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poorcinderelly · 3 years

Text

Perfectly Fine

Author: poorcinderelly

Rating: PG13 (language mostly)

Fandom: RPF

Pairing: Tom Holland/Reader

Disclaimer: This work is purely fiction and not-for-profit fan activity. It is not intended to infringe on any rights by and of the companies and/or individuals involved in the production of any series mentioned here.

Word Count: 3,491

Notes: Soooooo....I have never written an RPF fic before and especially not one that involves Tom Holland. I got inspired to write this after listening to Taylor Swift's song, Mr. Perfectly Fine on loop for the past few days. Fair warning, Tom is not really kind here. I mean, he's not the worst, but he's also not the greatest either. Part of me also really wants to do a part two to this, but I guess it will depend on how it's received and honestly, if I feel like it, lol.

Here's the AO3 link, too.

Enjoy!

It takes everything in me just to get up each day But it's wonderful to see that you're okay

You rolled over in bed and picked up your phone. It was almost 11:00am. You knew you had to get out of bed. Brush your teeth. Comb your hair. Eat something.

But your energy was gone. Everything felt so heavy.

The last communication was over a text message. Tom had asked when you were going to come by to get the rest of your things from his apartment. At first, you told him you weren't sure yet. He responded asking if he should just have them mailed to Jessica's, your best friend's place. You had been staying with her since the break-up.

You eventually told him that you would come to get them. But that was two weeks ago.

You opened your messages, a small part of you hoping to get a new one from him. But there was nothing.

You opened Twitter, mindlessly scrolling through, not really reading anything that was on your feed.

'Cause I hear he's got his arm 'round a brand-new girl I've been pickin' up my heart, he's been pickin' up her And I never got past what you put me through But it's wonderful to see that it never phased you

That was when you saw it. A video of Tom, with his new girlfriend. They were caught by paparazzi coming out of a restaurant. You watched as they held hands, making their way down the sidewalk. Tom was chatting them up as usual; it was something he did to try to make what's a typically stressful situation go as smooth as possible. It was something he did when he was out with you.

A lump swelled in your throat and you tried your best to blink back tears.

He seemed totally fine. It's like he has completely moved on, even though it had only been two weeks. You started seeing photos of him and her together shortly after you broke up. You thought it was odd that he had moved on so quickly, but you also suspected that he may have been talking to her for a while, even while you two were still together.

How wonderful.

That thought made the dam broke and you started to cry again. It felt like you had been crying non-stop since things ended. You were so tired of it. Jessica, being the best friend that she was, told you it was okay to cry and that it was okay to feel. "You've been through a shock," she said. "What Tom did caught you by surprise."

She was right of course, but it still hurt.

You closed Twitter and went back to your messages. You opened the thread you had with Tom and wrote the following:

I'll come pick my stuff up today.

You closed the app and rolled over, facing the window. The sun was out and you could see the leaves from the trees rustling in the breeze. It was a beautiful spring day.

Then you heard your phone ping. You reached over to the other side of the bed and picked it up.

Tom replied.

You took a breath and opened the message.

Okay. Just text when you're on the way.

You saw through that immediately. It was so obvious that he was trying to make sure she wouldn't be there when you came. "How considerate of you."

You didn't even bother to text him back.

You set your phone down on the table and even though it felt like it took all of your strength, you rolled out of bed.

"Time to get moving."

- * -* -* - * -* -* -* - * -* -* -* - * -* -* -* - * -

Mr. "Perfect face" Mr. "Here to stay" Mr. "Looked me in the eye and told me you would never go away" Everything was right Mr. "I've been waiting for you all my life" Mr. "Every single day until the end, I will be by your side"

You and Tom met at a red carpet event for a summer Hollywood blockbuster. He already had two Spider-Man movies under his belt by then, but you were an up-and-coming actress. You were aware of him and he was aware of your work, but you had never met or spoken to one another before. However, when you saw him outside the theater, it was like sparks went off. Despite being surrounded by the press and screaming fans, all you could see was him.

Once you both were inside the venue, he asked if he could find you at the party afterward. You said "yes," trying your best not to show how eager and excited you were. Once the movie was over, you made your way to the after-party. Walking in, you felt like you were in a fairytale; a princess trying to find her prince in the crowd.

Tom found you first; he made his way from the other side of the room and offered you a drink. You never left each other's side that night; you danced, ate, drank, and left to go back to his hotel together.

You hoped that the one-night stand would turn into something more and it did.

One month turned into six, then a year, and another year. Tom was everything you wanted in a person; kind, funny, smart, and attentive. Even though you both had extremely chaotic schedules, you both made it a rule to coordinate a FaceTime every night before you went to sleep, no matter where you were in the world.

It did not take long for the press to catch on about your relationship. Since your career was not as established as Tom's, having everyone in the world find out about you made you incredibly anxious. But Tom was supportive and patient; he was also a private person, which helped. He promised to protect you.

Tom was good for you and you thought you were good for him, too. He made you feel safe and loved. You had been waiting for a relationship like this one for a long, long time.

But that was when I got to know Mr. "Change of heart" Mr. "Leaves me all alone," I fall apart

You couldn't pinpoint when exactly things changed, but it occurred over the span of a few months.

Tom started to snap more during your FaceTimes. He assured you that it was stress from having to film three movies back to back. But you knew something was off; you just couldn't tell what it was. Not long after that, your FaceTimes were getting short. The same thing would happen: Tom would lose his patience, you would get defensive, a fight would happen, and both of you would hang up.

Tom barely answered your FaceTime calls after that fight. He would always say he was busy or tired, but you knew better.

And throughout this time, the anxiety kept building up. Every day, you asked yourself what you did to upset him and if there was a way to fix it. Your communication with Tom was mostly through text messages, and you were starting to notice that when you told him you loved him, he didn't say it back.

The first time you saw him after that was in November. It was the start of the holiday break for the both of you and you wanted to have a few weeks to yourselves before having to travel to see each other's families. You arrived at the apartment you both shared in New York. After you dropped your suitcases in the bedroom, you texted him asking if he was on his way.

Hours went by. He never responded.

You heard the doorknob click around nine-thirty that evening and Tom made his way inside. He tossed his keys on the counter and went into the kitchen, not saying a word. You could tell he was tired; you were tired too. You knew better than to do this, but the anxiety and frustration that had been building up for the past few weeks finally got released.

It resulted in the biggest fight you had. You asked why he didn't respond to your text; he snapped and asked why you were always breathing down his neck. You just wanted to know what was going on; why things have been distant between you both. But Tom just kept deflecting, saying that nothing was wrong. But your anxiety wouldn't let you believe it; something was different and you knew fighting wasn't going to solve the problem. But it just didn't stop; it quickly escalated to more screaming, more crying, and slamming doors.

Tom left the apartment that night; he left you sitting on the living room floor, crying. Right before he slammed the door, he said, "I need to get away from you right now."

Hours went by and you were waiting for him to come home.

He didn't.

You ended up sleeping on the couch.

Mr. "Never told me why" Mr. "Never had to see me cry" Mr. "Insincere apology so he doesn't look like the bad guy"

Tom returned the next day. You heard him come in around the early afternoon. He was wearing the same outfit he wore yesterday. You wanted to know where he was, but you didn't ask, afraid that it would set off another fight.

Your mind wandered to what he said the night before.

"You're always nagging on me."

"Why do you think something always has to be wrong?"

"You're so fucking crazy."

"I need to get away from you."

Tom saw that you were on the couch and came to the obvious conclusion that you slept there and had not moved. He crouched down in front of you and brushed some loose strands of your hair out of your face.

"I'm sorry."

You could not tell if his apology was genuine. It honestly felt like he was only apologizing just to apologize, not because he truly meant it. But you were so tired; you wanted this to be over.

So you accepted it.

Hello Mr. "Casually cruel"

Things did not get better after that. Typical small arguments turned into big ones and minor disagreements turned into personal attacks.

It amazed you how Tom had so many casually cruel comebacks for you in his arsenal. But you were not so innocent either; some of the things you said to him surprised you.

You started to not like who you have become; you were anxious all the time now and truthfully, you really did not like hurting him. You weren't sure if you could say the same about Tom, though.

One night in February, you were sitting out on the balcony, looking over the Manhattan skyline. You were sipping your tea and heard the sliding door to the balcony open. Tom sat in the chair next to you, running his hands through his hair.

"I think..." he sighed, "....I think we need to break up."

You knew it was coming, but you still were not fully prepared. Tears swelled in your eyes and you squeezed the mug like it was your lifeline.

"We just can't keep doing this, babes," said Tom. "I can't keep doing this."

In your head, you begged him to stop. You pleaded that it was not in fact over; that you just needed to talk things through. You could definitely work through this; it was just a rough patch. But you could not say the words - because a part of you knew that he was right.

You could not keep doing it either.

Both of you sat out there for a while, not saying a word. You still squeezed the tea mug, but the tears you were holding back were falling freely now.

It was over.

- * -* -* - * -* -* -* - * -* -* -* - * -* -* -* - * -

You found the energy to shower, blowdry your hair, and get changed into a white t-shirt, jeans, and green jacket. You grabbed your phone, wallet, and keys and tossed them in your handbag.

Jessica was in the kitchen eating a piece of toast. You saw how elated she was when she noticed that you showered and changed clothes. She offered to make you breakfast, but you refused.

"I'll just eat something when I come back."

"Oh!" Her eyes widened. "Where are you going?"

"I, uh...I'm going to Tom's...to get the rest of my things." You picked at the end of one of the drawstrings on your jacket.

"Will she be there?" Jessica asked.

You shook her head. "I don't think so."

Jessica nodded; you noticed that she looked a little relieved. "Well, do you want me to drive you? Just in case you see some paps along the way?"

"Oh. Them," you thought. It did not take long for the media to catch on that you two had broken up. It was partly why you had been hiding out at Jessica's for the past couple of weeks. As much as you wanted her to come with you, you knew this was something you needed to do yourself.

Jessica said she had to work tonight, but promised to come home straight after for a full report, which you laughed at. You said your goodbyes and made your way out of Jessica's building.

You breathed a sigh of relief when you saw that there were not any paps around. You hailed a taxi and gave the driver the address to Tom's apartment. Your old apartment.

You leaned back in the seat and pulled out your phone.

I'm on my way.

You tried not to think too much about it. If you thought about it, you would surely cry. That was the last thing you wanted to do.

The cab pulled up to the front of the building. You paid the fee and got out. You said your hello to Tony, the doorman (who was surprised to see you), and made your way through the lobby, up the elevator, and down the green carpet hall to your old unit. Room 4J

Your hands were shaking a little now, but you tried to brush it off. You turned it into a fist and lightly knocked on the door. It was just starting to hit you that this would be the last time you would set foot in this place, but you interrupted the thought.

"Damn it, you are NOT going to lose it!"

You heard movement from the other side of the door and the jiggle of the doorknob.

There was Tom.

He was wearing a black turtleneck, jeans, and socks. His chestnut hair was curly and he had what looked like a cup of tea in his hand.

"Come in."

He did not smile when he saw you; you were not expecting him to, but it stung a little.

You began to scan the apartment, trying to find anything that belonged to you. Then you heard Tom clear his throat.

"Uh...everything's in the guest bedroom," he said.

You looked at him, confused. Since when did he have a guest bedroom?

"We turned it into a spare bedroom after..." his voice trailed off near the end.

Their now guest room used to be your craft room. It had all of your paints, markers, fabrics, and colorful paper that you used to make gifts for friends, co-workers, and loved ones. Of course, all of that was packed up and in storage now.

You sighed a little and made your way down the hall to the guest room. You opened the door and saw a full bed, a dresser with a small television on it, and a bedside table with a lamp on it. In the space between the bed and the dresser was a single medium-sized cardboard box with your name written on it in big, black letters. The handwriting was Tom's.

You crouched down and opened the box. Inside was your favorite tea mug, a spare cell phone charger, some headphones, a scarf, and a paintbrush set you left behind. At the bottom of the box, was a small, red photo album.

You knew immediately what that was. You bit your lip and swallowed. "I'll open that another time," you thought.

You folded the box back up and tucked it under your arm as you got to your feet. You made your way back to the living area and saw Tom sitting on the couch, with his arms crossed. When he saw you enter the room, he got to his feet.

"Do you need help with that?" he asked.

You shook your head. "No," you answered, shortly, "I got it."

Tom let out a small sigh and followed you to the door. You wanted to get out of there. You could feel the dam was about to break. Just as your hand was about to twist the doorknob, you heard Tom's voice let out a small, "I'm sorry."

You bit your lip and lowered your head. "Don't do this! Not here!" you begged yourself. "You don't have to apologize, Tom," you said, surprised that you were even able to get that out of you. Your hand was still clenching the doorknob.

"Y/N, can we please talk?" Tom asked. "I just need to clear the air on a few things."

You could tell he was a little desperate for this. Part of you wondered if this was something he had planned all along. You knew you did not owe him anything, but part of you wanted to hear him out.

You turned around and set the box on top of the kitchen counter. You leaned against the counter, crossing your arms. "Do you want to sit down?" Tom offered. You shook your head. "No thanks."

And it's really such a shame It's such a shame 'Cause I was Miss "Here to stay" Now I'm Miss "Gonna be alright someday" And someday maybe you'll miss me But by then, you'll be Mr. "Too late"

So Tom stood too. He looked you in the eye the entire time he spoke, but he also twiddled his fingers.

"I'm sorry that we ended things the way we did. I'm sorry for the way I treated you, how I yelled at you and insulted you. No one should ever have to hear those words, and I know I should have treated you better. I'm truly sorry."

You swallowed the lump in your throat and bit the inside of your cheek. This was all you wanted - a genuine apology. Now that you finally got it, you weren't sure how to process it.

But you knew you better say something, too.

"I-I'm sorry, too. I'm sorry for how I treated you, too. I said some horrible things to you, too, and I wish I could take them back. I'm sorry."

The damn started to break now. A few small tears started to roll down your cheeks. You wiped them away with your sleeve, hoping it would hinder the rest.

There was so much more that you wanted to say to him, but you knew if you did, you would not be able to control yourself. Tom took a step closer to, with the intent to give you a hug. But you held your hand up to stop him, which he respected.

That was when you took a step closer to him, stood on your tiptoes, and kissed him on his cheek.

"Goodbye, Tom," you said, your voice cracking. "Thank you." "I wish you well."

You did not give him the time to speak. You quickly turned around, grabbed the box from the counter, and walked out the door.

You pushed through the doors of the building and walked out into the street. You got lucky again and immediately hailed a cab before saying goodbye to Tony.

On your ride home, you watched people pass on the sidewalk. The box was resting in your lap. The tears you had been working so hard to hold back were starting to fall. But you did not feel any tinge of sadness, anger, or any pain. The feeling in your chest was mostly bittersweet.

You accepted that that was probably the last time you were ever going to see Tom, and you were beginning to feel okay with that. You were also beginning to feel happy that he was fine. Despite the pain that the both of you endured, you truly just wanted to see him happy. And now you finally knew that he wants the same for you too.

You reached up and wiped away the tears that were still rolling down your cheeks. A part of you will always love Tom, but after today, you can finally take the steps to move on.

You know you will be perfectly fine too someday.

Goodbye Mr. "Perfectly fine" How's your heart after breakin' mine? Mr. "Always at the right place at the right time," baby Goodbye Mr. "Casually cruel" Mr. "Everything revolves around you" I've been Miss "Misery" for the last time And you're Mr. "Perfectly fine" You're perfectly fine

Click here to read Part II (Changing Minds)

#tom holland #tom holland x reader #tom holland x y/n #tom holland x you #taylor swift #mr. perfectly fine #mr perfectly fine #fic: perfectly fine #fandom: rpf #rpf: tom holland #ch: ofc #ch: reader

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andromedarune · 3 years

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[Vampire!Leon/Witch!Reader] “A Night of Tricks and Treats” (Halloween Fic~!)

A/N: HAHA, I did it! It’s later than I wanted to post this, but it’s here! So enjoy the story that y’all voted for: A Vampire!Leon AU, with cute/fun elements, and a black dahlia thrown into the mix (along with other creative liberties). Thanks to everyone who voted on that poll - this one’s for you!

Vampire!Leon x Witch!Reader - “A Night of Tricks and Treats”

Word Count: ~3k

Rating: Teen (mild blood, reference to death, adult language, spooky stuff)

The third set of feverish knocks on your front door pulled a frustrated groan from your lips. You were finally drifting off to sleep when some rando decided to assault your door at some ungodly time in the night (or morning, since you checked your phone to see that it was a quarter past three). Pouted lips set on your face, you groggily slip out of bed, hardly bothering to grab the cardigan that you kept slung over your desk chair. Another fit of knocks was just starting up when you threw open the door, ready to say a few choice words to your unfortunate visitor.

But unfortunately for you, this wasn’t just any visitor.

“Hey, you’re awake!” Leon gave a cheery smile, oblivious as ever.

Ah. Maybe you should have put on some better clothes. But you’re already this far in - you decide to just play along like nothing’s wrong. Knowing him, you’d at least have a couple of minutes before the awkward sets in.

“Uh, yeah… You do realize it’s three in the morning, right?”

Leon shrugged.

“I’m aware, but it’s so much easier getting here at night. You have no idea how annoying paparazzi can be…” You sink in your hip a bit, watching his eyes flit down past your head for the briefest of moments. He tries to meet your gaze again, but the awkward smile twitching with some odd emotion that settled onto his face cues you in that he most definitely noticed.

The weather’s been oddly warm despite it already being autumn, so you were still wearing your summer pajamas. Which, of course, were a simple set of purple Wooloo PJs. Short-shorts that were baggy and comfy, a tank top that was equally baggy and comfy. Nothing scandalous, but definitely more revealing than what you normally wear.

You can practically hear the dial-up sounds going on in Leon’s mind as he shifts his weight from one foot to the other, one hand tangling itself around a strand of that obnoxiously long purple hair, him just desperate to find something to distract himself with. It’s kind of fun to watch, actually.

“Did you need something?” you eventually sigh, crossing your arms over your chest as a hint of self-consciousness rumbles through your gut.

“A-ah, right!” he snaps out of it and lifts up his arm. Carefully pulling back the sleeve of his casual red hoodie, he reveals to you his forearm. A large, dark-colored burn covers most of the arm, even reaching down to his fingertips. You can’t help but wince, leaning forward for a closer look. “I, um, could use some of your help with this, if you don’t mind.”

“Again, really, Leon?” you can’t help but scold him a bit. He laughs, anyways. “This is the third time this month - one of these days there’s not gonna be much of you left to heal.”

He mutters a soft apology, but you’re still playing like you’re irritated with him and spin around into your living room. You don’t make it far before you realize that Leon’s still standing just before the threshold.

“Oh, right - you can come in.”

“Thanks,” Leon sighs in relief, still holding his arm with a smile.

Just like always, you guide him through your house, leading the significantly taller man down the halls towards a dark down just at the opposite end of your little cottage house. Expertly, you unlock the mystical mechanism that you yourself created (probably seven or eight years ago now? Man, how time flies) to reveal the ominous, shadowy basement. The two of you descend down the steps; you pass by a set of candles and light them with a snap of the fingers, a sight that surely puts stars in Leon’s eyes. He’s always been a sucker for parlor tricks like that.

Leon waddles over to the simple wooden chair you have waiting near the center of the room, taking a seat to watch as you tugged on your long black cloak (the one you made a habit to keep hanging down here for these very instances) and began pulling out various ingredients from one of the numerous cabinets that lined the upper walls of the room.

“Wish you’d just commit to being nocturnal, already,” you couldn’t help but sigh, checking the date you had written on the little jar of beeswax you were inspecting. “If you keep getting injured like this, your healing abilities might become permanently disabled.”

“You know I can’t do that.”

“Why not?”

“Because I’m still champion,” he laughed, seeming more amused by your reaction than anything. “I can’t just step down for no reason.”

“Sure you can.” You climbed up onto a lower shelf to dig further into a cabinet. You left that jar of chamomile here somewhere. “Gym leaders do it all the time.”

“It’s different for champions. We’re the best of the best, the image of the ideal trainer for our region. Galar isn’t known for giving up, so that’s not an option I’m willing to consider.”

You almost settle for the bag of rosemary, only to quickly set it back in the cabinet. That would be bad, using rosemary on Leon. You were trying to heal him, here, not destroy the guy. You decide to check another cabinet.

“I know, I know, Mr. Unbeatable Champion. I’m just saying that it hasn’t even been a year since you’ve turned and now I’ve basically become your primary medical provider. And you don’t even pay me!”

“I pay you!” He whines a bit before pausing, no doubt trying to think of instances of proper “payment”. “I, um… Well, I’ll pay you back this time!”

You finally find the chamomile, and even stumble upon that jar of honey you were looking for earlier today (of course, they were both behind the several jars of cinnamon sticks). So you throw the man a perked eyebrow while walking over to your giant black cauldron, which rested within a rustic brick fireplace.

“Oh yeah? What have you, Good Sir Champion, have to offer to the likes of me?”

“Name your price and I’ll double it.”

You snicker, lighting the fire with a clap of the hands rather than snapping. You can barely catch Leon’s amazed smile from this far away. How is any of that exciting for someone like you, you can help but wonder. Champion, genuinely cool guy, recently-turned vampire… still gets amused at basic baby magic. Same ol’ Lee.

“Hm, that’s a bold offer, young man,” you muse, adding a dramatic raspiness that makes you sound like some aged witch from a shitty Blockbuster horror film. “A wise man would think twice before dealing with a witch~.”

“Please,” he snickered, “you still call me to catch baby Joltiks that wander into your house. Don’t even try.”

A playfully sour look from you spurs a booming fit of laughter from your old friend. You hide your smile by turning away, focusing more on getting some dandelions to add to the mix. A small bag of garlic slumps over in the cabinet, so of course you grab it and reveal it to the man. He instinctively leans back a bit, a nervous grin settling onto his face.

“Hey, maybe this’ll add some extra zing to your salve, huh?”

“Uh, n-no thanks…”

“That’s what I thought,” you cackle, tossing the garlic away. Thoroughly satisfied with what you have, you dump a shit-ton of beeswax into the cauldron, watching it slowly melt before adding in the other items. While all that boils away, you wander over to your other writing desk, skipping past your grimoire in favor of digging into a drawer. There, you retrieve a small glass vial and a bag of jumbo marshmallows; those in hand, you walk back over to where Leon resides.

“Time for the secret ingredient.”

“It’s not really a secret ingredient if I already know what it is,” he frowned.

“Shut up and open wide.”

He rolls his eyes a bit, but does as he’s told. If you didn’t already know the truth here, you might have not seen anything unhuman about his teeth. Overly white from years of meticulous care and likely bleaching or whitening strips (though the thought of Leon walking around at night with whitening strips on his teeth nearly made you choke on your spit), but otherwise normal-looking human teeth. However, you knew better, and peered a little closer to his canines. Sure enough, you could see it; a slight shimmer, something like seeing heat rising off the earth during the summer, wavy and hardly noticeable. You took a marshmallow in one hand, the vial in the other; expertly, you stabbed the treat into one fang and simultaneously propped up the vial against the other tooth. Leon flinched a bit (“It feels really weird,” he had told you one time, following the same procedure the night he needed a quick fix after accidentally grabbing one of his grandmother’s rosaries when cleaning up his mother’s house, “kinda like I’m spitting with my teeth. Yuck.”). In seconds, small spurts of a dark, sort-of maroon-colored liquid fills up most of the vial. You give it a few seconds more before pulling away, taking a moment to drain the liquid from the marshmallow before offering the remains to the champion. He childishly takes it with glee, stuffing it into his mouth with that stupid smile on his face (goddamn his smile was gorgeous, but it’s way easier to just say that it was stupid, instead).

With the last and most important ingredient, you return to your work, carefully pouring the vial’s sibylline contents into the concoction. You pick up the large wooden spoon that hangs over the fireplace and give a few generous stirs.

“Y’know,” you hear Leon’s footsteps creeping up behind you, keeping a slow, leisurely pace as he meanders around the room, “this really wasn’t the future I thought for us when we were kids.”

You exhale a chuckle from your nose. You almost say that you feel the same, but the fear of him inquiring further about what you did envision makes you choose a different set of words.

“Don’t even think about getting all Byronic on me,” you peered over your shoulder. He simply smiles at you - an even stupider smile - hands in his pockets as he slowly makes his way towards you. “I’m not going to listen to you moan and groan about your tragic fate for all eternity.”

He chuckles, something surprising soft instead of his regular bone-shattered laugh.

“Of course not. I’m just saying that I figured we’d be, y’know, doing other things.” You try not to think about what he could mean by that. “But I’m not really against this. I don’t think I would’ve found out about your little shop of horrors down here, otherwise.”

He’s got a good point there. Literally the only reason you admitted to your secret life as a decently skilled witch was the night he turned. You could still remember it all; he stumbled into your house, desperately holding his wound with that terrified look in his eye, as if he was looking at Death, itself. You’d never personally treated a victim of vampire’s night out (not a live one, anyway), but you did everything in your power to keep Leon alive. But you knew that it was nothing short of a miracle that he managed to wake up the next morning, having survived a night of literal death in slow-motion. Not so many victims were so fortunate to make it through the process, but like hell you were about to let your childhood friend die like that. So now he knew your secret, and you protected his. At least you didn’t have to worry about the two of you drifting apart any time soon, especially with him always forgetting basic vampyric flaws like sunlight all the time.

He settles beside you, offering a soft smile.

“I guess what I’m trying to say is that I’m really grateful to know someone like you. You’ve got better things to be doing, and yet you always make time to bring me back after I do something stupid again and again.”

You look into his eyes a moment too long before looking back into your task. The gooey mixture, now dyed a deep red, bubbled down below, seeming almost alive.

“You make it sound like I just started doing this. I’ve been patching you up since kindergarten.”

“Fair enough. But still… I’d be dead if it weren’t for you. So, thank you.”

He’s got that look in his eyes again, golden irises burning brighter than ever, and he’s far too close for you to be comfortable. So, logically, you look even deeper into your cauldron, grateful that the darkness of the room likely hides your ever-burning cheeks. Thankfully, the brew looks just about ready. You reach over and grab a small bowl from the table nearby, spooning some of the waxy goo into its hold.

From birth, it had been decided that you would carry on your mother’s family tradition of witchcraft. And you have - with much pride - and it’s become your greatest secret that would spell disaster should it be learned by the wrong people. You didn’t make many friends, but Leon’s dumb smile was so infectious that you were always drawn to him, even if he drove you bat-shit with his innocent antics. The two of you were close for so long, but after he became champion, things became a bit more strained. You figured that it wouldn’t be long before he forgot about you altogether - but then last year’s “incident” happened, and now a whole new understanding unknown to much of the world had formed between you both. You knew it was far too late to ever consider confessing any of your possible feelings for him (feelings of annoyance, you always told yourself - what an unfortunate lie that’s come to be), but now here you were, likely stuck as his clandestine nurse for the rest of your mortal life. And then what? You’d be reincarnated, would likely stumble upon memories of your past lives (such is the fate of those who take on the witch’s mantle), and see the man you once loved (or loathed, as you’d rather say) finding someone else to take care of him in your absence. For him, it’d hardly feel like a change. But for you, it’d truly be a fate beyond that of death or eternal damnation. You should be happy that he has a reason to stay with you for the rest of your life, but instead, all you can feel is a bitter aftertaste that you have no choice but to suffer through.

“I can’t say I believe in fate,” you shrug your shoulders, “but every now and then the stars align in such a way that has us thinking that God has a sense of humor.”

Leon chuckles again, but you don’t really know. He doesn’t really know what you’re referring to. Right?

You shuffle him back over to the chair, sitting him down and resting his arm across the armrest. As gentle as possible, you spread the salve across the burn area, letting it soak in a bit before applying a second coating that you massage into his skin. Leon watches with that dumb, stupid, bothersome smile of his; you make a point never to meet those eyes, not when you’re so close to him like this.

After a few minutes, you give an affirmative nod and pull back, inspecting the injury. Sure enough, it’s already starting to lighten up.

“Looks like we got power in the healing department,” you smirk. “You’re all ready to go, Good Sir Champion.”

“Not quite.” You must’ve made a weird face, because he’s quickly backtracking, rubbing the back of his neck with a laugh. “I mean, uh, I still have to pay you back double, right? You never said what kind of payment you want.”

You don’t like the way he phrased that. No, you hate the way he phrased that. It’s got your mind in all sorts of a jumble, now. So as quick as you can (before you accidentally say something stupid), you make up a response.

“Flowers.”

Okay that’s really fucking dumb.

Leon quirks his eyebrows at you, seeming amused once more.

“I, uh, I mean,” you stumble for words, hoping to dig yourself out of this hole you’ve thrown yourself into with one stupid word. “What I mean is… I’ve been looking for a specific set of flowers for this spell I’m working on, but they don’t really sell them in stores nearby. So, uh, yeah. Get me flowers.”

“Flowers? For a spell?”

“For a spell,” you affirm.

“Okay,” there’s a strange tone to his voice that you don’t really want to try and decipher, “I can do that. What, uh… what kind of flowers do you want - er, what kind do you need? For the spell?”

You run through a mental list of all the most non-romantic flowers you can think of. Unfortunately, you like flowers, so all of them kinda felt romantic. God fucking dammit.

“Uh… dahlia’s? Black dahlia’s - yeah, those’ll be good. For the spell.”

“Right, the spell,” he nods, glancing off to the side for a millisecond. “I think I can do that, yeah. For a second, I was kind of scared you were gonna make me get a bunch of super poisonous flowers. Not sure how I would explain that one to my bank.”

“Y-yeah, right.”

A brief (and awkward) silence settles over the two of you. Eventually, Leon moves to get up; you shuffle a few steps back to give him enough space to stretch.

“Well, thanks again for helping me - I feel a thousand times better. I swear, you’re a better doctor than, well, actual doctors.”

You smirk with a smidge of pride. “Magic is just a science that hasn’t been accepted yet. And it looks cooler, too.”

“Maybe you can teach me a few things, some time.”

You narrow your eyes at him, playfully glaring in such a way that has him laughing just at the sight of it.

“That’ll cost you more flowers, Lee - are you sure you’re ready for that?”

“I’ll buy you as many flowers as you want - any kind you want.”

You wait a minute for him to backtrack, or to say “For the spell” in a rushed manner like always. But that’s it, the end of the sentence. He just stands there, smiling in that stupid way evermore, eyes focused entirely on you.

It’s a look that you can hardly describe, the look in his eyes at that moment. It pulls something from your chest that you had spent years keeping locked up tight.

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

You don’t know what scares you more - the fact that you said that, or the fact that he grins even brighter.

You’re the witch here, and yet he’s the one trapping you in this terrible enthrallmetn that has you seeing stars with just that stupid-dumb smile of his. It’s hard to blame it on his status or his altered state of humanity when this has always been the case. No, that’s just the kind of person Leon has always been and (hopefully) always will be. And you would likely be stuck with this (gorgeous) idiot for the rest of your mortal life.

It’s got your heart beating faster - you can’t tell if it’s from fear or from excitement. Maybe both. Most likely both.

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nanoland · 3 years

Text

mazikeen/eve/michael fic in progress

title: Ponder on the Narrow House

fandom: Lucifer

characters: Mazikeen, Eve, Michael

blurb: In which Mazikeen isn't finished with Michael yet.

warnings: Spoilers for Season 5.

In 2019, Fodor’s had crowned LAX the worst airport on Planet Earth, comparing it – much to Mazikeen’s amusement – to Dante Alighieri’s Hell.

She couldn’t comment on the comparison’s accuracy; she’d never read Divina Comedia. Human poetry bored her.

Up against the real thing, however? Hell was quieter, cleaner, and smelt better than Los Angeles International, and it wasn’t even close.

Granted, Mazikeen was biased. Hell was her home and she liked it quite a lot. But surely even a human – even an angel – would sooner take a stint in one of Lucifer’s loops than spend more than thirty minutes in Terminal 3.

Yet there he was, leaning against the wall, watching the bustling crowd with a faint smile on his face, like a man in the park resting his eyes on the ducks. Perfectly content.

“Do you know,” he said as she approached him, “that around forty percent of all humans are scared of flying?”

She hadn’t been sure how this encounter would go and, being innately practical, had dressed accordingly. Black satin skirt, flattering and loose enough to both conceal several demon daggers (invisible to the full-body scanner she’d just sauntered through) and not impede her reaction time in a fight. Red silk wrap blouse, easily unwrapped to serve as a garrotte or tourniquet. Hair down, curled, dyed pitch black with bronze-gold streaks – possibly a tactical disadvantage if he grabbed it, but possibly a distraction. She knew he liked her hair.

When she was satisfied he wasn’t about to lunge for her throat, she took a gamble and moved in to lean against the wall alongside him, following his gaze. “Not surprising. Think of it from their perspective. They don’t have wings. Actually – huh. I guess that’s a perspective you can sympathise with now.”

He sneered. “You’re trying to bait me, Miss Mazikeen. That’s cute. But I’m not in the mood, dollface. This? This is me time. I’ve had a shitty few days and I came here specifically to soak up these idiot mortals’ fear and chill out. Get lost. Go play with my twin if you’re so starved for entertainment.”

Mazikeen stretched. “That’s the problem. He’s hanging out with the rest of your lousy family. Gabriel. Raziel. Jophiel. Now that he’s in charge, they’re all trying to crawl up his ass. It’s pathetic. And annoying.”

His jaw clenched and she knew exactly what he was thinking: ‘That should have been me.’

“Also,” she added, after a pause, “they don’t like me. Most of them have never met a demon. There’s no outright hostility but… they talk to me like I’m some gross exotic pet Lucifer found and adopted.”

“They’re afraid of you.”

“Bullshit.”

“Nope. I’m wrong about some things. Never about fear. They can tell how much you matter to him, how much he’d do for you and vis versa, and it scares them shitless. Chloe Decker they can understand – she was Dad’s gift, after all. You, though? Lucy was never supposed to love you. No one was.”

She fiddled with her earring; big, gold, shaped like a swallow with rubies dotting its tail feathers. A gift from Eve. “Whatever. Anyway, that’s why I’m here. With you. Instead of them. You’re the worst, most obnoxious, most cowardly creep ever. I mean it. Christ, do you suck. But you always talked to me like I was a person. Right from the beginning.”

Ugliness flared behind his eyes. “Seriously? Now you’re being nice? Lucifer sent his general to console me? Ha! That’s how pitiful he thinks I am?”

“Pfft – no. Lucifer doesn’t give a crap about you. I’m here because I wanna offer you a job, moron.”

“A… job.”

“Yep. Ever heard of ‘bounty-hunting’?”

He nodded. Slowly. Smirking, she pushed off the wall and twirled on her six-inch heels to face him.

“Here’s the thing, o Angel of Dread; I’ve spent centuries in Hell learning how to terrify people. I look at you and you know what I see? Potential. Sure, you’re rough around the edges. Still got some celestial baby fat clinging to you. Still a little squeamish when it comes to certain tricks of the trade. But Mikey, honey, six months under my tutelage and I think we can turn you into a bona fide fucking nightmare.”

She let the skin on her face’s left side melt away and grinned at him. “So? How about it?”

“Eh,” he said after taking one last glance around the terminal. “Fuck it. Why not? Nothing better to do.”

“Los Angeles is kinda like me,” Mazikeen told him, taking off her red-lensed cat-eye sunglasses as she strutted down the pier.

“Doesn’t have a soul?”

A withering glare. “Tough. Pretty on the outside, mean on the inside. It’s easy to make enemies around here and when you’ve made ‘em, you need to stay on your toes. Stay nimble. Stay mobile. Ready to fight or flee at any moment.”

Michael nodded. “And that’s how you justify living on a tugboat.”

“Ahoy!” called Eve, standing on the deck in a polka dot bikini and pirate hat Mazikeen had presumably stolen for her off the set of some summer blockbuster or other being shot nearby, the salty breeze playing with her hair.

“It’s a yacht,” Mazikeen growled.

“No. That’s a yacht,” Michael replied, pointing to the gleaming white MCY 70 Skylounge docked nearby. “What you have is a glorified raft that can, at best, accommodate two people and maybe a toaster.”

He should, perhaps, be trying harder to ingratiate himself with his new boss.

But he was tired.

Getting in his face, she snapped, “Hey! That’s our headquarters, asshole. Show some respect.”

“It’s covered in seagull crap. It looks older than me. There’s a very obvious bloodstain on the helm. Jesus, doesn’t Lucifer pay you?”

She pushed him into the sea.

Offering him a hand when he bobbed to the surface, Eve said, “Don’t take it personally. She’s just mad because we weren’t able to steal a bigger one.”

It was while Michael was towelling himself dry down below decks that the chunky-faced cop wandered in, took one look at him, and strode across the room.

“Mister Espinoza,” he drawled, “what can I-… oh. Oh, wow, you really thought that was going to work, huh?”

Curled up on the floor, clutching the fist he’d very mistakenly slammed into Michael’s jaw, Dan hissed, “Fuck you. You killed me.”

“Poppycock. I had you killed. That’s entirely different, buddy.”

Dan staggered to his feet and shouted, “Maze! Eve! What the hell is he doing here?”

Taking off his wet jacket and draping it over the rack alongside the towel, Michael said, “I was invited, thank you very much. No one told me you were part of the arrangement.”

“What arrangement, asshole?” Dan snapped, turning red. “I’m just here to help Maze fix her boat’s engine.”

“Oh. You don’t work with her, then? No, I suppose you wouldn’t. As we’ve established, you’re entirely too killable.”

“You sleazy son-of-a… Maze! Get down here!”

Grumbling, Michael’s new boss stalked below deck carrying a crate of beer on her left shoulder and a sleeping bag under her right arm. “Goddammit – Dan, I told you to wait. Is your hand bleeding, you big meathead? We seriously just dragged your ass out of Hell and you couldn’t go two whole days before breaking yourself again? Ugh. You’re impossible. You’re worse than Decker.”

“Maze, d’you wanna explain what the actual fuck Lucifer’s psycho twin is doing here?”

“Interning,” Michael said, cheerfully.

His face now practically purple, Dan half-yelled, “What is he talking about? This is not okay, Maze! Does Chloe know? Does Amenadiel? Why is he even still on Earth? Lucifer’s God now; can’t he stick him on Mars or turn him into a bug or something?”

“Look, Dan, just calm down-…” she began.

“I died! I actually, literally, physically died! Because of him! No, I’m not going to calm down!”

Michael scoffed. “Please. Like that’s what you’re really upset about. You’re not angry about dying. You’re not angry at all. You’re scared, buttercup. And not just of me; of her, of Lucifer, of everything, and to be honest, I didn’t even need to use the ol’ angel juice to work that out.”

Mazikeen set down her cargo, pulled a knife from her belt, and flung it. It embedded itself five inches deep in the floor between them. “This? This is not Lux, dickheads. Mortals and celestials don’t hang out here to have a good time while I sit behind the bar and tolerate them. This crummy, crusty-ass, piece of crap boat is my domain. Here, I don’t have to put up with one femtometre of your bullshit. If you want to fight, do it somewhere else. If you want to fuck, do it quick and clean up afterwards. If you want to make yourselves useful, help me get the weapons on board.”

“Wait – wait, weapons? What weapons?” said Dan to her retreating back. “You said you were going fishing. Maze! What weapons?”

“Where’s all your stuff?” Eve asked when she showed him to his tiny cabin.

“I’m an archangel. I don’t have ‘stuff’.”

(Michael had already decided he didn’t like her. She was bubbly.)

“Heh. You should travel with Lucy sometime. We went to Vancouver for a weekend and he brought seven bags, five watches, and six pairs of shoes. Okay, do you – uh, do you at least have a change of clothes? Because those look kinda soggy.”

To his annoyance – and embarrassment – she spend twenty minutes hunting down a shirt and pants that would fit him.

“They’re mine,” she said, dropping them into his lap. “But I bought them to sleep in and I like loose pyjamas, so they’re a dozen sizes too big on me. Oh! Also found you this.”

She presented a hot water bottle in the shape of a fat, cuddly sheep.

He accepted it carefully, wondering if it was booby-trapped. “You’re Lucifer’s ex, right?”

“Er… yep? Amongst other things. The Original Sinner. First Woman, First Wife, First Mother. Mother of Mankind. Second Human. First Knowledgeable Human. But sure, I was also your brother’s girlfriend for a while.”

“And now you’re Mazikeen’s. Do you also work with her?”

“Sure do!” she said, interpreting the question as an invitation to sit down next to him. “I’m The Choronzon’s captain. That’s our boat’s name. My idea. I know she’s not much to look at but she’s got so much history. There’ve been fourteen homicides on her! Plus, she’s fast; way, way faster than she looks. And I know the beds are hard, but we’ve got three hammocks stashed away and getting them set up is easy as pie.”

“Wow. Those suckers up in the Silver City don’t know what they’re missing.”

She nodded, blinking slowly. “Hmm. Maze was right. You are mean. That’s cool. I get on well with mean people. Anyway, just in case she hasn’t told you; we’ve got a job lined up and we’ll be setting sail tomorrow at dawn. You get seasick? Not a problem; we’ve got a medical kit full of antiemetics. On that note, should we pick up something for you before we leave shore?”

“No.”

“You sure? Just that – uh – I mean, my third son, Seth, the one nobody talks about – he also had pretty severe scoliosis. Wasn’t a whole lot we could do about it back then. But these days they’ve got tons of stuff; opiods and anti-inflammatories and memory foam. Science is so, so cool. And I’m going shopping for sunscreen anyway, so dropping by the pharmacy wouldn’t be a problem.”

For a moment, he reviewed a list of responses that would deeply, profoundly hurt her, responses that would ensure she didn’t approach him again.

But he was tired, tired, tired.

“Here.”

He took a folded piece of A4 paper from his pocket and handed it to her. “These are what the last human doctor I went to recommended. Getting hold of those three I’ve circled is tricky, but I know a guy. Call him on that number down there and he’ll meet you wherever. If he gives you any trouble, remind him that Michael knows about the vacuum cleaner. That’ll shut him up.”

As soon as she’d bounced out of the room, he shut the door, locked it, and laid down to sleep.

It was night when he awoke.

He went upstairs to find Mazikeen and Eve sitting on the deck, admiring what stars could be seen through Los Angeles’ perpetual light pollution and sharing a pizza.

“Mickey! Get over here,” called Mazikeen, clad in a black dressing down and slippers shaped like plump pink pigs.

“It’s freezing,” he complained.

She snickered and threw him the prickly blanket that had been resting over her knees. “Wimp. Eve told you about the job, yeah?”

“Yes.”

“Do you know how to use any weapons?” Eve asked. “Maze sticks with her knives most of the time. I prefer my traps and crossbow. But we’ve got guns, if that’s more your speed.”

They were clearly expecting him to sit down. Eve had even scooted to the left to make room.

He opened the blanket up and wrapped it around his shoulders, remaining standing. “Can I ask a question? What, precisely, is my role here?”

“For now, you’re a meat shield,” said Mazikeen, talking through a mouthful of pepperoni and violently yellow cheese. “Me and Eve are both vulnerable to bullets. I mean – I’m less vulnerable, obviously. But I don’t hate any of my relatives enough to go about finding out exactly how many bullets it takes to snuff a demon. So your job, at least tomorrow, is just to soak up enemy fire until we’ve got our hands on the target.”

Scowling, he said, “Getting shot does hurt, you know.”

“Yeah,” she replied, eyes shining with spite. “Dan sure seemed to think so.”

When the tense silence had stretched for over thirty seconds, Eve clapped her hands, smiling anxiously, and said, “So! Anyone up for rummy?”

(to be continued)

#mazikeen #eve #michael demiurgos #lucifer #lucifer morningstar #fanfic #my fic #evezikeen

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venhedish · 3 years

Note

I unleash the Fanfiction Asks upon you!

👻 👀 🖊️ 😈

OMG Tumblr ate my response before I could save the draft. Pulling my hair out jfc.

👻 What is one WIP you think you may never pick back up? @hotgirlsummersam and I started co-writing a fic for Dean's birthday back in January, but we didn't finish in time. Who knows if it'll ever see the light of day. It's a Stanford era fic about Sam getting Bobby to call Dean about a haunting on campus that just so happens to coincide with his birthday. Here's a little snippet from one of my sections (I wrote Sam, Kal wrote Dean):

Sam spent the rest of the night fitful and on edge. He kept sliding out of bed and staring out the window as if Dean might be waiting there on the pavement below. When he did finally sleep, his dreams were gauzy and oppressive, rumbling with the deep bass of the Impala's engine. He’d wake over and over and think the noise was real, like a kid who’d woken up early on Christmas in time to sneak down the stairs and see what Santa left the night before – jangling with an excitement that almost bordered on nausea.

But it wasn’t real; it was just the distant sound of the freeway, or the old radiator kicking into life, or the muffed music from the dorm below shaking through the walls.

He climbed out of bed for the last time around 3am, giving up the ghost. Instead, he sat in silence at his desk in the dark, sweat clinging to his chest, and wondered if what he was waiting for would ever actually come to pass – if he’d feel better or worse when it finally did.

👀 Do you have any WIPs that you would never let see the light of day? If yes, what are they about? Not really, no. I tend to get around to publishing most of the fics I actually start writing, but I do have one that I ended up being really unhappy with that won't ever go anywhere. It's about Sam being wistful about the past while he and Dean investigate a string of cattle mutilations. Here's like the only section that has any redeeming qualities:

Which is the reason why he’s staring through the dusty windshield at the haphazard pile of about ten dead cows just inside the barnyard of Happy Moos Dairy. He’s wearing a suit that’s already making sweat collect in damp patches at his armpits and the small of his back; It’s July in New Mexico and the shitty SUV doesn’t have AC. There’s a laminated ID in his left pocket that identifies him as DVM Michael Aday, bovine specialist, CDC (Dean had snorted as they worked the alias up. “Dude. Get it? It’s Meatloaf!” Sam had tried to explain to him that they were dairy cows, but it didn’t seem to matter). In the right pocket, there's a pair of blue nitrile gloves and a container of Vicks to help with the smell. He frowns in deep dissatisfaction.

🖊 Post a snippet from a current WIP. Sorry in advance for how long this snippet is, but I'm just really vibing with this fic! I have no idea when it'll be done, but I think it might be my favorite thing I've ever written when I finally finish it! (This is a gen/pre-slash story about being an outsider and losing the last shreds of your innocence as the world puts you in terrible situations. And even still, finding love and beauty in the moments in between.)

That night, as he lay awake in his bed listening to the soft sounds of the crickets in the long grass outside, he rolled over to face the shadowy figure of his brother across the room. There were other empty bedrooms in the house, but not a single one of them batted an eyelash when Sam and Dean ended up together in the little loft at the top of the stairs that had an old porthole window overlooking the forest.

“Hey, Dean?” he whispered into the quiet.

Dean didn’t answer at first, but Sam saw him shift, settling back to look up at the ceiling with an arm flung over his head. “Yeah?”

“I found a cool place out in the woods today.”

Dean adjusted his pillow. The breeze rushed in through a missing pane in the window. “Oh, yeah?”

Sam wished he could go down to the store and buy a packet of those little glow-in-the-dark stars. It would give them something to look at when they talked like this. “Yeah,” he said. “A tire swing. Right out by the creek. It gets wide there. We could swim.”

“Sure, kid,” Dean said. Something in the attic moved above them. A squirrel, maybe. “After work, if you want.”

Dean was working at the Blockbuster in town. For thirty hours a week, he was gone – renting Titanic to old ladies and pornos to their husbands. He’d never been away so much before. Last summer, he’d just mowed lawns a couple mornings a week, but now he had a real job, and Sam was left all alone until sunset just about every night. Dad was in the house a lot, banging around under the sink or drinking beer on the porch, but he was also down at the bars just as often. And when he was home, he didn’t want to be bothered unless it was to run drills. Sam never wanted to run drills, so he avoided their father like the plague.

“Yeah.” Sam shifted until his position matched Dean’s, staring up at the ceiling and listening to the animal noises above them. “Or maybe one day when you’re off. So you can see it during the day. We could bring lunch.”

Dean huffed quietly. “Pack a picnic in that little basket on the bike, go for a swim? Sounds real good to me. Not Wednesday, though. Taking Faith into the city to see Blair Witch. She’s gonna need somebody to protect her after, so I won’t be around.”

Sam could hear the husky curl of his brother’s words and rolled his eyes. “You’re so gross, God.”

Dean laughed and turned his head to look in Sam’s direction, even though it was too dark for him to really see. “Just you wait, Sammy. Another six months and you’ll be worse than me. Us Winchester men can’t live without good pussy.”

“Ugh!” Sam grabbed the pillow from behind his head and chucked it straight at his brother. “Quit it, Dean!”

Dean grunted as the pillow hit him in the face. He did this sometimes, grossed Sam out with sex talk, tried to make him blush. Sam hated it almost as much as he hated running drills.

Sam let his head thump back against the hard mattress. “Just another reason I know we can’t be related. I’ll never be gross like you.”

Dean made a show of tucking Sam’s discarded pillow under his own and plumping it up. “Yeah, yeah, purity boy. Don’t get your panties in a twist. I know you'll actually be a virgin for the rest of your natural life, don’t worry.”

Sam sighed so loud the rustling of tiny paws in the attic stopped for a second. “You better quit or I won’t show you the tire swing.”

Dean laughed again. “Okay, okay. I take it back. You’ll get it on at a respectable age and never use the word ‘pussy’ in your life and marry the first girl you kiss just to be safe. That better?”

Sam turned over on the bed, uncomfortable without his pillow, and faced the wall away from Dean. “Just shut up and go to sleep, Dean.”

He could hear his brother adjusting in his own bed before settling down again. “Night, Sammy.”

He closed his eyes tight and let out an exasperated breath. “Night, Dean.”

😈 Is there anything you enjoy doing that you think your readers hate?

Making you cry. 😢😘

#asks #decadent-prince

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mooncleo · 4 years

Text

and we recover slowly, my love, but surely

Fandom: Harry Potter

Main Pairing: Ron Weasley/Hermione Granger/Harry Potter

Description: Ron, Harry, and Hermione live together after the war. It seems like the logical choice, and the next step into comfortable domesticity seems logical as well. They learn and they love and they heal and cope and live and it’s beautiful and painful and perfect.

Words: 6,893

Edited: Literally not at all sorry guys

Author’s Note: Good morning to everyone who did not ask!!! I’m gonna double post my fic for all of my two followers, whom I love and cherish very much 🥰🥰

I honestly was not expecting this fic to end up being ot3, that kinda took me by surprise. So did my 2k turning into almost 7k, that was a little bit of fun.

I’m going to try to put in a read more, if I fail PLEASE tell me I don’t want anyone to have to scroll through everything.

Read it on Ao3 here.

…

It was the cool quiet of the evenings that kept him from even entertaining the thought of returning to London. Nights at the Dursley’s had never been this calm, always filled with Aunt Petunia or Vernon’s yelling, Dudley’s taunts, or the rumbling of an empty stomach, sent to bed without a bite of the dinner that he helped to cook.

He never went to bed hungry anymore. It was one of his triggers, they found out one night when he’d spent all day working on one of his projects and forgotten to eat- laying in the dark with his stomach beginning to knaw on itself in protest had sent him spiralling nearly into a fully blown panic attack. The Dursley’s had fucked him up, for sure.

It was not long that they’d been living together in their little cottage that Harry made a joke about cupboards and beds. It was bound to come up eventually, but he had hoped, somehow, to put the ensuing conversation off forever.

Before they had even gotten into details, Hermione’s eyes had started to water in a way that made him, quite frankly, uncomfortable. “All these years, and we never even knew? You’ve gone home to them every summer! I knew they didn’t feed you very well, but God, Harry. I didn’t think it was this bad."

He could tell that Ron felt the same way, but he’d never been particularly good at expressing it. Instead, Harry got twice the usual serving at dinner, and Ron’s grip was tight around him when they settled down to watch a movie later.

The next day at breakfast, Hermione brought it up again. She’d started by trying to convince him to file a court case against them.

"It’s a serious case of child abuse, Harry. They were horrible to you, and they shouldn’t be able to get away with it.” That argument had not gone down well, as Harry had first denied that there was any child abuse involved, however horrible they’d been, and then added on that he had no idea where they’d ended up after the war. He also didn’t really ever want to see them again, though he left that part out. He had a feeling it might not help his case.

“Well, you should at least go to therapy. It might help you process what they put you through.” She held up a finger when she saw him going to argue and said, “Listen, even if you don’t think the Dursley’s abused you, I still think you should go to therapy. Don’t pretend you haven’t stopped sleeping because of the nightmares, Harry Potter, so help me God. I know what you look like when you’re well-rested and this isn’t it. Those bags under your eyes could carry our groceries. Actually, I think we should all go. It’s not as though you’re the only one who went through a year on the run in addition to all the other fun trauma that comes with war."

Ron was a little confused about what therapy was until they explained the concept to him and he shouted out, "Mind healers! Oh! Yeah, we have those.” This, thankfully, saved them from the ordeal of finding an either muggleborn or squib therapist so that they could talk about magic without being declared properly insane.

Harry had been apprehensive about going to anyone who could claim to fix his mental issues- in part because he was half in denial about those mental issues to begin with. Yes, he had trouble sleeping most nights because of nightmares. Yes, he felt guilty about every single death that had happened during the war. Yes, the Dursley’s had treated him horribly for all of his life. But everyone had nightmares because of the war, those deaths really were his fault because they were all fighting for him, and the Dursley’s just hadn’t liked him that much on account of his parents. The hate was mutual, after all.

It only took one session with his mind healer, Gertha, for him to begin to open up to the idea that maybe he was a little bit misguided. Gertha was an 80 year old witch with gray hair just beginning to pepper her bun, and she took no shit. Her age had given her the grace of being willing to properly fight him when he started to go into a spiral, and she had a dry wit that he appreciated. Halfway through the first time they met, he’d started talking about the war and how it was his fault. Her eagle-eyed stare had stopped him in his tracks, and he’d asked, “What?"

"Boy, you are taking on far too much responsibility here. You think all those people died just for you? You think the war wouldn’t have happened if you hadn’t been around? No! Voldemort was coming back, with or without you- he would have found a way. And just because you were the face of the war, that does not make you the war. A rallying point does not control those who gather around it, it simply exists as a marker, a way to say ‘we are here.’ Those people did not die just for you, you hear me? They were going to fight either way. People don’t like to lay down and give up when their loves and lives are threatened."

At the time, he hadn’t believed a word she’d said, but he liked the way she said it. It wasn’t quite scolding, more disbelieving than anything else. She also had said that Voldemort was coming back with or without him, even without knowing about the horcruxes. He liked her wit and the easy way she had handled his self-pity. She reminded him a bit of Professor McGonagall, and that in and of itself was a recommendation to him.

He went back the next week, because she had told him to and he liked her. He felt lucky that he found someone he liked right away, because both Ron and Hermione didn’t like the first Healers they talked to. Hermione had not liked the bright, peppy young witch who was apparently entirely too optimistic. "Her office was covered in little paper flowers, as though she didn’t deal with grown adults. As soon as I mentioned the war she started patronising about how she felt there surely must have been a better option than fighting, like maybe talking. First of all, did she do literally any research before I walked into the room? Honestly, what if I had been just a mite more fragile? Or Harry?"

"Hey! I resemble that remark!” A pillow found its way through the air in the direction of his face.

“Don’t interrupt me when I’m ranting. Anyway, she was absolutely insane. 'Why did they have to fight?’ Because when another wizard throws a curse at you, you aren’t gonna just fucking stand there and take it! Good God, woman. I don’t know where she was during the war, but she clearly wasn’t paying any kind of attention to Britain. How did she even get her Healer’s license? Ridiculous.” Hermione took an angry sip of her tea and she and Harry both looked to Ron.

“Yeah, mine wasn’t as bad as all that. I just didn’t really think he had the type of vibe I’m looking for. Kinda reminded me of my dad, actually. Not really what I wanted.” After sympathetic nods from the other two, Ron turned towards the TV. “What are we planning on tonight?"

"Right! I forgot completely. The Princess Bride! The librarian was raving about it when I was checking it out, so hopefully it’ll be good.” As Ron was raised in a wizarding household, Harry hadn’t really had much of a childhood by way of movies, and Hermione’s parents had been very strict, the three of them had decided to work their way through iconic muggle films that they’d missed over the years. They’d all liked The Breakfast Club the week before, though they were postponing Star Wars from two weeks ago until they could get through the fight scenes without having semi-simultaneous panic attacks.

The Princess Bride was a hit, and Hermione liked it enough that she put the VHS on her to-buy list. They wanted to build up their own collection of movies that they liked for rewatching purposes. Hermione had argued that going to the Blockbuster and renting a movie was much more cost effective that just buying all of them outright, since they were trying to get through at least a movie a week. The boys had decided not to argue, as she tended to be right about most things (and was also managing their finances).

Three weeks later, Ron had found a mind healer he liked, and Hermione was still stuck. Ron never said much about the therapy sessions he went to, while Hermione preferred to rant after hers. “God, it’s like he wasn’t even listening! There has to be at least one healer out there that I can actually talk to with a modicum of intelligence."

Ron and Harry traded glances. Harry’s look was quizzical, Ron’s was certain. It seemed that Harry would be the one to say it, then. ”'Mione, do you think that there’s a chance that maybe you’re having trouble finding a therapist because you don’t want to give any of them the chance to help?“

She was quiet for a moment. "I mean. I had considered it, but. Well. None of them- well. I suppose I may not have been entirely fair with all them. Although I stand by everything I’ve said."

"Everything you’ve said? Your main complaint about the last one was that she wore a cardigan instead of doing warming charms on herself. You may want to rethink that, love.” Ron’s tone was gentle and amused. It was a good thing, because Harry was fairly certain she’d have bitten his head off if it’d been anything but.

“Oh. Yes, well. Maybe a tad.” She coloured as she admitted it, and then added, “It was a truly hideous cardigan, though."

"And warming charms are a rather simple.” Harry mimicked the arch way that Hermione said things of people she looked down on, a voice that only those close to her ever really got to hear. She never mocked people in polite company, but both Ron and Harry knew that she could be properly vicious when she felt like putting in effort. Ron laughed, and then Hermione did too, a second later. They descended into giggles for a few moments before subsiding.

“Really, though. Your main complaints about her were her clothing, and not the soundness of her advice. Maybe try a second session with her, and see if it was a one off? If the only thing you could come up with was an ugly sweater then she must have been rather on the nose about everything else."

"Hmmm. Maybe. She did seem reasonably intelligent, actually."

The matter was concluded for the night, and they all went off to bed. After a night of rest, Hermione felt comfortable admitting that, looking back, it was rather obvious that she had been searching for faults as an excuse not to have to be vulnerable around people she didn’t know very well.

The solution to this, according to her mind healer, would be to get to know each other before starting. Hermione raved about how intelligent the woman was when she got home, and Ron and Harry once again traded glances. They didn’t say anything, but they were glad to have been able to help her find someone she actually liked. Neither was surprised that she was happy so quickly. It had been clear to them, before, that she was searching for faults.

Their lives went on. Tuesdays became therapy days, and they’d all go out for ice cream afterwards. Eventually, Harry and Hermione ended up back in the workforce. Ron decided to stay home and take care of the house. (He referred to the two of them as his sugar parents, an idea that deeply offended Hermione. Harry thought it was hilarious.)

Harry had toyed with the idea of going on to become an auror like he’d thought he wanted when he was 15. It did not take him very long to decide that he’d only really come up with the idea in the first place because he’d supposed that his life’s purpose was fighting Voldemort, and the aurors could have given him a leg up in that. With as long as it had taken him to accept that his life had meaning beyond fighting and defeating a dark lord, he wasn’t going to give that up now.

They ended up spending the entire evening brainstorming when he brought up wanting to get a job. Even if he was never going to be an auror, he was still starting to get restless with all the free time they’d accrued living off the map together.

"You could be a- a- um, fuck, what’re they called. Bus driver!! That’s a job.” Hermione, rather drunk on her fourth glass of wine, had taken to suggesting whatever came to mind.

“I don’t drive, I’m gay."

"Mmmm, you’re just as bi as the rest of us, darling. I bet we could figure it out. Actually, you know what, we should probably get a car.” She was starting to light up the way she did when she had a goal, and Ron groaned loudly.

“God, I forgot we never even learned to drive. Do we have to? I can apparate half-decently, and so can Harry. We could just practice and then not drive."

At Hermione’s put-out look, Harry interjected. "I’ll put bus driver on the list, but I don’t know that we need to drive. Where are we going? Half the shit we eat we grow ourselves."

"That’s right! It’s sus- sustains- no, oh my god, I’m drunk- sustainsabilities. Fuck, I can’t speak. Sustainabilities. Yup, it’s sustainable! We’re helping the environment.” Hermione had, at some point during their conversation, migrated sideways so that she was leaning almost entirely on Harry.

“'Mione, you have to move. You gotta- lean on Ron, I have to pee.” She snorted and nuzzled slightly further into his chest.

“Hmmm, you do that."

A few seconds later, there were snores coming from her frame, and Harry looked over at Ron, who was shaking with silent laughter. "Don’t laugh, I have to pee! Help me move her."

Harry pushed at Hermione’s shoulder, and she flopped a little bit onto the back of the couch. Ron doubled over in another round of giggles, and Harry hissed, "Ron, I swear to god- if I start laughing I’m gonna piss! You gotta- oh my god- help!"

At this point, Harry had started laughing and tried to slip out from under his girlfriend. Instead of quietly moving her without waking her, she fell and glanced her head off the arm of the couch. A brief moment of panic ensued, in which Harry and Ron both tried to check on her at once, and only succeeded in bonking their heads together.

Ron was gasping through peals of laughter as he grabbed onto Harry to avoid falling off the couch. "Oh- oh shit, oh fuck, oh my god. Is- is she- fuck- is she okay? Harry, you fucking idiot, check her head."

"She’s fine, dipshit. Fuck, that could have been so bad, shit.” Harry had sobered for the moment that it took to remember the diagnostic spell to make sure that Hermione was actually okay, and upon confirmation he sank back into the humor of the situation.

“Goddamnit, I can’t believe that happened. Good god.” He wiped his eyes and then got up to actually use the bathroom.

“Don’t get a concussion in there, Harry, the last thing we need is two of them.” Ron called after him, and he responded with a one fingered salute in the general direction of his boyfriend. He heard Ron’s collapse against the couch as he closed the bathroom door.

It was as he was staring at the green tiling on the bathroom floor that he found himself reflecting on the fact that if that had happened a few months ago, it would have gone much worse. Any injuries sustained by the three of them were largely blind territory that brought back horrible memories for the worst of the months after the war. It was remarkable that they could laugh through it, now.

When he came out to stick his still slightly damp hands under Ron’s jumper, he found Ron and Hermione curled up together, softly snoring. He smiled and climbed onto their couch next to them, levitating a blanket over the three of them as he went. It was a good night.

The next morning, he woke up first. They’d ended up tangled closer together in sleep, but he was still on the edge and managed to slip out to start breakfast and find the paracetamol for the three of them.

Breakfast was quieter than usual, with lots of gestures and grunts when someone wanted something. Wine hangovers were no joke. Later in the day, they went out to the garden together to weed, and Hermione suggested gardening as a potential profession. Harry vetoed, with the reasoning that he got to do it enough at home.

Ron bounced off that logic to suggest Quidditch, and they had the first of what would end up as their two final options. The other was working as a professor, which Harry took a full week to warm up to the idea of.

“I don’t know, becoming a professor seems like kind of a big deal. First of all, you’re shaping students’ whole lives, and second of all wouldn’t I need, like, higher education?"

"Oooh, good point, actually. I believe you would need to get a mastery in the subject that you want to teach, which you can obtain by apprenticing under an expert in the field. I think that was in Hogwarts: A History? It might have come from somewhere else, I’m not sure. As for the other thing, I’ve seen you with kids, Harry. You’re brilliant. I don’t know that you even really need to worry about that quarter."

"Mate, it might be good for you to get a mastery, actually. They usually discuss them with seventh years at Hogwarts, so I don’t really know much about them. Charlie’s was how he got started in Romania, actually."

"Huh. That makes a lot of sense, actually. I always wondered if wizards had an equivalent to college, but I was a bit busy worrying about the dark wizard trying to kill me for most of my life, so I never got the chance to look it up.” Harry had actually considered asking McGonagall about it during his consultation on his future, but they’d started talking about Defense Against the Dark Arts exams before he could mention it.

“Harry, you should write McGonagall about it. She’s always looking for new teachers, and even if you don’t end up wanting to do it, she can give you advice on how to start looking for a mastery, which you’ll pretty much need for most jobs, anyway."

With that, they’d settled the matter. He wrote to McGonagall, and she replied promptly with an invitation to her office to discuss it in person.

McGonagall had taken Dumbldore’s old office. Harry had known that she would, as Headmistress, but it still shocked him a little to see the space decorated so differently. Minerva McGonagall was a practical woman, and as such had no need for random devices scattered about the room. He walls were lined with shelves full of books of many kinds, and her fire was roaring. She and Harry sat across from each other in matching armchairs that Harry swore must have had some kind of charm on them, because they were the most comfortable chairs he’d ever sat in.

"Professor-” Harry started, and then stopped. He wasn’t quite certain how to go about this meeting, on unfamiliar territory. She wasn’t quite his teacher anymore, and he didn’t know how to approach that.

“You can call me Minerva, Harry. You are no longer my student.” The way she said it was not unkind, but he still felt lightly chastised. “I believe you wanted to discuss how to proceed in finding a career in the wizarding world?"

"Um. Yes. Well. Minerva- hmmm, yeah that tastes strange. Minerva, I’ve been thinking that it would be a good idea to get myself back out into the world, starting with a job. Ron, Hermione, and I have been fine in our cottage, but sometimes it- I just feel like it’s time. I’m getting a bit restless, I think."

Minerva looked amused at his rambling. "I know how that feels. Did you know that after Elphinstone and I got married, I took a break from teaching?"

"Really?” Harry was genuinely surprised, because he couldn’t really imagine Minerva as a house wife.

“Yes, really. I took a year off to take care of our home and try my hand at being a stay at home wife. A year was about all I could stand, honestly. I ended up going back to teaching the following September, I was lucky enough that Albus had been unable to fill my position beyond a temporary professor. I loved our house and I loved spending time with my husband, but I found it difficult to be alone all day and trying to productively fill my days. I also missed my students with no small amount of fierceness."

"I definitely know how that feels. We have plenty of things to do but it’s so easy to get distracted without the structure of school."

"Hmm. Speaking of which, how much do you know about masteries, Harry? I know that you and your peers all missed our usual talks about them, but you are also living with one Hermione Granger, who I am sure knows a fair amount about them through the pure virtue of planning three years ahead at least at all times."

Minerva said it with humor and fondness in her voice, and Harry chuckled. "You’re not wrong. I know that it’s a bit like muggle college, and that it’s essentially an apprenticeship? I am a little bit confused about what one would do if they got to their mastery and found out that they’d picked something that they actually don’t like as much as they thought they did- for muggles they would just change their major, but if you’re working with one specific person because of their expertise in the subject that you’ve chosen, what do you do?"

"That’s a good point. Most students have at least an idea of what they want to do based on what classes they liked while they were in school, but many don’t. Towards the end of seventh year, we allow students to start trying out different concentrations. Many will start to work with teachers in subjects that they like to see if they like the subject as much as they think they do. If we don’t have anyone specializing in the subject that they are thinking of, we can, more often than not, find someone who is willing to allow them to tail their work for a week or so to see if that’s something they like. We encourage students to look into at least three different masteries so that they can fully explore their options. This helps most students decide where they’ll end up, but even if you get to where you want to be and then decide that it actually isn’t for you, it’s not nearly as difficult to try something new as it would seem."

"Good lord, that it a lot of information.” Minerva tilted her head slightly in acknowledgement. “So, if I start where I am now, without any weeks of tailing anyone and a bit beyond graduation, what do I do?"

"Well, I might suggest taking remedial courses for the year that you missed, to start. It might help some with the boredom that you were talking about earlier, and you are a bright young man. I have no doubt that you will find you can complete the courses in far less time than it would take you to complete a full school year. We thought about offering students an option to complete an extra 'eighth’ year, but ultimately decided to keep Hogwarts at its usual seven years, and instead look into alternate options for them to finish. That September, most of our older students weren’t ready to return to the school anyway. War takes its tolls."

"Isn’t that just ridiculously true? We were all wrecks for months, rather a bit. In the end Hermione pushed us to start going to therapy, and that helped loads. As for the completing the courses, I think that’s a good idea- I could probably do them with Hermione and Ron, Hermione’s been trying to figure out the logistics of finishing seventh year since it occurred to her that we never did, nevermind the fact that she’s performing spells of that level since fifth year."

"I’ve been trying to remember that that is a letter I need to send out to everyone, though I keep forgetting. Even this far down the line, we’re still working through castle repairs and damages. There is always so much to do… well, that’s no excuse for slacking, regardless. I’ll have to add it to the list."

She pulled out a piece of parchment from seemingly nowhere, and began to write on it with a quill also pulled from the ether.

Harry was deservedly very impressed. "That was awesome, professor- what spell was that?"

"I am no longer your professor, Harry. That is a useful little spell Filius taught me… "

Their visit went on, with Minerva imparting far too much wisdom for Harry to ever be able to remember it all. They discussed a wide variety of topics, and McGonagall seriously considered all of the options that he had looked into, and was a particular fan of the quidditch idea. "Even if you don’t end up doing it as a career, it’s an excellent way to stay in shape. Far too many of my students simply stop playing when they decide on an office job, such a shame, and so much wasted potential as well."

That particular comment sparked a long discussion about the merits of playing quidditch recreationally, which led to them talking about the professor’s league at the school. Harry was shocked that he hadn’t known about it as a student, had never heard it mentioned, and Minerva laughed at him for it. Apparently there were many secrets of the staff and school that students didn’t know about.

When he left with several biscuits tucked away in a container for travel to bring to Ron and Hermione, he felt better. He was almost entirely decided on what to do for his apprenticeship, and he had a solid plan for his next few years. After the uncertainty of being on the run for a year combined with the certainty that he wouldn’t live past 17, it felt good to know what he was going to do, and additionally know that it had nothing to do with dark wizards. It was rare for him to be anything resembling normal.

Ron and Hermione listened animatedly to his recollection of the meeting. Hermione was especially delighted to find that they’d have a way to complete their schooling, while Ron was relieved that it was from home. "Gotta be honest, I don’t want to go back to Hogwarts. It’s lovely, and in a special way it will always be home, but I think there are a tad too many memories lurking around corners for me to be completely comfortable there ever again."

Harry nodded, though he wasn’t entirely certain he agreed. It was something he’d not considered, the memories contained within the school’s walls. Hogwarts was his home, and it likely would always be in his mind, the first place that he ever truly felt comfortable. But with how bad his PTSD had been, and still was on occasion, would he be able to live there? Walk its halls the way he had as a child? He wasn’t sure.

They started their schooling a month, later, when it became widely available. The three of them were in some of the same core classes, as they’d always been, but they were all taking different paths and therefore most of the time they spent with papers spread out around them at the dinner table that they never ate at were for actual working, not talking.

Ron was taking only what interested him, just enough courses to be able to get his degree. He tended to finish his work before the other three, and would go kiss the top of their heads as he got up to go start dinner. Hermione had taken as many courses as she could fit, as always. It was almost worse than third year, because the courses weren’t held in person. She had taken that to mean that if she could find the time for it in her personal schedule, she could fit it in.

Ron and Harry had talked her down from taking all available courses. She’d ended up with a fairly large courseload regardless, but that was to be expected.

Harry was, as ever, in the middle. He found himself with a courseload he was happy with, a few extra classes that he thought could be interesting, but not so many that he was constantly doing work. That worked out well for him, because he’d taken an herbology elective having to do with the growing of potions ingredients in the wild. It turned out that understanding the ingredients in a deeper sense than just their names was immensely helpful for potions. He’d never been doing better in a potions class without cheating, and he’d also begun to actually understand some of the notes Snape had left in the margins of the stolen book.

They got through their class work and watched movies and made tea and went for walks and before they knew it, the holiday season was upon them. Their classes all had breaks for Christmas, and they took full advantage of that time.

"What d'you think we should get Molly this year?” Harry through the question out from his position on the couch, draped across Ron and Hermione’s laps.

“That’s gotta be some sign of adulthood, having to give your parents Christmas gifts.” Ron’s fingers paused their carding through his hair as he digested the question, and then he resumed. “I bet she’d like some of that cleaner we saw the other day, the one that changes scent."

"Oooooh, good point. I was thinking maybe some new knitting patterns, actually- I found a bunch in the clearance section in the bookshop we went to the other day.” Hermione started diligently scribbling on the parchment in front of her under the “parents” section of her well-organized christmas shopping/gift ideas list. She turned to her boys to say something more, but as she opened her mouth the tinny sound o a timer going off filled the room “That;s your turn done then, Harry. Scoot."

"Awww, but I’m so comfortable, 'Mione.” Harry pleaded to Hermione’s uncaring eyes as he heaved himself upwards out of Ron’s lap. Ron scooted down the couch to take Hermione’s place as she laid down to replace Harry.

“Mhmmm. Well, it’s my turn to be comfortable.” Harry’s fingers found their way to her hair as her quill and parchment floated in the air by her head. “Alright, where was I? Okay. Ummmm, right! Under Molly, I want: "knitting needles, pattern books, and scent changing cleaning spray."

The quill started scratching across the page as Hermione explained, "The other day over tea she mentioned to me that she hadn’t a good way to organize her needles, and usually has so many projects going that half the time she doesn’t know which ones are already in use and which aren’t. I think we should get her a new set so that she can have doubles AND an organizing system. I’m sure if we look hard enough we can find a case that has an extension charm on it, or we can do one ourselves."

Ron looked down at Hermione with a smile on his face. "Brilliant. Alright, who’s next?"

Harry glanced at the parchment hanging in the air to see which space was blank. "Looks like we don’t have anything for Ginny, which should be easy enough. She was complaining about her broom the other day, but I know she likes the model too well to want a new one. I was thinking a broom servicing kit?”

The evening went on like that, and they eventually had at least a rough sketch of what they would be looking for when they went out to do Christmas shopping. They found a fair amount of the things actually on the list, and were able to get suitable substitutes where they couldn’t.

Their Christmas plans were this: they spent Christmas Eve at Hermione’s aunt’s house. She explained to them that her mother’s siblings had a rotation going, and that next year the three of them would likely be required to come to her parents’ aid with hosting. Her family was surprisingly large, and she told them that they tended not to gather for anything other than holidays. She never talked about them because there weren’t any other wizards in the family.

They found out that this was not actually true on Christmas Eve, when Ron walked in on one of the cousins changing her kid’s diaper with a spell. It was a rather awkward conversation, while Ron tried to explain that he was a wizard and she tried to obliviate him. Eventually, the truth came out: her cousins were American, and hadn’t been particularly affected by the war. They, in all honesty, had been remarking to each other all night that Harry looked oddly familiar to them, but had been unable to parse out exactly what it was.

They ended up setting up a lunch date for all of them for later that week before they apparated back to Minnesota. The cousins were very excited to find that there was another wizard in the family, and Hermione was similarly vibrating.

“I can’t believe, all this time, and I didn’t even know! I knew it would make sense that some of my relatives would be magical, but I didn’t think it would actually happen. I obviously wasn’t going to sniff around and risk them finding out just to see if they really were muggles or not. Oh my goodness, this is amazing. I wonder what schooling looks like in America? I mean, I know the basic principles, of course, but I would love specifics. It’s such a big country, and Ilvermorny is the main school that we hear of, but I’m certain they wouldn’t have travelled that far just for school, that doesn’t make sense, does it?"

”'Mione, we’re having lunch with them later this week. I’m sure they’ll be happy enough to answer your questions. We certainly don’t know the answers.“

Ron nodded as he hoisted the backpack holding their gifts in it higher on his shoulders. They were walking to the closest apparition point. According to Harry, who was using google maps, they were about 5 minutes away.

"Turn left here. For tonight we should just focus on trying to get ourselves home, I think. Did we end up finishing the wrapping for tomorrow?"

"Oh shit, I forgot, actually. We ran out of wrapping paper. We only have a few left, but still. Should we find a Tesco and stop in? It’s not too late, is it?"

"They’re open til 10.” Ron stopped walking for a moment to consult his watch on the time, which read out 9:37 p.m.

“Alright, let’s go then."

The tesco had one roll of wrapping paper with lumberjack Santa Claus’s dancing across it with axes. They were not literally dancing of course- there was a Tesco in London with a wizard section where they might have found something similar, but they hadn’t the time to go to it.

The next day, George refolded his "hot santa claus” wrapping paper into a hat and wore it all through dinner. Molly was too happy that he was smiling to scold him about it, although she did have to excuse herself at one point. When Harry came in to check on her, she was crying lightly into a handkerchief.

“Oh, don’t worry about me, dear. I’ll be alright- he just- oh, for the love of- he looks very much like his brother.” She blew her nose and took a deep breath. A weak smile graced her face as she looked up at Harry. “It’s hard, still. It’s been getting better, but- well, I didn’t think they could even survive without each other. I used to look at the two of them, always together, always finishing each other’s sentences, and think, god, they’re just like my brother’s, and oh, thank goodness they’ll never have to be apart. I just- I just wish I’d been right.” Her voice broke a little bit on the last word, and she started dabbing at her eyes again.

“I know. I remember in school, they were always together. No one thought they should ever be apart, but. I don’t know. George is doing- not well, but- he’s surviving. That’s all we can ask of him. That’s all we can ask of any of us, really. I think he’s being happy in Fred’s memory, instead of in spite of it, you know?"

"Oh, I know, dear, I know. It’s just difficult. I’ll get over myself, I just needed a moment. I love seeing him smile again, it’s like Fred’s back, just for a little. Fetch me a glass of water?"

Harry nodded and swiftly vacated the room. Even after all his therapy, he was still shit with emotions. He found Arthur and informed him of the situation, sending him back to his wife with the water she requested. He knew that was the right decision when he saw Molly again, tears dried, laughing at something Arthur was saying. Her arm was laced through his, a glass of wine in her hand as she leaned against him on the couch.

He took a minute to reflect that he rarely saw Molly so relaxed, and especially not since the war. He was glad that they’d healed enough at this point that they could, at the very least, enjoy Christmas. His musing were interrupted when Ron came up to him from behind and hugged him. "We’re going to play pick-up, you’re on my team. Ginny’s pissed about it, come on."

He turned into his boyfriend with a smile on his face and give him a peck. "Excellent, let’s go crush her."

Ginny, who was training to be a professional quidditch player, soundly kicked their asses. George and Bill helped too.

As punishment for losing, Ron, Harry, and Charlie went skinny dipping into the pond on the property, but ended up just getting everyone else wet until they all went swimming together, whooping and laughing.

It was a good night, and Harry woke up sandwiched between Ron and Hermione. He was content to lay there and wait for them to wake up, listening to their breathing and looking at the rise and fall of their chests. They were here, and they’d made it through- he hadn’t thought they would. In the deepest recesses of his mind, he’d done out the math and he had been so certain that they wouldn’t make it through the war all together- something would have to give. Thank god he was wrong, pseudo death or no. He wanted to be nowhere else than where he was, listening to the Weasley household wake up on a Christmas morning.

They all got up eventually, slowly stumbling their way into the kitchen as the lure of coffee and sausages called to them. Mrs. Weasley seemed happy to have all of her birds back in the nest. Percy kissed her cheek as he left for work, the only one who hadn’t been able to get the day off. The rest of them sat down to eat.

Overall, it was one of the best Christmases he’d had in a long time, one of the few that he’d truly been able to enjoy. It was reminiscent of some of his first Christmases at Hogwarts, the first ones that he’d ever known what it was like to get presents that weren’t hand-me-downs or worthless garbage.

He thought about that feeling of being new to a world of literal magic, and the fact that the most magical part of it all had been that he’d had an out, that he’d been able to get far away from the Dursleys for 9 months. He liked this feeling better. Contentedly settled into his skin, with a wide and bright future set out in front of him. He couldn’t help but think that just maybe, there was nowhere better to be.

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blouisparadise · 5 years

Photo

There were so many amazing bottom Louis fics posted or completed during the month of July. We really hope you enjoy this list. Happy reading!

1) Bound (To Falling in Love) | Mature | 958 words

Note: The sequel to this fic is #2 on this list.

Harry and Louis innocently cuddle on the couch until things get heated.

2) Nuh Uh, Honey | Mature | 1170 words

Note: This fic is a sequel to this fic, which is #1 on this list.

So this is the ending of Bound (to falling in love) but with more detail. Long story short, Louis and Harry fuck.

3) 100ft Away | Explicit | 2479 words

Harry opens Grindr for a hookup and ends up with more than he bargained for. It all works out in the end.

4) I'm Looking for Closure | Not Rated | 2503 words

Note: This fic is the third part of a series. You can read the previous parts here.

“Say you can read my mind.” Harry said to Louis as he pushed Louis down onto the mattress. Louis squirmed as the covers rubbed against his skin.

“I can’t read your mind.” He said simply to Harry as he reached up to put his hands against Harry’s chest, trailing them down to Harry’s narrow hips.

“My mind is saying that I should just… just fucking go back in time. Go back so I could be your first.” Harry said, leaning down to lick into Louis’ hot mouth.

Or They finally fuck, sorry, I mean, make love.

5) The IT Fic | Mature | 3112 words

A fic where Harry is Pennywise & Louis is Georgie... Louis goes down to the sewers & Harry fucks him with a balloon as a condom.

aka a pwp that i wrote for shits and giggles. & yes, louis is of age

6) Souls | Mature | 3890 words

The first time Harry showed Louis two ghosts.

7) The Unfinished Fic (With an Ending) | Not Rated | 4013 words

Note: There is no smut in this fic, but it contains omega Louis, so we’ve included it in this monthly roundup.

Louis greatly regretted all of his life decisions up to this point. Okay fine, maybe not all of them, but definitely a vast majority. After all, if he’d not told one little white lie about loving cricket just to impress a fit guy at the pub, maybe he wouldn’t be stuck at what was, one hundred percent, the most boring “sporting” event of his entire life.

8) Save You Tonight | Mature | 4841 words

Note: There is no smut in this fic, but it contains omega Louis, so we’ve included it in this monthly roundup.

Louis is a headstrong Omega in charge of his own life. But he's more than grateful when an Alpha comes along when he needs it the most.

9) Whisk Me Off My Feet | Explicit | 5054 words

When Louis locks himself out of his apartment in just a pair of novelty underwear, he hopes his new neighbor can come to his rescue.

10) Can You Feel the Fever | Explicit | 5113 words

Note: This fic is a sequel to this fic.

Tour has Harry exhausted. Luckily exactly what he needs is waiting for him in his Sacramento dressing room.

11) Gotta Catch 'em All | Not Rated | 5186 words

Louis loves Pokémon GO, he gets a little crazy and ends up ramming into a guy. Harry gets mad, calls him a brat and treats him like one. Oh, and they're in central park.

12) I Just Can't Get Enough Of You | Not Rated | 5466 words

Or the one were Harry got inspired from watching Louis on The Late Late Show.

13) Why Don't We Go There? | Explicit | 5654 words

Louis is a perfect model for Abercrombie & Fitch. Harry is a grungy, tattooed model for Hot Topic. When Louis walks in on Harry changing for his photo shoot, things only grow from there... including their dicks.

14) Act Out | Explicit | 6721 words

Harry and Louis try to spice it up a little for their 10th year marriage anniversary. Cliché role play ensues.

15) Life Imitating Art | Explicit | 6881 words

Note: This fic is the fourth part of a series. You can read the previous parts here.

Louis is taken on a very real journey through his fic back catalogue - life has never imitated art so salaciously.

16) You Can Show Me Your Heart | Explicit | 6935 words

Everyone knows about the unsinkable Titanic, which tragically did just that in April of 1912. However, not many people know the story of the Carpathia - the ship that raced to rescue and aid the survivors of the Titanic when the distress call came through. This is the story of the events leading up to the luxury liner crashing into an iceberg on that fateful spring night. More than that, this is the story of how two of Carpathia’s passengers - Harry Styles and Louis Tomlinson - met, fell in love and helped over 700 people in the cold Atlantic water.

17) Kisses and Coffee Breaks | Explicit | 9350 words

Midterm season was finally here and all Harry wanted to do was study, however his boyfriend, Louis, seems to have a better idea.

or the one where Harry just wants to study and Louis needs Harry's cock.

18) Swallow The Knife (Outtake) | Explicit | 11186 words

Note: This is an alternative scene to fic #25 on this fic rec.

Alternate sex scene from Swallow The Knife.

19) We've Been Here Before | Mature | 11536 words

Harry goes to Louis in the wake of his sister Felicite's death, and Louis asks Harry to help him clean up a family cabin he is ready to get rid of. Along the way, they attempt to heal many things, even those that they thought were long past.

20) With Words Unspoken | Explicit | 18341 words

The one where Louis is lost, Harry is an excellent tour guide, and age is no barrier to finding the love of your life.

21) The Aurora Zone | Explicit | 19633 words

The one where Harry is busy crossing off his bucket list while Louis is busy falling for the guy he's supposed to hate.

22) Be Mine, Dear | Not Rated | 20104 words

The one where Louis just wants to meet his mate, and all it takes is for him to get a new neighbor.

23) Deflower Me | Explicit | 20154 words

Everyone is 19 and horny, and Louis just really wants to get fucked by Harry.

24) You Are Half Of Me (And I Am All For You) | Explicit | 24731 words

Note: This fic has a mention of BH.

One Direction, an obscure indie rock band, is about to embark on their first cross-country tour, living out of Louis' beloved van named Patricia.

Harry is in love, and Louis is oblivious. Or is he?

Featuring skinny-dipping in Texas waterfalls, getting lost in the desert, stargazing under the New Mexico sky, performing in front of crowds that grow in size each night, and falling in love on the road during the greatest summer of their lives.

25) You Are In My Bed, But Your Heart Isn't | Not Rated | 25595 words

Rock Band AU. Louis is an omega who fucks around, doesn't know the meaning of "feelings" until he starts crawling into Harry's bed at night. Harry gets jealous easily and they all write a lot of songs about each other.

26) Play Me A Memory | Explicit | 26932 words

Louis lives with his nine-year-old son Jake in a peaceful beachside community on the east coast of Australia, working as an entertainment coordinator at the local five-star resort. Harry is a recluse who lives on millionaires row and writes musical scores for blockbuster movies. When the roots of a wayward willow tree create havoc at his home, Harry is forced to stay at the resort while repairs are carried out.

27) Book Worm | Explicit | 37018 words

Note: This fic has mentions of BH.

“Dad said this is his very favourite place to go,” Leon divulged, much to Louis' embarrassment.

“Did he?” Harry's olive eyes flicked to Louis, lips quirking in a way that didn’t match his beige cardigan.

“Yeah and he said you have the best books. May I look?” He asked, smiling winningly.

Leon had inherited Louis' blue eyes and his mother's dark hair, his smile quickly becoming a replica of his father's.

“You may,” Harry permitted and Louis set Leon down.

“Don’t destroy anything,” he instructed. “And if you so much as crease a page then bring it to the till because I’m going to have to pay for it...”

Leon raced straight to the back of the shop and threw himself onto the beanbag seat front first.

“I put the Kama Sutra back on the top shelf, by the way,” Harry told him with a dimpled smile. “You left it by the Hungry Caterpillar.”

28) Waiting for the Tides to Meet | Explicit | 59637 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.

29) Swallow The Knife | Explicit | 76168 words

“You came,” Louis says, still breathless, clinging to Harry, uncaring that his sweat is getting all over Harry’s presumably clean dad shirt, or that he’s making Harry hold up all of his weight.

“Of course I came,” Harry says. He shifts, one arm curled underneath Louis’ arse, the other spreading wide in the middle of Louis’ back. “If I ignored you every time you pissed me off we would have stopped being friends a long time ago.”

Louis already knows that, of course. It doesn’t do anything to stop the pleased squirm in his belly every time Harry proves it, though. They fight like nobody’s business, both of them too stubborn to pull their punches when they’re arguing, and it used to get them in trouble, but they always make up.

Adrenaline makes Louis loose-lipped, and they both know it. He tightens his arms around Harry’s neck, buries his face in his hair. “I missed you,” he confesses, quiet. “Doesn’t feel the same up there by myself.”

30) There You Are | Explicit | 82237 words

Note: This fic has a mention of BH.

Harry’s entire life has fallen apart - in one night, his carefully planned future is suddenly uncertain.

Then he meets Louis.

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

You can find other monthly roundup fic rec lists here.

#bottom louis #top harry #blp fic recs #monthly fic recs #fic recs #blp #larry

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atruththatyoudeny · 5 years

Text

Monthly Reads | July 2019

Happy 28th! Sending out all my love to the authors and artists in this fandom! ♥ Here are all the fics I read and loved this month:

The sanctity of patience | scrunchyharry | historical - arranged marriage - royalty - 22k When young Lord Harry was chosen by King Louis of Bavaria to become his husband and prince consort, Harry thought all of his dreams had come through. His illusions came crashing down when he understood it meant living in isolation in the alpine castle of Neuschwanstein with a husband who turned out to be far from what he had hoped for. His illusions vanished, Harry will have learn to appreciate what has and even, perhaps, fall in love with his imperfect husband and his castle.

The Charles Compass Trilogy | SadaVeniren | fluff - humour - 8k Louis Tomlinson is a successful writer who rents a beach house on the Cape to try and finish the final book in his successful Charles Compass trilogy.

Stealing Flowers | lululawrence | mutual pining - humour - fluff - 4k The one where Louis pines after the Sexy Stranger on the Subway and almost asks him out. That's when the strange posters start showing up around Brooklyn.

If You Wanna Try Me On | zimriya | The Devil Wears Prada AU - boss/employee relationship - 18k To be fair, Harry’d been half asleep when Niall convinced him to put in his CV in the first place. Like, Harry wants to be a proper serious journalist--he’s not about to give up that dream in favour of becoming a personal assistant at a fashion magazine, or...whatever. Harry’s not actually all that sure what Tomlinson Styles even is, beyond his ticket to fame or any of the other things Niall’d spouted off at him, but when he shows up for the interview and is unceremoniously shoved into an office with the Tomlinson part of that equation, all Harry can really think about is that he would like to be a Tomlinson-Styles. ...or the Devil Wears Prada AU that no one wanted. Sort of.

Play Me A Memory | jacaranda_bloom | strangers to lovers - kid fic - emotional hurt/comfort - fluff - 27k Louis lives with his nine-year-old son Jake in a peaceful beachside community on the east coast of Australia, working as an entertainment coordinator at the local five-star resort. Harry is a recluse who lives on millionaires row and writes musical scores for blockbuster movies. When the roots of a wayward willow tree create havoc at his home, Harry is forced to stay at the resort while repairs are carried out. Cue matchmaking storms, muffin preferences, laughter, love, and a whole lotta music.

No Love Like Your Love | Rearviewdreamer | a/b/o - enemies to friends - exes to lovers - soulmates - soulbonding - 43k When it comes to saving the world from itself and convincing rich CEOs of environmentally harmful companies to go green, there's nobody better than Harry Styles. That is, until Louis Tomlinson, his ex and former Alpha, is involved.

Not (heart) Broken | glitteredcurls | soulmates - superpowers - mild hurt/comfort - 14k Every person is born with a unique, personal Ability and a soulmate. Abilities are developed from birth and treasured as parts of each person’s personality, while a soulmate is somewhat of an intimidating prospect; the minute two soulmates are in contact with each other, their powers are voided, only to be reinstated when they regain their distance. How is Harry, a young healer, supposed to feel about the possibility of losing his helpful healing Ability with one look of his unknown soulmate? He figures it can’t be too inconvenient. Until Harry meets them and, well, it kind of is...

Fall in love with the moon (and everything beautiful) | louistomlinsons | fluff - light angst - anxiety - friends to lovers - 10k Louis and harry work in a bookstore together and harry tells dumb jokes and they fall in love

There You Are | lovelarry10 | stripper/exotic dancer - mutual pining - angst - divorce - cheating - emotional hurt/ comfort - 82k Harry’s entire life has fallen apart - in one night, his carefully planned future is suddenly uncertain. Then he meets Louis.

Tiptoe Through Our Shiny City | graceling_in_a_suit | inspired by Nick and Norah's Infinite Playlist - miscommunication - mistaken identity - strangers to lovers - famous/non famous - 8k Where’s Fluffy Announces Secret London Show TONIGHT!' Harry stopped breathing. “Pinch me, Niall,” he mumbled. The story of how Harry sees his favourite band live for the first time, and maybe falls in love along the way. AU Loosely inspired by Nick and Norah's Infinite Playlist. Loosely.

You Have to Retreat to Advance | 2tiedships2 | a/b/o - fake/pretend relationship - strangers to lovers - 18k The one where Harry is expected to bring his longterm omega to the company's mountain retreat. Since he hadn't told anyone that they'd broken up months ago, he now has to find someone willing to play the part.

Shine On (You Crazy Diamond) | larrymaybe22 | 1970's - glam rock - famous/not famous - strangers to lovers - hurt/comfort - angst - substance abuse - alcohol abuse - internalized homophobia - homophobic language - slow burn - 58k The year is 1974 and Britain’s glam rock scene is in full swing. Enter Louis, a broke and dejected student who finds himself on a tour bus of all places, working as a roadie for the enigmatic “womanizer” Harry Styles. Along the way, Louis discovers the cruelty of fame and that maybe there is more than meets the eye beyond the curls, cocaine, and crazy suits.

Could you love me anyway | SadaVeniren | canon compliant - post-The X Factor era - bdsm - bad bdsm etiquette - dom/sub - under-negotiated kink - subdrop - kink negotiation - mildly dubious consent - 13k Harry and Louis begin playing ping pong during the X-Factor Tour. It quickly gets out of hand.

Easier | allwaswell16 | a/b/o - soulmates - soul bond - exes to lovers - getting back together - angst - fate - destiny - 6k The last person Louis wants to see is his ex-boyfriend who also happens to be his soulmate.

Hot Buns | Snowy38 | TV show - hate to love - angst - drama - emotional hurt/comfort - 51k “You can call me Harry if you like.” “Is that your name?” Louis checked. Harry smirked. “Actually, it’s Harold but I hate it. I hate everything about my life but what do you care?” Louis licked his lips and caught his knees up under his arms. “I care enough to get you out of the gutter, mate,” he accused softly.

I'm Tripping Over Your Every Single Move | lookingfortherainbow | meet-cute - first dates - pining - fluff - 6k Harry is the local swimming star athlete and Louis is the lifeguard that turns Harry into a fish out of water.

The Aurora Zone | Anonymous | blind date - enemies to lovers - 19k The one where Harry is busy crossing off his bucket list while Louis is busy falling for the guy he's supposed to hate.

I've spent a lifetime running (and I always get away) | Anonymous | first meetings - fluff - 5k The eruption of an Icelandic volcano (the name of which Louis decidedly cannot pronounce) really shouldn't be the catalyst for a relationship with a boy he's only just met. Or // the one where Louis and Harry share the back of a car, a cramped bed on a dingy, highly unsafe boat, and their adoration for art (and perhaps each other).

Haunting Beauty | 4ureyesonly28 | 1980's - ghosts - fluff - 6k It’s 1988. Harry has just finished his first year of teaching English and looks forward to a relaxed break. Louis is a poltergeist and has different plans for Harry’s summer.

Meet Me in Montauk | make_this_feel_like_home | Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind Fusion - amnesia - strangers to lovers - lost love - angst - 84k The one where Harry has amnesia, Louis can't handle the pain and Lacuna Inc provides a unique service: the ability to erase a person from your memories.

Two to Tango (series) | rainbowslovehl (Larrymateforlife) ➊ Put Your Best Foot Forward - fluff - meet-cute - ballroom dancing - 6k Louis loses a bet and has to go learn waltz. Harry is the guy who won’t stop stepping on his foot. ➋ Af-fur-mative - fluff - 1k Harry is anxious about the first meeting between his moody cat and Louis.

Uni AU (series) | lightswoodmagic (sarah_writes) ➊ This Might Tickle - Larry - fluff - 4k Louis' been admiring Harry from afar until they become study partners for their first year anatomy class. ➋ When You Smile - Ziam - fluff - 2k Liam’s never seen Zayn smile during classes, but a trip to the zoo for their studies helps him see a lot more. ➌ The Doppler Effect - Larry - Halloween - fluff - 2k There's only one person who figures out Harry's Halloween costume ➍ A Work of Art - Ziam - smut - 4k Zayn meets Liam before he realises he’s the life model for his extra credit class. ➎ My Favourite Word - Larry - fluff - fake/pretend relationship - 3k Louis’ ex boyfriend won’t leave him alone, so Harry steps in.

With Words Unspoken | Anonymous | 1960's - 1970's - strangers to lovers - Louis is 49 - Harry is 47 - mentions of past divorce - fluff - fate - sexual awakening k The one where Louis is lost, Harry is an excellent tour guide, and age is no barrier to finding the love of your life.

Whipped Cream | writingstylinson | hearing impaired - pining - 24kk Harry isn't focused on anything except growing his online photography business and keeping his service dog at his side. It's important since he's always being undermined due to his deafness. The last thing Harry needs are his client's brother trying to convince him to go out on a date with him.

#28th appreciation #1d fanworks appreciation #my reads #my fic rec #larry fics #ziam fics #1d fic #fic rec #1d fanfic

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queerofcups · 5 years

Note

By the amount of fic I read and how bad my memory is I'm still not surprised that I remember exactly what happens in your fic a superstar, a year on and I'm still so intrigued as to what would've happened next it was so good and such an interesting take on kid fic ugh your mind blows me away with your creativity and conception of plot

oh wow, a superstar! barring something truly unexpected that’s gonna be a forever WIP, so here anon, is what happens next along with a shit ton of backstory

Backstory / Outline

Dan’s been an au pair since he was 20. He’s only had a few families (because he’s so good and they love him) who all swear by him. Families who can afford nannies are, by nature of the job, usually wealthy. Families that can afford an au pair, particularly one of his rate and reputation, are usually quite wealthy. He hasn’t broken into the big Old Money leagues quite yet, but he finds the nouveau riche to be a little more flexible as far as Dan’s style and general deportment.

Of course, working primarily with new money means he’s often working with celebrities. They’re British, so the celebrity culture isn’t nearly as rabid as it is in America.

But he does have a respectable stack of clippings from gossip mags that have identified him as someone’s mysterious new lover or piece on the side.

He doesn’t blink at Bryony’s assignment of one last job: Phil Lester.

Lester’s been making a comeback in the last couple of years, rebuilding his cultural cache after a few years outside of the spotlight. Bryony swears it's a short job, nothing like the last years-long job he just wrapped up.

Dan’s loathe to admit it, but part of the reason he’s hesitant to take on another job, other than wanting a career change, is that leaving families wears on him.

He’s not that breed of caretaker who can separate himself from his families. Some of these kids he’s watched grow from little lumps of cute into real humans with opinions and preferences and it can be hard to let go.

Which is why, when he meets Sophia, he knows he’s screwed because she’s a firecracker of a kid and he falls a little in love with her as soon as they meet.

Note: Sophie’s real first name is Manon

Dan’s bi and ends up helping Phil work through some of his own stuff about being pretty much gay, but having been in love with Margaux

He’s got depression and a touch of anxiety and explains those to Sophia at some point.

He knows he’s in when he realizes he’s been looking up tutorials for styling curly hair online.

Phil

Former youtuber that won a contest to be on a couple episodes of some failing TV show & became a dark horse who ends up getting picked up for a few other shows and eventually (shortly) makes the jump to film.

The industry falls all over themselves to talk about how -nice- he is, how -polite-

It's untreated anxiety that leaves him bordering on panic attacks at every red carpet debut but he never says that.

It gets worse after he’s caught coming out of a gay bar, mouth still attached to some boy

It's not exactly homophobia that drives him out. People are kind and don’t say anything to his face.

But suddenly they want to know things.

How long has he known?

What's his type?

They want him to be a role model and he just wants to live

It's an easy decision. It's so easy to walk away he almost feels guilty. He loves acting, so much it surprised him when he first started, but he knows he can’t stop doing it.

So he stops taking roles. He doesn’t sign any new contracts. He nods and smiles when people tell him he’s making a mistake and he pickets his last checks.

He doesn't go far, just moves to a smaller apartment in London, in a less ritzy area and waitings until people stop trying to follow him home.

It's not a meltdown, no matter what The Sun (?) says. The fame just starts to feel like a cold hand around his throat and he gets out before it starts to squeeze.

There are people who understand and they’re proud of him. That feels awkward too, but nothing like the gaze of the public.

He can eventually go back to school, for video editing, and he has a few things with guys that are short term.

Which is fine. He’s young enough that he’s allowed to be restless and a little freewheeling.

Margaux is...was...is a shock to his system.

She’s a second generation French-American who moved to London so she can be boring in peace.

(She’s French & Creole specifically. Sophia’s legal name is Manon Sophia Ange Siméon Lester. Obviously she only goes by Sophia Lester for the most part. Her maternal relatives aren’t pleased with that)

Margaux’s family was small when they met and only got smaller over the years they knew each other until it feels like it's just them and Sophia.

The thing is, Phil never called himself gay. The press did.

But he would now. Because he knows that there won’t be other women after Margaux. He knows it's unhealthy, but it's better than deciding there will never be anyone else at all.

They were friends. They’d never called themselves anything more than that--not before Sophia and not after.

Sophia is nearly seven with Margaux goes on the trip. They’d lived together on and off, so it's nothing strange for her to be with Phil rather than one of her two remaining maternal grandmothers.

Phil is Sophia’s father, legally, biologically, all the way. But he sometimes feels like the most out of place person in her life. He doesn't know how to express to Sophia how much he loved Margaux while still being a mostly-gay man.

Phil’s weirdness about bisexuality (his own and the very idea) is a sticking point between him and Dan

Sophia knows and doesn’t particularly get why the delineation matters. All she knows is her Dad sometimes acts unsure of his own Dadness.

Margaux dies because of a head injury. She’d gone on an extended vacation with friends and gone bike riding without a helmet and fell. The friends took her to a clinic and she’d gotten a bandage for the scrapes to her forehead, a scolding and a clean bill of health. She’d skyped with them that night and made jokes about ruining her moneymaker. In the morning, she was gone.

People in Phil’s life, his relatives and former friends, characterize Margaux as a funny little deviation that would have just faded into a fun story if not for Sophia. Phil doesn’t argue, because he doesn’t want to upset things)

Dan realizing that Phil loved her is a moment of breaking through Phil’s shiny veneer of untouchable politeness)

When Phil decided to start acting again, he’s not expecting things to progress as quickly as they do. He knows that people were impressed with him when he was younger. He’s shocked to hear words like “critically acclaimed” get thrown around. He was just a kid escaping into the lives of people who had bigger problems than him.

But he reaches out, because he misses it and he’s tired of being a not-widower, hanting everywhere he goes, and the roles come.

And the gaze comes with them. There are small things. A c-plot role, a secondary character. A lead role from a smaller studio. And then a big break comes across his desk. It's a middling role, but everyone that gets top billing comes with an Academy Award attached. And there are explosions in the script. The kind that mean a summer blockbuster. He takes it, and suddenly, he’s on the edges of spotlight again.

Phil knows what he looks like. Internet star turned film star who goes gay, disappears for a few years, then returns, unpartnered with a brown, French speaking, half-American (half black America) pre-teen in tow. He looks like a ton of clicks, maybe a record number of copies sold.

Soph is 11.

He takes the role and calls Bryony directly, because there’s no way he can do this alone.

Part One: Meeting

Dan’s finishing up his first month back home after leaving a family. He’s got scripts on his desk--good, meaty roles that have him thinking he might not take another family on, yet.

Bryony calls, which is interesting. She’s the head of the agency & they’re friendly but not on phone call terms.

She offers him the job. He initially refuses. She admits it's a personal favor kind of job, and temporary and she wants her best on it.

Dan agrees to a chemistry meeting.

They meet up, Sophia charms dan and he still says no.

She comes with a short term nanny because her dad’s running late.

Phil shows up & Dan’s jaw clenches because PHil’s the kind of rung-jumping acting success story that Dan’ resents.

So he’s sarcastic and a little cross because he hates that and the choir boy facade Phil puts on

Maybe he makes a euthanasia joke? Or something about an uncaring universe that goes over Sophia’s head.

Except Phil laughs and doesn't glanced nervously at Sophia the way parents do sometimes when dan gets a little dark.

Phil finally sends Sophia off to buy a cupcake so he can be alone and upfront with Dan.

He explains that it won’t be a long term job, just the 9 months he needs to be in America to shoot and then Dan is free.

“This is just the first time we’ve done this,” Phil says, watching Sophia through the window. “And I want to give Soph the best. She deserves the best. Better than that.”

And Dan’s a goner. He’s still a businessman, so he asks for time to consider and sends his terms of employment to the agency’s lawyer. But he knows he’s going to do it. He makes a mental note to look up a list of tutors if they don’t already have one hired.

Part 2: Getting to Know Each Other

Dan makes the assumption that Sophia is adopted & Phil awkwardly corrects him--this is the beginning of their conflict over the word bisexual.

Phil’s never had an au pair, so he’s uncomfortable with how *there* Dan suddenly is. He doesn’t move into their London flat because there’s not room for him but they start preparing for the move & he’s got experience in ordering houses for that, more than Phil does.

They don’t have any other staff. Sophia will get a tutor in America, but she’s finishing her year in school & Phil lives well within his means, small flat, they cook for themselves and the cleaning lady visits once a week. Dan’s the only one there all the time & despite all his years of experience, he feels invasive. But he also gets to see how close Phil and Sophia are, including watching them do “homework” together, Sophia doing equations & Phil running lines.

They go to America. Phil’s one movie has turned into parts in three movies. In one he’s playing a semi-serious playboy villain who was once the husband of the (superhero) lead. In another, he’s a professor/mentor in a teen dramedy. In the last one, the blockbuster/oscar bait, he’s playing a man whose life is ruined by the rise of the regime the main cast is fighting. Dan thinks the last one is the only one that sounds interesting. But he’s impressed with Phil’s handling of learning all the scripts. They’re surprisingly disparate characters. The playboy is, at his core, a sleaze that covers himself in a fine patina of British politeness. The professor is clearly meant to be someone whose awkwardness translates into the kind of cool kids would find appealing & Phil manages to strike the balance gamely. And the last one is...it's Oscar bait and even though Phil’s part isn’t big enough to get him supporting actor billing Dan can see him prepare to give a career-changing, maybe even life changing performance.

The first two he practices in front of them. Dan gets sick of the lines, finds himself muttering them along with Phil as he makes Sophie’s snacks.

The other one, only Dan sees.

He doesn’t at first. For a while Phil locks himself away in his room and Dan can only hear the muffled yelling of a one sided argument.

But one night he’s sitting, looking out over the city, thinking about going to bed when Phil comes out and asks him, sheepishly, if he’ll listen and tell Phil if he sounds wooden.

Dan agrees and they sit at the kitchen table. Phil takes a long, steady breath and suddenly there are tears. He holds his head just slightly higher, proudly, and there’s suddenly a stoney archness Dan’s never seen on him before.

“And so that’s it,” Phil says, his voice cold, closed off and defeated. “Eleven years and you hand me over to your precious leader.”“Josiah,” Dan says, looking at the script. “You have to understand. I had no choice--”“Coward,” Phil says. It's a simple word but still feels like it pierces Dan’s core.“My darling,” Dan says. “Please.”Phil stands. Dan watches him. “Remember that.” He stalks around the table, his eyes still shining with tears. “When I am on my knees, begging for life, when they’ve made you my executioner.”He steps closer, standing a hair too close to Dan, and says, anguished, “Remember that I was once your darling. Your beloved. Your love.”Dan is rapt, waiting for the next line, but Phil clears his throat and takes a step back. “And then they kiss and Josiah leaves,” Phil says, suddenly back in his own body and self. “What d’you think?”“Wow,” Dan says, hoping his face isn’t betraying his surprise that Phil can actually, really act. “Um. It’s good. Your movements could be a little smoother. They were together, right? So Josiah should be used to getting in--what’s her name?”“His,” Phil says, settling back into his kitchen chair. “Theodore. Theo.”“Woah,” Dan says before he thinks better of it. “You’re playing gay?”Phil quirks an eyebrow, “It's not really...playing?”Dan waves a hand, “Obviously. But that’s a big choice, role-wise. You aren’t afraid they’ll just see you as the gay one?”Phil stares at him, brows furrowed until Dan mouths, “What?”“You do know...about me, right? How my career got started? And why I stopped? I’m already the gay one.”“But you have a choice. I’m not saying you should change your mind. The film industries closet shit is bullshit. But you have a choice.”“Dan. I know. And the choice is what I get to be private about. An actor--a celebrity who isn’t trying to walk back their youthful indiscretion is way more interesting than a mostly gay man with a kid and a dead...Margaux.”Dan feels...so many things. “You can’t hide Sophie. She’s your kid.”“I’m not hiding her,” Phil says, and Dan knows immediately that this isn’t the first time Phil’s heard this exact argument. “I’m protecting her.”

Dan keeps agreeing to run lines with Phil. He never asks for the script, so he learns Josiah through Phil, the early scenes where he’s playful, teasingly sensual, his deteriorating life and mental state and the way he dies.

They don't run those lines when Sophie is home. It's understandable. It's unsettling for Dan, an adult who understands the depths you can get to while acting, to watch Phil muss himself up and drop unceremoniously to his knees, hands clasped behind himself. It's a short scene & Dan knows the public will be outraged with the scene. But every time he reads his own lines, a choked, delicate line of “I have to.”Phil nails it with workman’s precision everytime, He looks slightly past Dan, huffs a soft broken laugh and says, so quiet and tender, so full of betrayal. “You’ll never forget this day, Theo.” Dan doesn’t know what happens in the rest of the movie, but he’d pay the price of admission to watch Phil say that sentence.He’s been convinced, won over, sold & transported.

The fic doesn't end after they hook up for the first time, follows them through figuring out that this can’t be a one time thing and they both want this to last. Phil encouraging Dan to take on acting and not just because they can’t be together publicly while Dan is Sophie’s au pair.

Ending of the fic is Sophie and Dan hanging out at the Oscars (or BAFTAs?) waiting for Phil to come out of the bathroom. It's a few years later (enough years that Dan should probably be freaked out about how many of the actresses he and Soph agree are super hot) and Phil’s up for an Oscar for best supporting actor.

*At some point they get drunk together (after some terrible award show?) and talk about their first and best times with men and Dan accidentally dirty talks to Phil because he’s drunk and reminiscing about some truly outstanding cock he’s had in his day.

#phanfic #phanfiction #Anonymous

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endless-vall · 6 years

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The map - Part 8 - Endless Summer fanfic

<< First < Previous , Next >

Summary: Aleister pays a visit to Costa-Rica, to try and convince Jake to come with him.

Author’s note: I’m trying to get into a posting schedule to this fic, where I have the next chapter ready before posting the current one. Here’s to hoping I’ll actually stick to that! ^^

Tagging @endlessly-searching-for-you & @mariamatsuo @endlessflame @trianiasti @diamond-dreamland since they’ve asked! ^^ Comment on this post to let me know if you wanna be tagged as well.

“And how are you so sure?” They shared a drink inside the bar.

Ben eyed them suspiciously but Jake assured him with a glace that everything was fine.

Ben nodded, but was ready to jump in and help whenever he needed. Jake appreciated it and got back into the conversation, his full attention on Aleister.

“I’ve snooped through his house before coming here. He’s just a gardening freak now. He grows all kinds of plants and sells spices for his living. You really think my maniac, sadistic, psychotic of a father would do so if he had any choice?” Aleister explained.

“Maybe it’s a cover story?” Jake suggested.

“Everett Rourke doesn’t do cover stories.” Aleister dismissed him, shrugging.

“He goes by Alaric now.” Jake commented, sipping from his drink.

“Alaric?” Aleister’s eyebrows rose up. “Interesting name choice.” He snorted.

“Why’s that?” Jake wondered.

“’Alaric’s name meaning is an all-powerful ruler.” Aleister explained.

“And you still think he’s innocent?” Jake raised an eyebrow, kind of like telling ‘told you so’.

“Innocent? God no.” Aleister shook his head.

“But he certainly doesn’t remember a thing.” He assured him. “I saw him in the bar, before he left and you came by.” He added. “We didn’t really engage in a conversation but he didn’t even so much as looked at me.” He explained.

Jake sighed.

“I hope you’re right.”

It was another day at Hartfeld university.

More classes to attend, more schoolwork to catch up with, and more exams to prepare to.

But Taylor was... Positive. She and Mike had done a lot of progress this weekend, and things started to look brighter for them.

She didn’t have any nightmares in a while, and was fairly happy.

“Let’s take a coffee break before our next class?” Mike suggested, catching up with her pace in the hallway.

“Sure.” She smiled at him, and they turned towards the campus’ cafe’.

Entering it, she immediately noticed Michelle.

“Hey, Taylor, over here!” She called out, waving excitedly.

Taylor sent a bright smile her way but turned towards Mike. “Do you wanna...” She hesitated suggesting it.

“Sit with them?” He finished her sentence.

She nodded, biting at her lower lip. “Mhhm.” She made an agreeing sound, but was very wary about her suggestion.

Mike snorted at her. “Sure.” He said.

“Let’s just get our caffeine fix beforehand.”

They’ve bought each a large cup of coffee, and made their way towards the table where Michelle was sitting.

She was surrounded by more familiar faces they’ve encountered at the party, including Diego, Sean, and even Raj.

“Hey guys, what’s up?”

“You’d know a lot more if you had read my letter, Y’know.” Aleister threw one judging look around, before turning back to Jake.

“Which I’m assuming you didn’t.” He quickly added.

“And how’d you know that?” The look on Jake’s eyes gave him away, but it didn’t stop him from protesting.

“Because you’d come back to states… for her.” Aleister simply said, but there was nothing simple about that.

“Look,” Jake rose up on his feet. “I don’t know what her you’re talking about... But it doesn’t matter.”

Wait, what? A look of confusion danced around in Aleister’s eyes.

“But you should know better. You know I can’t go back into the states.”

Aleister cleared his throat, pulling another letter from his jacket’s inner pocket.

“If you had read my letter, you’d know that you can.” He presented the piece of paper to Jake.

Jake almost tore up the letter, unable to wait any further. What was Aleister talking about?

Could all the prosecutions against him be dropped?

His eyes quickly scanned the letter, before turning to face Aleister again.

“I’m a free man?” He asked, almost teary-eyed. Almost.

“Yep.” Aleister nodded. “I saw to that.” He flashed a smile.

“You know, the benefit of being the only heir to a multi-million worth of a company.” He rhetorically said, rolling his eyes. Jake burst into a loud blissful laugh and clasped a hand over Aleister’s shoulder.

“I can’t thank you enough!” He briefly hugged him, before returning to his seat.

“So where’s Al?” Taylor asked, looking around. A few more familiar faces from the party had shown around the table. Faces she couldn’t quite attach names to but felt like she should know.

Mike shifted uncomfortably beside her, but she gripped his hand and squeezed lightly, assuring him everything was fine.

After all, Aleister assured everyone he forgave him.

“Oh, he’s out of town for business.” A dark skinned, tiny girl commented.

Taylor’s eyes looked her up and down, before she grinned at her. “Oh.”

Was this girl at the party? She could’ve swore she saw her somewhere but couldn’t recall.

The girl probably realized Taylor was staring, and she stretched out her hand. “Hi, Grace Hall.” She said. “Nice to meet you.”

“Taylor Astra.” She commented, not thinking about it, as she shook her hand.

Her mind was someplace else...

What kind of business was Aleister on?

Mike probably shared her thoughts, by the look he gave her. But today he knew better than to question it.

They all shared smiles, killing the tension and went back to drinking their coffee and talking about an upcoming blockbuster movie they all wanted to check out.

“Actually, you can.” Aleister commented, bringing Jake back down from his high cloud.

“Should I worry?” Jake asked, suspiciously.

Aleister snorted. “No.”

Taking a deep breathe, Aleister spoke up again. “I need you to go back to the states with me. And I know you miss your family... But there’s something I need you to do before you visit them.

There’s this girl... That needs our help.”

Jake considered for a long moment. “Sure.” He finally, let out.

If this was the price, then whatever. He kinda liked helping people anyway, these days...

#playchoices #playchoices fanfic #endless summer #the map #aleister rourke #jake mckenzie #everett rourke #mike darwin #grace tamara hall #michelle nguyen #es #fanfic #my writing

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olderthannetfic · 7 years

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Have you heard of Writscrib? If yes, what are your thoughts?

I hadn’t heard of it. I see that there’s an indiegogo. This is some kind of micro-transaction tip jar website for creative people, right?

Are you asking if the people running it are legit? I have no idea. Their pitch seems okay. Or are you asking my opinion as someone who writes a lot of fandom meta? Like... why ask me as opposed to anyone else?

Long story short: Sounds good for original work. Fandom should stay away.

But, hey, I’m always happy to tl;dr, so here goes...

I love that we can now spend our money on the media we actually like, supporting the careers of people we want to see make art. If everyone would stop going to summer blockbusters and spend that $13 for their ticket, $1 for the online booking fee, and $10 for a fucking hot dog and coke on some Patreon or whatever, the media landscape would look very different.*

And it’s not just about what we buy legitimately. Even if you pirate everything, every minute spent on a major media property that disrespects us is a minute not spent on some indie weirdness that might actually cater to us. Your time and your energy are finite. Tumblr is all about paying lip service to also supporting diverse media, but at a certain point, if you’re trying to hold down a job and raise kids and leave the house for your vitamin D needs, it comes down to supporting indie media or diverse media or better creators or whatever your thing is instead of mainstream media.

That said, Writscrib, like anything that involves $$$, is aimed at original works. The content on Tumblr is a lot of reblogging gifsets and posting other fanworks. I don’t know that Writscrib has a lot to offer someone who’s mostly here for the fandom stuff.

If somebody can find an audience that wants to pay them to write meta, fair enough. It’s no different than a movie reviewer being paid for their work. But most fanworks have a complicated relationship with profit. A lot of fan art violates trademarks on logos and such. Fanfic really should not be paid for unless someone is publishing their sequel to a 19thC novel or recouping printer’s fees on a zine. (No, I don’t think zine eds should ever be paid for their time and labor. It’s the cost of the paper/ink/print shop and nothing else. If that fannish labor is to onerous, they should find a new hobby. That’s what the rest of us do.)

Most meta writers, including me, do not produce work that I think deserves pay. It’s not that it’s not enjoyable to read, but it doesn’t have the level of polish or rigor that would make me open my wallet. The same is true for most bloggers. Yeah, somebody might love your photos of your breakfast and your inane ramblings about your day, and that’s their business if they want to pay you, but most of that stuff strikes me as what everybody does on every social media site. I wouldn’t reward one person more than another, personally. Plus, most meta is only worth the discussion it inspires. The more people respond to it on a level playing field, the more interesting the whole becomes for a reader. I guess a micro-transaction website could let you pay commenters, but...

Writscrib might be good for authors who blog as an addition to Patreon. It could be good for indie musicians. I can definitely see the utility for visual artists who produce a lot of studies before embarking on a major piece. It’s entering a crowded marketplace with Patreon well established and lots of creatives having tip jars associated with their major social media accounts on sites everyone already uses. But if Writscrib manages to take off, it could be cool.

However, I think fanworks fandom should stay off of it. Stop asking for tips for your damn fic! Either build a normal career as an author (self published or otherwise) or accept that the time you spend on your hobby is a reward in and of itself. There’s no reason we should pay some of us and not others of us to do fandom shit, and there are plenty of legal reasons why it’s better to avoid it for the majority of fanwork types.

IDK... Was that what you were asking?

*Yeah, I live in obnoxiously expensive cities.

#fandom meta #media meta #writscrib #Anonymous

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bringbackwendellvaughn · 7 years

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Terminus: A Great Villain Ruined by One Writer

Terminus is one of the worst villains in the Marvel Universe. I even listed him on a really old list I made of characters I can't stand. He is terminally boring and pathetic and his stories are a snoozefest.

That's what I thought, anyway.

I was introduced to the character in Quasar #7 where his convoluted backstory and complete lack of any real threat did not endear him to me. Then I read the “Terminus Factor” storyline which was even worse for both those things and gave him even more convoluted backstory. Then I read Uncanny X-Men Annual #12 which was the worst comic of the bunch.

I hated the character. I thought he was absolute stinking garbage.

Then I read John Byrne's Fantastic Four arc which introduced him and Roger Stern's Avengers arc which used him and... they were both really good. Terminus was a legitimate threat and a pretty sweet villain.

Byrne envisioned him as a "thug version of Galactus" but it was Roger Stern who maybe gave him his big Galactus level feat; he utterly obliterated the Savage Land and killed most of it's population. I won’t get into whether it was a good idea to get rid of the Savage Land (it was) but these two stories were great and written by two of the top talents in comics at the peak of their game.

And it all fell apart when Chris Claremont got his hands on him.

I loathe Chris Claremont. I think he is the worst and most damaging thing to have ever happened to comics. He's a sacred cow who all the current writers want to imitate and that is why modern comics are shit. Rather than read a wide berth of comics for inspiration, they just read the same Claremont X-Men and Miller Daredevil. At least the latter is good, but Claremont was never good. His best output was due to the intervention of sane minds; John Byrne, Jim Shooter, Dave Cockrum. Claremont wanted the Dark Phoenix Saga to end without the iconic ending of Jean's sacrifice or her love for Scott winning out, he wanted the Watcher to show up and wave a hand and everything is fixed and Jean doesn’t die. Any run on a book by Claremont just sees him take random characters from any other books, be territorial about anything he touches, indulging in long transparent rip-offs of then-movies (Carrie, Alien, Neverending Story) and mostly just overwrites whatever woman he’s currently wanking himself off to into being “strong” (his idea of a “strong” woman is not a strong woman but instead a woman who is faultless and perfect, constantly achieving and mastering anything and getting nonsensical power-ups or “claims to fame”) or trying his hardest to romanticize Magneto.

And, like so many other characters, he fucked Terminus hard. Maybe it was driven by bitterness towards his former collaborator Byrne, maybe it was anger about other writers deciding the fate of "his” Savage Land, maybe it loony orders from DeFalco to undo a Shooter thing, or maybe Claremont is just flat-out awful. He does a story where he reverses the destruction of the Savage Land, completely. Where Terminus is a total chump who gets his ass kicked. And then the big fuck-up, he revealed Terminus wasn't really Terminus in this appearance or the appearance in Stern's Avengers.

So, Claremont not only uselessly deflated a villain by making him shit and reversing his big feat but then burdened him with a nonsensical retcon. Also, the story was awful. At one point, Storm whips out a random magic crystal to open a portal to a sideways dimension ripped off from the Neverending Story where she is worshiped as a queen and Colossus has fathered a kid. Fucking dross.

So then we get to Quasar #7, my introduction to the character. And while I thought it was annoying and boring originally, now I mostly just feel a lot of pity for it. You see, Claremont - in typical Claremont style - fucked something over and then left it broken. He never bothered to explain or flesh out anything, this wasn't an idea Claremont had, this was just Claremont being his usual shitty self and doing bogus trash that if any other writer did wouldn't be hailed as gold. So, naturally, it fell to someone like Mark Gruenwald to pick up the character and try to fix them. Unfortunately, he can't. Well, he could - by simply ignoring or casting shade on Claremont's story - but Mark is a better man than me and he tried to honour what Claremont said and explained how basically the Terminus in Avengers wasn't Terminus but was a Deviant (who oddly looks exactly like Terminus). Quasar #7 was an attempt at a fix fic. It is not a good issue or a good fix, but I see it in a far better light than I originally did. This is someone trying to salvage something. Which is a tad ironic considering Terminus is a Cosmic scavenger.

Then we get around to Terminus Factor. Despite Gruenwald's attempt at fixing the character, it never really explained the original Terminus. So now Roy Thomas did an Avengers mega-crossover featuring Terminus where we learn all about his origins and how it’s all convoluted and boring. Now, there's loads of Termini and five stages of incubation and... it's all dire. Maybe it was because when I read it I didn't like Terminus, maybe it's so rubbish because of the past retcons and fixes to Terminus or maybe it is just a rubbish idea anyway. Terminus, Termini, Terminex... it's all uninteresting. I do want to read it again now that I know there's a good idea in Terminus somewhere but I’m guessing at most I’ll maybe only enjoy one or two pages where I can remove context (like U.S.Agent fighting him is genuinely cool!).

Terminus hasn't made any particularly big appearance since then. Mostly all done-in-ones or cameos. And it's no surprise.

I think with Terminus, the way forward is to ignore everything post-Stern. Not undo it or retcon it, that wouldn’t help - you’re just convoluting something convoluted more. Just ignore it. Don't address it. Don’t refer to it. Just have Terminus show up and be a "thug version of Galactus". He should be a Summer blockbuster disaster movie style monster. Not some stupid armor some stupid Claremont Storm-fuel character can wear, not some viral biological lifeform, not some boring multi-armed monster with multiple stages. Just a gigantic planet busting villain.

I think at the end of the day, Terminus is one of the worst villains in the Marvel Universe. He is terminally boring and pathetic and his stories are a snoozefest. But for his first year or so, he wasn’t.

#Terminus #enemies

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meliaamethyst · 7 years

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My Fanfics and Original Stories

So I’ve been sitting around, knowing I should post something here but entirely unsure as to what. And I’ve finally decided! What better introduction to me as a writer, as a shipper, than for me to start things off by posting links to the stories that I’m OK with sharing and telling a bit about my thoughts and impressions for each? I will also be including links to each mentioned story and a synopsis at the end of the post so you can visit them and read if you so desire.

The first story I want to share is my Fairy Tail fanfiction. To be honest, I don’t even remember where or when I first got the idea to write this, but I’m so glad that I started it because it has grown to be one of my favorites! Through a lot of hard work, equal portions by me and my #1 Beta Sandry-Chan, and only two revisions, Fairy Tail: Dawn of Change (I’ll be using the acronym DoC for this one) is about a young girl who doesn’t fit in the real world and wishes desperately to be somewhere else. After a magical day at an anime convention, she wakes up in an animated meadow. Naturally, her first thought is that this is all a dream, but the bruise on her thigh says otherwise. She wanders until she collapses and when she wakes up again she is in a hotel bedroom, being watched by Natsu Dragneel, Happy the Cat, and Lucy Heartfilia; three central characters to her favorite anime Fairy Tail. And that is just the start of her adventure! From there, things are exciting and depressing by turns, shifting from euphoria and the epitome of “OMG!!” to “What did I land in?!” But despite everything, Roxanne perseveres and proves that she is a true Fairy. I love this story not just because of how much blood, sweat and tears I have poured into this, but also because of how similar Roxanne and I are, and how I could channel my own daydreams into her experiences and live out my dreams through her. I also did a lot of pre-writing planning, and I planned things that might not even be used. But if they become needed, then I’ll be ready! I also had to do a lot of research, into the individual magics and the rules for magic, and figuring things out to fill in gaps, and research into how a nine year old thinks! And Sandry also pinpointed some trouble areas for ms to work on, and I strengthened my Showing not Telling. Because of this fic, I feel like I’ve really grown as a writer and that also contributes to my love for this fic. So I really recommend that you read this fic! Also, since it starts at the beginning and explains almost everything as things become relevant, you really don’t need to have any Fairy Tail background to read DoC!!

The next book I wanna talk about is my original idea, inspired by the wonder of freshman year of high school; new friends, new experiences, and a new fascination with dragons. Dragon Girl (the acronym is DG) is my first real attempt at storywriting, my pride and joy. The overall story hasn’t changed much and I still remember almost everything I figured out. DG is about a teenager who can shapeshift into a dragon. Surrounded by humans, she lives in an abusive household and believes herself to be the only one like her. She almost kills herself doing chores and homework everyday, biding her time, waiting until she can move out on her own. But she has trust issues because every time she opens her heart and tells the other person about ‘the dragon’ they end up running away and hating her. And that, of course, puts her life in danger in addition to the damage her heart sustains. In spite of that, she finally finds the courage to fly away and she ends up discovering that she is actually part of an ancient race called Drakons, and she is a very special Drakonian. She helps to rebuild this dying race and she is instrumental in the war against the natural enemy called Scylla. I love this story because it marks where I first started getting serious about writing, and I use it as a landmark for how I used to be and where I am now. Also, its gotten the most attention despite its unrevised writting, telling not showing state, usually one to three people favorite it EVERY DAY. And I have a deal with a graphic artist for a comic book adaptation. So I am very proud of Dragon Girl for a variety of reasons and I hope that you’ll read it.

The third book I want to share is the first in a four-part saga, a fanfiction based off of Christopher Paolini’s bestselling series 'The Inheritance Cycle’ (the acronym will be IC) The first part of the original series was remade into a movie named after the first book in the saga, Eragon, in 2007. Even though it was a blockbuster hit that summer, fans in the IC fandom did not enjoy it. In my opinion, while the movie preserved the overall gist of Eragon and Saphira’s adventures, there was a lot of stuff that was changed or omitted. In the movie, Brom and Eragon killed the three Ra'zac that pursued them in Palancar Valley. However, Eragon and his cousin Roran are the true heroes in Brisingr, and are responsible for defeating the two Ra'zac while Saphira killed the two Lethrblakas herself. This was a huge mistake on the movie’s part because now there is no one to kidnap Roran’s love Katrina, and Carvahall would not be attacked and subsequently burned to the ground. Thus, Roran would not lead the villagers to the Burning Plains in time to help the Varden in the battle against the Imperial Army. Also, Brom was not struck by an arrow as he rescued Eragon from Gil'ead, he was struck by a knife coated in an oil by the Ra'zac outside of Teirm after Murtagh jumped in to help. Also, Eragon was captured by Imperial Soldiers in Gil'ead just after Brom’s death, and the ordeal resulted in Eragon meeting the Shade, Durza, and discovering the woman he had been seeing his dreams was a prisoner as well, and that’s when he rescued Arya. The movie also got several other things wrong, like barely showing Orik and not even mentioning Hrothgar and the Twins. On the other hand, I enjoyed seeing Saphira and hearing her voice. Anyway, my fanfiction series is based off of the books, and called Wyrda, and the first installment of four is called Istalri. In this first book, an orphan elf and her brother are introduced, oppressed by their tyrannical uncle. They dream of becoming Riders because that is the only fate they can stand until they are old enough to retake their family home. One night, one of the dragon eggs they hold hatches, and its the girl who begins her journey. Like Eragon before her, she will face new challenges and overcome obstacles as she helps to rebuild the Rider Order. She is surrounded by mentors Murtagh, Eragon and Arya and their dragons, and she has to carve her own future out of the bedrock of her life. I enjoy writing this because I relied on the canon series so heavily so it was a great excuse to read the series again and even write a letter to Paolini himself to ask questions, and I get to bring life to Alanna and Dusan, two obscure characters that we glance at only once in Brisingr. I get to make them fully rounded, unique characters that are this perfect, unstoppable team when they’re together, and still terrifying when they are apart. I get to give them a past, a life, and a future full of hopes and dreams and a healthy dose of reality. Istalri is also the ninth edition of this series, and is my first legitimate fanfiction that I wrote out of sheer pleasure when I was only 12 years old, in 7th grade. It gave me something to discuss with a woman who would later become my best friend close enough to be my sister, and, through her, another sister. Because of Istalri, I got to develop relationships that I even now must lean on to survive my life. I couldn’t be prouder of Istalri, and I hope that you will read it and come to love it as much as I do.

Thank you.

LINKS:

DoC https://m.fanfiction.net/s/11262127/1/Fairy-Tail-Dawn-of-Change

Istalri (Previously Kvistr) https://m.fanfiction.net/s/10524735/1/Kvistr-Book-1-Of-The-Wyrda-Series

Dragon Girl https://www.bookrix.com/_ebook-melissa-nichols-dragon-girl/

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