away from biting his head off.

And maybe… maybe that was the whole point.

Because the media had spent months dissecting his last breakup — saying he wasn’t passionate enough, wasn’t bold, wasn’t interesting.

He was tired of being branded the sweet one. The safe one. The boring one.

So he posted the pasta story. Reposted your story. Let the storm roll in.

Let them all talk.

Let them wonder why Jack Hughes, Mr. Perfect, had suddenly gone rogue.

—

The villa was drenched in sunlight.

Capri looked fake — like someone had turned the saturation too high. Every terrace dripped bougainvillea. Every window was open, catching sea breeze and whispering silk curtains.

You stood on the marble balcony in a lemon-colored dress, sipping something bubbly, sunglasses low on your nose. You didn’t turn when Jack stepped beside you.

“You clean up,” he said slowly, “terrifyingly well.”

You let him look.

Low back. Tiny straps. Bronze skin. Tattoos catching golden hour light.

“You look like you should come with a warning,” he muttered.

“I do,” you said, sipping. “Your brothers read it out loud to you.”

Jack laughed under his breath. “They’re not over it, by the way.”

“Shocker.”

He pulled out his phone. “Quinn sent me: ‘please remind your fake girlfriend not to curse out the flower girl.’”

You grinned. “Did you?”

“I told him to worry about his own plus one.”

You turned. “He didn’t bring one.”

He met your eyes. “Exactly.”

Your heart stuttered.

It’s fake, you reminded yourself.

But then he leaned in and fixed your strap, fingers grazing your skin like he meant it — and everything fake felt far too real.

—

You made it exactly nineteen minutes into the rehearsal dinner before Jack’s hand slid to your thigh under the table.

You nearly choked on your wine.

“What are you doing?” you hissed, smile still plastered for the couple across from you.

He murmured, “Just playing the part.”

His fingers stayed there.

Warm. Heavy. Possessive.

You didn’t move.

Not even when his thumb slowly traced a circle.

Later, when you stood for pictures, he rested his chin on your shoulder like it was nothing. Like his breath wasn’t brushing your skin. Like your body hadn’t just betrayed you entirely.

Your smile for the camera was dangerous.

His? Infuriatingly perfect.

—

The suite was stunning.

Which almost made up for the single bed.

Jack raised a brow. “Seriously?”

The host had given you the honeymoon room. As a gesture.

He turned to you. “You want the right or the left side?”

You kicked off your heels. “I want sleep and zero conversation.”

“You got it, princess.”

You brushed your teeth.

He undressed.

And when you emerged from the bathroom, hair damp, skin clean, you found him shirtless, reading a book on the bed like he didn’t just ruin your night with a bare torso and low-slung sweatpants.

He looked up.

And his eyes… didn’t leave your legs.

Or your oversized tee that didn’t quite hide the shape beneath.

“Problem?” you asked.

His jaw twitched.

“Nope.”

He turned off the light.

But the heat between you stayed on full flame.

—

It’s fake, it’s fake, it’s fake.

That’s what you told yourself the next day — while you danced in the sun, smiled in designer heels, and let Jack rest a hand on your back in every photo.

That’s what you reminded yourself when people whispered “they’re kind of perfect together” and your cheeks flushed hot.

And that’s what you screamed inside your head when you saw him talking to the bride’s cousin — some blonde with a backless dress and a fake giggle — and felt your stomach burn.

You didn’t even realize you were staring until Jack looked across the garden, eyes narrowing.

He excused himself from the girl mid-sentence.

Stormed toward you.

Grabbed your hand.

Pulled you around the corner, into a hallway off the terrace, near the powder room.

The music faded.

His back hit the wall.

He pulled you with him.

“Are you jealous?” he asked, voice low.

“No,” you lied, furious.

He grinned.

You grabbed his collar.

His mouth crashed into yours.

It wasn’t slow.

It wasn’t careful.

It was everything the contract said you couldn’t do.

And it was the only real thing you’d felt in weeks.

His hands found your waist. Yours tangled in his curls. He kissed like he wanted it — like he needed it — like he’d been holding it in since New Jersey.

You moaned into his mouth.

He cursed into yours.

When you finally pulled apart, breathless, dizzy, ruined—

He said, “Tell me it’s fake now.”

You didn’t answer.

You couldn’t.

Because your hand was already unbuckling his belt.

And he was already backing you into the guest bathroom.

And the wedding music kept playing, far away — like you weren’t breaking every rule you’d signed.

—

The next morning was quiet.

You ate breakfast on the terrace.

He sat across from you.

Sunglasses. Bed hair. Barefoot.

He didn’t speak until you looked at him.

Then, calmly, softly, he said, “Stay with me. Even after the wedding.”

You blinked.

“I mean it,” he said. “Come with me to Quinn’s birthday party”

Your breath caught.

And maybe for the first time in your life — you didn’t feel like the scandal.

You felt like the story.

You land in Vancouver two days before Quinn’s birthday.

Jack insists on flying you in himself. First class. Quiet flight. Shared headphones. Champagne you barely touch.

You rest your head on his shoulder.

He doesn’t move for the entire six-hour flight.

—

The party is small.

Just family, close friends, a few Devils and Canucks teammates in vacation mode. The restaurant is candlelit, tucked in a private upstairs floor, music soft and jazzed.

You wear silk. Emerald green.

He wears black. No tie. Hair messy like he never even tried.

He can’t stop looking at you.

Everyone else tries not to stare.

Quinn gives a speech. So does Luke.

Someone clinks a glass. The cake comes out.

Jack stands suddenly. “Wait—one second.”

The whole room quiets.

He clears his throat. Nervous.

You blink.

“I just—uh. Wanted to say thanks to Quinn for being the best older brother a guy could ask for. And also—” he turns, finds your hand on the table, links your fingers like it’s instinct “—also for not strangling me when I brought her to the wedding.”

Laughter. Lighthearted groans. Quinn raises his glass with a smirk.

You squeeze Jack’s fingers under the table.

He doesn’t let go.

—

You leave early.

Too many cameras. Too much press.

Jack says he’s tired.

You say nothing.

But when he pushes you into the wall of the hotel suite, mouth already crashing into yours, you understand why he really left.

You taste champagne and heat and everything you’ve been holding in for weeks.

He pulls your dress up, hands rough. “Been thinking about this all night.”

“You mean all month,” you pant.

His laugh is low, wrecked. “Touché.”

You reach for his belt.

He catches your wrist.

“No.”

You look up, startled.

“I want to see you first.”

You blink. “You see me now.”

“No.” His voice softens, deepens. “Not like that. I want the lights on. I want to remember all of it.”

Your heart trips.

He unzips your dress slowly.

Lets it fall.

He peels it off like it’s a promise — not a distraction.

And when you’re left in nothing but your heels and breathless silence, he just stands there, jaw clenched, eyes burning.

“You’re unreal,” he says. “Like… how are you real?”

You laugh. “Jack—”

He cuts you off with a kiss. Long. Deep. Hungry.

When you reach for him again, this time he lets you.

Clothes come off in silence.

Except for the moan he lets out when you drop to your knees and taste him — slow, teasing, cruel.

He doesn’t last long.

You don’t want him to.

He tugs you up, pulls you into his lap on the edge of the bed.

“No games this time,” he whispers. “I want to be inside you. Real. No pretending.”

You nod, lips parted.

He pushes in — slow, inch by inch, until you’re full.

You both breathe hard.

He holds your face.

“This isn’t PR anymore.”

You nod again.

“I don’t want the contract. I want you.”

And then he moves.

Slow at first — maddeningly slow — like he’s memorizing every sound you make, every twitch of your hips.

His mouth finds your neck, your chest, your collarbone.

His fingers dig into your waist.

Your nails scratch his back.

“Tell me it’s real,” he begs.

“It’s real,” you say.

He moves faster.

“Say you’re mine.”

“I’m yours.”

He thrusts harder.

You fall apart in his arms, shaking, breathless, overwhelmed.

He follows seconds later, forehead pressed to yours, hand still tangled in your hair.

After, he wraps you in the sheets, chest to chest, heart to heart.

You lie there, tangled.

Breathing.

You think it’s over.

It’s not.

He leans up on one elbow.

Looks down at you.

And says softly, “Come to New Jersey.”

You blink.

“Stay with me. Let them talk. Let them say whatever. I don’t care if it started fake. I want you. At my games. In my house. In my bed.”

You swallow.

“Make it real,” he whispers. “Let’s do this for real.”

You say nothing.

Just pull him down and kiss him like a yes.

—

[bestanimal]

Round 3 - Mammalia - Primates

(Sources - 1, 2, 3, 4)

Our next and last group of Euarchonta is the order Primates. This diverse order includes the families Cheirogaleidae (“mouse lemurs”), Daubentoniidae (“Aye-aye”), Indriidae (“indriid lemurs”), Lemuridae (“lemurid lemurs”), Lepilemuridae (“sportive lemurs”), Galagidae (“galagos” or “bush babies”), Lorisidae (“lorises”, “pottos”, and “angwantibos”), Cercopithecidae (“old world monkeys”), Hylobatidae (“gibbons”), Hominidae (“great apes”), Callitrichidae (“marmosets” and “tamarins”), Cebidae (“capuchins” and “squirrel monkeys”), Aotidae (“night/owl monkeys”), Pitheciidae (“titis”, “saki monkeys”, and “uakaris”), Atelidae (“spider monkeys”, “howler monkeys”, and “woolly monkeys”) and Tarsiidae (“tarsiers”).

Many primate characteristics represent adaptations to an arboreal environment, including large brain sizes, binocular vision, color vision, vocalizations, shoulder girdles allowing a large degree of movement in the upper limbs, and opposable thumbs (in most but not all) that enable better grasping and dexterity. Their large brains (relative to body size) compared to other mammals, as well as an increased reliance on visual acuity, has been an evolutionary trade-off at the expense of their sense of smell (the dominant sensory system of most mammals). Most primates are arboreal, but some primates, including gorillas, humans, and baboons, are primarily ground-dwelling, though all species retain adaptations for climbing trees. Arboreal locomotion techniques include leaping from tree to tree or swinging between branches of trees (brachiation); terrestrial locomotion techniques include walking on two hindlimbs (bipedalism) or modified walking on four limbs (quadrupedalism) via knuckle-walking. They are the most cognitively advanced animals, capable of using tools. Primates may communicate using facial and hand gestures, smells, and vocalizations, with humans (genus Homo) creating complex languages and sophisticated civilizations.

Primates are among the most social of all animals, forming pairs or family groups, uni-male harems, and multi-male/multi-female groups. Primates have slower rates of development than other similarly sized mammals, reach maturity later, and have longer lifespans. Females give birth to 1-2 young at a time. In some species, male primates take part in raising young, an oddity for mammals.

Primates arose in the Early Paleocene, about 65.9 million years ago. The earliest possible primate/proto-primate may be Purgatorius, which dates back to the Early Paleocene of North America. The oldest known true primates from the fossil record date to the Late Paleocene of Africa, around 57 mya (Altiatlasius) or the Paleocene-Eocene transition in the northern continents, around 55 mya (Cantius, Donrussellia, Altanius, Plesiadapisand, Teilhardina). The suborder Strepsirrhini, which includes the lemurs, lorisids, and galagos, is generally thought to have split off from the primitive primate line about 63 mya, and evolved independently from monkeys.

Propaganda under the cut:

The smallest primate in the world is the critically endangered Madame Berthe's Mouse Lemur (Microcebus berthae), with an average body length of 9.2 cm (3.6 in) and seasonal weight around 30 g (1.1 oz).

One of the largest primates in the world is the critically endangered Eastern Gorilla (Gorilla beringei) (image 4). Males are much larger than females. A full-grown male Eastern Gorilla typically weighs 140–205.5 kg (309–453 lb) and stands 1.7 m (5.6 ft) upright and a female typically weighs 90–100 kg (200–220 lb) and stands 1.5 m (4.9 ft) tall. Some Humans (Homo sapiens) have surpassed this size, but it is not the average for Humans, for which the average adult male stands about 171 cm (5.7 ft) tall and weighs 77 kg (170 lb), while the average height for adult Human females is about 159 cm (5.3 ft) and average weight is 59 kg (130 lb).

All lemurs (superfamily Lemuroidea) are native only to the African island of Madagascar, and evolved independently from other primates on the island. The International Union for Conservation of Nature (IUCN) considers lemurs to be the world's most endangered group of mammals, noting that as of 2013 up to 90% of all lemur species face the threat of extinction in the wild within the next 20 to 25 years.

As many lemurs eat nectar as a part of their diet, and catch pollen in their fur in the process, they are considered to be some of the largest pollinators in the world. The endangered Hairy-eared Dwarf Lemur (Allocebus trichotis) has an extraordinarily long tongue. This is thought to be an adaptation for drinking nectar and tree sap. The vulnerable Red-bellied Lemur (Eulemur rubriventer) has a feathered tongue, also a likely adaptation for feeding on nectar.

The Golden Bamboo Lemur (Hapalemur aureus) eats Giant Bamboo (Cathariostachys madagascariensis), which contains high levels of cyanide. The Golden Bamboo Lemur can consume twelve times the typically lethal dose of cyanide for most mammals on a daily basis. The physiological mechanisms that protect it from cyanide poisoning are unknown.

The Aye-aye (Daubentonia madagascariensis) has evolved some insect and seed-eating traits that are unique among primates, making it stand out among the lemurs. Such traits include continuously growing rodent-like front teeth for gnawing through wood and hard seeds, a highly mobile filiform middle finger for extracting food from tiny holes, large bat-like ears for detecting hollow spaces within trees, and use of self-generated acoustical cues to forage.

Many lemur species, including the Ring-tailed Lemur (Lemur catta), Milne-Edwards' Sifaka (Propithecus edwardsi), and the Verreaux's Sifaka (Propithecus verreauxi), live in groups led by a dominant female. Lemurs are one of the very few mammal groups where females are usually dominant over males.

Some lemurs, such as the Verreaux's Sifaka, live in the spiny forests of Southern Madagascar. Sifakas travel via leaping rapidly from tree trunk to tree trunk, an ability referred to as "ricochetal leaping". It is unknown how the Verreaux's Sifaka manages to do this characteristic leaping without impaling themselves on the long thorns of the spiny forests’ trees.

The extinct Giant Sloth Lemur, Archaeoindris fontoynontii, was comparable to a gorilla in size. It was rare, but still living when humans first arrived on Madagascar. Its large size and terrestrial habits would have made it vulnerable to hunting and habitat loss.

It was previously thought that all lorisids moved slowly, but this is not the case. Lorisids freeze in place as a defense tactic, or move slowly if they see or hear a potential predator. This only works in their leafy environment, and is a form of camouflage. Many lorisids are actually quite agile when not afraid.

Slow Lorises (genus Nycticebus) (image 3) from southeast Asia produce a secretion from their brachial gland, that is licked and mixed with their saliva to form a toxin which can be used for defense. This toxic bite is a rare trait among mammals, and unique among primates. The Slender Lorises (genus Loris) from Sri Lanka and South India also possess these brachial glands, but it is uncertain whether they also synthesize the toxin.

The Gelada (Theropithecus gelada) has a diverse repertoire of vocalizations thought to be almost as complex as that of humans.

The Allen's Swamp Monkey (Allenopithecus nigroviridis) has adaptations for a partially aquatic environment, including slight webbing of its fingers and toes.

The Common Patas Monkey (Erythrocebus patas) is the fastest runner among the primates, reaching speeds of 55 km/h (34 mph). For reference the fastest human, Usain Bolt, reached 37.58 km/h (23.35 mph) during his world record sprint.

The terrestrial guenons (genus Allochrocebus) live in fairly small groups dominated by females, with only a single adult male. The females are usually related, while the male stays only a couple of weeks or at most a couple of years, working as a watchdog and breeder.

Around dawn and dusk, dominant male Campbell's Mona Monkeys (Cercopithecus campbelli) will climb up to a perch and issue a series of booming calls. The sound carries for at least a kilometre, and other males join in. Campbell's Mona Monkeys often associate with monkeys of other species and engage in inter-species territorial calling which obey certain ritual rules. This is one of the more advanced forms of animal communication, with a rudimentary syntax.

Male Crested Mona Monkeys (Cercopithecus pogonias) will sometimes join groups of unrelated monkey, such as the Black Colobus (Colobus satanas). These otherwise solitary males can form strong group bonds with the non conspecific monkeys, possibly resulting in a permanent loss of mating opportunities.

The Northern Plains Gray Langur (Semnopithecus entellus) has a symbiotic relationship with the Chital (Axis axis), and the two species are rarely found apart. Both the langur and the deer know each other’s warning calls, and benefit from both groups watching for predators in the trees and on the ground.

Nearly all (73–100%) captive Rhesus Macaques (Macaca mulatta) are carriers of the herpes B virus. This virus is harmless to macaques, but infections of humans, while rare, are potentially fatal

The endangered Crab-eating Macaque (Macaca fascicularis) is the only old world monkey known to use stone tools in their daily foraging, and they engage in robbing and bartering behavior in some tourist locations.

Dusky Leaf Monkeys (Trachypithecus obscurus), Crab-eating Macaques, and White-thighed Surilis (Presbytis siamensis), form tolerant foraging parties, with juveniles playing together.

The critically endangered Celebes Crested Macaque (Macaca nigra) unknowingly found itself at the center of controversy between 2011 and 2018, when British wildlife photographer David J. Slater set up equipment that would allow the macaques to take “selfies.” People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals (PETA) argued that Slater could not hold a copyright claim over the “monkey selfie” that resulted, as it had been taken by a macaque and not him. This resulted in the United States Copyright Office stating that works created by a non-human, such as a photograph taken by a monkey, are not copyrightable. Slater lost income and took a blow to his reputation as a wildlife photographer as a result of the dispute. In a separate dispute, PETA tried to use the monkey selfies to establish a legal precedent that animals should be declared copyright holders, requesting that the copyright be assigned to the macaque, who they decided was named “Naruto”, and that PETA be appointed to administer proceeds from the photos for the endangered species' benefit. In dismissing PETA's case, a federal district court ruled that a monkey cannot own copyright under US law. PETA appealed. In September 2017, PETA and Slater agreed to a settlement in which Slater would donate a portion of future revenues on the photographs to wildlife organizations, but the court did not accept the settlement. In April 2018, the appeals court ruled against PETA, stating in its judgement that animals cannot legally hold copyrights and expressing concern that PETA's motivations had been to promote their own interests rather than to protect the legal rights of the monkeys. The ordeal left Slater with very little funding, and he lost his motivation and passion for photography. However, he was still glad for the impact the photos had on people, stating "It has taken six years for my original intention to come true which was to highlight the plight of the monkeys and bring it to the world. No one had heard of these monkeys six years ago, they were down to the last thousands. ... The locals used to roast them, but now they love them, they call it the 'selfie monkey'. Tourists are now visiting and people see there is a longer-term benefit to the community than just shooting a monkey."

In Ancient Egyptian mythology, Babi was the deification of the Hamadryas Baboon (Papio hamadryas) and was therefore a sacred animal. They were known as attendants of Thoth, and are thus also called the Sacred Baboon.

Critically endangered Red-shanked Doucs (Pygathrix nemaeus) eat peacefully with each other, and have been known to share their food with others. They may even break pieces of foliage off and hand them to each other, a type of active generosity that is rare among Old World monkeys.

Humans, Baboons, Bonobos (Pan paniscus), and Chimpanzees (Pan troglodytes) are omnivorous hunters, and will set off on hunting parties, sometimes bringing down smaller monkey species.

Both Chimpanzees and Humans are known to wage wars over territories and resources.

Orangutans build nests for both day and night use. Nests may be elaborate and involve a foundation and mattress made by intertwining leaves and branches and adding broken leafy branches. Additional features such as shade, a waterproof roof, "pillow", and "blanket", all of which are made from branches, twigs and leaves, may also be added.

Critically endangered Bornean Orangutans (Pongo pygmaeus) have been observed using tools such as using leaves as toilet paper, a pad of leaves as a plate for holding spiny durian fruit, a leafy branch for a bee swatter, a bunch of leafy branches held together as an "umbrella" while traveling in the rain, a single stick as a backscratcher, a branch or tree trunk as a missile, and have even been sighted using spears to attempt (unsuccessfully) to catch fish.

The critically endangered Sumatran Orangutan (Pongo abelii) has been observed using a different arsenal of tools. One may break off a tree branch that is about a foot long, snap off the twigs and fray one end with its teeth. The orangutan will then use the stick to dig in tree holes for termites. They will also use the stick to poke a bee's nest wall, move it around and catch the honey. In addition, orangutans use tools to eat fruit. When the fruit of the Neesia tree ripens, its hard, ridged husk softens until it falls open. Inside are seeds that the orangutans enjoy eating, but they are surrounded by fiberglass-like hairs that are painful if eaten. A Neesia-eating orangutan will select a five-inch stick, strip off its bark, and then carefully collect the hairs with it. Once the fruit is safe, the ape will eat the seeds using the stick or its fingers. Tools are created differently for different uses. Sticks are often made longer or shorter depending on whether they will be used for insects or fruits. If a particular tool proves useful, the orangutan will often save it. Over time, they can collect entire "toolboxes".

Endangered Bonobos (Pan paniscus) are capable of altruism, compassion, empathy, kindness, patience, and sensitivity. They are known for living in matriarchal societies, having more fluid sexuality, and settling disputes with sex rather than violence.

In a study published in February 2025, scientists determined that Bonobos could tell when a Human didn't know something, and point them in the right direction.

The endangered Siamang (Symphalangus syndactylus) has a large gular sac (throat pouch) that can be inflated to the size of the gibbon’s head, allowing it to make resonating calls. Mated pairs produce loud, well-patterned calling bouts, which are referred to as duetting. These calls advertise the presence and status of a mated pair. Newly formed pairs spend more time singing than an established pair.

The critically endangered Hainan Black-crested Gibbon (Nomascus hainanus) is one of the most endangered animals in the world. The most recent count found 22 Hainan Gibbons split between two families, one family of 11 and one of 7 members, with 4 loners, all residing in Bawangling National Nature Reserve on Hainan Island. Over 25% of the Hainan Gibbon’s habitat has been reduced due to illegal pulp paper plantation growers. As there are no Hainan Gibbons in captivity, the entire population could be one major storm or epidemic away from extinction.

Tarsiers are the only entirely carnivorous living primates.

Philippine Tarsiers (Carlito syrichta) are capable of hearing frequencies as high as 91 kHz. They are also capable of vocalizations with a dominant frequency of 70 kHz.

Unlike other male primates, male Callitrichids generally provide as much parental care as females. Parental duties may include carrying, protecting, feeding, comforting, and even engaging in play behavior with the babies in a group. In some cases, such as in the Cotton-top Tamarin (Saguinus oedipus), males, particularly fathers, even show a greater involvement in caregiving than females.

White-fronted Capuchins (genus Cebus) have been observed using leaves as a cup to drink water.

Female Squirrel Monkeys (genus Saimiri) have pseudo-penises, which they use to display dominance over smaller monkeys.

White-faced Sakis (Pithecia pithecia) often mate for life, and are very devoted to their partners, strengthening their bond by grooming each other.

Atelid monkeys are most famous for their long, extremely prehensile tails. Their tails have sensitive, almost hairless, tactile pads on their undersides, and can function as a “fifth limb” while moving through the trees.

About 60% of primate species are threatened with extinction. Common threats include deforestation, forest fragmentation, monkey drives, and hunting for use in medicines, as pets, and for food. Large-scale tropical forest clearing for agriculture most threatens primates, as well as farming for palm oil.

[icy-book]

So, after making this post about how many fics each of the kiddads ship have, I thought it would be fun to look at some other statistics for them, namely the fics per author and distribution of fic lengths (which was suggested by @rebelfire)

Fics per Author

Methodology

I went to the individual tags of each ship on ao3, sorted by author, and then went through and counted how many fics each author wrote. This was much easier for any ship that wasn't Nark, which ended up having a total of 98 authors (help). Pseuds were included as one author, and anonymous fics were grouped together, since authorship is unable to be determined, same with orphaned fics unless there was a name attached. All results for ratios are rounded to 1 d.p. I used R to help me make histograms of the distribution of how many fics were written by individual authors, but because I'm using a continuous method to represent discrete data, the scales may be a bit off (I also couldn't remember how to change the scales)

Results

Glark had 30 authors, and 45 fics, making it a nice, neat and exact 1:1.5 author:fic ratio. The top three authors were keepquietplease (7 fics), Captain_Dogfish, and trustycustard (4 fics each)

Grannick had 19 authors and 26 fics, bringing it to roughly a 1:1.6 ratio. The author who wrote the most was newstarsong (3 fics), and there was a four-way tie for second place between keepquietplease, lyricsandlaziness, quinny_22, and spaghetticreature, all having written 2 fics

Terrick had 20 authors and 49 fics, which was exactly 1:2.45, but rounds to 1:2.5. The top three authors were Icelet (me!) (19 fics), Caution_Brain_on_hiatus, and JustABlah (4 fics each). Because there was such a big difference between between the most and second most fics written by one author, I also worked out the ratio without my fics, which was 1:1.6 (19 authors and 30 fics)

Guncontrol had the closest to an exact 1:1 ratio, with 8 authors and 9 fics. The ratio actually came out at 1:1.2 (or, 1:1.25 to be hyper specific), and the top author was travvymybeloved, the only one to write 2 fics. (Please ignore the decimals in the graph)

Terrow had 15 authors and 18 fics, also close to 1:1. It was exactly 1:1.2, which made me happy none the less, technically closer to 1:1 than guncontrol due to their smaller sample. The top two authors were stratocaster (3 fics) and trustycustard (2 fics). The graph for this is actually wrong, as I forgot to group an author's pseud with their main, so I will tell you that the distribution was 1 author who'd written 3 fics, 1 who'd written 2, and 13 who'd written 1.

Spant had 14 authors and 33 fics, making it a ratio of 1:2.4. The top three authors are AnOctoberPepper and keepquietplease (6 fics each), and lemonofthevalley (3 fics). A special shout out to the anonymous authors, who wrote 5 fics collectively - well done to this particularly secretive ship

Lovesong had 28 authors and 48 fics, giving us our highest ratio so far of 1:2.7, and the highest ratio of any ship that isn't Nark. The authors with the highest number of fics were kaseyskat, LorienLady, and the anonymous authors again, all with 5 fics

Granterry had 26 authors and 35 fics, giving it a ratio of 1:1.3, one of the lowest surprisingly. The author with the most fics was keepquietplease once again, with 5 fics. Fun fact, I suspect keepquietplease has written for the most kiddads ships, as they appeared in 7 out of 9 of the tags, although I didn't formally inspect this, so an extra shout out to them

And Nark had a whopping 98 authors and 472 fics, giving it the highest ratio of 1:4.8. Going through all of them by hand took me forever, which was not helped (/affectionate) by our top 3 authors, Gia279 (95 fics!!!), Kibbles423 (90 fics), and CalamityUnlocked (20 fics)

Because Gia279 and Kibbles423 wrote so many, I also worked out the ratio without their 185 combined fics, same as I did for terrick. Without the outliers, Nark had 96 authors and 287 fics, which comes out to 1:3.6, still the highest by a long mile. Also, shout out to stratocaster and litamaze for now making it to the top three, each with 17 fics. And this one even gets a new graph

Word Count

Methodology

This one was a lot easier thanks to Ao3's wonderful filtering system. I simply filtered for the categories shown in the table below and looked at how many fics were left for each ship. I did want to make box plots to show the distribution, but I couldn't quiet work out how to put multiple on one axis, so you just get the table

Results

Interesting, the 1 Spant fic that was equal to or under 100 was a podfic, and Terrow and Glark are the only fics to have drabbles or double drabbles other than Nark (drabbles are fics exactly 100 words, double drabbles are exactly 200)

I hope this has been a fun and informative post! The data was gathered from 2 days ago to today, so data should be correct as of posting this, but there may be one or two fics published during that I didn't notice and thus didn't include.

Remember, this post is first and foremost for fun, as well as being a little celebration of these ships and the authors who have put so much effort into writing these fics. It truly is astounding, and I hope this data becomes outdated and inaccurate soon

[bubble-tea-blossom]

The Stranger

Pairing: Joel x f!reader

Wc: 3.6 k,

Warnings: 18+ only, smut (starts in chapter two), minor violence,

Those two idiots are gonna get you killed.

You’ve been thinking that for weeks now, but now might finally be the moment you’re proven right. You knew the transit tunnels were going to have infected. Shortcut your fucking ass, you’d rather face the mushroom heads out in the open.

The thrashing, biting Stalker slammed you to the ground, all your strength spent keeping it from reaching your throat. You can hear others chase your friends down the tunnel. With a guttural scream you kick it off you, where it lands on its back with a thud. You don’t let it breathe for even a second, you dive on top of it, your forearm braced under its jaw to keep its teeth away while you shoot it through the forehead.

Its fungus riddled brains spill out on the cracked concrete, it falls still and you leap away. Checking your arms for bites in the dark, adrenaline shaking your hands. Adrenaline is so incredibly useful it will also masks the pain of a bite, people have gone hours before they’re realized they’re infected when they fever kicks in.

You see nothing. Unfortunately this includes when you check the tunnels for any sign of where your friends went. You backtrack a little, sticking close to the wall. Whisper-shouting their names, “Will? Mark?”

Nothing. Just your scared, small voice bouncing back to you.

They left you.

You aren’t surprised the jackass left you, he hasn’t exactly been subtle with his distaste at everything you do or say. But you’ve known Will since grade school. He’s your last living friend. The last connection to your home. You've risked life and limb to stay by his side, keeping him safe, keeping him alive assuming he'd do the same for you.

And he left you.

You furiously blink back tears, your throat closing up as panic closes in on you.

Then you hear him. It comes from down the tunnel in the other direction. You run towards it like a moth to a light, not registering that its definitely not Will. The voice is too deep as he yells and curses. The deranged calls of infected follow him and your pace quickens.

Luckily when you find the source of the yells, the infected are so intent on chasing the man they pay no mind to you. You kill two of them by grabbing them from behind and shooting them through the temple before others notice your presence. When they do, they turn and bare their teeth before sprinting at you.

At their distraction the man takes a precious moment to fish out more amo for his rifle. You shoot the closest Runner three times in the chest before it goes down. The second runs over the first body, and barely slows down with your round to its shoulder. The next time you pull the trigger it clicks empty. Shit.

With no time to fumble in your pocket for loose amo, you pull out the hammer you've kept on you since the hardware store yesterday. You dodge the the first wild swipe, getting a hit in return. You can hear the riffle firing behind you and the screams of the other infected, while you dance with the runner, exchanging swipe for swipe.

Your next hit glances off the Runner's knee, bringing it halfway to the ground. You pounce, bringing the hammer down and the Runner finally falls. It gurgles on the ground and then the area is finally quiet.

The hard glow of an LED flashlight shines on you, blinding you for a second. You sweep your own light on to the stranger. In echoing silence you regard each other.

He’s big.

He’s definitely not Will.

“Who the hell are you?” The stranger pants through ragged breaths.

“I thought you were my friend.” You admit, your voice shaking from adrenaline. A new kind of fear pricks at your stomach, making it flip when he takes a step closer. You generally go out of your way to avoid lone male travelers on the road.

“Lucky me,” says the man. His voice is deep, sarcasm rumbling in his chest. You watch his scared hands reload the magazine. “Know how to get out of here, friend?” His tone is dry, and his eyes are cold as he scans you up and down.

Temporary alliances are common, ones that last longer than a few moments are rare. You both know you have a better chance getting out of the tunnels together.

After a few moments you nod, “I think so, watch my six, there will be more of them.”

The man steps besides you.

He’s older. There’s grey in his temples and corner of his beard, glinting in the harsh halo of your flashlight. Definitely older than you and your sad little group, but young enough that he wouldn’t have been middle aged yet when the end of the world happened.

When you take lead, he voices no dissent about taking orders from a woman. Fucking finally.

You wind your way down the tracks. The wall of muscle and guns at your back is comforting and not.

The map of the subway station in your shaking hand keeps getting blood splattered on it no matter how many times you wipe it clean on your jeans.The third time you stop to wipe it, the map has a red film over it. You bring it up to your face to try and see better only for a thick drop of blood to splatter the paper.

The stranger’s voice rumbles from behind you, “You’re gonna ruin that.”

You face him, wiping your brow for the hundredth time, that must be where the blood is coming from. He shoulders his gun, raising wide scared hands in a sign of peace. He even ducks his chin slightly, trying to be less of a threat despite his size and being covered in blood.

“Lemme help,” he says, and after a brief pause to think of the consequences, you nod, shaking more blood to the floor so you stop. “Keep watch, I don’t doubt there’s Stalkers in these tunnels.” He tells you.

You do as he says, raising the flashlight over his shoulder to scan the tunnels behind him. Your heart thundering faster and faster as he approaches, afraid its gonna trip.

The stranger rips off a strip from his shirt hem, folding it before pressing it against your left brow. You hiss, surprised at the sudden pain you hadn’t been aware of.

“Hold.” He tells you. You keep the pressure, while he reaches in his backpack.

“It’s not a bite, is it?” You ask.

“You’d be dead if it was.”

You grunt again when he presses the duct tape across your forehead, the rip echoing against the hard concave walls.

When he’s done, the stranger steps back out of your space, giving you a glance over.

He’s gentle.

“Ready?” He asks.

You nod, no blood splatter this time. You take out your map out again, feeling your self focus. With the freedom of having someone by your side you trust to look out for you, you can zero in on where you are and plan where you need to go. You plan your route to where the nearest exit should be. You need daylight, lingering in dark tunnels with infected is a ticking bomb.

Later you’ll think back and wonder if it was foolishness or intuition that had you trusting a stranger with your life.

You set onwards, keeping your footsteps light and quiet. You’re pleased to find that the stranger does the same. You can’t count the amount of arguments you’ve had about being quiet in high risk areas.

As you walk, all you know is the shine of your flashlight ahead on you, and the presence of the stranger behind you. You come to a single tunnel with a train blocking the way through.

“Gonna have to squeeze through,” you look back at the stranger.

He nods, “Be ready, there might be infected on the other side,” his voice is just above a whisper.

You swallow your dry throat, holding your gun at the ready, you start shimmying down the wall of the tunnel. Its slow going with how careful you’re being not to slip and cause a racket.

You’re glad for your caution when you peek your head around the train onto the plateform and sure enough, Clickers.

They’re clustered on the platform. There’s about five total. They’re all standing still, curled in on themselves and twitching occasionally.

You stop, turning your head to mouth to the stranger, ‘Clickers.’ Then you hold your hand for five.

‘Exit. Right there.’ You mouth.

You wait for the stranger to nod. Your heart begins to race again. Its scary enough tiptoeing around Clickers, but doing it with a stranger is riskier still. He could be a complete idiot and get you both killed.

You take one last deep breath, and then you slide out of the protective shield of the train car. Out in the open, the stairs seem so much further away.

You hear the stranger follow you, coming to a stand still by your side.

Now is the time for slow and careful. You’re so close to the exit you could sprint for it, if that wouldn’t set them all on you and almost guarantee getting your throat ripped out. You have two bullets left, not enough, especially with your aim.

You make yourself take one tiny step, your eyes sealed on the nearest Clicker, about fifteen steps away. It garbles and twitches as soon as you move, making your heart drop, and for a moment you think you blew it, instantly.

But it just settles again, snoring? Do they snore?

Fuck you can’t do this. You watched Jeanine get ripped apart by Clickers a week ago, her screams are bouncing around your skull, paralyzing you. Your muscles have frozen and you’re not sure when you’ll be able to move again.

The stranger slowly steps into your light, eclipsing your view of the monsters. Your small panicked breaths look ridiculous compared to the deep even rise of his. His face is calm, disgruntled, like he ran into a coworker he’d rather avoid.

He very slowly touches your forearm. His knuckles are purple, his fingers thick, littered with cuts, new and old. You look back up at his face and he meets you eye to eye.

He breathes one slow, quiet breath and you find yourself following suit. Then he does a little nod, his brows furrowed. A look of ‘let’s get this done.’

You nod back.

He turns around, now in the lead, giving a last gentle tug on your arm. ‘Follow me.’ Before his hand drops away.

Then there’s more distance between you two than was two seconds before. You’ve been left behind already today. An ancient desperation to not be left behind kicks in and you’re finally moving again.

You do your best to step where he steps. Keeping pace while keeping silent. One pebble kicked could be the end.

Time seems to stretch in this awful cold tunnel. Every minute feels like one second and every second feels like a year. But you’re only a few feet away from the stairs when the stranger stops. And doesn’t keep moving.

You come to his side and he shines his flashlight higher on the stairs.

There’s another Clicker, halfway up the stairs, standing too close to the middle that sneaking by is going to be almost impossible.

Shit. Shit. Shit. You look around the dark for a solution, staying here is not an option.

Your sights land on the Clicker huddled in the shadows to the left of the stairs. If you could kill that one in stealth, then from that little pocket, you could throw a distraction down the tunnel, sending the others away from you momentarily. It might give you enough time to escape.

You touch the stranger gently to get his attention, then gesture to the Clicker you’re looking at then draw a finger across your throat. To emphasize stealth, you put a finger to your lips.

The stranger looks around, taking in your plan. He nods, pulling out a shiv made of garden shears and duct tape. When he starts to move, he gestures for you to wait.

You’re forced to watch, completely out of control while the stranger sneaks up on the Clicker. You start thinking things through in case he fucks it up. There won’t be much to do other then run like hell.

The stranger tackles the Clicker like a polar bear emerging from the water and grabbing a writhing seal. He shoves the shiv deep into its overgrown jugular, slowly letting it down to the ground. It worked.

You join him, in the corner, stepping over the overgrown body. He shelters you behind him, taking an empty bottle from his pack. You’re sandwiched between him and the wall as he throws it at the opposite train tracks. When the glass shatters and echoing shrike of alert from every Clicker echoes around the train station.

The Clicker on the stairs starts making its wobbly way down the, joining the others as they start their horrible echolocation.

You don’t need to be told to move. If one of them turns in your direction while they’re screeching they’ll all be on you. You follow the stranger up the stairs until the sun kisses your face again.

You both trot a good distance away from the subway entrance, but once you’re far enough away from danger, the other part of your brain comes back online.

You stop, and the stranger stops in turn, remaining silent as he looks you up and down in the daylight. You do the same to him.

He’s handsome. A long face with doleful green eyes that soften the scars and hard lines of his face.

That doesn’t change that he’s a strange man, and you’re completely alone.

He takes one step closer and that’s all that it takes for you to turn tail and run. You don’t know what you’ll do if he runs after you, you’ve never killed a regular person before. And that’s a generous assumption.

You don’t hear footsteps chasing after you, only a dark chuckle.

“Thanks for the help, sweetheart.” He calls to you.

You don’t look back.

—- Night has fallen, and the shadows bathe your hiding spot in completely darkness. Your small flashlight is the only thing that banishes the darkness. From your huddled spin out, you spot in the darkness down on the street below, a small glow of a fire about a mile from you. The better part of an hour is spent debating. You know the safest thing is to stay right where you are, under the safety of being unknown.

Maybe because its the first night you’ve spent outside a QZ alone. You can’t sleep. You can barely breathe. You jump at every sound, at every gust of wind. Despite the statistical danger, you feel pulled to him. You reach your limit.

You uncurl and rise, keeping silent as you make your to the street, ever so slowly towards the glow, moving mostly by feel, keeping your flashlight sheathed. You’re just going to see who it is, maybe its your friends.

Friends. Right.

And if its not, then you can just sneak away, unnoticed.

You get within a few dozen feet, and see one lone figure hunched by the tiny fire. The orange glow lights his face when he leans over the fire. Its the man from before. The smell of something roasting makes you drool.

Its definitely not your friends. Now its time to sneak away, go back to safety.

You sit down, safely in the cover of darkness, but the little fire nearby brings comfort. And strangely enough so does the presence of the stranger. He helped you fight infected, he might do it again if they strike in the night. The knot tied around your stomach loosens a bit and you breathe a bit fuller. You settle down, listening to the stranger eat whatever he’s been cooking.

You flinch when he stands and faces you directly, panicking for a moment that he saw you somehow. But instead he kicks out the fire and darkness overwhelms you again. You hear him shuffle around then let out an exaggerated groan before falling silent.

You wait with a thumping heart for a long time. The city is so quiet you can sometimes hear the man’s breaths, eventually they come deep and even. It sounds like he’s a sleep. The hunger pains feel like a spoon carving out your insides.

Don’t do it. Don’t do it. Its not worth it.

The lingering smell of fresh cooked food is too powerful. You’ve been living off rationed beans and oats for the last three weeks.

You wait another hour, just to be sure. Then you rise. Achingly slow. Your eyes have adjusted to the dark, and the half moon overhead gives just enough light to move carefully. A full moon’s light might even be too much, revealing your silhouette.

You move at a glacial pace, a little prideful at how absolutely silent you are, a skill you honed sneaking out of home as a teenager before the world went to shit.

You’re within a few feet of the man, only his dark shape telling you where not to step. The click of a button and the light blinding you happens at the same time.

Oh shit.

“Sit down.” He orders before you can react.

You obey for some reason, heart thundering like a panicked horse. He gives you a curious glance over, obviously debating what to do in this situation.

“What’s your name?”

You muster the courage to tell him, wondering if you mumbled too soft and he’ll demand you repeat yourself louder like a teacher.

He does not.

“Well,” he repeats your name back looking you up and down analytically, “you’re lucky I knew you were gonna try that or else I’d shot you.”

You look up sharply, making eye contact for the first time in surprise, “You knew?”

“Oh yeah, I’m guessing this,” he reaches for his pack and throws you a bundle wrapped in thin cloth, “is what drew you.”

You peel back the folded layers and see cooked meat. Your stomach wails and begs. The stranger smirks at the sound, nodding at you, “Go ahead. My thanks for saving me back there.”

One very small part of you hesitates at eating anything a stranger gives you, which is quickly overpowered by the starving part of you. The meat is red and stringy. You don’t ask what it is because you don’t really want to know. And all too quickly it’s gone.

“Thank you, sir,” you say because your parents taught you manners. The stranger’s cheek twitches at the name.

“What’s your name?” You ask.

“Joel,” he answers, “what are you doing out here by yourself?”

“I’m traveling with my friends, we came from the Cincinnati QZ. It’s gone.”

Joel nods, stretching out on his bedroll, “They dead?”

The bluntness takes you aback for a second, “Uh, I don’t know. We got separated in the tunnels.” You laugh bitterly, “actually they kinda left me behind.”

Joel hums, looking at you. The silence that hangs feels heavy, pointed. You swallow your dry throat.

“What are you doing out here, alone?” You ask, trying to change the charge hanging in the air.

Joel frowns, thinking of an answer, “Running errands.”

You nod. That’s kinda what you thought. His size, heavy with muscle that needs more food than most QZ civilians have access to, but he’s definitely not FEDRA. The capable way he carries himself, the relaxed look being in the outskirts.

“You going to Boston?” You ask, that being the closest QZ still operating.

Joel nods.

Your heart skips a beat. You might have just fallen head first into your ticket to the QZ. Almost none are accepting new people, already overrun. Your plan was finding a way to sneak in once you arrived. Now you’re sharing camp with someone who does that as a profession.

“Look kid, you can sleep here tonight, I’ll take the first watch.”

Again a part of you hesitates, but the part that’s desperate to not be alone wins maybe a little too quickly. You nod, a quiet ‘thank you’ whispered as you unpack your own bedroll. It takes a good while for your muscles to unclench enough that you can start to drift.

Under the first superficial layers of sleep, the man stands up. His movement jerks you awake. You lie there frozen, counting the seconds until it will be obvious he’s not going to do anything. You get to three before he interrupts you.

“Easy, kid. I’m not gonna touch you.”

You wince at him throwing the subtext right into the open. You turn your head to glance at him from the ground, “That obvious huh?”

He shrugs, “I don’t blame you, being a young lady, and I’m a strange man. I’d think you kinda stupid if you weren’t.”

His bluntness again has your brow lifting, “Well I’m glad you don’t think I’m stupid.”

A ghost of a smile haunts his lips. He nods at you, “Get some sleep, you’ll need it. I’ll wake you later.”

You settle down, feeling some, but not all, the anxiety soaked from your muscles.

Halfway through the night he wakes you, not even having to lay a hand on you, you snap your eyes open at just his voice. You trade positions, sitting up and rubbing your eyes while he settles to sleep.

He mumbles in his sleep, words you can’t make out.

While on watch you turn over how you’re going to convince him to bring you to Boston. What you could pay him, or trade? There has to be something. You know smugglers don’t do anything out of the goodness of their hearts, but he has to have a price he couldn’t refuse.

You just need to think of it.

[hbowartournament]

rarepair tournament round 4 results

that's a wrap on round 4 of the rarepair tournament! thank you to everyone who voted and created fanworks—we had a total of 394.9% in steals (that's 35.9% per ship, counting only the ships that got steals)!

i will be posting a masterpost of all the steal fanworks shortly, but here is a summary of all the round 4 results and stats:

(statistics compiled by @kbsd; you can find her spreadsheet with raw steal data, every steal fanwork sorted by matchup and medium, as well as steal totals by ship, medium, and show here)

some fun facts about this round:

neither ship saved in the wildcard made it through round 4: John/Manny just barely got beaten by Malarkey/More, and Leckie/Sledge lost to Sid/Sledge

there were only two matchups this round with no steals: Babe/Roe/Spina vs. DeMarco/Macon and Burgie/Sledge/Snafu vs. Malarkey/Skip/Penkala

Malarkey/Skip/Penkala is the only ship to make it to the quarterfinal without a single steal fanwork so far

this round beat the single-round steal record (not counting the wildcard free-for-all), as well as the single-matchup steal record!

these are the ships that had the most steals:

Robert Leckie/Sid Phillips: +98.1%

Babe Heffron/Eugene Roe/Renée Lemaire: +76.3%

Bill Leyden/Snafu Shelton: +65.7%

Don Malarkey/Alton More: +43.9%

John Basilone/Manny Rodriguez: +43.8%

Bill Leyden/Jay De L'Eau: +19.4%

Chuckler Juergens/Robert Leckie: +18.5%

Curt Biddick/Buck Cleven/Bucky Egan: +10.0%

John Basilone/Lene Basilone: 8.1%

Robert Leckie/Runner Conley: +7.5%

the most competitive matchups were:

Babe/Roe/Renée vs. Leckie/Sid: 174.4% combined steals

John/Manny vs. Malarkey/More: 87.7% combined steals

Bill/Snafu vs. Leckie/Runner: 73.2%

the narrowest margin of victory was 1.3%: Malarkey/More over John/Manny. the widest margin of victory was 51.8%: Sid/Sledge over Leckie/Sledge.

steal statistics by show:

Band of Brothers

4 ships (25.0% of the round)

120.2% worth of steals (30.5% of the round)

2 ships received steals (50.0% of eligible BOB ships)

average steal per ship was 30.1% for all ships, or 60.1% among ships that got steals

Masters of the Air

2 ships (12.5% of the round)

10.0% worth of steals (2.5% of the round)

1 ship received steals (50.0% of eligible MOTA ships)

average steal per ship was 5.0% for all ships, or 10.0% among ships that got steals

The Pacific

10 ships (62.5% of the round)

264.7% worth of steals (67.0% of the round)

8 ships received steals (80.0% of eligible TP ships)

average steal per ship was 26.5% for all ships, or 33.1% among ships that got steals

here are the full matchup results:

Bill Leyden/Snafu Shelton vs. ROBERT LECKIE/RUNNER CONLEY (x) Bill/Snafu: 24.6% (+65.7%) = 90.3% SUCCESSFUL STEAL! Leckie/Runner: 75.4% (+7.5%) = 82.9%

BABE HEFFRON/EUGENE ROE/RENEE LEMAIRE vs. Robert Leckie/Sid Phillips (x) Babe/Roe/Renee: 62.0% (+76.3%) = 138.3% Leckie/Sid: 38.0% (+98.1%) = 136.1%

BILL LEYDEN/JAY DE L'EAU vs. Chuckler Juergens/Robert Leckie (x) Bill/Jay: 67.9% (+19.4%) = 87.3% Chuckler/Leckie: 32.1% (+18.5%) = 50.6%

BUCK CLEVEN/BUCKY EGAN/CURT BIDDICK vs. John Basilone/Lena Basilone (x) Buck/Bucky/Curt: 57.6% (+10.0%) = 67.6% John/Lena: 42.4% (+8.1%) = 50.5%

Babe Heffron/Eugene Roe/Ralph Spina vs. BENNY DEMARCO/RICHARD MACON (x) Babe/Roe/Spina: 37.5% DeMarco/Macon: 62.5%

John Basilone/Manny Rodriguez vs. DON MALARKEY/ALTON MORE (x) John/Manny: 49.4% (+43.8%) = 93.2% Malarkey/More: 50.6% (+43.9%) = 94.5%

Romus Burgin/Eugene Sledge/Snafu Shelton vs. DON MALARKEY/SKIP MUCK/ALEX PENKALA (x) Burgie/Sledge/Snafu: 40.8% Malarkey/Skip/Penkala: 59.2%

Robert Leckie/Eugene Sledge vs. SID PHILLIPS/EUGENE SLEDGE (x) Leckie/Sledge: 22.3% (+3.6%) = 25.9% Sid/Sledge: 77.7%

[polish-art-tournament]

round 3.6 poll 1

tap to view full images

Boży rok (The Lord's year) series, c.1907 (?):

propaganda: it's a beautiful cycle of paintings with saints for each month, and they are kinda like the personifications of the months. and the last four have the best vibes ever imo

Schronienie przed burzą (Refuge before a storm) by Paweł Merwart, 1880:

propaganda: it's cute :')

about the artist: yoo this guy apparently was sent to investigate a volcano and died bc it erupted on him. *insert "mission status: sick" meme here*

[lmchaptertitlebracket]

Round 1, Matchup 147: III.vi vs V.vi.9

[stereotypicalbarbie]

Radiation in Soldier Boy....How Long Until You'd Get Sick?

First off, I want to apologize to my friend Kar, who is a literal doctor. I spent the past two hours going over the math with him. Second, I am aware that this is a superhero series and some creative liberties must be taken. Obviously according to this logic Soldier Boy would not be alive either. I just have a weird obsession with knowing how radiation works.

Third, I am not involved in radioactivity. I am not a healthcare professional, I am not a scientist. I am not a mathematician. Please correct me if the work my friend and I did is incorrect. I used an online calculator for the math.

Fourth: This does not account for his PTSD attacks causing him to shoot pure rays out of his chest. This is under the presumption that Soldier Boy can remain calm for the entire time.

Five: This is a lighthearted post but I do want you all to know that radiation is dangerous. Additionally, this is a heavy topic, and mentions death, radiation side effects, and links to studies. MDNI. No photos of actual radiation burns will be seen in this post. Please do not come into contact with radioactive material. The post might be lighthearted but the health risks are not. Stay safe, stay sane.

Let's begin.

Part 1: Understanding the Units of Measure + Basic Radiation

I'm going to be using a couple ways to measure radiation. Microsieverts (µSv), roentgens (R), grays (Gy), and millisieverts (mSv).

Sieverts of all kinds measure the dosage of radiation absorbed and exactly what kind of radiation it is--essentially the equivalent dose. Grays specifically just measure the dosage in any material that absorbed the aforementioned radiation--especially Acute Radiation Disease. Roentgens measure the radiation in the air specifically--and was used to calculate the radiation in Chernobyl's exclusion zone.

Geiger Counters measure the radiation in a location. They often make a crackling noise. I do not know the exact mechanisms for how this works, but they are the basis of my analysis.

1 Chest X-ray is equal to about .1 mSV or 100 µSV

1 R is equal to about 8,770 µSV

1 R is equal to about 0.0877 Gy

The Math in part 3 is done by basic multiplication and division

Part 2: The Math

We are going to be basing this off of a number that is canonically in season 3, episode 6: "Herogasm". The timestamp for this is 17:07. The unit of measure is quite blurry in the show's geiger counter (clearly intended to just show the number and not have people like me waste my time). There are two main options for us to use here due to the length of the text: Microsieverts (µSv), and millisieverts (mSv). For this analysis, we are going to use microsieverts (µSv), for one reason: the math for the millisieverts would simply insta-kill you. And that's no fun for me. We're rounding down to 100 µSV for simplicity's sake. With the aforementioned equivalency in part one, we can see that Soldier Boy's radioactivity is equal to 1 Chest X-Ray per second. There are 60 seconds in a minute, and 60 minutes in an hour. So, that means, in one hour, 3600 Chest X-rays.

To get the number of roentgen, you divide this number by 100--making the value equal to 3.6 R. This is a moderate dosage to receive in one day, and is more than most people should get. When considering that this is going to be absorbed into a human body, we must convert this number into Grays.

When converted to Grays, 3.6 R turns into 0.036 Gy per hour. To get an accurate representation, we must multiply this by 24 (based on the hours in a day. After multiplication, the amount of radiation you will earn by being around Soldier Boy after a full day is 0.864 Gy per day!

Part 3: How Long?

But wait, is that number good or bad for you?

It depends. Are you only spending that one day with him? According to this study by the U.S. Department of Medical Services, you will experience the following symptoms: Nausea, Vomiting, and refusal to eat.

But how long can you spend before you die? There's no way 24 hours is enough for you to hang out with the iconic sex symbol SOLDIER BOY !

The same study reports that 50-90% of people die when they absorb around 5.3 Gy. That averages around 6 days. By this point, you'll have all of the previous symptoms, in addition to moderate to severe fatigue, weakness, fever, and infection.

Officially, 8 Gy is considered a lethal dose. You'd reach this point by 9 days and 6 hours, give or take. Obviously, this is a fictional universe, so none of this could ever really happen, so my calculation holds ZERO value in anything beyond silly.

But that's just a theory. Not a game theory, but something.

further notes: This was a complete waste of time but I had fun doing it. If you guys want more of my analyses, let me know! I do better with less science based analysis, so this was a real challenge. I also do not like Soldier Boy's personality and personal beliefs, he is a legitimately terrible person and I will not act like he is. His character arc is intriguing (he's also gorgeous). Also, let me know if you want to be added or removed from this taglist! k bye !

tag list because we're oomfies: @zandoog, @notrattus @deansbeer, @daylighted, @languidangel, @kod23pm, @unfortunate-brat, @phantomfeline97, @d-s-i, @soldiersgirl

[plethoraworldatlas]

Critter Halloween Poll stats

@novalizinpeace ran some polls on their other account @smilingcritterarg to decide what costumes to do for their upcoming smiling critters Halloween YCH. Having nothing else to do (does in fact have things to do but is procrastinating) I decided to break down some of the data and results. Here are some completely unnecessary charts I made!

Charts are read as: Character name (total number of votes in their poll), The four poll options, the percentage of the vote they got, and what that number roughly is in terms of votes they received. I very roughly rounded a lot of numbers but it all basically works out.

Hilariously, Bubba took the longest because double checking his math somehow broke every calculator I used and gave him more total votes than he actually received. Still have no idea what went wrong there.

Here is a chart tracking the differences between first place and second place (how close the poll was) and first and last place:

Some fun facts from all this data:

The most voted in poll was Picky's with 311, and the least voted in poll was Kickin's with 204

Biggest winner percent wise is Rockstar Kickin, getting 50.5% of votes in their poll

Biggest winner in total number of votes is Picky with her head on a Plate with 138 votes

Biggest loss was Skeleton Hoppy in both % of the poll and individual votes at only 8.5% and about 19 votes. No shame because it was in a packed race with some very strong competition

Speaking of Hoppy and her poll, hers was the closest race by far, with the winner decided by just 8 votes (3.6%)!

The most conclusive victory was Rockstar Kickin, 28.9% and 59 votes ahead second place Slasher

The girls polls were more popular, averaging 250.5 votes to the boys average of 217.5

The girls polls were also closer and more contentious, first place being decided on average by just 9.15% compared to the boys average of ~14.5%

1,872 Votes were cast in these polls, averaging 234 a poll!

My personal votes won 6 times out of 8, or 75% of the time.

The two polls my voted option lost were Picky's, where my choice came in second (RIP Picky the Barbarian, you went out in a fight); and Bobby's, where my choice tied for last (Figured Cupid would win, but I voted for the novelty of Detective Bobby)

There isn't really a point to all this, I just wanted to look at the numbers. Excited for the Halloween YCHs! Check out @novalizinpeace for amazing Smiling Critters art and more!

[camelspit]

Umber by @thefoxysnake

Councillor Zarina by @crescentpaws

Definition of a sexywoman: An often pathetic and/or evil woman who is sexy (but perhaps not in the conventional sense)

Propaganda:

Umber:

"her bf joined the neverseen for her. sexy. she exploded children’s bones. evil. she got crushed by a door and then her team ditched her. pathetic. VOTE FOR UMBER!!!!!!!" anonymous

"dkhgfjku. EVIL. also coerced trix into joining neverseen. girlboss. icon. dangerous *hermes voice*." anonymous

"shes evil. shes creepy. she breaks people’s bones for fun. she has a loser boyfriend. she dies badly. what more can i say" anonymous

"OH SHES SO FINE EVIL SHADOW LADY CAN DO THINGS TO ME I WONT SAY 🛐🛐🛐🙏🙏🙏" anonymous

"HOOOOOWEEEEEEE HOT SHADOW LADY OH BOYYYYYY HOOOOO MAMA ZOOWEEEEEEE OH LORDYYYYYYYYY" anonymous

"she died like i would die on this hill bc she could be the one or ur new adddictiojn its all in her head but she wants nonfiction and then i forgot the rest of the lyrics so just imagine it. no but seriously imagine it" anonymous

"CHECKS ALL THE BOXES. Evil, pathetic, anddd sexy." anonymous

Councillor Zarina:

"okay but like. she’s a councillor. you can’t get more morally dubious than that!!!!! also she considered resigning as soon as she got elected!!!!! nobody knows why except for the other councillors!!!!! how suspicious!!!!!" @bookwormgirl123

"she zapped dex’s gadget in neverseen which led to fitz getting impaled by a bug. we would not have that iconic moment without her !!" @crescentpaws

[thedarkesthistories]

THE PITT. Analysis of the first seasons characters GPAs during Medical School.

Whilst many many many medical schools now grade classes as Pass/Fail only, I’ve used the four point system to guide this character analysis. I included some of the major characters from the first (and not for long but so far the only) season, part II may or may not follow.

Dr. Michael Robinavich - 3.8 Naturally talented and motivated. His professors saw something in him and their encouragement made him a better doctor. He was extremely responsible and instead of dwelling, he would always get up and learn from his mistakes.

Dr. Jack Abbott - 4.0 I still think he went to a school like Michigan on an army scholarship after already having served for a number of years, which had both taught him extreme discipline and also truly confirmed just how much of a relentless drive he had to work hard - not to just be a competent physician and get the grades, but to become the person who can save those he previously couldn't.

Dr. Heather Collins - 3.9 Book smart, great bedside manner, curiosity to learn. Dr. Collins focused all her efforts on doing well medical school but still enjoyed it and knew when to slow down to take a breather.

Dr. Frank Langdon - 3.4 Go to med school, pass med school, get a job. That was Langdon's motto. He likely fell in love with EM and critical care and honoured those rotations but said "C's get degrees" during shelf exams.

Dr. Samira Mohan - 3.83 Just a drop higher than her mentors, Mohan rocked her pre-clinical exams and OSCEs but was always "just" out of reach for the perfect grade in the early years. She made it up when clinical years started to roll up and impressed her teachers with her "special sauce" of quick thinking backed by research papers.

Dr. Cassie McKay - 3.6 Bro had a LOT going on during college and medical school.

Dr. Melissa "Mel" King - 4.0 Mel gave medical school her all - she was interested, keen, motivated. She loved the science and learning about different medications, conditions, procedures... She had been used to working hard and balancing her personal life with studies but it all came together for her when she finally had the opportunity to dive into her interests.

Dr. Trinity Santos - 3.2 She has proven again and again that she wants surgery, and is chasing a glowing LOR for such residency which makes me think she did not do so well in medical school and missed out on a spot the first round, landing herself in EM. She probably struggled with everyone around her suddenly being on their A+ game and while she excelled in the topics that interested her, she lacked in those that didn't.