I want a Snily story where Lily goes missing and Severus is still a low level ranking Death Eater and James comes to him out of desperation and is like “PLEASE if you EVER cared about her HELP ME FIND HER” and Severus goes absolutely fucking feral in his pursuit of finding her only to find that it was on Voldemort’s orders
And then he takes them down from the inside out.
And the entire time Lily is giving these fuckers absolute HELL while barely hanging on until Severus shows up covered in blood and bits of bone and takes her somewhere no one can find them and the entire time she’s fighting him and he’s just like, “FUCKING STAY PUT”
and then they fall in love :-) totally normal
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I think I figured out the problem with the Enemies to Lover's trope, it has a bimodal distribution. Let me explain!
Most tropes have a normal distribution:
I hypothesize that with EtoL, there is very little middle ground. This is a bimodal distribution:
You either do EtoL well and join the ranks of the immortals, or you crash and burn. I've discussed previously what makes EtoL work, but there seem to be a lot of traps for writers to fall into when it comes to this trope. For example:
the turn being based too heavily on lust (common JAFF trap)
never fully establishing the enemies phase
insufficient apology on one side (almost always the man's) which makes the other's acceptance unsatisfying
the pair have the communication skills of a newborn baby (ei: the misunderstanding could be fixed with a single sentence)
one side is a real asshole but it's excused because of TRAUMA
growth is ignored in favour of acceptance (can work, usually doesn't)
Relationship is clearly toxic, above and beyond the extenuating circumstances/magical premise (The problem isn't that Edward is a vampire, that's part of the premise. The problem is his disregard for Bella's autonomy)
One side gives in because the other is too obsessed with them
Once Upon a Time flew by having Hook feel meaningful remorse for his past actions (the scene with the Little Mermaid got me so good) and establishing begrudging respect between him and Emma, The Mindy Project crashed and burned by not showing sufficient growth in Danny (does he respect her career now or are they just horny?). Parks and Recreation got it by making the leads both good people who just got on each other's nerves because they had different valid approaches. I think Brooklyn 99 is one of those rare mediocre ones, because the enemy stage isn't fully established but the relationship is still satisfying. The Kdrama Alchemy of Souls got it right by having both main characters display an impressive amount of personal growth, while 100 Days My Prince burned because it relied too heavily on obsession and trauma excusing behaviour.
Pride & Prejudice and Much Ado About Nothing show that the beginning dynamic can be completely different, old antagonists vs. first impressions, but the trope can still work if it's done right. The problem is that it's so often done wrong.
So when it's good, it's SO GOOD, when it's bad, it sucks.
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haven't promoted this story in a minute because idk I got tired of tumblr and took a sort of break. Tomorrow I will be posting ch. 14, which is halfway through the story, so it's a great time to pick up...
The Hunter The Snake and the Fox
Rating: M | Category: M/M | Words: 27 081 | Chapters 13/28
Summary:
When Magister Dorian Pavus' expedition meets unexpectedly with a clan of unhappy Dalish elves, First Taren Lavellan may be the unhappiest among them. Unhappier still to be put to the task of helping to see his quest through. This is the tale of how a fortnight in the forests of the Free Marches can change everything.
And here's a long snippet from Ch. 3 for some Drama:
A sliver of light shone briefly in from a crack in the tent, and a leather-clad elf stomped through it. The elf barked something out towards the tent flap, and before Dorian could muster more than a groan, he stomped out again. Dorian blinked a few times after the fading blur of light.
Minutes went by. Possibly hours. Dorian’s head hurt. He tugged on the binds at his wrists, bending them uncomfortably this way and that. It only seemed to tighten them, so he stopped. His head began to clear. More time passed. He attempted to count the minutes. When the elf returned again, Dorian managed a few inquiring calls for attention. Things like, “Where are the others?”, and, “damnit, I’m talking to you!” His calls went ignored.
The elf poked his head back out into the bright daylight beyond the dark tent, and shouted something in grumpy Elvhen. Another elf soon pushed through the flap, they stomped grimly forward together, and then one on either side hoisted Dorian up by the elbows.
Dorian’s legs were half asleep and still bound, painfully tingling with each jostling step as the two elves dragged him forward. He groaned. The elf on his right barked back something he was sure was an insult. His unwilling legs were dragged on.
Dorian did his best to make his case for answers and mercy as they went. “We have no qualms with you," he pleaded, " I know Tevinter hasn’t historically been kind to your people, but really, this expedition wants nothing to do with you, so if you’d simply let us go on our way…”
Sharp grunt.
“You’re making a huge mistake. Kill me, and you’d be inviting a war, do you have any idea who I am?”
Angry Elvish epithet.
“Dorian of house Pavus,” he said proudly, “ Magister Pavus as of recently, I have a fortune, you could be handsomely rewarded and —”
Big knife.
“— and a wife! And children! Please!”
The big knife pressed closer to his throat. There was a bandage there already.
“Alright! So I don’t have children, or a wife, but I am engaged, and —”
Dorian was shoved through a tent flap by the elf holding the knife, who wound up at his back as his second captor pushed his unstable and bound legs down into a kneel.
“Relax, shemlin,” said a low voice.
Thank the Maker, Dorian thought, blinking now at the woven mat he’d been forced upon, its zigzagged pattern slowly coming into view in his still foggy vision. Finally, here was someone who spoke the Trade speech. King's Tongue, they called it in the south. Crude. In Tevinter, the nobility still had its own.
Dorian’s eyes rose from the ground to take in warmly lit canvas walls draped in soft pelts and colourful woven blankets. He knelt near a smouldering fire pit. Smoke was rising up through a narrow hole in the tent’s roof. Through its haze, in a grand and intricately carved wooden seat, sat a man. The man stood, and Dorian watched leather-wrapped feet pace forward, around, circling him. There were more seats, less grand but still intricately carved, all around the fire pit. None sat in them except for one old woman. She sat still and proud, squinting at him through the smoke.
Dorian lifted his gaze all the way up to the face of the man who was just now finishing his pacing examination of him. An elvhen mage stood before Dorian with his staff planted firmly on the ground between them. He was not tall, but stood in towering regalness over Dorian all the same. His posture was straight, his shoulders strongly set and covered with a heavy green cloak woven through with threads of blue and gold. He wore his deep auburn hair in a long, thick braid hung over one shoulder, and he held his carved, spiralling wooden staff in both hands, emanating power.
“You are Master Pavus ,” said the standing elf, speaking down to him.
“Master Pavus was my father,” Dorian replied, flashing the man a winning smile, “as I am evidently your prisoner, it seems only fitting that you simply call me Dorian.”
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