#I was literally mid fic

[ashley-is-tired-af]

[discount-elysium]

So I know that for us players Harry's inventory functionally operates out of hammer space, in that he can at will whip out a full wardrobe, a boombox, boltcutters, etc., without visibly having anywhere to store them, but here's an important question:

[absoloutenonsense]

Coming October 31st…

When the Trouble Comes by nonsensedarling

Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson | 80k | Explicit

Official fic post is HERE.

The Queens Trafficking case is the biggest one of Louis’ FBI career so far; eleven reported missing girls all disappeared under a similar set of circumstances. Louis has done everything he can to try and solve this case over the last nine months... while also absolutely ruining his marriage. Harry has been co-host of Banter at Breakfast for five years now and finally has the opportunity to create his own radio show with the network. Unfortunately, it comes at a time where Harry's thoughts are consumed with his impending divorce from his (caring, loving, infuriatingly thoughtful) husband of eight years. Harry and Louis have both been willing to lose themselves in their work… but are they willing to lose each other?

Or a story of (almost) exes-to-lovers.

Chapters will post on Tuesdays of each week, starting on October 31st (20 chapters in total).

(If you would like to be notified by email when it starts posting, you can subscribe here.)

Snippet under the cut:

💼🍷

With a copy of the case file in his backpack, Louis sticks his key in the door, unlocks it, and steps inside, trying to be as quiet as he can because he knows at this time of night, Harry will definitely be asleep.

Except when he shuts the door, he sees the living room light bleeding out into the hallway, a shadow moving back and forth. There’s the sound of footsteps – lots of them, very quickly. Louis stares at the light and for a brief moment panics that he’s walked into their apartment to find Harry with someone else.

He hears light murmurs. Louis leans forward, feet frozen but his ears straining, until he recognizes the murmurs as Harry singing. Louis sighs in relief. Harry isn’t with someone else. He’s singing and probably dancing in the living room, maybe with his headphones in, which is why he hasn’t stopped or popped his head out between the doorframe when Louis opened the door.

Louis isn’t going to look in. He’s going to walk right past the doorway and head straight to the guest bedroom and review the file again, and then go to sleep so he can meet Perrie early in the morning.

He isn’t going to look in.

He really doesn’t mean to look in. A motion pulls his attention in his peripheral vision and his head turns without him realizing it, then his whole body stops moving.

Harry is dancing, wireless earbuds in and a glass of deep red wine in his right hand. There’s a pink tint to his cheeks, which tells Louis that the one in his hand is at least his third. He’s wearing just his boxer briefs and one of Louis’ hoodies.

Well, it was technically Harry’s hoodie originally. It’s heather grey, worn in to just the perfect amount of softness with a faded Greenbay Packers logo on the front. The first time Louis stayed over at Harry’s, he got cold just before they were going to bed. Harry took the sweatshirt from where it was draped over the top of the closet door and passed it to him.

When Louis pulled it on… he can’t really explain it, but there, in Harry’s dreadfully small room in his four-roommate apartment, wearing a hoodie that smelled exactly like him (like he’d been wearing it all day, soaked in the scent of his shampoo and body lotion and fabric softener)... Louis had the same feeling he got when he first visited New York when he was a kid. Like he was home. Harry had agreed. “Looks better on you then it ever has on me,” he’d said with a smirk. And from then on, it was Louis’ hoodie. Harry never tried to take it back.

So the fact that his husband is wearing it now makes Louis feel all sorts of things. Before he has even a second to figure out what any one of them is, Harry opens his eyes.

“Shit fucking Christ,” he exclaims, opening his hand automatically. It’s like Louis watches in slow motion as the glass falls and breaks, shattering in so many different directions. He pulls his earbuds out quickly. “Hell, Louis, you scared the shit out of me!” he scolds.

Harry rises up onto his tiptoes, and Louis’ hand immediately goes out in front of him in a stop gesture.

“Don’t, don’t move,” Louis says. “Stay there.”

He turns quickly towards the kitchen, throwing his backpack somewhere off to the side as he rushes to grab the dustpan and broom, as well as the roll of paper towels.

“I’m coming, stay still,” Louis shouts as he starts jogging back.

He keeps his eyes on the ground as he puts one paper towel down to soak up the wine there, then balls it up so he can sweep away the shards. He does the same as he works his way towards Harry’s feet.

There’s red wine all over his toes, that’s got to be uncomfortable. Louis grabs one of the paper towels and goes to dab his feet to wipe it off.

“Stop,” Harry says. He sounds angry.

Louis glances up and sees that he looks angry. He holds his hands up in a surrendering motion, not wanting to upset him anymore.

“I just want to make sure you’re okay.”

“Well don’t,” Harry spits out.

He stands up slowly. Louis doesn’t know if he’s ever seen Harry this angry with him. Even the time Louis accidentally threw out his favorite pair of boots it wasn’t like this. Louis isn’t prepared for this bitterness coming from his husband, and he didn’t think divorce brought on something like that when it wasn’t there before, at least not before they’d even filed the paperwork.

[sykeskassie]

Lack of Control

“Sweetheart, what’s wrong?” Chan grabbed your arms, trying to get you to stop shaking. Tears were rushing down your face, and you were on the verge of hyperventilating. You were standing in the center of your kitchen, your new roommates just having left for the store. 

“They just kept putting things in the wrong spots! They don’t go there at all!” you tried so hard to keep the panic out of your voice, failing spectacularly. Taking a shuddering breath, you rushed to say, “It’s not fair of me to get upset because they didn’t put shower supplies of all things in the ‘right’ spot! It’s not fair of me to be upset that they’re putting things in all the ‘wrong’ spots in the fridge. They live here too now, and this space belongs to them as much as it does me.”

“Baby, do you remember what your therapist told you?” Chan asked gently, tucking your hair behind your ears to keep it from falling into your face. You shook your head no, your eyes darting everywhere until Chan grabbed your chin to get you to look at him. “Sometimes you need to let yourself feel without trying to logic yourself out of what you’re feeling. It doesn’t matter if it feels irrational to want them to adhere to your status quo that you’ve been operating under. It’s upsetting you, and you are allowed to be upset.”

“But it’s micromanaging. I’m being controlling.”

“Did you tell them that they couldn’t put their things where they did?”

“Well…no…but I went behind them and moved things around in the fridge. And I told them that they could put their things in the shelves in the shower.” You began to pick at the skin around your thumbnail, feeling more and more out of control of the situation. 

“But you didn’t say ‘Hey! You’re not allowed to do it this way’, did you?” You shook your head again, as much as you could within Chan’s grasp. Moving to cup your face instead, he leaned down and gave your forehead a kiss. “You’re in a new situation while being in a familiar place. Your brain likes things a certain way, and you’re having to adapt to a million things changing all at once. I don’t think you’re being controlling, I think you’re trying your best, and I’m so proud of you, love.” 

Fresh tears ran down your face again, and you moved to shove your face into Chan’s chest. What he was saying made sense, but it didn’t make you feel any better inside. Things were still different, and you still wished that it didn’t effect you to this point, if at all. 

With one hand, Chan laced his fingers with yours that had been picking at your skin, and pet your hair with the other. “Why don’t you come stay with me at my place tonight, hmm? That way you’re surrounded by something familiar, and then you can come back to things refreshed tomorrow.” 

“I think that would be a good idea…I’m sorry you have to deal with this, Channie,” you murmured the last part, feeling so embarrassed that he was seeing your breakdown.

“None of that now. I love you, and that means I love you through the full range of emotions.” He led you to your room, trying to block the things that had changed the most with his body, and you couldn’t have loved him more for it. You packed your overnight bag, already feeling lighter being in your room that had remained unchanged. You knew that things wouldn’t be fixed when you returned, but you knew that you’d at least have a clearer head to deal with it and your Channie by your side. 

[laundrybiscuits]

“Eddie,” Robin says, eyes wide in a way that means trouble. “Edward Munson, I sincerely hope your last will and testament is in order, because you are going to completely and totally die when I tell you who just got hired at Scoops Ahoy.”

Eddie groans. “Don’t tell me Tammy Thompson is giving up on her Nashville dreams.”

“No, I hate you, shut up forever, you’ll never guess.” Robin pauses, then in a dramatic whisper she’s definitely picked up from Eddie himself, says: “Steve Harrington.”

“Jesus. No shit?”

“Yeah, I have to train him. Oh my god it’s the worst. He’s so bad at, like, everything.”

She shoves at his shoulder until he moves out of the doorway of the trailer, and flings herself backwards onto his couch. “Like! Okay! I showed up to my shift thinking it would be a completely normal day in which I would be bored out of my skull distributing frozen dairy products to the flotsam and jetsam of Hawkins, and Ned’s like, hey Robin, you’re showing the new guy the ropes today. And then that freaking jackass has the freaking nerve to say—” Her voice drops a full register. “Uhh, nice to meet you, I’m Steve. Nice to meet you! God!”

Eddie cringes sympathetically, sucking air between his teeth. There’s a special kind of indignity to being so completely and utterly below the radar of Hawkins High royalty, even former bearers of the crown. It’s not as if Hawkins is a big town; Eddie’s pretty sure he could pick every single person in the graduating classes of ‘84 and ‘85 out of a crowd. He’ll probably be able to do it for ‘86 too, though he’s trying not to think about it too hard. So he’ll be a senior again (again) this fall, whatever. It’s fine. It’s whatever.

Once in a while, he wastes some time really, really wishing he’d gotten to know Robin earlier in the year. Maybe even last year. For undying friendship reasons, yeah, but also because with her in his corner, he might’ve actually passed enough of his classes to fucking graduate on his second fucking try.

But he’d only actually met her, like actually met her for real instead of passing her in the hall sometimes, when he’d let himself get suckered into rejoining band. It wasn’t like he could’ve brought his guitar in, but he let it slip to Miss Genovese that he could read music and keep time, and they needed someone to wallop the bass drum, and he figured a little experience fucking around with percussion might be the one thing he could salvage from the year. He’d just…been so goddamn tired of feeling stuck, spinning his wheels. Music was something he could actually handle; something he could actually get better at. Something he could master. He's man enough to admit he needed a win.

The actual songs were all stuffy Holst and Sousa numbers, but they’d had some fun technical bits he spent his evenings hammering out for a couple weeks. And then right around the point when he’d gotten good enough to get bored and think about quitting like last time, it had somehow wound up that shooting the shit with the gangly weirdo in the trumpet section was one of the best parts of his day. Unfortunately, by the time they’d gotten close enough for her to start bullying him about homework and shit, it had been way too late to save his chance at walking that ‘85 stage with assholes like Steve fucking Harrington.

Not that Harrington would’ve even noticed, apparently.

“Anyway, the one singular saving grace about the entire situation is that he looks even dumber in the sailor costume than I do, so at least that will make me feel better about my life until he gets fired for burning down the ice cream freezer or something like that. Eddie, I cannot stress this enough: he is so bad at this job.”

Eddie very tactfully does not bring up the litany of screw-ups that Robin’s admitted to over the last couple weeks since she started at Scoops; he just says, “Buckley, it sounds to me like you might be in need of some quality relaxation time this fine evening. I can offer you a nice cold beer, some herbal refreshment…or a fiendishly weird new song to learn with an intro riff that'll make you cry.”

Robin, inveterate nerd of his heart, sits up immediately and chirps, “New song, please!” just like he knew she would. She’s going to run off and elope with his acoustic one of these days, and he’s not even mad about it.

“Coming right up, m’lady,” says Eddie. “I promise this entire Harrington situation will be over before you know it, and neither of us will ever have to think about him again.”

(ETA: First chapter of this fic has been edited/expanded and posted on AO3)

[covenofthearticulate]

can you BELIEVE i've been in this fandom for 14 years and i'm only just now getting around to writing abt louis getting railed lmao

[borealopelta]

haaaaate being a timeline enthusiast in a fandom like gravity falls because figuring out the grunkles' ages is literally impossible on purpose. they're [redacted] years old in 196[redacted] (nineteen sixty-something in tale of two stans, the date is smudged in ford's file in tbob) so that's no help, stan once says he's pushing 70 and then gets called 70-something at some point. the only thing we know for sure is that ford wasn't 92 years old when he first summoned bill, which. duh. and they're not 92 yet because ford is still alive (again, duh). IF we go with ford disappearing in '82 and him and stan not seeing each other for exactly ten years before that (although stan says "you haven't seen your brother in over ten years" so it COULD be more), and we assume ford graduated at 18, then they were probably born in '54 which makes them 58 in 2012. but this is STILL built on too many assumptions for my liking.

[omegadazai]

I like how L is basically admitting to watching porn before here, but I had completely overlooked/forgotten about it

[hidey-writes]

Day After Day | 日复一日

25k | T | Weilan | Case Fic, Undercover Married, Grief

Shen Wei swallows. “And this is why you asked me to—” he makes a vague gesture that means go undercover as your husband “—pretend with you.” Zhao Yunlan comes to a stop, eyes on Shen Wei. “That’s why the cover is a married couple. The reason I’m asking you is because there are no other options for people to go undercover with.” Shen Wei scoffs to give himself an excuse to look away. “You certainly know how to flatter someone, Zhao Yunlan.” Or: Four Haixingren disappear for two months after a stay at a romantic mountain retreat. Shen Wei and Zhao Yunlan book a weekend there to find out what happened.

it's finally here!!! my beloved fic for the 520 day guardian reverse exchange! this was written for trobadora, who gave me the most delicious set of ideas to fit into a story. it was so fun.

i have no idea how to describe this fic, frankly - this is, hands down, the most complex and most heartwrenching and most incredible thing i've ever written in my entire life.

here is a list of some things in it: a kiss, a mystery, a change of heart. old chinese people, dark energy world-building, lesbians, big-time character parallels, forgery of documents, rainstorms, rowboats, lollipop symbolism, [redacted], bedsharing, grading, the stupidest undercover name ever. zhao yunlan described with so many light metaphors. shen wei being the most shen wei i could make him.

read Day After Day | 日复一日 on ao3 here!

[freak-accident419]

realizing ive never written a mike schmidt smut before

(but i will for @xcherryerim <3 )

[comfortlesshurt]

OKAY, IT'S FINALLY HITTING

(will you guys hate me if I post this longfic a month later than planned?)

[zukkaoru]

the disparity in kudos between a skk fic and a fic for literally any other bsd characters/ship :/

[campbyler]

finals week is NOT FOR THE WEAK, take as long as u need ❤️ we’ll all be supportive and getting burnt out with finals alongside you :p <3

it is NOT!!!!! ginormous quarter system L for me personallyyyy bc tell me why i have to experience finals hell THREE TIMES A YEAR ??? literally every month has either been Midterms or Finals for me since i started undergrad soooo 🤝🤝🤝 you guys get it

[mydreamscape-library]

ok chubby/plus size/fat babies, REALISTICALLY who in anime got us?! besides bokuto and yuji, who really got us🧐?!

[random-bean-allie]

what exactly compels people to insult fics in PUBLIC bookmarks??

like sir, the writer is a random person who's writing for fun and has decided to share their creation with us so that hopefully some of us can have a few minutes of joy in our day!! that's amazing!

if you don't like it - just click out. it's not like they tricked you into giving them your firstborn, chill out and be respectful.

[aprillikesthings]

Writing my 1960's au sometimes feels like I'm pouring fuck-tons of information (and music) into my brain, adding a couple of cartoon lesbians, hitting "puree," and pouring the results into gdocs and ao3.

The irony is that I cannot imagine anyone who lived through that era and place reading the thing so it doesn't matter that much how accurate it is??? Like are there boomers out there reading wacky catradora au's on ao3????? I'm barely Gen X (born in 1979) and I know I'm on the older side in this fandom, okay

But man, knowing All The Things just makes the whole thing easier to "see" play out in my head