Man I wish all my unfinished wips were finished. If only there was a solution to that problem. Oh well!
cherry valley forever
todays bird
let's talk about Bridgerton tea, my ask is open
Alisa U Zemlji Chuda
RMH
DEAR READER
Peter Solarz
Lint Roller? I Barely Know Her


Andulka
Claire Keane

★
Not today Justin
d e v o n

JVL
Today's Document
tumblr dot com

he wasn't even looking at me and he found me
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@iaminarage
Man I wish all my unfinished wips were finished. If only there was a solution to that problem. Oh well!

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Au where the ottawa team’s plane does crash and it turns into lord of the flies but by lord of the flies I mean they’ve all just gotten really into like, basket weaving lobster traps and playing catch. nooo Hollanderrrrr do not make me get rid of my basket. Is souvenir
Their captain sat alone by the fire in front of his shelter. He stared into it sightlessly and passed his phone, now just a useless brick, from hand to hand.
"He seems..." Bood began.
"Off?" said Barrett. He looked around grandly at the sand, and the stars, and the massive fucking scar in the forest that their plane had left when it plummeted from the sky. "I wonder why."
The adrenaline from the crash had -- almost -- worn off. So had some of the fear: three days in and they had reliably clean water, manifestly non-poisonous fruit, no rain so far, and plenty of lobster to catch. That was especially easy, because Bood knew how to make basket traps; he'd learned it from a Bear Grylls book.
"Wow," Rozanov had said, while Bood walked the team through it. "Didn't know you can read. Is crazy."
Come to think of it, weaving his basket had been the last time Roz had looked like he wasn't considering offering himself up as a sacrifice if they had to start cannibalizing each other. He'd even used an extra reed to tie a bow on the top of it. That joie de vivre was good and gone now.
Barrett scrubbed a hand over his face.
"Fuck off," Bood said, without much heat behind it.
"I think he just feels like he has to watch out for all of us," Barrett said. "Like he's in charge here the way he's in charge on the ice. But all of us are alive; we all survived. They'll come find us sooner rather than later."
"Why are you so chill? Did you eat those mushrooms Haas found?"
A nibble of the mushroom in question on day one had left Haas tripping for twenty-four straight hours. Barrett was convinced the kid was lapsing into permanent psychedelic psychosis when suddenly he woke up from a dead sleep, energetic and thirsty as fuck. The pilot, who it turned out was named Bill, gave him some electrolyte packets from the First Aid kit. Rozanov had looked like he wanted to punch a tree until there were only splinters left. Fungi had been banned since.
Barrett shrugged. "We're famous as fuck. We're gonna be fine, they're gonna find us."
"We're not famous. Roz is famous."
"Whatever."
Bood poked at their fire with a stick, frowning. Barrett knew that all the guys had stayed up more than once staring at the roofs of their shelters thinking about the possibility of never being found, but they all also knew that they were probably just somewhere in the Florida Keys; they could even see another island on the horizon that was just far enough to be too dangerous to try to kayak to. Not that a single one of them knew how to build a kayak. The point was, it was literally going to be fine. Seriously. For real.
"I don't know," Bood finally said. "Like, obviously, I'm worried sick about Cassie and the kids. I know Dykstra is worried about Caitlin and his kids." He turned fully to Barrett. "Okay, I'm about to say something fucked up."
Barrett was instantly intrigued. "Nice. Hit me."
"Don't say nice," Bood said.
"Come on, nothing fun is happening. We need to get a little bit Lord of the Flies about it."
"Lord of the what?"
So much for the 'Bood can read' allegations. "Can you just tell me?"
Bood leaned closer, lowering his voice. "He has like, no family, you know? Like, I think everyone in his family is dead, or he doesn't talk to them. He never goes back to Moscow. So I'm just like..."
Barrett sat back on their log, surprised. "Damn. That's cold."
"I don't mean it in a bad way!" Bood said. "Just, you know. We're all here and we're all fine, like you said, so he shouldn't have anything else to worry about, right?"
Barrett pondered that. It was true that Roz was crashing out at the level that Bood and Dykstra were, whereas Haas and Barrett and Harris had spent the whole evening kicking around a hacky sack made from Haas' last raggedy boxers and a handful of pebbles. Barrett had fumbled it twice passing to Harris because he was looking at his taut calves. Way too fit for a social media director.
"Are you saying this because you're too chickenshit to go ask him what's up yourself?" Barrett asked.
"No," Bood lied.
Barrett patted him on the shoulder, stood, and started off toward Rozanov.
"Your funeral," Bood said after him, but he sounded relieved.
Roz didn't even look up as Barrett approached. "Hey," Barrett said, and Rozanov jumped a little, startled. "Sorry. Can I sit?"
Wordless, Rozanov jerked his head at the space next to him on his log. "What do you need?" he said.
His voice was deep, rasping. Great stubble, too. Barrett was briefly struck by the porn version of this plane crash -- hockey team on a deserted island, come on -- but bravely moved on. "Bood's worried."
"It is because of Bood that we have food, shelter," Rozanov said. "He is doing a good job. No reason to be worried."
"Yeah," Barrett said. Maybe Roz was feeling inadequate because he hadn't known how to make baskets? "So are you."
Rozanov looked at him.
"Doing," Barrett said, voice faltering, "A good...job."
"I know I am doing a good job," Rozanov said. "Are you dead? No? So I am doing a good job."
Christ. "Bood just thinks -- I mean, and me too -- that you seem, like -- you know, down."
"Troy," Roz said, "We are on deserted island."
"We're probably just in the Keys."
"In the Keys on deserted island, yes! Fuck!" Rozanov said. Barrett was startled by the outburst; Rozanov's shoulders dropped. He was still flipping his phone around in his hands. "Sorry. Fuck."
"Wow. Did you just apologize for something?"
Rozanov kicked a rock.
"It could be a lot worse," Barrett said. "I mean, imagine if you'd been stuck out here with Boston, you guys would've already killed each other. Lord of the Flies style." "What is this, Lord of the Flies?"
"The book where --" Why had nobody else read Lord of the Flies? It was the most obvious joke to make, and somehow he was the only one making it. Did they, like, not have Lord of the Flies in the 2000s in Russia? Maybe it wasn't allowed? Shit. Maybe it wasn't allowed. Was he being culturally insensitive?
"Oh, right," Roz said, saving him. "I remember. I would be Jack. Very good hunter. But you," he said, and made a face that said, well, what can you do. "Eh. You would be the boy who dies in the second chapter. Too slow to outrun the fire."
"Hey!"
Rozanov finally cracked a smile, but it fell off his face again.
To break the silence, Barrett nodded to Roz's phone. "Sorry I don't have a charger." It was a bad joke, but Rozanov huffed a laugh. Maybe it was an in. "You waiting for a call?"
Rozanov looked into the fire, his sharp brow furrowed, his eyes very sad. He turned the phone over again in his hands. "Yes. I am."
Barrett's gaze snapped over to Bood, who was oblivious to this progress. Are you fucking seeing this? he wanted to ask.
"Wanna, y'know," Barrett began. He clenched his fist for courage. "Talk...about it?"
Roz sighed heavily. He looked down at his hands, at the phone, which the firelight glinted off of. "There's someone I love very much," he said slowly, as though carefully picking his words, "who is going to be very worried."
"Oh," Barrett said.
"And I worry about him because of it. He was hurt once, and I --" Roz turned his head sharply away. His voice had caught. "I was very worried, too."
Oh shit for real. Barrett's gaze darted to Bood again. Now he was mindlessly gnawing on a lobster claw. God damn it. Barrett had never heard Rozanov sound like this in his life, and he was totally alone with him while it happened. Why couldn't Rozanov just punch a tree like it seemed he was going to the other day? That would be so much easier to deal with. Fuck.
"Your brother?" he tried. "Back in Russia?" Roz had a brother, right?
Rozanov made a dry sound like a laugh. "No. No, not my brother."
What the fuck? Fuck! Was Barrett just supposed to keep playing 20 Questions with the quickly dwindling list of people Rozanov might care about until he hit gold?
"I'm sorry, man," he settled on.
Rozanov shrugged. "At least we are alive. If we weren't, I think he would still find a way to kill me." Now one hand was at the gold Orthodox cross around his neck. "He might kill me when we are back anyway. Smother me, I think. With pillow."
A realization was coming to Barrett as though from a great distance, not unlike the rescue boat that hadn't yet arrived. Did Roz have a boyfriend? He knew Roz was bi, but since when did he have a boyfriend?
But now that Roz had started talking, he wasn't stopping. "You know, I have always thought it would be nice to go to a place like this. He likes the forest, the lake, and of course I like the forest and the lake, but what about this, you know? Fucking sun and sand and palm trees. And coconuts. But now if I try to make him come to an island he will become very sad and say, Ilya, you almost died on an island; Ilya, do not get on another plane ever again; Ilya, you must retire; Ilya, I told you not to buy a motorcycle but you do not ever listen to me." Barrett blinked. What? "And I will say this was not buying a motorcycle, I had nothing to do with a plane falling out of the fucking sky!" He seemed really incensed. "And we are never getting a dog after this, he will be too scared that I will die and leave him as a widow with a dog. I must kiss the idea of a dog goodbye. Mwah." He mimed a kiss bitterly. "And who knows now if he will want to have that talk. He will probably be too guilty, and then we will never talk about it at all."
Barrett waited a full five seconds before deciding to poke at it. "Talk?"
Rozanov waved his hand. "We had a fight. It means nothing now. But we were supposed to talk when I landed. I had a plan. Dinner, yes?" His voice wavered. "As it went down," he said, apparently speaking of the plane, "I texted him. I know he has been reading those messages again and again. I wish he knew that the fight meant nothing, and that I was going to make him a big dinner."
Was Rozanov...? Holy shit. Rozanov was fucking crying. Barrett reached out a hand to pat his shoulder, thought better of it, dropped his hand, raised it again -- thought better of it, again -- and then patted the space on the log between them lamely.
"I would retire if he asked," Roz said thickly, nodding his head. He looked down at his phone as though in prayer. "I would."
Barrett didn't just glance at Bood this time, but rather cast around their entire little camp helplessly, begging anyone to hear this. Literally nobody was paying attention. Fear lanced through him.
"I know we're a shit team, but damn," Barrett said uneasily.
Rozanov sniffed wetly and looked at him. "We are not such a shit team," Roz said. "For example, if this was his team, they would have eaten each other already. Like Boston."
Then Rozanov blanched. Barrett opened his mouth and snapped it shut again.
"Well," Barrett said, in the interest of saying something.
"I --"
"Nope. Yep." Now Barrett was just saying syllables. "Okay."
A silence fell. Roz's eyes darted between Barrett's, looking sharply for any sign of what he could only assume was weakness. A moment before he had been tragically beautiful, and now he was just straight up terrifying. "You will say nothing," he said, but it didn't come out threatening; it came out warily, like a question.
"Of course not. Fuck."
During the long silence that followed, Barrett ran through every guy in the league he could think of. Not a lot were coming up. Hollander in Montreal was gay, but it obviously wasn't him.
Unable to help himself, he ventured, "Is it -- is it Scott Hunter?"
"Scott Hunter?" Roz was loud enough that Bood finally looked over. Lot of good that was going to do Barrett now.
"Sorry, sorry," Barrett said. "Sorry. Duh. Of course not. He's like, married."
"I do not give a fuck if Scott Hunter is married, I would not fuck Scott Hunter if I came home and he was plugged and waiting on my couch!"
Barrett made a sound like a bark and slapped his hand over his mouth until he could control it.
"Hunter," Rozanov muttered.
Silence fell. A moment passed.
At full volume again, Rozanov said, "Hunter?"
"I'm sorry!"
"Do you know why I haven't come out yet?" Rozanov asked.
"Because everyone's really homophobic?" Barrett tried.
"Because Scott Hunter came out and now it will look like I want to be Scott Hunter!"
"Yep. Yep. Got it."
There was silence again, but now something was twisting inside Barrett. A need to make sure Rozanov knew that he was, like, a good person or whatever. And that his boyfriend probably knew that the fight didn't mean anything anymore, too. Like, there was no way that you were in love with someone and then they almost died and then you didn't want to have a big conversation with him where you said I love you a bunch of times.
He decided to give it a go.
"I'm sure he knows that you..." Barrett gestured. "Love him. You know? I'm sure he knows that it's fine between you two. And I bet he'll still want to talk."
"You do not even know who he is." Roz's voice was faraway again, despondent.
"Sure," Barrett agreed. "But after all of this, that fight probably feels pretty meaningless to him now, too."
All of this. Yeah. It really was crazy that they almost died. Barrett was doing his best to keep it off his mind, and he was doing a pretty good job of it, too -- putting up a carefree front with Bood helped. Fake it til you make it.
But still. If he let himself think about it for too long, he started to shiver.
Somehow, Rozanov picked up on it. "Hey. We are okay, you know?" he said. He took Barrett's shoulder and gave him a little shake. "I would not let you actually die in a fire like that kid in Lord of the Flies."
"I thought I was the one making you feel better."
"You were the one coming to my fire and bothering me," Roz said. "And asking if I am fucking Scott Hunter."
Time to see himself out. He nodded and stood up. "Gotcha. I'll just --"
"Troy," Rozanov said. Barrett paused, looking down at him. He was no longer passing his phone from one hand to the next so compulsively, but rather holding it. "The rescue will be here tomorrow or the day after. I am fucking famous and they will not let me die either. Would be very bad press."
Barrett said, "Okay."
"Also I am really excellent at catching lobster," Rozanov added. "Did you eat dinner?"
"Yeah."
"Good. Now go stare more at Harris' legs and leave me alone." Before Barrett could sputter out something about that, Roz said, "What is the game called? Hackensack?"
"That's a town in New Jersey. It's hacky sack."
"Whatever. I don't care. Go do that. And --" Rozanov's face twisted a bit. He said, as though it was difficult to get out, "Thank you. For checking. He is always telling me, Ilya, you must be nicer, say thank you. So thank you."
Barrett tried to check his smile, and probably failed. "No big."
But who the actual fuck was it, if not Scott Hunter? Barrett thought about that as he picked his way back over to Bood. Untrue though it was, there came the image of Rozanov fucking Scott Hunter regardless. Topping him, apparently. Barrett's mind looped back to the deserted island hockey team porno before he could help himself.
Actually, maybe better if he never found out.
I am here to honor the demands of the people (put it on ao3)
With October and all its fanfic prompt lists just around the corner, I, as a fan of oneshots, want to beg anyone posting to AO3 to please post your works individually and not cram the whole month into one big multichapter work.
Anthologies of short fics on AO3 cause huge obnoxious hurdles for anyone wanting to find or avoid works like yours, and also muck up the numbers for anyone doing a stats dive.
Anything real that someone might try to accomplish with an anthology can be better accomplished with a series or with tags.
Teal deer: I want to read your promptober fics. Post them as fics and not as fake chapters so I can find them and read them.
--
Here's the nitty gritty.
Anthologized works cannot be filtered for word or chapter counts:
I like to read fic under 5k, so I do this:
Someone else likes longfic, so they do this:
Only people who do NOT want to see oneshots will see your oneshots.
--
All tags on anthologies cannot be trusted and must be assumed to be inaccurate:
This is true of literally every tag on an anthology, including fandoms, ships, categories (m/m, f/f, etc.), and archive warnings. I want to read Cleric Beast/Hunter vivisection fic. Someone else wants to read Cleric Beast/Hunter fic and is squicked out by vivisection. Your anthology features a Cleric Beast/Hunter coffee shop date fic and a Sam/Dean vivisection fic, and therefore carries both tags. I find a coffee shop fic I don't care to read, and the other person never finds the Cleric Beast/Hunter coffee shop date fic of their dreams because they're filtering out vivisection. Mad lib that example with literally any combination of tags and it's the same. Only people who do not want to read the anthologized fics will find them. (PS the tag for Cleric Beast/Hunter doesn't exist, I should get on that)
--
Anthologies throw false positives for crossovers:
According to AO3's search filter, a crossover is any work which carries tags for more than one distinct fandom. In our example above, Bloodborne and SPN fics were anthologized together. Neither fic is a crossover, but the anthology will be removed from searches that exclude crossovers, and will spam the search results of anyone looking specifically for Bloodborne or SPN crossovers.
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The ratings on anthologies cannot be trusted:
An anthology must be labeled for the highest rated fic it contains. If you anthologize porn without plot or ultra graphic vivisection in the same work as as tooth rotting fluff, the whole thing will have to be labelled as explicit (or unrated). People looking for explicit work will find the the G rated fluff, people looking for G rated fluff will filter it out because it's erroneously labeled as explicit. Only the people who do not want to read the work will find it. Are we noticing the pattern here?
--
To break the pattern a bit:
Individually posted short works belong on the archive.
Archive of Our Own is aptly named, it's an archive. It is designed to house fanworks, all fanworks, no matter how small, and the search function is designed to make those fanworks easy to find and sort. You are not "spamming" by archiving any quantity of correctly labeled archive materials. If someone clicks on a tag and sees a front page full of your works and decides they hate you, they can just filter out your username or change the sort criteria. But chances are they'll go "sweet, twenty new works for the thing I searched for!"
--
Anthologies muck up the statistics.
I do a fair bit of searching AO3 to grab numbers rather than to find fics to read. For these numbers to have any meaning, we have to assume that the fics that show up in the searches are correctly labeled.
If I run two searches like this, I can say that these characters have about the same amount of fic. But anecdotally, Elden Ring oneshots are anthologized more often than Silmarillion oneshots. Perhaps there are actually more Ranni fics on AO3 than Turin fics, and they're lumped together and hidden from the site stats while more of the Turin fics are being counted individually.
If I wanted to dig deeper and crunch some numbers, the problem would intensify. What if I wanted to scrape all the metadata and say there were so many millions of words of Ranni fic? If I wanted that to be accurate, I'd have to manually go through nearly one thousand works to exclude the "chapters" (that is, entire fics) that aren't fics with Ranni in them and have been falsely included in the Ranni tag.
And all this assumes that an anthology tagged "Ranni the Witch (Elden Ring)" even has Ranni in it at all. Overtagging is always an issue, but anthologies are often tagged for future fics the author intends to write and include later; not even trace-of-nuts tagging, but literally tagging a fic that does not exist. (I see this with highly specific kink tags on kinktober fill anthologies often enough that it's a personal pet peeve in addition to a data accuracy pet peeve).
From another angle, is the sidebar for the Elden Ring tag that reports 2200 slash fics to 760 femslash fics accurate? Is it safe to assume that slash is anthologized at the same rate as femslash in the Elden Ring fandom? I've seen anthologies with "chapter" counts in the hundreds, how different would the sidebar look if all those fics were accurately labeled?
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But Osterby, what if someone wants to subscribe to my kinktober fills but not my other work?
Put it in a series.
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What if someone doesn't want to see my coffee shop AU fic while scrolling through my profile which is primarily vivisection kink fic?
Thanks for thinking of me! I'll filter out the coffee shop AU tag, or I'll scroll through your vivisection kink series.
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How will people know what order to read my loosely connected oneshots in?
That's what a series is for.
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How will someone find all my works with the same OC/setting/kink/trope/fandom?
Series. Or tags. You can give your own OCs and AU settings their own custom tags.
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How will someone subscribe to my kinktober fills if they're not all in the same work?
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What if someone doesn't want to filter and still hates my works?
Skill issue. On their part. Don't prioritize haters over both your intended audience and over people who want to filter out 99% of your work and still want to read that one Cleric Beast/Hunter coffee shop fic. And also you should block haters, not try grovel to them.
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What if I want to bury a fic between other stuff and make it harder to find?
Try minimal tagging, nonspecific tags, empty or uninformative summary, and archive locking.
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If you've stuck with me this long, I've probably convinced you to at least look into the series function.
To create a new series, just make up the name for it while posting (or editing) a fic. It's a ticky box under "associations", right above the "this work has multiple chapters" ticky.
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And if you need more convincing, a series will allow your readers to leave kudos on each of your fics. Wouldn't it be nice to get 31 kudos from me instead of just one? Pretty please let me kudos each of your shorts as I read through your entire bibliography in one go.
If you can’t think of anything to say about a fic, writers also like to know:
- what time it is
- how long you’ve been reading
- how many chapters you’ve covered in the last 24 hours
- what you were late for because you were reading
- the woeful few hours you have left to sleep
- the emotional outbreaks you’re experiencing
- the inappropriate place you’re having said outbreak
- the general public’s reaction to your outbreak
- how much phone battery you have left

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“oh no we need to practice for our fake dating” is the funniest trope to me cause like. there are so many people who force themselves into a shitty relationship they hate just because of amatonormatiivity that it’s an ingrained part of popular culture to joke about hating your partner.
which is to say, oh my god you dont need to hold hands and go on fake dates, you don’t even need to agree on a single detail of your cover story beforehand. you can literally stand 6 feet apart at all times and look profoundly uncomfortable and all anyone will think is “yikes™. not my problem”
actually people should address this in fanfic more because “i know we could half-ass it, but i would never fake mistreat my fake husband, how dare you” is absolutely delightful
New trope: fake dating for spite.
“Look, my only goal here is for our pretend relationship to be demonstrably healthier than Aunt Rita and Uncle Carl’s fifteen year, three child marriage - which means the bar is so low we probably can’t fuck this up”
preserving @river-gale’s tags for posterity because yes. yes. this is it. you get it.
when you write “he nodded” for the 27th time in one chapter, and now you’re questioning if humans even nod that much or if your characters are just emotionally repressed bobbleheads.
not to be "comment on fanfic even if they are oooold"
But I just read a pretty good fic published in 2014-2015 (you know, roughly TEN YEARS AGO) and I was like, damn this is so cool, I have to leave a comment, even if you know, they probably wont see it...
The author replied less than an hour later.
“swallow”
i’ve been meaning to draw more witcher ever since i watched season 2, so forgive me my lateness 😪
this was the best kiss in the entire show, u cannot convince me otherwise.

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Coming up with a super fun, kind of complicated fic idea:
Realizing you have to write the lore and build the world yourself:
I feel this in my soul
Truly the all time funniest writer thing is when you're doing edits and you think to yourself "omg I've got the PERFeCT sentence to add right here!" and then you stick it in all excited, only to find that literally three lines down you have virtually that exact same sentence in the draft already.
No no no you don't understand. I don't want to write a fic. I want to have written a fic. These things are not the same.
No, I don't want to edit the thing either. But I cannot simply post it after I've written it. These things are the reason I don't post anything.
glee textposts part 5

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for @incorrectstevebucky <3
based on this
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