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#this is one of those cheap and easy tropes that works on me every damn time
joycrispy · 3 years
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The only thing better than a character development haircut is a character development loss-of-limb.
Luke Skywalker getting a robot hand? Fuck yes. Finn’s arm being torn off? Fuck yes. And now, in Fantasy High, Fabian’s eye being ripped out so that his appearance mirrors that of his father...I have ascended.
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enigma-im · 3 years
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Third Day of Christmas...
Trope: Enemies to Lovers (NSFW) Relationship: Minotaur x Human Word Count: 4,025
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It all started with a note on the door.
Imani didn't expect to find a letter taped to her door that morning, or any morning for that matter. For a good couple of seconds she feared it was from her landlord, an eviction notice of some kind. That went right out the window as she read the chicken scratched handwriting.
Dear apartment 23 resident,
I'd appreciate it if you would keep the noises to a minimum after 10 pm. The singing has kept me up well past midnight. The stomping at all hours has been less than appreciated. Also, I hate to point out that your dog hasn't been a saint either, barking every morning at 7 am. So if you would please, muzzle the dog and stop the late-night parties.
                                 Signed, apartment 15 resident.
Imani is confused for a moment, walking back into her apartment while rereading the letter. All of it is not true, starting with the singing. She does not sing, especially that late in the day. The neighbor on the other hand has a daughter who doesn't understand her own volume, blaring out BTS songs at odd hours. The stomping is a ridiculous accusation, almost typical in these situations. The only time she can admit that her walking would be loud is when she first gets home and hasn't gotten to removing her shoes. Besides then, she is as quiet as a church mouse. An hour after she gets home she spends most of her time lounging in the living room. so how can she be making noises if she isn't moving?
The woman drops the note onto her kitchen table, put off by the audacity. She looks over to her little dog, shaking her head as she thinks back on the next line. Her dog doesn't bark! He is as silent as can be, never even growling. The most this 'resident' can accuse her pooch over is his nails scratching at the floor. Even then that shouldn't even register through the floors.
With the morning turned sour, Imani quickly organizes her things and heads out for work. The whole day is spent thinking hard on her letter, thinking about what needs to be done. Should she ignore it? Pretend she never got it and go on with her life? That would be the easy approach, even kinder one, but she ain't that kind of bitch.
When she got home late that day she storms into the kitchen, making sure to stop with her shoes still on, and grabs a notebook. She jots down a little message for 'resident 15' with as much passive aggression as she can put into words.
Dear resident 15,
The bold claims you have taped to my door have been read. I'd like to take the time to inform you of your misguided claims. I, for one, am not the local American Idol star. That award goes to Tiny Tina in apartment 22. I don't know why you have such an issue with her music, BTS songs are a bop.
Next on the list is my 'stomping'. Excuse me for correcting you again, but I do not 'stomp' around my apartment. The minute I get home from work I am sitting on my ass watching television till it's time for bed. So I ask you, how can I be stomping around if my feet do not move off the couch?
Finally, my dog. My dog is a saint, for your information, he is the quietest animal I have ever owned. I haven't heard so much as a peep from him since he was a puppy. Maybe check around for other noisy pooches because mine isn't the problem.
With this all said, I hope you find a solution to your problem because bugging me was not it.
                                       Sincerely, resident 23
Signed, sealed, and ready to be delivered. The next morning on the way to work she tapes the little note to the numbers on unit 15. smug, she walks out of there with her head held high.
Feeling proud of herself even further into the day she isn't ready for the speedy reply taped to her door, along with a missing doormat. With a huff, she snatches the note and heads inside. She unfolds the sheet, reading:
Dear 23,
I am not mistaken, and I'm taking your welcome mat until you know how to be a proper upstairs neighbor.
                                         -15
She gawks at the letter, put off by the blatant admission of theft. Are they a child, taking away things as a punishment? This is completely idiotic! She should march downstairs and confront the fool who thinks this is a proper course of action. Well, she would if she didn't also want to get back at them.
Throwing the paper onto the coffee table she flops down on the couch to think. What is the best way to get back at them?
A floor below rests Church the Minotaur. He is getting ready to go on a run, sliding on his sneakers as he opens the door. Glance to the side he catches sight of a gaudy plethora of stickers and glitter, his door dressed to the 9s with rainbows. He is taken aback, looking at the decorations with ire. Above it all sits a folded up piece of paper taped to the door. He quickly snatches it, reading it.
15,
Return the doormat and I'll clean your door.
                                    -23
Church chuffs, grinding his teeth as he looks to the door again. He didn't think he was being unfair when he first gave them a letter. It was a polite way to ask them to shut up. He just wanted some sleep, was that too much to ask? He looks to the door again, apparently, it was.
Imani opens the door fully expecting the letter. With a bit of a pep in her step, she grabs it, reading it as she walks to her car. She snorts, crumpling the paper and tossing it in the trash.
23,
This means war
                           -15
The next few weeks are filled with pranks of varying variety. The two start small, Imani stomping around upstairs with her heaviest pairs of boots, Church banging his hand against the ceiling during the quiet hours of the night. Next with more glitter courtesy of Church, a well-timed package that exploded in Imani's kitchen. He swears he could hear her surprised scream from below. Imani gets him back with a similar package, one with a jump scare card.
It's a back forth of one-upping the other. Church orders Imani eight pizzas, forcing her to reluctantly pay for it when seeing the nervous kid trying to deal with the mix-up. Imani manages to hook her phone to his Bluetooth speakers, playing random screams at all hours of the night. Church gets her back by attaching an alarm to her door so when walked out that morning she was startled by a firetruck worthy honk.
It seems it’s the last straw for Church when he receives his own glitter bomb of confetti cocks. It gets caught on the carpet, sneaking into the couch cushions, and sticking to his clothes. Quickly dusting himself off he charges upstairs, reaching her door and banging on it. He taps his foot frustrated and angry.
The door clicks open, Church already ready with his rant. Imani is equally prepared, excited with the chance to chew him a new one. When the two see each other they stumble on the words, looking one another over with confusion. Neither of them expected the other to be anything but some angry middle-aged person looking for a fight. They hardly assumed that the other would be so…attractive.
"I, uh," church shakes his head," You! A damn dick bomb? Do you understand how ingrained they are into my carpet? I sent you a cheap one, something you can easily clean up but you couldn't even consider that!"
"What," Imani comes back to her own," those craft herpes were not easy to clean, I'm sure it's still in the kitchen now and staining my clothes. So don't you dare come at me with 'woe is me' look like you had any consideration at all for my floors."
"Well excuse me, I didn't hack into your speakers to play Halloween screams all through the night. I damn near had a heart attack at 2 in the morning because of you," he points to her, debating on jabbing her in the chest. She slaps his hand away before he gets the chance, scoffing.
"At least I didn't make you spend money on eight pizzas! Do you know how much eight pizzas cost? It was like seventy bucks. I'm just glad you didn't splurge on something more than a single topping pizza. But fuck you for making them all pineapple you monster," she bites back.
The two ramble on long enough for the neighbors to peek their heads out. Embarrassed, they close out their argument with a huff and a door slam. Church heads off to his apartment, falling onto the couch while grumbling to himself. Imani growls and mumbles in her bed. They both can't help the thought that ruins all their anger:
God, they were hot.
The pranks don't stop in their frequency. The two continue, using their frustrations at their traitorous thoughts to fuel their revenge.
Imani still plays with his speakers, using screamo songs to annoy him in the afternoons. Church booby traps her door again with more glitter, his preferred weapon as of lately. She takes up tap dancing, he pays the kid next door to blare BTS near the shared wall of her apartment. She puts a fake ticket on his car, he puts vulgar stickers on her's. the childish game goes on and on.
Imani sits in her room one night, frustrated beyond belief with the sexy minotaur. She can't get his face out of her head. Why did he have to be cute? It's not like it makes the little game they have going harder to do. No, it just makes it seem more than it is. She has to constantly catch herself praising his wit in some of the stunts he pulls. Scolding herself nonstop for wanting to stop by his place and yell at him some, just to see him. It's stupid, wanting to actually get to know him.
Church relaxes in bed, feeling more bothered than Imani. He has hit a bit of a dry spell in his sexual life, or his solo sexual life. He can't jerk off without picturing the little hellspawn upstairs. It would be easy to give in and just think of her but it would be too much. She is an enemy, not a potential interest. So what if she is one of the sexiest humans he has ever seen? Who cares if her ability to keep up with him in this little war is kind of turning him on? It doesn't matter, right?
He sighs in defeat, "I don't think I can believe that even if I tried," he grunts as he clenches his shaft.
Imani is at home setting up her next plan when someone knocks on the door. She looks to the clock surprised at someone visiting this hour. Confused, and cautious, she gets out of bed and walks to the door. Looking through the peephole she rolls her eyes at who she sees.
Imani opens the door," if this is about the folk music I'll tell you now I'm not changing it back."
"No," he growls," this is about the tap shoes. Metal on wood makes for some very undesirable sounds."
"Well, excuse me for trying to take up a new hobby. What about you paying off the kid next door to play her music next to my wall? I swear that little demon doesn't sleep," Imani scolds.
"Speaking of little demons, can you for the love of god shut your dog up. Every morning I hear his damn barking and I'm seriously debating calling someone," he takes a step into her space, scowling at the dog behind her.
"He doesn't bark," she pokes at his chest," I have never heard him even make a yelp since he was a puppy so I suggest you come up with a better lie than that."
"A lie," he shouts," your fucking dog barks, stop thinking he is some sort of mute."
"He does not," she shouts back.
"Does too," he steps closer.
"Does not," she raises her chin.
"Does too," he grabs her hips.
"Does not," she tugs at his shirt.
"Does too," he says, lowering closer to her. Before she can get her turn he quiets her with a rather harsh kiss, mashing his lips to hers. They grapple one another, pulling the other closer as they stumble into her apartment.
Church kicks the door shut as he fumbles with her shirt. She helps, parting from him long enough to cast the clothing aside. He tugs her back in for a sloppy kiss, delving his tongue into her mouth as she unbuttons his top. Thrusting his shirt down his arms while they bump into the sofa. Church beings unclasping her bra, uncoordinated as she sucks on his tongue.
The two fall to the couch, church not wasting any time with her freshly revealed tits. Imani gasps, petting down his chest to his pants. As he suckles on a nipple as she pulls him from his pants, holding his cock in her hand. He stutters in his attentions, panting heavily against her chest as she jerks him off.
"Oh, fuck," he groans.
"Like that big boy," she steals his attention, him looking at her cocky smile.
"Shut up," he reaches down to her pants, palming her through her jeans. She bucks into his hand, rolling her eyes at his smirk. He quickly discards her bottoms, tossing them away without a care. He watches her as he pets at her pussy, delving between her lips to feel how soaked she is for him.
"Am I wrong to assume this is all for me," he pushes a finger in. she clenches her jaw, groaning from the intrusion. He chuckles, feeling rather confident as she rides his hand. Not caring for his large ego she reaches for his cock once more, feeling him throb in her grip.
"Am I wrong to assume this is all for me," she mimics back smugly. He throws her an annoyed look, removing his fingers and slapping her hand away. Dropping a hand beside her head he leans down, looking between them as he prods his cock to her pussy. They both flinch, eager above all else. They both watch as his head parts her lips, poking at her clit with short nudges.
"You think I can make you scream like those damn Halloween recordings," he jokes as he grinds into her.
"No, I don't think you have the stamina," she jabs back, trying to stop the urge to buck against him. Church leans down and nuzzles against her neck, pressing a sweet kiss under her jaw.
"I guess we will just have to see," he grins, feeling less confident than his words suggest. His cock is damn near ready to burst with just his tip being coated in her sweet juices.
Church reaches between them, pressing his cock to her entrance. He guides his tip in, stretching his arm up to rest it beside her head. The only warning he gives her is a sultry smile before he shoves forward, both crying out at the suddenness.
"Oh, shit," Church whimpers beside her ear. Imani grabs at his arms, feeling utterly stuffed. He pulls back, thrusting forward quickly. Imani appreciates him not wasting time just pistoning into her. The need has been building up all week, the denial adding a new level of appeal to this want.
He rams into her, listening to her try to hide her cries of pleasure. He feels her body tell him what he needs to know, feels her walls pulling him in with every buck of his hips. She wants him as badly as he wanted her. It's satisfying to church to know this. To know that she needs this as much as he does. Not wanting to miss a thing he sits up, grabbing her hips as he does.
"Look at you," he groans," trying to hold back those little moans and whimpers. Don't fight it, babe, I wanna hear you." Imani startles herself with a cry, arching her back as his words add kindle to the fire. She wants to pretend this isn't happening, that she isn't getting fucked by her apartment enemy. But damn, does it feel fantastic.
Church watches her writhe on the couch, his stomach clenching as he tries to fight off cumming at the sight. Her tits bounce with each clap of their hips and it's driving him wild. Reluctantly he shuts his eyes, thinking about anything else to prolong this blissful torture.
Imani wails and whimpers as her insides are set aflame. As her orgasm comes rushing to the forefront she locks her legs around his waist, grinding like a madwoman into his thrust. She cries out her pleasure, utterly wrecked as she falls apart.
Church chokes on his breath as she clenches around him. He can barely think as she holds him in a vice grip. His hips go wild as he finds himself coming to an end. It's only half a thought that he undoes her legs and pulls out, grinding against her as he cums on her stomach. Imani watches in rapture as he tosses his head back and moans, the sound going straight to her already throbbing clit. She watches him spray out over her and she can't look away for even a second.
Church falls onto his hands, panting as he holds himself over her. He can't believe it. He got to fuck the cute hellspawn that has been tormenting him all month. At this moment he couldn't even think about the countless hours of sleep missed because of her little pranks. Right now all he can think of is holding her close and taking a much-needed nap. As he attempts the action he looks to her stomach.
Imani is bone-deep satisfied. Her body is relaxed against the couch and she feels like she's on cloud nine. She hardly notices when Church climbs off her, his footsteps fading away. When she does notice, it stabs at her heart a little. She watches him button up his pants, reaching to the floor to grab his shirt. I guess he's leaving, she thinks.
Church grabs his shirt from the floor, bunching it up as he turns back to her. She looks surprised when he crouches beside her and mops up the mess on her stomach with his top. He wants to laugh at the shocked expression but bites his cheek against it. With her all clean he tosses the shirt away and crawls in beside her. The couch is rather small so he lifts her onto his chest, lounging on his back. He cradles her against his front, ready to take a well-deserved nap.
Imani is rather confused as she watches him fall asleep. She fully figured he would dip after everything, she surely didn't expect anything from this. They were still in a war. A truce was never called but she can't help but think this changes something.
Shrugging, she snuggles up to him, enjoying his soft fur against her cheek. This is a problem she will deal with in the morning.
Imani wakes up alone in her bed. She is nearly tempted to figure the night with Church was all a dream till she feels the subtle ache in her legs. Ride a bull, you should expect some soreness. She chuckles to herself as she dresses. Walking into the kitchen she prepares for a lazy day indoors while she figures out how to deal with Church and her's relationship. As she gets ready to feed her pup does she realize the lack of said pooch.
"uh, Giovani," she calls out. No answer. She calls out again, searching around her apartment frantically. Did he get out while the door was open last night? Surely she would have noticed if he managed to sneak past. She rounds the apartment again just in case before she runs to the door, throwing it open in a rush. Out of the corner of her eye, she spots something hanging on her peephole. She tenses at the sight, snatching it.
Imani I have your dog Church
Imani scoffs, crumpling the letter as she marches downstairs. She can't believe she let herself think that things would change between them. That this little prank war can be swapped out for an actual relationship, friendship or otherwise. Above all, she can't believe he stole her dog.
Rounding the corner and stopping at door 15 she pounds her fist against the wood. She continues pounding till the door opens, revealing a smirking Church.
"Hello, babe, what brings you here so early," he asks, leaning against the frame.
"You stole my fucking dog, I want him back," she snaps, no ounce of playfulness available. Church nearly stutters on his act, a little worried about her protectiveness over her dog.
"Now, I stole him for his own good," he explains," with his separation anxiety I figured it is best if he got used to my apartment since I'm going to take up training him."
Imani scoffs," Excuse me? My dog doesn't have separation anxiety nor does he need to be trained by some dog snatching idiot with horns."
Church deadpans," idiot with horns?"
"It's early, they can't all be gold," she rolls her eyes," doesn't matter, give me my dog back."
Church shakes his head, frustrated at her denial. Instead of answering her, he calls for the pup, leaning down to pet him when he comes trotting over. With the dog properly excited he takes a step into the hallway with Imani and shuts the door. Imani looks from him then back to the door.
"What are you doing," she asks.
"Just wait," he holds up a finger. They both stand silently, nothing happening. Imani opens her mouth to acknowledge the ridiculous of waiting in front of a door when her dog begins whining, yelping loudly from inside the apartment. Church looks over to her with a smug grin, "Told you he barks."
Imani flusters, gawking at the door and listening to her dog cry out. Church opens the door, the pup running out and jumping at Imani. Still embarrassed, she pets at her dog before picking him up and walking away. Church watches her turn the corner, not saying a word as she departs. He sighs.
It's a good day of nothing that picks at Church. Surely he didn’t push too far, he didn't really intend to keep her dog so it wasn't that mean. He just wanted to prove that her dog did bark, finishing the month-long war on a hopeful note. It wasn't meant as another attack against her. He really did intend to help by offering to train her dog.
Throughout the day he debates going up there and apologizing, to offer an olive branch of some kind so he can actually get to know her. Last night for Church was…amazing. It was something he wants to do again, to explore further. That may be a pipe dream now.
Late into the afternoon church gets a knock on his door. He jumps up, feeling rather stupid as he quickly answers the door. Expecting Imani he is left disappointed as no one is there. No one could have left that fast. He looks down the hall, left to right. Nothing. With a defeated sigh he begins to close the door. He stops when a fluttering piece of paper catches his eye. Excited, he snaps it off the door unfolding it swiftly.
Church,
Dinner at my place, 8 pm
                               -Imani
Church smiles to himself, refolding the paper and heading back inside to get ready.
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willowbird · 3 years
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For the prompt thing, could you do 2 for au, 4 for trope and 5 for prompt with andreil?
Hogwarts au, meet messy, "you have the emotional capacity of a brick"
Dearest anon, how did you know that I have been literally aching for an excuse to do something with a hogwarts au?
For context, because idk if I'll be able to explain it in the ficlet, Andrew and Aaron have been raised by their real father, Joseph Minyard, and his wife, Betsy Dobson, since the twins were seven. Andrew instinctively retaliated against an abuser with magic when he was in foster care, bringing him to the attention of whatever the US's ministry of magic is called (I forgot). They found his dad, who is a British wizard, and also discovered Aaron's existence. The twins, upon meeting each other and finding out they were wizards, chose to stay together and go with their dad rather than risk potentially being separated in whatever system the US magic people has for orphaned magic kids.
(look, I've been thinking about this A LOT okay?)
The following scene would take place the summer before the twins' fifth year. They are fifteen, Kevin is sixteen, Neil is fourteen.
Please be aware that all these characters are a lot younger and significantly less traumatized. I mean, shit still happened to them, but they all get rescued from their abusive home lives a lot earlier than in canon.
---
Andrew Minyard had lost a bet.
It was a really shitty bet, and Andrew should have known at the time that he was being fucking set up. But, well - what was it that broody fucker always said? Oh. C'est la vie. Or something. Whatever.
Point being, Andrew made a stupid bet and then he lost and it was really his own damn fault. Now he was stuck going to stupid Kevin Day's stupid house to play stupid broom-ball over summer break when he could have been basking in the wonders of muggle efficiency like television and air conditioning. What made it worse was that his mom had been so damn delighted that he was going over to a friend's house, too, and Andrew didn't usually have it in him to smash her hopes and dreams when she was so genuinely happy for him.
So. Here he was, broom in hand (because if he had to do this he was at least going to suffer with the familiarity of his own fucking broom), staring up at obviously haunted creaky old manor house that Day apparently lived in.
"Great," he grumbled to himself. "Just.. great." Andrew did not like ghosts, did not like them one fucking bit. They always wanted to chat you up and had absolutely no respect for personal space.
The longer he delayed, though, the longer Day was probably going to force him to participate in his bullshit "training camp", so Andrew straightened his shoulders and trudged up the cracked stone staircase that lead up the hill to the front door of the house. The very second Andrew had both feet on the dilapidated front porch, one hand reaching for the knocker, the front door began to swing slowly open. You know, as they were wont to do in creepy old ghost-infested houses owned by wizards.
Without waiting for a welcome (because the door fucking opened for him, that was invitation enough), Andrew strolled inside. He didn't even flinch when the door slammed shut behind him.
(Okay, maybe he jumped a little bit. Just a little.)
No one was waiting for him in the foyer, because of course that would be too easy. At least the inside of the house didn't look as abandoned as the outside did. On the contrary, the foyer was well-lit and free dust and cobwebs. It opened up into a round sitting room that looked lived-in rather than haunted, personal affects strewn about here and there in vaguely organized chaos and family pictures on the mantle above the fireplace.
This, Andrew had learned quickly upon his introduction to the magical world about seven or so years ago now, was fairly common when it came to magical families living in and around muggle neighborhoods. Sure, there were wholly wizarding villages, but not a ton of them. Most of the magical community had to coexist or at least peripherally exist with the muggle one. With the work of a couple of charms and a heavy dose of aesthetic, a magical family could live comfortably without the muggles looking too closely - and even if they did look closely, it was the haunted old house at the end of the street so strange things were bound to happen around it, right?
Homey as it may be on the inside, it was still actually haunted, though. Andrew had a good sense about ghostly lairs and this was definitely one of them.
Heaving a sigh, Andrew moved through the sitting room and ventured deeper into the house. The sooner he found Kevin, the sooner he could leave.
The rest of the house, Andrew swiftly found, was an uncanny combination of the haunted image it presented to outsiders and the cozy haven of the front sitting room. The hall leading off the sitting room was normal when you looked down it heading away from the sitting room, but when Andrew looked back over his shoulder it was like looking into something out of a cheap horror film (of which Andrew had viewed many, much to his father and brother's chagrin, but his mother liked to critique them with him).
Andrew checked each door he came across. Some of them were locked. Some opened into perfectly normal coat closets and bathrooms. At least one of them opened onto an actual cemetery where a bunch of ghosts were playing croquet. Andrew quickly shut that door before any of them tried to talk to him.
It was when he came to the staircase, however, that he finally started to get somewhere. Voices could be heard when he hit the first landing, but they completely vanished when tried to move beyond it - either further up the stairs or out into the hall. Turning to inspect the walls, Andrew realized that one of them wasn't actually a wall at all, but an illusion -- his hand right through!
"This is getting ridiculous," Andrew grumbled to himself as he stepped through the goddamn fucking wall.
He found himself in a wide, clean hallway bathed in the bright sunlight that was streaming in from the skylights placed every few feet. From one of the open doors a bit down the hall, Andrew could finally make out the words of what was obviously an argument.
"How many times do I have to tell you that I'm not going to your bloody school, Day?!"
"You can't just not go to school, Neil! The Ministry will have your wand, and then where will you be?"
"Oh come off it, do you really still buy into all that regulatory shit? They can't track me if I'm not a student unless they have an open warrant out on me. I could turn the corner store into a giant anthropomorphic pig that pisses coffee and they wouldn't know it happened until the story hit the local news, and even then they'd have a hard time tracking me down, considering those lazy twats barely even know how to read let alone track a rogue wizard."
"Galloping Gargoyles, Neil. Where in Merlin's name do you come up with this shit."
"It's called an imagination, Day. I was able to foster one while not being indoctrinated into the sheep-brain miasma that is Ministry-approved wizarding society."
This 'Neil' was getting more worked up as he spoke, spitting out his words like he was crafting a very pointed hex. There was the scuff of footsteps and a shadow fell across the hall as someone stepped toward the hall. "I'll be leaving now, thanks. Have fun being institutionally programed to fit the conservative mediocrity."
A larger shadow blotted out most of Neil's. "You can't just go, Neil!"
There was a scuffle, then a short kid wearing oversized robes stumbled into the hall. "Try and bloody catch me then, you lumbering infant of a Bandersnatch!" And then the kid turned and bolted down the hall -- right toward where Andrew had paused to eavesdrop on their conversation.
Now, Andrew was all ready to step aside. This was none of his business, after all. If this mouthy kid wanted to run away and join the circus or something, more power to him. He, also, thought school was a nightmare. But then Kevin stumbled out into the hall and shouted, "Andrew! Block him!"
And, well. Look. This was all fucking Kevin's fault. Kevin and his stupid cross-House quidditch club and his obsession with running drills. It was also Nicky's fault, for forcing them all to go so they could bond or what the fuck ever the purpose was. But Kevin shouted 'block!' and Andrew had spent two years as a beater and one year as a keeper and, well, reflexes kicked in.
He blocked.
Except, he had spent two years as a beater, and he was holding a broom. So.
His arms moved on their own, and it was a mighty, vicious swing. The next second the kid was flat on his back, gasping to try and catch his breath. Kevin loped over on legs too long, shooting Andrew an appreciative grin that Andrew kind of wanted to punch off of him.
"What.. the.. actual... fuck..." the kid - Neil - wheezed from the floor.
Now that he was officially drawn into this mess, Andrew allowed himself to indulge his curiosity and slung his broom up against one shoulder to approach the fallen boy. He felt a little bad (okay, more than a little), so he figured he'd offer him a hand up at least. Except, when he got to the kid and looked down he was shocked to find just about the prettiest boy in the whole Nimue-cursed universe.
(Andrew's gay awakening had happened when he was twelve years old. The keeper of the Gryffindor quidditch team smiled at him and told him he'd make a pretty good beater. Andrew had tried out for his own House team the very next week, and it had all been downhill from there.)
Andrew cleared his throat and opened his mouth to say something cool and unbothered, because that's what you did when you met someone pretty and wanted to impress them. Instead, like the utter dork that he was, he said, "Red hair and a hand-me-down robe? You must be a Weasley."
"What the fuck is a Weasley?" the sharp, pretty boy on the floor shot back through gritted teeth, pushing himself up into a sitting position.
Kevin's obnoxious shadow fell across the both of him and he sighed, putting his hands on his hips. "Don't mind Andrew, he remembers everything he hears and has a tendency to regurgitate random lines from other things when he feels awkward or anxious."
"Don't mind Kevin," Andrew followed up conversationally, "he's an insufferable know-it-all with a tendency to overshare and force people to play stupid broom-ball when they should be having a perfectly air-conditioned summer break."
"You emotionally wound me."
"You have the emotional capacity of a brick, don't try me Day."
Kevin rolled his eyes. Neil honed in on Andrew with eerie intensity. "You have an air-conditioner?"
Aha! Mission accomplished: cute boy impressed.
Andrew smirked. "Yup." He popped the 'p', feeling quite good about himself, his earlier bumble placed in the back of his head where he could obsess about it later.
Neil's narrowed eyes scanned him up and down, then relaxed, the blue of them bright and intelligent. He looked like he was figuring something out about Andrew but Andrew had no idea what or why. It took some effort, but instead of squirming he met Neil's gaze full-on. After a long moment, Neil seemed to have made a decision. He pushed himself up to his feet and nodded. "Alright then. You play quidditch?" He gestured to Andrew's broom with the jerk of his chin.
He hadn't noticed it earlier because he'd been so fascinated with the argument itself, but now that he could focus on Neil's voice, Andrew realized that there was something of about his accent. It wasn't that it seemed fake but more that it... it reminded him of his own, back when he'd been younger and had only been in England for a couple of years. He remembered being teased for it, and getting into a lot of fights because of that. Well, he remembered getting into fights because Aaron was also teased, and no one picked on his brother but him.
"I thought you were going to run off and join the circus." Andrew arched a brow.
Neil wrinkled his nose. "No. I'm still not going to your stupid castle school." He paused and looked from Andrew to the broom back over to Kevin and sighed. "But... one or two games of quidditch before I go can't hurt."
Kevin looked overjoyed. He grinned at Andrew and Andrew supposed that they really must be friends now, because he felt quite pleased about that.
"Great!" said Kevin. "Let's go! We should be able to get in some warm-up rounds before the others get here!"
"Others?" Andrew and Neil said with identical inflections of disdain. The sound of an echo startled the both of them and the looked at each other. Then, Neil smiled.
Andrew supposed a day without AC playing stupid broom-ball wasn't so bad after all.
Fun little prompt things
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azusawrites · 2 years
Note
1,3,4,8,9 for the fic ask
Thank you for the ask! 💙
1. FAVORITE FIC YOU WROTE THIS YEAR
If we're talking posted fic, it's gotta be something in the way she knows or don't go, don't go so easy, if only for the writing process being so much fun and soothing. It's rare that a fic just writes itself, but with these two that really was the case.
In terms of unpublished, the pilot and first chapter of nocturnal animals were also delightful, mostly because I got to experiment with dark fiction and my beloved dark urban fantasy tropes. Also, I think the pilot might be just some of the best imagery I've put to paper, so to say.
3. FAVORITE LINE/SCENE YOU WROTE THIS YEAR
So many! I think at the foot of this mountain i see only clouds has one of the saddest lines I've written so far:
To mourn her death would be ridiculous, for what fool mourns for mayflies that live for but a day, never knowing hunger or grief or how to love another more than they love themselves?
But I'm also very partial to this scene from nocturnal animals, simply because the dialogue ends up setting up a very interesting situation later on.
“Yes, she must. And she still does.” The stranger strokes his hair. His hands are cold and dirty and push against his skull but it’s not painful. He doesn’t feel any fear. He hears the birds singing. “There are no birds in this place. They’ve all been hanged.”
And of course, the paragraph from how many miles must a man walk down I come back to a lot because I love ranting narratives too much, haha-
That illusion of freedom, of being your own self. The conviction that you’re your own person working off the decisions your alcohol-addled brain and drug liberal consciousness are letting you make in-between moments of lucidity. Every love hotel room you’ve been in, every bullet that you fired, every cigarette you smoked to get rid of the smell of blood and urine scenting those cheap motels where only the desperate and damned take any refuge in - those are all your doing. It’s all the things you wanted to do because your fucking brain decided that it needed the adrenaline to keep functioning, otherwise, you’d smash your head open every time your shitty fucking brother started telling you about the rate of imports and territorial expansion. He can’t be bothered with the mundanity. He can’t stand the fucking suits. Those fat-bellied fucks who sit around on their phones and hold their mouths open to catch the slightest bit of morsels from the big boy table where all the heads sit and dine on the fucking abstract that is the human figure thrown on the side of the road, mourning the death of a fucking chauffeur because that’s the easiest thing to do in that situation.
4. TOTAL NUMBER OF WORDS YOU WROTE THIS YEAR
So, in August I did a little count to see just how much I did write and the number I came up with after checking the wips and posted stories was 261,467! It really surprised me because I never really realized just how much it accumulated over the months, haha!
Now, adding the stuff that I remember writing after that count, I think the new number is around 304,735 words! Which is around 600 pages and also a grim reminder I could have written three PhD thesis with this number, haha!
8. SHORTEST COMPLETED FIC YOU WROTE THIS YEAR
It's gone, gone, gone! The Ruggie centric fic which was really such a pain to write because I kept tearing up while writing it, and I think it was also my first toe-dip into angst focused material.
9. LONGEST WIP OF THE YEAR
Mirror Marchen! Without a doubt one of the longest wips that I started and intend to finish! It's pretty much my baby so you can expect me to rave about it next year as well! Especially since I intend to start with my behind-the-scenes analysis that I will use to rave about my favourite elements and plot points so far!
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screensirenfic · 4 years
Text
Black Leather - Chapter 3
“Come and Get Sheetfaced.” Clever wordplay, if you were in fourth grade. The crude illustration of what was supposed to be a tipsy ghost did little more to advertise the marketing genius of head cheerleader and reigning bitch queen Tina.
She’d shoved the neon orange monstrosity into my hand with all the finesse of a football player, cornering both me and Steve on our way out of third period Chem.
“Hope you’ll both come.” She chirped, though I wondered how much of her enthusiasm had been aimed at me, and how much was for my much more agreeable compatriot.
I never liked Tina. Not since she stuck gum in my hair in sixth grade, forcing my dad to get the scissors to my hair when peanut butter failed. It was okay though; I rocked a Mohawk. She’d always been a bitch, but that was fine; she thought I was one too. At least we understood each other.
So; for the sake of appearances, and the almighty sacrifice of actually getting along with some of the populars, I took the damn flyer, determined to dispose of it at a more convenient time.
“So Tina’s throwing another Halloween bash. That should be cool.” Commented Steve, rushing up to walk beside me with his flyer in hand.
I just gave him a look, because Steve already knew what I thought about Tina and how little her boozefests appealed to me.
“Come on, Lo. It could be fun to let loose a little...” He continued to try and convince me with one of those easy smiles that worked so well on Nancy. On me; not so much.
“Drink a little, dance a little. Get crazy!” He grinned, wide eyed with his hands in the air, as if he could embarrass me into relenting.
“Speak for yourself. I’ve had enough crazy in this past year to last a lifetime.” I half joked, but it came off flat. We’d both seen what Hawkins was truly capable of. The kind of horror movie tropes that didn’t even belong on the midnight feature.
Steve’s smile had fallen a little; his happy-go-lucky attitude more forced as of late. It had me wondering how deep that night had really cut him; how many nightmares had him staying awake in the middle of the night.
I’d seen my fair share of shit; been pretty much born into the middle of it. It took a hell of a lot to faze me, and some weird Venus flytrap looking monster wasn’t going to be the thing to send me overboard.
Steve was different.
He was born into the life of perfect privilege; his dad a highflying lawyer in some fancy business firm, his mom a bonafide 50s catalogue housewife. He was a picket fence away from Nancy Wheeler level of holiday special suburban dream, but I suppose being filthy rich stretched some of the parameters substantially.
Sure; he had his problems. The fact that his dad was having an affair on his mom was Hawkins worst kept secret, but his mom was no idiot, and kept Mr Harrington on a tighter leash than a Rottweiler in heat. That meant Steve had his first taste of independent living, with a bachelors pad that could rival Hugh Hefner.
What Steve could see in a girl like me was a mystery. I guess I was pretty; in a drug addict kind of way, and my jokes weren’t too bad once you got past the fact that my humour was drier than the panties of an eighty year old virgin.
Still; Steve could do so much better. He had Nancy, and Tommy, and Carol and a whole list of populars who were just lining up for a minute of his time.
King Steve; they said, though I guess every court needed an outcast. A black sheep to do the dirty work and keep the king’s confidence when his crown got a little off kilter.
“Please don’t make me go to this alone.” He asked; and the honesty in his voice was almost enough to break me entirely. It was easy to forget that being royalty could be draining at times; even for someone as naturally charismatic as Steve.
“You won’t be alone. You’ve got Nancy.” I remarked, honing in on the one indisputable point in my argument for playing hooky just this once.
“Yeah, but it won’t be the same...” Steve argued, though his tone was still light; eyes trailing up to the ceiling as if he saw something interesting up there.
“She doesn’t scare people off half as well.” He joked and I couldn’t help but chuckle, because Steve had the vanity to glance at me to see if he’d won on such cheap shot.
“Steve Harrington; are you asking me to be your bodyguard?” I asked; a smile still stretched across my face because I could play his game too, and fuck; if I wasn’t gonna beat him at it.
“Bodyguard’s a strong word. More like assassin. You can stop me from saying something stupid before Nance kills me for it.” He retorted, and despite our conversation resting firmly in joking territory; I couldn’t help but hear some truth in there.
“Think the word you’re looking for is babysitter.” I corrected him, because I wasn’t quite ready for this conversation to turn serious again just yet.
“Well; you always did say I was immature for my age.” Steve concurred, because only he could make self deprecation seem like a winning strategy.
“So will you come?” He asked; all jokes aside, because I could only dance around the question for so long.
“Steve; I’m sure you’ll be fine without me.” I replied, my voice soft and sincere.
As much as I liked to joke otherwise; he really didn’t need me to hold his hand through everything. He was more capable than me; at least when it came to social settings. I just lurked in the background with a drink in my hand, looking every inch the outsider in my muted shades of black leather.
“Doesn’t mean I don’t want you there.” He countered, and it brought a smile to my face.
After all this time things hadn’t changed. He was still Happy-go-lucky Harrington; dumb perky rich boy with too much hair and not enough sense, and I was still Hellfire Hopper; bitter as a sour ball and twice as hard to stomach. Times changed but people didn’t; not when it came to the things that mattered.
“I’ll think about it.” I offered sincerely as I opened my locker, because that’s the best he was gonna get out of me without blackmail; and we both knew I had far more on him than he had on me.
Steve just nodded, accepting the compromise as a starting point before hurrying off to basketball practice.
He was sweet like that; quick to trust, and quicker to make a fool of. We’d really have to fix that some day, by for now I was thankful.
I screwed up Tina’s party invitation into a satisfying ball that rather festively resembled a pumpkin, before tossing it into the depths of my locker, soon to be forgotten in a mess of colourful cafeteria receipts.
Steve could grill me about it later, and as it was; his grilling was more like a light toasting; thank god for small mercies. His forgiveness was easier to get, and you know what they say; better to ask for forgiveness than permission.
—————————————————
I tried to stand my ground; I really did, but when Steve dug his heels in about something, it would take more than hell or high water to move him. For a teenage boy; he really did nag more than a neglected housewife, and I was finally understanding why my dad never remarried.
I’d almost made a clean getaway, right up until the last bell before final period when I’d opened my locker and that perfect shaped ball of orangeness decided to fall at the feet of one Steve Harrington. He’d unscrunched it, despite my insistence that it was a used cafeteria napkin and probably had something gross like chewed gum in it. Then his face fell, and it hit me like a punch in the gut.
Steve didn’t pick many hills to die upon; always was more of a lay down and roll over kind of guy, but when he picked them; he’d hold them valiantly. Honesty was one of those noble qualities that Steve valued so highly, and was one of the things I could definitely live without.
In the Hopper household; dishonesty was a proud trait held up with the likes of pettiness and just pure grit. If it didn’t kill anyone; it could go without saying, and if it did; well, we’d dealt with that before too.
With Steve, my dishonesty had always been a point of strain, testing our friendship in a way that was usually reserved for married couples.
I lied to him. He knew that. Whether it was to save his feelings, or just to save face; I’d lie more than a politician on Inauguration Day, and with far more credibility. Usually Steve never took it to heart; understood it came with being friends with a compulsive omitter who avoided social responsibility at all costs, but this time was different.
After having chewed my ear off for the better part of study period; he’d relented, but only after the promise that I’d go to Tina’s stupid party, if only to drink her parents booze and maybe tp that obnoxious rose bush in her front yard, but of course I never told Steve that.
So with a very crinkled flyer in tow, I offloaded my books into my locker, very much not looking forward to going to Melvald’s to pull together a costume that said “I’m here under duress.”
“Hey Lola...” Called the unnervingly upbeat voice of Nancy Wheeler, because only she could make Halloween a day of sunshine and rainbows.
I turned to her, noting Jonathan standing beside her with yet another one of Tina’s orange monstrosities in hand. Was everyone going to this party?
“See; even Lola’s going...” She said to Jonathan and I was suddenly aware I’d walked into a conversation I wasn’t sure I wanted to be part of.
“What?” I asked, thinking that if this conversation was about what I think it was, Nancy was being awfully presumptuous.
That, or Steve had a far bigger mouth than I gave him credit for. Scratch that; Steve did have a big mouth.
“I was just telling Jonathan that he should totally come with us to Tina’s party.” She informed with such conviction; I half believed that Steve had somehow managed to talk me into some pseudo double date neither parties had an interest in going on.
“Actually, I was thinking of skipping this year instead and staying in with my dad.” I peddled in with the lamest excuse in the book, which wasn’t entirely a lie.
I was planning on staying in; with Eleven, not my dad, but the night’s itinerary would be roughly the same; too much candy and bad horror movies.
“What?!” Nancy exclaimed, and for a minute she reminded me of Steve.
“What the hell is wrong with you people?” She lamented, as if the idea of anyone shunning the moral wasteland of a popularity contest that was Tina’s Halloween party was foreign to her.
Jonathan got it; his smile was testament to that.
Ever the social outcast; sometimes I felt like he was the only other person who had no desire to be involved with the social niceties that came with being part of the in crowd.
“Sorry Nance. Looks like some people aren’t interested in getting sheet faced” He joked; and I laughed because I was glad I wasn’t the only one who thought that pun was total trash.
Nancy soon realised her approach wasn’t working; the social outrage over the rejection of the party of the year hardly a relevant motivator to those who’d already accepted their place at the outskirts of society.
Instead she took a new angle; putting those optional classes on investigative journalism to good use.
“Okay. You’re gonna go trick or treating and you’re gonna be home by eight...” She began, realising Jonathan was the easier target and taking advantage of that as we strolled towards the school exit.
“Listening to... The Talking Heads... and reading Vonnegut, or something...” She plucked the words out of thin air, summarising Jonathan’s existence beautifully in a a harsh combination of vain existentialism and edgy romanticism, because maybe he was a cliche; but so was me, Steve and Nancy if we were being honest.
Jonathan just shrugged, unfazed at her attempt to highlight his predictability.
“Sounds like a nice night...” He commented, and I laughed, because I could see what he was doing there; and it had nothing to do with his love of American New Wave.
“Sure does; could you use a plus one?” I teased, aiding him in his attempt to drive Miss Nancy Wheeler wild with incredulousness.
“Come on guys! Don’t be a bore!” She griped, because she knew reasoning was getting nowhere, and immaturity may be more Steve’s thing; but my god; if it wasn’t effective!
“Okay, Okay!” I relented, only because I’d agreed this much with Steve, but Nancy didn’t need to know that.
However, she did need to know the very strict conditions of my attendance which I wouldn’t budge over.
“But if the new guy so much as looks at me; I swear to god I’ll...” I began, but couldn’t quite finish before I was swept up in someone’s arms.
Normally being hoisted two feet up in the air would be a cause for alarm, and the shriek I let out was far too feminine for me to pass it off as anything else.
Of course; when the raucous laughter of no other than Steve Harrington was muffled into the back of my jacket, the shock quickly wore off.
“Jesus Christ, Steve! Don’t do that!” I lectured as soon as my boots touched the floor; reaching out to slap him on the shoulder, just in case he got any other ideas for unwelcome surprises.
“Why? You loved it when we were kids...” He countered, releasing his grip around my waist so he could look at me with that dumb too-happy smile.
“Yeah; when I was twelve and you were at least a foot shorter...” I snapped back, because of course; Steve would still act like we were in middle school; immature little shit that he was!
Still; my chastisements always fell short when it came to Steve; his smile just a little too bright to be dimmed by something as dull as maturity and personal space.
Instead; he just beamed down at me, still resembling that lanky kid who’d give me piggybacks all those years ago. Same old Steve.
“And how is the most beautiful girl in the world?” He asked; his attention finally turning to his actual girlfriend, who was waiting far more politely for him than I’d have in her shoes.
“Who? Me?” She asked incredulously; a teasing lilt in her tone, only emphasised by the exaggerated hand on the chest routine. “I thought you were talking about Lola.”
Despite her slight dig, there was no love lost between the pair; teasing giving way to pure gooey eyes that would’ve made me barf from anyone else.
Steve And Nance were lucky I liked them enough for it to be endearing.  Then they started kissing and all bets were off.
“And that’s our cue to leave...” I commented, grabbing Jonathan by the arm and towing him away before tongues came into play.
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imhereforbvcky · 6 years
Text
Make Me Believe - Part 2
Sophomore Year: A Lesson in Flirting Too Far
Masterlist  -  Series Masterlist   -   Part 1  -  Part 3
Summary: College AU - Bucky continues to pretend you’re his girlfriend at the oddest times, pushing the limits of your friendship. (Tropes abound! college AND fake dating au. I’m a mess.)
Warnings: Drinking and silliness
Word Count: 1970
Author’s Note: Oh my god this is so late in getting an update. Wow! I was very stuck with it for a while but I’m moving on it now! Thank you for being patient with me. Hopefully I don’t ruin it.
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“You’re fidgeting again,” you complained, lifting your eyes to Bucky in a sharp glare.
Beneath your legs, his feet bounced, jostling you and your textbook with them. He sat on your couch facing the TV as he played some first person shooter video game of war and aliens. You sat sideways, your legs draped over his with your book on your lap and your notes in hand, a pen between your teeth.
“I’m bored,” he grumbled, dropping the controller unceremoniously beside him. “I can’t beat this damn Infinity War game.”
“I warned you that I need to study today,” you let your eyes drift back to your notes, swapping a pen for a highlighter. “I have an Organic Chemistry exam on Monday.”
Bucky had known this when he came over; but hadn’t cared. You routinely spent hours doing next to nothing together. Sometimes it was relaxing or fun; sometimes it was like this.
Over the last year you’d developed an odd sort of friendship that you couldn’t quite define. Your roommate often teased you by referring to him as your boyfriend. You knew he wasn’t that. But still he chose to sit with you curled up on the couch when he could be playing beach volleyball with his friends. And you chose to smile at his constant interruptions rather than go to the library with your study group.
“You need a break, it’s been hours,” he squeezed your shin.
“Yes, Bucky. That’s how studying works. Time and concentration.”
“I’ve got an idea.”
You eyed him warily, protesting as he snatched your books from your lap and snapped them shut.
“Bucky,” you whined as he reached for the stack of board games beside the TV. “I definitely don’t have time for a game. I really have to study.” The precariously balanced tower nearly toppled as he jerked a game free.
“This is studying,” he smirked. A crooked grin lit up his face; the one you still hadn’t figured out how to deny even now, a year and a half after he’d stolen your place in line at the coffee shop.
You sighed, defenseless while he cleared your papers and books away from the coffee table. Relenting, you closed your laptop and set it on the ground, too.
He unfolded the Scrabble board and shook the letters in the bag. “Alright, if you spell an Organic Chem word, you get a double word score. If you spell it and define it, you get a triple.”
“This isn’t going to be easy,” you laughed. “They’re not exactly short words.”
He only shrugged. “It’ll be a challenge. Help you remember.”
“Help me remember words I already know!”
“Unless I know them,” he smirked, a mischievous glint in his eye as he moved to make the first play. 6 tiles. Ketone.
You rolled your eyes. It was a good start. It would be a better start if Bucky knew anything about chemistry. But he was a mechanical engineer; he hadn’t touched a chemistry book in years other than to shove yours out of his way.
Your eyes locked on his grimacing face as he concentrated, searching for a definition. The smug grin on yours was too frustrating for him to cede defeat. Bucky always loved that smile when you were playing beer pong together, taunting someone else. But turned on him, it was an uncomfortable mix of infuriating and enticing.
“Time’s up!” you smacked the table after 30 seconds. “Do I get to steal?”
“Fine,” he grumbled climbing back to his feet and heading to the kitchen, “But if you get it wrong, you take a drink.”
“And who’s going to fact-check me? You?” you scoffed. “You didn’t know it in the first place.”
He returned with a bottle of cheap tequila and two shot glasses. “I’m trusting you to be honorable. This is your grade on the line. We’re studying.”
“With tequila and board games?” you snorted.
“Y’know what? You’re taking one with me for questioning my methods,” he snapped, pouring each glass slightly over half full.
With a laugh and the soft clatter of glass and sloshing liquor the game began.
An hour and a half later, the game had progressed down to the last handful of tiles. Bucky had held his own, but you suspected he was peeking at your textbook. There was no way in hell he remembered that much of a field of study that wasn’t his own.
You’d answered way more definitions, and stolen his. In total, you probably had spelled more on-topic words, but he saw the board better. He played to win and laid pricey tiles on triple letters with double words like helix which you argued - unsuccessfully - was more biology than chemistry.
His damn engineering brain just had better spatial reasoning and he kept up despite your stronger subject knowledge.
Now, with only the tiles on your trays left to play, every turn was critical. Bucky chewed the inside of his cheek as he eyed the board. You watched him carefully. Taking in the sharp angle of his cheekbone as he thought, the concentrated pull of his lips. You knew that look. He had a word, and he had a place to play it.
You on the other hand, were totally screwed. You had nothing. Four mediocre letters including a freaking Y. A seven-point bomb waiting for Bucky to end the game and explode in your face. If you didn’t play it this turn he’d end the game and you’d lose. You could see it in his face.
You had nothing unless... you could convince him that compounds in nomenclature counted. Which they should, damn it. If you had to memorize all those prefixes, you should get something for them. Such as the sweet taste of victory over Bucky Barnes.
Biting your lip, and looking up at him with a grin and a dark shine in your eyes, you began placing tiles.
He caught the look and laughed. “What are you up to,” there was a playful trepidation in his voice as he watched you. His eyes were locked on your face, on that grin, on the laughter in your eyes, not on the word.
“Ethyl!” you shouted and sat back against the couch. You crossed your arms over your chest and lifted your chin in triumph. “Double word, for being on topic, that’s twenty-two points, and the game, I do believe.”
“Hold on,” he argued, “That is not a word! That’s a couple of prefixes mashed together.”
“What do you think words are?” you scoffed, pouring his loser’s drink. He immediately pushed it back to you.
“No, no. That’s an abbreviation, practically an acronym. Those don’t count.”
“That is not the same!” you snapped, leaning over the table, the heat rising as your competitive nature took hold. You knew it had been a risky move but now you were invested. Commitment won board games as much as skill. “Stop being a Scrabble-baby and accept defeat.”
“I haven’t been defeated!” he laughed, leaning forward to meet your intensity. “And don’t call me a Scrabble-baby, when it’s you being a Scrabble-brat! Trying to steam-roll your way to a false victory.” He rolled his eyes with a broad smug smile as he spoke. “You haven’t even defined it!”
“I don’t have to!” you scoffed, “I win with just the double points.”
“Okay, this was supposed to be a fun way to study,” he laughed again, which really set your blood on fire. How could such a soft sound be so distracting? You knew you were being irrational, getting way too worked up. But he’d been plying you with alcohol and feeding your competitive spirit in a way only Bucky could. “Tell me the definition and I’ll give you the win.”
You glared at him for a moment. That wasn’t what you were expecting and you knew the answer, you did. But just now, it was the furthest thing from your mind and you couldn’t call it back. You sat staring, grappling and nothing came of it. It was so rudimentary, so obvious but you had absolutely nothing.
“Oh my god,” he chuckled, “You can’t remember.”
“I’m going to murder you,” you laughed. “And then when I never get my degree, and disappoint my family and never become a doctor, it’ll be because I’m in prison for manslaughter.”
“Only manslaughter?” he laughed.
“Yes! Because it’ll be understandable. No jury will convict me of actual murder. You’re too annoying.”
“What’s going on here?” Natasha asked, as she came out of her room. Fighting with a knee-high boot, she plopped down on the couch beside where you sat on the floor pouting.
“Y/N’s about to lose,” Bucky grinned, eyes glittering blue heat. His gaze never left your face as you shook your head. That stare started something knotting in your stomach and burning hot in your veins, whether from competitive irritation or something more, you couldn’t say.
“Bucky’s being a Scrabble-bitch,” you frowned with great exaggeration.
“A what?” he laughed. That rich, full laugh that always set you off too as he threw his head back. “Okay, we’re done. You have been studying all day and it’s turned you into a cute but very wound up little demoness.”
Natasha looked down at you, quirking an eyebrow. You rolled your eyes at her. You could practically read her mind; hear her snappy remarks in your own head about your not-boyfriend describing you as “cute” and sitting with you all day to help you study.
“Well I’m going to Tony’s tonight, if you want to go out,” she said over her shoulder as she rose from the couch and grabbed her keys.
“Yes we do!” Bucky volunteered before you managed to get a word out. “This one needs to blow off some steam,” he explained, nodding toward your slouching form, still slouched on the floor leaning against the sofa.
You’d already picked up your textbook again. With a sharp roll of your eyes you made absolutely no move to get up. “This one just wasted 2 hours playing games and needs to study.”
“That was studying!” he argued. Before you could protest again, he hooked his arms under yours and dragged you abruptly to your feet. You swallowed hard as you stumbled into him, your hands steadying yourself on his chest as his dropped to your waist to steady you.
For a moment his gaze darted across your face, lingering on your lips where a soft surprised gasp had escaped as you looked up at him.
The moment passed as quickly as it had come on when he turned you out of his hold and toward your hallway. “We’re going. Get dressed.”
If you had a snappy retort locked away at some point, it was gone now. It had dissolved in the few moments Bucky had held onto you, and withered to dust in the way he’d looked at you. It may have been brief but you knew Bucky, you cared too much about him to miss it. So you made your way to your room in a daze, thinking, always overthinking.
Meanwhile a few steps away, Bucky sighed, pushing a hand through his hair, doing the same.
Natasha stared at him with narrowed eyes and a raised eyebrow.
“What?” he barked.
“You two are playing with fire.”
He rolled his eyes and sat back on the couch as she slipped out the door for the party.
Bucky knew how to pick up girls, and he knew how to make friends. He had no idea how to make his friend into his girl. So instead he shook his head, trying to rid himself of the feeling as he reached down for the shot of tequila you’d refused to take. Maybe the sting of alcohol would wash away this frustration too.
Next Chapter >>
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actualraune · 6 years
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drv3 spoilers under the cut, gonna try to get down my thoughts on the ending (they aren’t favourable, this is largely a vent)
Negating the universe you’ve built up at the end of a story is bad writing. This kind of twist isn’t clever. It’s not new or innovative or subversive or creative. Its a trope that has been leaned on and rehashed hundreds of times because its an easy way to force a powerful reaction out of your audience as long as getting a reaction is all you care about. It requires extremely little thought because all it comes down to is backing down and negating things that you have spent the entire story thus far building. It seriously cheapens everything that they’ve asked the audience to invest themselves in up to that point and gets its response only from making people feel like they’ve had something stolen from them. Its just... really lazy writing almost every time its used. the few cases where its done well are few and far between because it actually takes work to pull of something like that and not make it feel like a betrayal to the people who have invested themselves in the world thats been built for them.
And heres what really pissed me off, what really makes me mad about this being in a danganronpa entry specifically: They’ve already done this before. And pulled it off REALLY WELL. sdr2 was, in effect, “all a dream”, and yet it didn’t feel like the creators spitting in your face. Why? Because they put in the work to make it important without actually invalidating everything that had happened up to that point and the foundation of the universe that had been built. They took away a physical location and while the things that had happened there didn’t take place in the real world, the consequences of those actions were still very real. Not only that, but all of the setup of the world as a whole was still very real. In exchange for this island (and one character) you were given a heavy backstory and further building of of the universe. 
That’s what I hate about drv3. It loaded you up with this world that was beyond fucked. Gets you wondering where could it possibly go from here, how can this be salvaged and what’s going to further stand in the way of that. But all the ending did was take that away, and it kept taking and taking and gave back nothing of value. It kept taking so much that it retroactively took away the universe you’d been spending the whole series falling in love with for how convoluted and over-the-top it was and replaced it with something utterly generic. It actively robbed characters of their backstories, and then even their agency by claiming pretty much everything theyd done was entirely scripted (for what purpose? please tell me what you thought this aspect could possibly add? you aren’t even going for the shock value at this point,its just nothing)
And I mean, the game spends its last hour almost actively trying to tell you its bad and you shouldnt be playing it. And it reinforces that by giving you gameplay segments that you are required to not play, several times in a row. it rejects its own thematic premise (hope overcoming despair) and demands that you do the same, it wants your apathy. And you know, thats exactly what it got from me, because by the time i finished all that I had stopped caring about what would happen for well over an hour and was just hoping it would hurry up and end.
The last few moments of the game only seemed to add insult to injury. Yes, previous games in the serious have had somewhat open endings, but you knew where things stood at that particular moment. The final moments were about the future (the other prevalent theme this series has built itself on) and the potential it held. It was about people standing in a situation where everything around them was hopeless and the world was beyond fucked but damn it they were gonna push on and make something good of it.
drv3′s version of an open ending is. oh? everything that happened in the past couple hours. maybe that was the real thing that never happened. Its a real cop-out, its saying that if you really didn’t like where we went with this we have given you an out to believe it didn’t end like that actually. its way more focused on what just happened than what is to come because what is to come is nothing. If the ending is to be believed (which the zoom to the outside of the dome seems to say it is) theres just a really ordinary world waiting for them who have just collectively decided that Hunger Games High is really boring and dumb now.
I get that lies was the additional major theme specific to this entry in the series. And I loved that a lot a really did, using lies to break through to the truth was good shit and it made for some interesting story, characters, and trials. They didn’t know how to stick the landing. They took the easiest way out, made the lie be absolutely everything, everything that came before that, and possibly everything after that too. Its lazy, its cheap, its unsatisfying, and any time i try to revisit old entries in the series now i will know in the back of my mind that nothing going on has any meaning even within its own canon. fuck you danganronpa.
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