#welcome to Glasgow

[celticculture]

📷 myinstascotland

[kindahoping4forever]

The 5SOS Show Tour Glasgow

📸: Liz Hemmings

[firedragon1321]

FUCK NO!

[grn-fog]

Hanging outside acme comic con rn if anyone wants to come say hi

[writerman]

Coheed + Thrice- Glasgow 2022

Claudio and his double neck Gibson 😍

[militaryintelligencerecords]

Time travel - Criminals and their associates who have a problem with Bradley Carl Geiger's communications should reprogram the devices they are recorded and reproduced on before considering bothering him - just a free tip 🪣

[theragingmoon]

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[fuckyeahgoodomens]

Good Omens graphic novel update: June 2024

Welcome to the June update. A lot of behind the scenes work at the moment but we're grabbing the travel sweets, popping in the Bentley and hitting the road. More on that below.

Admin

Ongoing reminder that the project FAQ can be found here. 

I pledged using my Apple ID, or no longer use the address my pledge is attached to, or I cannot work out what email address my pledge is connected to. What should I do? Please contact us via your Kickstarter account where the pledge is connected; we will be able to see on our system which address it is. If it's one you have access to, great! The FAQ has information on how to resend your invite link to access the PledgeManager. If it's one you are not able to access, then you can let us know which email is preferred and we can update this on the system, which will automatically send a new invite.

Events

We've had a lot of queries about when the Good Omens team will be attending events more formally, after some Aziraphale and Crowley spotting at conventions we'd been to previously. Well, we're excited to confirm the first: Good Omens HQ will be at ACME Comic Con in Glasgow, Scotland this September.

We'll be bringing the actual-real-life-home-to-Crowley-and-his-plants Bentley from Season 2 of Good Omens, the first time the car has been made available publicly for fans to come see and get photos with, ahead of its journey back to the set and the start of Season 3 filming.

We also see Quelin Sepulveda, aka Muriel, has been announced for the event for some additional ineffable joy.

You can get your tickets for ACME Comic Con here. We hope to see some of you there.

While we won't be rocking up with the Bentley to this next one, we want to let you know about Ineffable Con which, though sold out in person, is also taking place virtually in July. The fan-run event hosts great panels, auctions and more, with money raised going to Alzheimer’s Research UK, in memory of Sir Terry Pratchett.

Where next? We have - not an exaggeration - a list of about 200 events somewhere from when we asked fans this on Instagram and while we can't promise quite that amount of convention attendance, we're certainly looking to do some more things in future with Good Omens at large. Watch this space.  

Good Omens items...

This month has largely seen prototypes and samples for the wider Good Omens merch store arriving, and while we can't share those yet, we are certainly excited to see more fan product suggestions coming to life. That does, however, leave our public item updates a little slim on the ground.

To make up for that, here's some new panels from Colleen:

Also known as, "What could possibly go wrong?" And:

Also known as, "Well why don't you ▇▇▇ ▇▇▇▇▇▇ ▇▇▇ ▇▇!@#▇" or words to that effect, we'd imagine.  

Update from Colleen

Following such a positive response to Colleen's piece last month, bringing you behind the scenes into making the Good Omens graphic novel, we are delighted to say that she has agreed to write something for our updates going forward! For June, she's going more in depth into the process of flatting and the technicalities of colouring on screen vs print. Over to you, Colleen.

---

I mentioned the other month that I use a flatter to help me with technical work on GOOD OMENS, and here is a great example.

This is my original, hand drawn line art.

And this is the flatting file which was created using the MultiFill computer program.

It will put your eyes out.

The raw image above demonstrates how the color art lines up solidly under the line art. If it doesn't do that, you get a weird phenomenon in print called ghosting, a tiny little line of white around each segment of color. I had this issue on one major project and ended up redoing every single color file after I got a look at the first printing. Nearly two weeks of work.

The same image with the line art on top.

The layer order looks like this.

Background copy is the clean, line art layer.

I scan the art at 600 dpi, then make the blacks pure black, the whites pure white. Then I convert back to greyscale, then RGB, then duplicate the layer. Then I delete the white on the upper layer so the line art layer is transparent but the blacks on that layer are not.

If you have blacks on a layer that has been multiplied, you can see slight color through those blacks. You want pure black.

The lower layer is where I use the MultiFill program to create the digital flats. First you use MultiFill to drop in the random colors, then the companion plug-in Flatter Pro to make those colors seal under the black lines.

This probably sounds like a silly thing to worry about, but if the flat colors don’t line up perfectly under the black line art, you get the dreaded ghosting I mentioned. You can see it below in this image. It’s a tiny little white line that will appear around the black lines and color areas.

This drives me nuts and is an absolute nightmare to fix.

It’s a very common problem, especially for people who work for web and don’t anticipate the problems going from web to print.

What looks great on your computer can cause big problems in print.

From here, my flatter Jul Mae Kristoffer, who is way over in the Philippines, does flatting that is more in keeping with the areas of color I want to isolate. As you see on Layer 1.

But again, this is still pretty ugly, and not what I would use for final color. Flatting is a technical issue, not a creative one, though in some cases a flatter will make choices you may use. Most of the time they don't.

Here is my final color page.

Sometimes my MultiFill flats are so wonky I have a hard time getting my brain to snap out of what I see before me. If I get stuck, it's a good idea to just pick at it and come back to it later.

If it really, really bothers me, I’ll take the MultiFill flatter layer and desaturate the color so it doesn’t poke my eyes out.

Here’s an example. The digital flat file.

The desaturated flat file that doesn’t make me want to poke my eyes out.

And the final color.

Sometimes I just put in a solid white layer so I don’t see the flats at all. Flatting is there to allow you to easily pick spots to color in, and doesn’t usually appear in the final work.

Sometimes I want to create my colors using transparent color over a white ground, which is more delicate in the final.

Here’s an example from Neil Gaiman’s American Gods. I also selected all black line art here and converted it to sepia to give it a vintage look. Except for the fairies. They’re green.

A colorist must also consider color settings.

Different clients can have different requirements. I find these color settings, which I got from the Hi-Fi Studio, to be pretty solid. I use them as my default for all my projects unless otherwise requested. If your publisher has other settings, they’ll usually send you a csf file which you can upload to Photoshop. The program will save your files and you can just switch between them as you need them.

This tells the printer things about the paper and the spread of the ink you will use. That’s what dot gain means - it makes printed color look darker than intended, so you set up your files to account for it.

When you hover your pointer over each box, it will tell you what each setting is supposed to accomplish.

Another really important thing to consider when coloring comics is color range.

I’m coloring this book in RGB range, but for print you use CMYK.

I’m about to confuse the heck out of some people with this post, I’m afraid. But here we go.

Here is this shot in RGB color setting.

And here is the same page calibrated for print in CMYK.

The biggest shift is in the reds. Print cannot match those reds.

You may not see much difference here, but it’s the sort of thing that drives artists crazy.

A computer should be perfect for conveying exactly what you want, right? It's all just 0's and 1's, binary information, and that information should be the same from one computer to the next?

Nope. Not even close.

First off, computer monitors must be calibrated. You can use a computer program or a tool that measures the color on your computer screen and then adjusts the color to an industry standard.

Have you ever been in an electronics shop where a bunch of TV shows were on display, all of them playing the same show, and have you noticed how different the color was from one TV to the next?

It's like that.

I freely admit I don't pay a whole lot of attention to calibration, but if I were a professional photographer I would. I'd have a little spectrometer attached to my screen and software would adjust my monitor to the best possible standard range. As it is, I just use the default setting on my computer and hope for the best.

If your monitor is properly calibrated and your art is shown on another monitor that is properly calibrated, the art will look almost identical from one monitor to the next.

YAY!

But from one monitor to the next, that's about where the resemblance ends.

Colors are calibrated to something called RGB, or Red, Green, Blue.

All colors come from a mix of red green and blue. At their greatest intensity, all the colors in the spectrum together become pure white light.

This is why RGB is called ADDITIVE color, because you ADD colors from the spectrum to get ALL colors, and all colors create the entirety of the rainbow, and pure white light.

Your computer monitor, your phone, your television, all images are created via light using RGB, a gamut that covers all possible colors that can be created.

That's a lot.

And that's why some of the colors you see on your TV or phone are so deep and intense.

For the widest possible range of color and intensity, you use RGB.

Unfortunately, there is what you can create with light, and then there is what you can create with pigment or ink. And that is why printing what you see on your computer almost never looks exactly like what you see in a book.

For printing, you must use a color setting known as CMYK. This stands for Cyan, Magenta, Yellow and Key/Black.

In printing, the pure blue is actually Cyan and the pure red is actually Magenta.

CMYK color range is not created by addition, but by SUBTRACTION. In order to get the color you want, you reduce the percentage of one of the four colors for ink mixing. Mixing all colors, instead of giving you white, gives you black.

The gamut of CMYK is limited to what can be created with ink.

You've probably heard the term four color press? This is what that means. Four colors, with each color of ink run over the paper on rollers which, combined in varying layers of opacity, create all the printing colors you see.

But remember, what you see on your computer monitor and what CMYK gamut can handle are two different things.

Now, I’ve been really careful with the color settings on Good Omens, so there haven’t been any big surprises, but let me show you a snippet of a project I did for the French fashion house Balmain.

The RGB version:

And then this shot after it was converted to a CMYK file for print.

That's a pretty big difference.

Now, you see this shift mostly with vibrant colors, such as that pink there. But other colors hardly changed at all, right?

That's because this issue is about range of color. CMYK and RGB occupy a shared range which you can see demonstrated by this graphic I got from Wikipedia.

The graphic shows the RGB ranges supported by various digital formats. SWOP CMYK is the most common range my publishers use. Note that the bounding box line shared by the RGB and SWOP CMYK formats shares about half the range space. So whatever RGB colors you use that are outside that range will be digitally converted to the smaller SWOP CMYK range.

And you may not like what you end up with.

As you can see, some of the most ethereal and intense colors get lost outside of the SWOP CMYK boundary.

A look at the Dark Horse Comics color settings in Photoshop. Theoretically, this information should prevent your art from looking like mud on publication.

Now, after I just told you the dangers of coloring in RGB then converting to CMYK for print, I tell you I am coloring Good Omens in RGB anyway. There’s a couple of reasons for this.

Remember, RGB give you a greater range of color, so it can be to your advantage to preserve your original files using a format that gives you the greatest range.

Again, here is the unaltered file.

You can see what the CMYK result will be simply by clicking the Proof Colors button here. This will show you how the art will convert.

And the Gamut Warning will show you which colors are out of gamut range for print.

The intensity of that magenta and that purple in the top right are not going to print true.

This is how it will look in final.

So even if you do what you think is perfect color on screen, there is no way it can perfectly convert to print. Almost everything will involve a little bit of compromise.

Even though you have to consider the color shift issues, preserving your files in RGB gives you greater wiggle room, especially if you get lucky someday and get to work with a printer who can print in 6 colors. Or maybe some technology you don’t know about will pop up and make printing super glorious. Who knows.

Regardless, you should keep an eye on that gamut and color for CMYK print, while preserving your master files in RGB.

Until next time.

[syoddeye]

something something possessed by a worm. you're soap's captive girlfriend who got the call that he was shot. i wrote this between the hours of 2-3 am, so let's be chill. ~1.3k words.

cw: italics, imprisonment/abduction, surveillance, medical inaccuracies we breeze right over, threats of violence, collaring, stalking, noncon blowjob.

on paper, it looks bad. it looks cruel. yet, you can’t bring yourself to care—johnny’s injury is a blessing.

it feels like you won the lottery, picking up the emergency phone. inbound calls only. you were so sure it was him, warning you of his imminent return.

playing the part of a devastated partner is easy. the englishman on the other end of the call sympathizes with your crocodile tears and helpfully tells you that someone will fetch you tomorrow morning. that you'll be brought, at no expense, to sit vigil at your boyfriend's side at the hospital. you hear the word ‘coma’, and launch out of bed. you only half listen to the rest of the conversation, hurriedly packing a bag as he drones. you can't end the call fast enough.

dismantling the flat comes first. you smash the cameras and flush the bugs. pry the tracker tag off your collar and bloody your fingers in the process. later, you’ll stick it on a bus.

you scour every nook and cranny, eventually finding the steel box you've seen john fiddling with. after trial and error, you pick the lock, and it’s a relief to see your id and passport again. it’s like a time capsule. past you offers a genuine, albeit shy smile, and you mutter an apology as you tuck her into a pocket. the last of the snacks he’d left go in with your clothes, as well as the few expensive-looking heirlooms he keeps around the flat. 

someone might call about the wide-eyed, crazed woman jumping off the balcony into the bushes. it’s a risk you take. the nearest pawnbroker, if you remember correctly, is only a ten-minute walk away. the cash you end up with isn’t much, but it's the first chunk of money that's yours in ages.

you hold your breath from glasgow to amsterdam and, by sheer luck, find your godmother’s place by memory alone. she’s surprised to find you on her doorstep, but she buys your story of an au pair job gone sour and lets you stay. truth and reality are too humiliating and too risky so long as you’re on european soil. you lay low, but nobody turns up. no one comes looking.

out of an abundance of caution, you cut and dye your hair anyway. you look up every variation of ‘john mactavish’ and scour obituaries and news articles. you don’t find a thing, but you know he’s special forces—they wouldn’t necessarily publish an announcement.

weeks pass. she doesn’t say a word, but guilt gnaws at you for living off your godmother’s kindness. after dodging their calls, you reach out to your parents and beg them to buy you a plane ticket home to chicago. although they welcome you stateside, they’re distressed and confused about your sudden departure and separation from ‘that nice scottish boy’ they’d met over facetime. they didn’t know about the knife just out of frame or the disturbing sketches he’d draw of your mother from memory. you lie through your teeth and blame his hectic work schedule because it’s easier to say that than admit your little journey of ‘self-discovery’ didn’t lead you into a ‘whirlwind romance’, but a fucking nightmare.

(it started as a dreamy evening of darts and drinks, where a cute soldier made you laugh all the way into his bed. a mirage that hid his true intentions. grand overtures designed to dazzle you until it was too late. until he got you fired and evicted. somehow arranged for your visa to be revoked. orchestrated your demoralization and subsequent breakdown. ushered you into his flat with open arms, cooing and rubbing your back as you hiccuped and sobbed. those days are a blur, a series of escalations. a slow boil you didn’t feel until it scalded, until he locked the collar around your neck. even then, you felt like a failure. that it was all your fault for believing the lies. he laid you out beneath him, whispering the things he’d do to your family if you ran. how the powers at be would let him, given his work. a slap on the wrist. that’s all i’d get, hen.)

months turn into a year. you still look up johnny's name on occasion. still stare when you see a mohawk. yet, little by little, you feel like yourself again. rejoin society. get a shit job. you refuse to touch the dating pool with a ten-foot pole, but you don't feel naked wearing short sleeves anymore. don't flinch at the sound of dog tags clinking together.

you pick up a night shift, determined to save extra money so you can find your own apartment and stop leeching off your parents. everything's fine and dandy. slightly creepy, given the hour, but nothing you can't handle. (after johnny, you handle anything.) you close, intending to take out the trash as you lock up. the alley smells like piss and beer.

tossing the bag into the dumpster, you freeze at the silhouette at the mouth of the passage. they face away, cigarette smoke wafting from their person. they probably don't see you, but just to be safe, you turn to head in the other direction to take the long way to the L—

at least, you would, if johnny wasn't looming over you, night terrors manifest. big, broad shoulders and a puffed-out chest. a grin as wide and sharp as you remember. and those bright blue eyes, the light in them flattening in real time as he drinks in your expression. he relishes the way your face drops. the instant terror. a horrific scar catches your eye, flaring in every direction on his temple like a furious sun.

did ye think i'd forgotten ye, bonnie? or hope the gunshot erased ye? did ye believe me dead?

when you start to cry, because why wouldn't you, he—

no, no. hush. this is a good thing. a happy day. we're reunited, and i'm meetin' my girl's parents. cap's gone ahead to break the ice.

and when you scream, because why wouldn't you, he clamps a hand over your mouth and pins you to the dumpster. doesn't care a whit when your head bounces off the metal. the light returns to his eyes as you squirm. his brows pitch, lips curling. he brandishes a knife and stammers through his reprimand, scolding you for all your struggling.

i see ye forgot the rules and your manners. forgot what'll happen if ye dinnae–din–fuckin' play nice.

johnny forces you into a car, muttering reminders of what happens when you run. assures you, even as he loads you bodily into the backseat, sandwiching you between him and some massive freak in a mask, that he is forgiving. when the car rejoins traffic, johnny works his fly open. it takes a minute, his hands a bit unsteady.

a near-death experience clarifies things. puts what's important into focus. john says he saw his future clear as crystal, then shoves your head down without warning. he barks at the man on your other side, and a hand comes to rest on your flank, causing you to whimper around his cock. he moans sinfully at that before violently fucking your throat.

by the time he comes, you're spent. the fight gone out of you. the mitt on your side migrates to your inner thigh, but you can't begin to care. you’re resigned to drooling on john's lap. you pray for a car crash.

johnny explains how, given his connections, it took only two months to find you. they let him do that because of his work, but he decided to wait and bide his time. he details all the therapy, rehab, and everything he did to get into shape, to get his head on straight, and to get to you himself. plus, there was the matter of tracking down his second quarry. naughty, how you pawned it for less than half its value.

his grandmother's ring fits you perfectly. fate, he calls it.

but you know another collar when you see one.

[brewed-pangolin]

Consider lovely charming Soap trying to make an innocent reader swoon for him, all for the reader to unintentionally pull an uno reverse on him. Hes chatting their ear off, talking himself up. All of sudden the reader interrupts him and says that he has the prettiest eyes they've ever seen. Johnny starts to malfunction, he can't talk, his face is going red hot.

Usually he doesn't get so tripped up but it came from such a genuine place, he tongue tied. Instead of him being a cassanova like usual he's just staring at you with the biggest puppy dog eyes and pining for you.

Blue Eyed Casanova

Johnny 'Soap' MacTavish x Fem Reader

18+ MDNI Sexual Themes

Synopsis: Johnny Casanova pulls you in with his eyes, and you shake up his world with nothing but an unconscious whisper.

--

Look, you can't just throw Johnny's eyes out there and not expect me to go a little crazy. His baby blues fill my soul, okay.

I went back and forth on this for a while. Wanted to do a full fic but went for the drabble instead. Hope you like it.

Also including this with @glitterypirateduck SoapItUp Challenge. Used Prompt 29.

Happy Super Soap Sunday 🧼

You never thought you'd be so enthralled by a man while sitting at a coffee shop.

Hanging on every word, ears perking to the subtle nuances of his thick accent. Going all doey eyed as he reminisced about his younger years back home in Glasgow.

Eyes tracking his hands as accentuated his stories with gentle, undulating movements. Glancing every now and then at his luscious lips that just begged to be kissed.

You had to pull yourself back a few times. The urge to lunge over the table and lock him in an embrace, making your skin tingle and stomach churn with overwhelming eagerness.

But it was his eyes. Those gorgeous, cerulean orbs that sparkled like diamonds in the soft light of the morning sun. A blue that enchanted, pulled you into the maelstrom of his soul, and you were nothing but a wading vessel lost in his turbulent sea.

-

"You have such pretty eyes, Johnny," you whispered under your breath. Barely audible.

Johnny froze mid sentence. Hands raised, cupping the bulk of his account between his palms with his mouth agape and eyes twinkling in boyish bewilderment.

"W-what ya say?"

You smiled. Unashamed at being caught by your verbal plunder.

"I said, you've got the prettiest eyes I've ever seen."

Johnny closed the cavern of his gaping mouth with a dramatic gulp. Adam's apple undulating beneath the flesh of his neck as a rosey hue radiated over the circumference of his cheeks.

And those eyes glistened. Exploding waves of color like a supernova within the whites of deep space.

"Uh- me eyes? Ya- ya like me eyes?" He stuttered. That confident Casanova overtaken by childlike astonishment at the most beautiful words he'd ever heard.

"Yeah, Johnny. I do."

"Um, thanks. Got 'em from me mum. She's got th'most hypnotizin' stare I've ever seen. Y'know, the kind that..."

You couldn't help the curl to your mouth as he rambled on once more. The skiddish waiver on his tongue was all the confirmation you needed that your words had had the unconsciously planned impact.

You leaned over, just enough to cup his jaw in your hands to render him silent to your oncoming approachment.

"You talk too much," you purred, just before placing a tender kiss on his welcoming lips.

A subtle moan reverberated deep within his throat, making your eyes flutter closed as it vibrated against your mouth and echoed down the curve of your spine and into the hollow of your core.

The faintest gasp escaped your lips as you felt his tongue beg for entry into your mouth.

Granting him. Tasting him. Savoring the flavor of espresso and last night's whiskey on his breath as the calloused flesh of his palm cupped the supple curve of your jaw.

You wanted more. Needed more. Begged for the world to disappear and let his skilled hands work you over as his mouth greedily devoured your heart and soul.

The last remnant of your sanity made you pull away. A hushed whimper fell from your lips as your eyes cracked open to see the very flushed face of one breathless Johnny 'Soap' MacTavish.

"Steamin Jesus, lass. Was tha' your plan th'whole time? Makin me swoon all over ya, only fer you to get me all wrecked by them pretty words a'yers?"

"Maybe. Did it work?"

He nodded. Eyes swirling, bright blue darkening like an approaching storm.

"Aye. It did."

He leaned in to take your lips once more, yet you halted him. Pressing your fingers to his mouth while you pursed your lips with a knitted brow.

"Not here. Need somewhere more private."

"Why? Cannae I kiss ya out in public?"

A devious smile crept into your lips. Leaning in while simultaneously grabbing at your purse. Bringing your mouth to his ear to mutter the sweetest temptation and force a pleasured shrill down his spine.

"I don't want you to kiss me on my lips up here, Johnny. I want to see how pretty those eyes are gonna look between my thighs."

Drabbles Masterlist

@deadbranch @sofasoap @punishmepunisher @d3athtr4psworld @glitterypirateduck @shotmrmiller @ghosts-goldendoodle @astraluminaaa @writeforfandoms @obligatoryghoststare @homicidal-slvt @jynxmirage @queen-ilmaree @thetrashpossum @tacticalanxiety @simpingoverquestionablemen @mykneeshurt @kkaaaagt @haurasha @havoc973 @luismickydees @foxface013 @designateddeadend

[alwaysshallow]

27 dresses but make it 27 suits price:/

this man cannot stress enough for him being so unlucky with love; he basically attended every wedding in the neighborhood. either he was invited, or came here with someone.

it's the way he offers himself as the best man, as a +1, if someone doesn't want to go alone, or if someone doesn't have a best friend to attend the wedding. he thought that he'd snatch someone this way, sooner or later, but this moment never comes. he's either "too old" or "his job is too risky" to even begin the art of dating.

it's irritating, upsetting, not even to begin with other stuff. what's even more irritating? kyle and simon are already married. simon. the one from his team that everyone thought he's never gonna marry anyone.

when it's soap's wedding, he almost loses it; almost. he regains hope the moment he stays in that little, scottish motel near glasgow and he meets you. sweet little thing, so, so welcoming, so talkative.

he learns that you struggle with owning it and putting it together; your grandparents gave it to you and your parents doesn't want to do anything with it.... so you're on your own, trying not to drown in debt.

something snaps in him when he thinks of ways to help you.

before he even knows it, he repairs a few things. as a guest, of course, even if you tell him that he doesn't need to do it.

oh, he loves you already. so much.

[diejager]

hiii!!! Hope u are having a good dayy ☺️

I was wonder how 141 would react/interact with meeting their partner’s family?

feel free to ignore!!

— 🌘 !

Cw: meeting family, nervous?, fluff, tell me if I missed any.

You’d met Johnny’s family last month, all five of you flying to Glasgow in a commercial plane despite the inconvenience of being cramped between him and Simon, stuck in an uncomfortable position where you were squeezed on both side by two walls of muscles. Johnny had a lively family, a farmhouse filled to the brim with happy memories and laughter, permanently imprinted on the walls with wide smiles and vibrant imagery. Although his parents already had so many mouths to feed, they had welcomed you without a thought, pending their home to Johnny’s group and fed you so much that you felt like you would explode by the end of the day. 

Johnny’s was so vastly different from Kyle’s, who you met the month before that, a small family of four with a calmer demeanour than the loud and rambunctious you met the next month. With a smaller family, they owned a smaller house with a single guest room that you shared: three in Kyle’s larger room and two in the smaller guest room. The arrangements were a bit cramped, but the house brought a soft and tender calmness, finding comfort in something slow and expected rather than an unexpected adventure.

Then Price’s sister before both of them, her small married life with one baby cradled in her arms, cooing and giggling at everything that moved. You hadn’t stayed long, all wanting to let her and her husband rest and care for the little babe, but you’d enjoyed your time there. You found a motherly character in Price’s sister, somewhat similar to Laswell when she frowned and scolded your lot for some idiotic plan you came up on the spot. 

And this month, it was your turn, the excitement of it lasting only a few moments before it dawned on you. Blood rushed to your cheeks in embarrassment and nervousness at having them temporary live in your small flat while your parents and siblings live under you. You shared your apartment with your sister, depending on her to keep your home clean and tidy while you were away. 

So she was the first one they met, shaking hands and somewhat shy when they exchanged names, having your sister spin tales about your childhood and small moments that left your red and flustered, hiding away with your feline friend. Listening to them laugh and chuckle at your fumbling and clumsy childhood until you mumbled out wanting to see your parents and brother. 

It had erupted into a chaotic mess of your brother embarrassing you and your parents feeling so grateful for keeping you alive, charming the minds out of the four of them. Especially when your father brought out beers and your mother food: homemade dinner around the table under the warm, yellow light of the kitchen. 

The room was filled with laughter and joy, bubbling with warmth and affection. It made your fear vanish, happy that you were able to show your family the men you loved and cared about. 

Taglist: @sae1kie @yeoldedumbslut @bvxygriimes @distracteddragoness @konigsblog @im-making-an-effort @daisychainsinknots @h0n3y-l3m0n05 @danielle143 @tuttifuckinfruttifriday @notspiders @brokenpieces-72 @petwifed @randominstake @haven-1307 @shironasumi @sparky--bunny @bloobewy @cod-z @sweetnanah @aldis-nuts @evolutionarry @kaoyamamegami @cassiecasluciluce

[robiinurheart33]

Okay ACTUAL post about Ghost being obsessed with Soap

Ghost was already apprehensive about showing his face to Los vaqueros and the rest of the 141.

But Price was going on and on about “team trust” and “all in the same boat” or whatever bullshit he was spouting, so he just decided to get it over and done with. It’s not like anyone would take a picture and go “oh my god, see how ugly he actually is?”

So he does it. He takes off the mask in front of everyone for a couple seconds, just as much as the burning of his skin allows him to. The whole time, he was staring at Soap. Soap, who scared him shitless all alone with shadows sporting a fucking GSW and still joking. Soap, who’s explosive and loud and happy. Soap, whose face is just blank when Ghost takes off his mask.

what the fuck?

Not to toot his own horn, but he was kinda expecting a reaction here. He knows his worth, he knows his reputation, how much his head would cost bleeding out in a sack. Sue him if he was expecting more of a reaction. His Glasgow smile isn’t anything to smile over, and he isn’t exactly considered handsome either, by any standards. He’s sweaty, the black face paint no doubt smudged now, his crooked nose broken one too many times, hairline wildly disrupted by the scar running into the crown of his skull. He’s a whole fuckin mess, if Gaz’s reaction is anything to mull over. The hot glare of the white lightbulb is pressing into his skin, and the crawling feeling like a thousand ants all move under his skin, into his eye sockets and it’s all wrong. It’s all not right, and he needs to get away immediately.

“Welcome back, Simon.”

Jesus, he wants to die. The worst part about all this is that Soap still isn’t making a face. Ghost can read him like a book and this is the time that he can’t decipher a single emotion from that face? Sweat runs down his neck and is extremely aware of the rest of the people in the room with him at that moment. He decides it’s enough and with a glance at Price, he pulls the skull back over his face. He needs to get away. Right now. His face feels way too hot, too uncomfortable and awkward and suddenly he’s 15 years old again, limbs too lanky and a height that he’s not accustomed to. He can feel the teenage insecurity bubble beneath the surface, angry and hurt.

Ghost pretty much blanks out after the meeting, slipping out and away from everyone else. His boots thump against the ground, and he can’t tell if it’s too loud or all in his head. He’s overstimulated, he can tell. He just needs to stay away, be alone, breathe. Compartmentalise it and deal with the rest later. Right now, he just needs to calm down.

Why didn’t he react? Why didn’t he react? Why didn’t he react? Do I not mean as much to him as he does to me?

He’s losing it. This is so irritatingly immature, and stupid, and dumb. It’s completely fine that Soap didn’t react. It’s fine. Ghost slips into a random room, which just so happens to be a pretty cozy broom closet and rests his head against one of the shelves. The disinfectant smell is overpowering and honestly making his head swim but being in here is better than out here. He feels like his limbs are locked up, eyes locked up in one spot but his brain isn’t seeing anything. He needs to keep it together. His fingers scratch under the rim of the mask where it hugs his skin tight, too tight. The gloves make it even harder to scratch, fuck. He can’t spare any time for a dumb anxiety attack over revealing his face in front of 30 strangers. If he can’t predict Soap’s reaction, does he even know him at all? Fuck-

The door clicks open slowly. Ghost swerves his head to snap at the poor soldier about to have the fright of their life. Instead, he sees pale blue eyes filled with mirth and worry and all the fight leaves him.

“Help me out?” Johnny’s stupid little smile makes Ghost want to throw himself against the wall. he’s holding a small tin with eye grease inside, the smooth untouched surface evident of how much soap uses it.

Help me.

“Yeah, of course.”

Soap steps into the already small space and closes the door behind him with an audible click. Ghost can’t tell if the air really is that awkward or it’s all in his head, if Soap’s casual smile is anything to follow up upon. Soap holds up the tin as Ghost tugs his gloves off, shoving them inside his pants and grimacing slightly as the gloves feel like his pants are bulging, pressing against his skin.

Ghost doesn’t say anything as he places the tin on a nearby shelf and grips Soap’s chin with his thumb and forefinger, tilting it up. He dips two fingers into the tin, facing back towards him as he concentrates. His fingers are buzzing with the promise of contact, head fussing and screaming with the affection and sensation of the oily paste on his bare fingers, no doubt getting under his nails.

His hearts beats in tandem with the low panic and anxiety through his veins, threatening lowly to not mess this up. His finger shakes as he makes the first swipe right below Soap’s eye, half lidded and fixed onto Ghost. He wanted to cry all of a sudden- because why would Soap come to Ghost with this? Why would he be the first one he thought of; the first one to trust enough to bare his face, close his eyes and with blind faith let him touch his skin? He blinks, and blinks again, nose feeling funny. Why would Soap trust him?

Ghost’s finger traces across the bridge of his nose, over his eyelids where he can feel his pupils move. Over his warm skin with the bumps and ridges, over the temples and cheekbones. His heart aches with confusion. Why, why, why? How was he even given the privilege to do this? To touch something as precious as Johnny? He doesnt understand. He might never understand. He might not ever get over this.

Over the other temple, again smoothening on the slope of his nose bridge, over the eyes. His palms are sweaty. Ghost wipes the residue of the paste on his pants, hands coming up to cup Soap’s cheeks to make sure he didn’t miss a spot. (There was no way he could’ve, it’s a relatively simple process.) Squishing his cheeks softly, Johnny opens his eyes. His eyelashes are clumped together by the paint, lips smushed slightly as his eyes turn a bit hazy before focusing on Ghost again. His eyes are even bluer in contrast to the black surrounding his eyes. Softness and patience, heartache and love.

Ghost sucks in a long breath and exhales through his nose. It’s funny, his heart is still beating so fast, but his breathing is calm and collected. Johnny’s pupils flicker and widen for a second, then all of a sudden his hand is now under his eyes, wiping away a stray tear. Ghost flinches back, surprised. His elbow hits the shelf and he hisses, all the progress gone in a second.

“Hey- hey.”

He can’t look.

“Ghost.”

He doesn’t want to.

A shift, and then it’s safe again. It smells like sweat, face paint and pinewood. A hand on the back of his neck, guided to the crook of a neck. It isn’t comfortable at all, bulky gear in the way, Ghost’s arms folded in front of him, his shoulders tense and his mask no doubt digging into Soap’s shoulder. But it- it’s perfect. It’s warm, and every possible part of his body screams that he belongs there. So Ghost unfurls his arms, hangs them limply by his side and steps closer. Johnny’s arms wrap around his neck, trapping him in a sort of awkward, one-sided hug that’s definitely going to make Ghost’s neck have a crick in it. But it’s perfect. It’s safe. He’s safe.

Ghost closes his eyes and lets instinct take over him, hands coming up to grab onto the back of Johnny’s tac vest; the closest he’ll ever get to a hug. Johnny’s warm, the pressure on his eyes comforting and the skin on skin contact full-on relieving. He’s warm, warm, warm. And Ghost is cold. He’s always been cold. Safe. He’s safe.

Johnny’s head shifts, and Ghost’s hands grasp tighter onto his vest like a lifeline. Don’t go. His mind cries. Don’t leave me alone.

“It’s okay.” Johnny coos softly. Ghost can feel his lips on the side of his temple.

“It’s just you and me, yeah?” He murmurs, and the words feel like they’re vibrating, echoing through the side of his head, engraving it into his skull. It’s just you and me.

All of a sudden Ghost really curses the fuckin’ sack he wears that’s preventing from his skin being in touch with Johnny’s.

Ghost hums, turning his head so that the skull mask isn’t digging into Johnny’s shoulder anymore. The polyester where it covers his lips is touching the side of his neck and he can feel it when Johnny’s Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows.

It’s a real shame he can’t see Johnny’s expression as he whispers against his neck, “Just you and me.” Although, he can feel the skin beneath his lips heat up rapidly.

Johnny swallows. “Mhm.”

They stay like that for a few moments, Ghost preening from the intimacy of the moment, and Johnny just holding him close. After Ghost deems it to be enough, he clears his throat and stands up tall again, at the same time swiping the ghost team mask stuffed into Soap’s pocket. He pulls it over his head, not before taking a peek to see the blush that had completely taken over Johnny’s face. (He’s selfish in ways like that.) Ghost adjusts the mask to fit snugly over his face, big blue eyes staring right back at him. Ghost’s heartbeat quickens.

“All good, Sargent.” Ghost isn’t completely sure if he’s referring to himself or the other, seeing as if either one of them might be having a heart attack right now, Johnny hasn’t blinked in quite a while. He lifts soap’s chin one last time (selfish, what’d he tell you), and places and well-loved peck right in between his eyes.

“Lookin’ good, Soap.”

Ghost lets the door click behind him, too much of a coward to see Johnny’s reaction to that. He isn’t quite sure what’s gotten into him, but if a rumour spread that the Lieutenant of the 141 walked out of that storage room with a skip in his step, he’d tell everyone that they’re dumbasses for believing in that. He’d be guilty, of course, but no one else has to know that. It’ll just be for Ghost and Johnny to know. Love does funny things to us, after all.

[tropinano]

List of As Many Fiction Podcasts As I Could Think Of

NOT ORGANIZED! This is a big list of fiction podcasts with no descriptions, meant for the sole purpose of picking one based on the title and just trying it out. Just a big ol' list of titles. Kindof like a blind date! Explore a couple of the ones that intrigue you and come back later for more.

The Hotel

The Night Post

I am in Eskew

Whisperling

Residents of Proserpina Park

The Daedalus Compound

EOS10

The Magnus Archives

Francis Forever

SMILE GROVE

Janus Descending

The Godfrey Audio Guide

Old Gods of Appalachia

Camp Here & There

The Way We Haunt Now

Jack of All Trades

SUPERSUITS

Illuminati Interns

Death by Dying

Life with Leo(h)

Hello from the Hallowoods

Malevolent

The 12:37

Spirit Box Radio

Lost Terminal

Desperado

Neighbourly

The Switchboard

The Mistholme Museum of Mystery, Morbidity and Mortality

Aurora Everlasting

The Swashbuckling Ladies Debate Society

CARAVAN

The Amelia Project

Jar of Rebuke

Monstrous Agonies

Where the Stars Fell

Kisses In The Dark

The Town Whispers

Uncommon Commons

The Author's Anathema

Elevator Pitch

Brimstone Valley Mall

Kane & Feels

Middle:Below

The McIlwraith Statements

Caledonian Gothic

I have seen Niagara

Petrified

In Darkness Vast

The Outside Tapes

Seren

Gather the Suspects

This Foul Earth

John from Home

Glasgow Ghost Stories

The Tower

The Antique Shop

either

Tales from Aletheian Society

The Secret of St Kilda

The Green Horizon

Road X

THE NOWHERE MALL

Seven of Hearts

The Department of Variance of Somewhere, Ohio

SubverCity Transmit

The Nuclear Solution

Inkwyrm

Jim Robbie and the Wanderers

Burst

With Caulk and Candles

This Planet Needs a Name

The Glass Appeal

Mar's Best Brisket

Nym's Nebulous Notions

Midnight Radio

The Bright Sessions

When Angels Visit Armadillo

The Mysterious Secrets of Uncle Bertie's Botanarium

Nowhere, On Air

Dark Ages

Welcome to Night Vale

The Silt Verses

Care & Feeding of Werewolves

The Bridge

The Far Meridian

ars PARADOXICA

Among the Stars and Bones

Counterbalance

Primordial Deep

Hannahpocalypse

Someone dies in this Elevator

Mabel

Seen and Not Heard

Abyss FM

Bodies in Space

Among the Stacks

Station Arcadia

Station Blue

Mnemosyne

Wolf 359

Tranthologies

Mx Bad Luck

SAYER

Limetown

What will be here?

Wake of Corrosion

The Pasithea Powder

SINKHOLE

Tell No Tales

The Vesta Clinic

Dreamboy

Georgie Romero is Done For

The Domestic Life of Anthony Todd

Alice isn't Dead

Stellar Firma

Unwell

The Strange Case of Starship Iris

The Heart of Ether

The Orbiting Human Circus

Wooden Overcoats

Greater Boston

Valence

Moonbase Theta Out

The Penumbra Podcast

Desert Skies

Deviser

Leaving Corvat

Red Valley

Back Again Back Again

Sidequesting

[youwouldntdownloadapizza]

The Pleasures of The Unknown | Kate Middleton x The Unknown (Glasgow Wonka Experience 2024)

masterlist | ao3 | follow @youwouldntdownloadapizza and turn on notifications for updates

When Kate Middleton mistakenly ends up at a magical chocolate factory in Glasgow, she finds herself drawn to a mysterious cloaked figure with a penchant for dark chocolate.

pairing: Kate Middleton x The Unknown (Glasgow Wonka 2024)

rating: 18+, minors DNI

word count: 1.2k

tags: crack, crack treated seriously, crack fic, smut, mild smut, finger sucking, chocolate, sex and chocolate, light BDSM, choking, thigh riding, rpf, bald harry styles, balddry, infidelity, glasgow, willy wonka experience - freeform, glasgow willy wonka - freeform, Balmoral, british royal family, unhinged innuendo

chapter warnings: smut, infidelity

Kate Middleton stared at her bangs in the Buckingham Palace bathroom mirror.

"I can't go out like this," she complained to William. "The Sun will rip me a new one!"

"Kate, my dear," he kissed her on the cheek, turning to lean against the counter. She continued tugging at her botched fringe until he took her hand. "It's just hair. It'll grow back."

"That's rich, coming from you."

William looked down at his royal bunny slippers with a frown. Even they had more hair than he did. Perhaps he should have them fashioned into a wig. He'd have to ask his frenemy, Harry Styles, for wigmaker recommendations.

"I don't know what to do." Kate looked up at her husband with tears in her eyes. He wiped them away with his royal hanky.

"I do," he smiled. Sliding his hand into his back pocket, he produced the royal AmEx.

"Take a holiday, Kate. Go to Balmoral or Hollyrood for a few weeks. Grow them out. Maybe even get that BBL you've been talking about getting. Scotland is a great place to recover from surgery. What with all the free healthcare and all, innit?" he said Britishly.

"You're so right, William. I'll leave first thing tomorrow."

---

Kate double-checked the address her husband had given her as she stepped out of her royal Uber Black.

"This can't be the right place. Balmoral was never this colorful!"

The cabbie rolled down his window. "Don't worry, ma'am, this is Willy's place! Be quick and get inside, it's looking like rain."

With a soft 'innit', the driver pulled away, and Kate was left on Willy's doorstep.

She assumed 'Willy' was short for her husband 'William', but as she entered the foyer, she began to have her doubts. The place appeared to be some sort of magical chocolate factory.

Although sparsely decorated, the place maintained some air of whimsy. Well, less of an air, more of a spritz, but clamato, clamato.

"Soo la voo," Kate shrugged, walking beneath the sparkly, styrofoam rainbow and towards whatever fate awaited her here.

"Ahh, more guests! Welcome!" A depressed-looking woman in a green wig approached her.

"Here, compliments of Willy," she said, sliding a plastic cup containing a splash of what appeared to be sparkling lemonade into Kate's left hand. Into her right went a single jelly bean.

"What is this?" Kate asked.

"Our welcome gift to you! And only $40, such a deal."

Kate supposed $40 was a fair price for such splendor. After all, if bananas were $10, this was surely worth four times that. She popped the jelly bean and washed it down with the lemonade.

"Carry on down the hallway. Your future awaits."

Kate left her luggage and her empty cup with the so-called Oompa Loompa and proceeded down the bare linoleum hallway. That uncanny-valley candy landscape tapestry really ties the place together, she mused.

A voice greeted her at the end of the hall.

"What. Is. That?" A blonde man in a red top hat and coattails pointed towards an unassuming mirror.

Why, that's me! Kate Middleton! Kate Middleton thought to herself.

Kate nearly leaped out of her skin when the creature emerged from behind the looking glass.

"It's...THE UNKNOWN!!"

That's when Kate fainted.

When she awoke, her head was spinning. "Where am I?" She asked to the blackness that surrounded her.

A deep voice answered her. "You're in the walls. This is my home. My own dark chocolate factory."

"Your what?" Kate asked.

As her eyes adjusted, she realized she was in a small bedroom combined with a confectionary workspace, almost a studio apartment of sorts.

"My dark chocolate factory. You see, Willy Wonka seeks only to pump this world full of river-churned, high-fructose, milky delicious bullshit. What I aim to create is something far more sophisticated. Far more complex. And far, far darker."

"Oh? Might I try some?"

"Why of course," the silver-masked, black-hooded creature pulled back its sleeve to reveal long, nimble fingers.

He crossed to his chocolate worktable and dipped his index and middle fingers into a whirring chocolate fountain. The creature stalked towards her, extending the sample.

Kate leaned towards him, but froze. "Before I suck on your fingers, I should probably know your name."

The creature angled his head, as if considering her. "I have no name. I am only...The Unknown."

Kate's heart raced in her chest. That chocolate, those fingers, it all looked simply divine. And if William could be unfaithful, why couldn't she do the same? She deserved it, just this once. As a treat.

She opened her mouth, and The Unknown slid his fingers past her lips. She sucked deeply, the flavor sliding across her tongue and down her throat, the complex flavor and intensity of the delivery method sending shivers down her spine.

"Are you cold?" He asked.

"A bit," Kate admitted.

"Well then," she could hear the smirk in his voice even if she couldn't see it on his face. "Perhaps I'll have to warm you up myself."

Kate bit her lip. "Would you...put your willy? In my chocolate factory?"

His fingers closed around her throat. She drew a sharp breath.

She could feel his breath as he whispered in her ear, "Forget willies. Forget chocolate factories. Allow yourself to submit, to embrace the pleasures of The Unknown."

Kate let out a shuddering breath as she gazed up at that shiny mask. She didn't know what lurked behind it. She didn't care.

She kissed him then, the plastic of his mask hard against her soft lips. And then she was sprawled on the bed, his knee between her legs, and she was grinding against him.

"Oh, The Unknown!" She moaned.

"Please, there's no need for formality. Call me The."

So Kate did. She sounded like the gilded first word of a sponge's term paper as she wailed his name over and over again, into the dark stillness of this secret room behind the walls.

"I'm close," Kate moaned.

"Good girl."

He leaned down to kiss at her neck. The rough edges of the cheap mask scratched at her sensitive skin, but she didn't care. She was lost in the pleasures of The Unknown.

It was the hair that brought her to the edge, something her husband could never give her. The chemical scent of his cheap, black wig filled her nostrils as she rode his thigh, dangling there on the precipice.

"Ohh!" Kate screamed as she came, her thighs shaking with pleasure as she clenched around nothing.

A low, satisfied chuckle rumbled at her throat, and she swooned. After all these years of marriage, William had never rocked her world like this masked stranger just had. As they lay there together, she slipped into the chocolatey darkness of slumber, utterly content.

---

When Kate returned home, butt bigger and bangs longer, William had wanted to hear about her experience in Scotland.

"What was your favorite part?" He asked.

"I learned a lot about myself on this trip," she told him. "But the most valuable lesson was in learning to embrace the pleasures of the unknown."

"See, a little uncertainty is good sometimes!" He teased, tugging on her much-improved bangs before giving her a soft kiss.

"Mm," he smacked his lips. "Tastes like chocolate."

[blouisparadise]

Upon request, today we have a rec list of fics with roadtrips! This is the perfect summer rec list, so we hope you check out these incredible fics and show them some love. If you enjoy our rec lists, please be sure to like and reblog this post to help spread the word. Happy reading!

1) Enjoy The Ride | Not Rated | 11,103 words

“Stop sulking and get up. I have a proposition to make.” “Niall?” Louis questioned. “Do you think I should put glow in the dark stars on my ceiling?” He looked over and found Niall giving him an unimpressed look. “So, no?” Louis asked. “No stars?” “We’re going on a road trip,” Niall stated. Louis looked back at his starless ceiling and waved farewell to Niall. “Cool. Have fun!” “No, you idiot.” Niall let out a frustrated sigh. “You, me, Liam, and Harry.” Louis glanced over to Niall and back to the ceiling. “Who’s Harry?”

2) Kiss Me In Your Chevrolet | Explicit | 11,569 words

"Yes, Lou?" Harry asked, rubbing his tired eyes. A gust of wind came through the open windows, sending chills down Harry's arms as a light rain began falling outside. He closed his eyes again and let his head fall back to the couch arm rest. "Can we go there?" Louis asked, probably pointing somewhere. Harry opened his eyes and felt his heart jump in his chest, a magazine page a couple of inches away from his face. Startled, Harry closed his eyes and breathed heavily, trying to collect himself. Harry blinked a few times to focus his eyes on the page Louis still held in front of his nose. "You want to go to the Grand Canyon?" He furrowed his eyebrows, tilting his head to the left to look at Louis' face.

3) Love Is Like This; Not A Heartbeat, But A Moan | Explicit | 13,150 words

Note: This fic has been locked and can only be read by AO3 users.

"He hates this, more than anything in the world he hates this. His title, his rank, his DNA. Unchangeable. Fated. And then there’s Harry, born to be unobjectively superior to Louis and all other O’s. Unlike other A’s, Harry doesn’t wear his alpha-ness very well. He’s clumsy with it, like walking around in a pair of shoes a size too big. His life is defined by uncertainty and tentativeness, and those are definitely not qualities alphas should have. Sometimes, when Louis ponders it for too long, he thinks that maybe Harry resents being an A just as much as Louis resents being an O."

4) All I Want Is To Fall With You | Mature | 16,524 words

The pair looked at each other for a few moments before Harry moved forward and gathered Louis in an unexpected hug. It was nice, but why the fuck was an unknown alpha hugging him? Maybe an even better question would be why did Louis feel so secure in this stranger's arms? Harry quickly let go and Louis felt something pull at him. "Sorry," Harry said, holding his hands up in surrender. "Shit, um, that just seemed a natural response for some reason. I’m so sorry." Louis smiled up at the alpha. "It's okay. Thanks again, Harry." "You're welcome. I know it's horrible weather, and less than optimal circumstances, but this was a brilliant meet-cute." What the fuck was a meet-cute?

5) These Roads We Stumble Down | Explicit | 18,233 words

Harry picks up a hitchhiker in Oxford, and it's a long ride to Glasgow.

6) We’re Not Who We Used To Be | Explicit | 30,611 words

“Harry…” Louis’ voice catches in his throat, thick with tears threatening to fall out, so he coughs to clear it before trying again. “Harry is Liam’s best man?” “You didn’t know?” Harry is standing at the entrance of the garage, mouth slightly open and face pulled together. He sets his bag on the ground and puts his hands on his hips. When he does that, he looks just like the Harry that Louis remembers (and loves, he thinks with an aching heart). “I’m sure I mentioned it,” Liam says, but Louis can tell he’s lying by the way he chews on his lower lip and twists his fingers together. “You’re all a bunch of dick heads, I’m getting in the car.” Louis isn’t sure if he’s being unreasonable. He has no idea what the protocol is when your ex-boyfriend shows up after three years and nobody bothered to give you a heads up. He’s pretty sure he’s allowed to be upset about it, even if it’s only for a bit.

7) Take The Back Roads | Explicit | 31,333 words

Note: This fic has been locked and can only be read by AO3 users.

The one where Harry and Louis are roommates who are pining over each other and all they need is a road trip down the West Coast to bring them together.

8) Bluebird | Explicit | 39,046 words

The 2,789 miles between New York and Los Angeles is a long way to go alone.

9) From Dust To Lust | Explicit | 45,437 words

From the moment Louis set eyes on the gorgeous stranger across the airport terminal, he knew the guy was trouble, which was the last thing he wanted. He wouldn’t have thought spending two days cooped up in a car travelling from the Australian Outback to the East Coast would change his mind. It’s funny how things work out.

10) Made For Lovin' You | Explicit | 52,637 words

“I’m in,” is all Louis receives. He blinks a few times, making sure he’s reading this right. “For real?” he asks, just to be a hundred percent sure. “Yes,” pops up. “How do you wanna pursue?” The alpha adds, like he’s on a special mission or something. “I’m gonna call us a cab to go to mine. Once I know it’s here, I’ll leave and join you there,” Louis explains. “I’ll text you to go around five minutes before it arrives, so it doesn’t look suspicious, and our friends don’t notice us leaving together.” “Noted.” So Louis does, and ten minutes later, he’s sat in the backseat of a cab, next to Harry Styles, the person he hates the most but unfortunately still finds attractive. They’re on their way to fuck in Louis’ flat. Splendid.

11) Waiting For The Tides To Meet | Explicit | 59,877 words

Soulmate AU. Everyone is born with heterochromia — one eye is their own eye colour, while the other is the colour of their soulmate's. It's only when they meet their soulmate for the first time that their own eyes match properly. After a hazy night at a frat party, Louis wakes up to blue eyes and the shocking realization that he had met his soulmate, without any sober recollection. Seven years pass where Louis comes to terms with the fact that he'll never know who his soulmate is. Then one fated summer, a beautiful green-eyed photographer arrives at Louis' workplace, with promises of endless laughter and a familiar feeling in Louis' heart.

12) Ghost Note Symphony | Explicit | 96,426 words

Louis is on tour when he first hears about it. It’s all over the news – Harry Styles Attacked By Fan runs in headlines for days. It’s not even just the gossip rags, either. Actual journalists are covering the story. It would have been impossible to avoid hearing about it. Technically, Oli is the one who tells Louis about it, but it’s not exactly being covered up. Harry doesn’t answer Louis’ text asking if he’s alright, but that’s not really surprising. They haven’t spoken for months, and it’s been a lot longer than that since they’ve had a real conversation. The sting of the text going unanswered is still there, less painful than it might have been a few years ago. It’s not that it’s easy to forget about, exactly. Louis has a whole life outside of One Direction now, though. So Louis goes on with his life, figuring that if Harry was seriously hurt he would have heard about it by now. He might currently be in the same country as Harry, but being on opposite sides of it puts enough distance between them that putting it in the back of his mind is easy. There’s nothing Louis could do, even if he thought Harry might want him to. That’s why everything that happens next comes as a complete shock to him.

13) Nothing Worsens, Nothing Grows | Explicit | 102,528 words | Sequel

Another roadtrip AU featuring Harry as the misunderstood hipster, Louis as the bitter psych major, Liam as the one with the secret boyfriend, and Niall as the one who just wants everyone to be happy.

Check out our other fic rec lists by category here and by title here.