#enemies to frenemies to friends

[kissorkill16]

Misunderstanding: A Hello Neighbor Fanfic

By JJ

Summary: Delroy and Nicky get to revisit the reason why they hate each other so much.

This is for @mystycalypso 's @return-to-ravenbrooks blog.

P.S., there are some references to my "When We Were Once Happy" fanfic.

Delroy sat on the living room couch, staring up at the ceiling while Nicky sat on the opposite end, drinking Bud Light. He turned to look at his red face, and he looked back.

"Thirsty? I bought enough for two.", said his frenemy. Delroy shook his head and stared back up at the ceiling.

"Fine, more for me.", mumbled Nicky.

The two sat in silence for a while, before Delroy spoke up.

"Why do we hate each other?"

Nicky turned to look at him, confused. "Hm?"

"I asked why we hate each other. We've been at each other's throats since middle school, and I kind of forgot the reason why.", replied Delroy.

If you're wondering, Delroy doesn't really care about why they hated each other. He was just bored, and Aaron said he wouldn't be back for another hour or so, and Nicky seemed to be the only one around.

Nicky stared at the ceiling for a moment, trying to think back to when they had their first fight. "Uhh...", he said, but then he shrugged. "I don't remember."

"Neither do I, man.", another moment of silence.

"This is stupid. Why do we hate each other if we can't even remember the reason why?", he asked himself.

"Let's just think back to the day we first met.", said Nicky, putting down his drink.

Another moment of silence, then Nicky finally remembered.

"Now I remember!", he said. "It was my first day of Raven Brooks middle school, and it was lunch time. I was looking for a place to sit, and after the first table rejected me, I tried sitting with you. I asked if I could sit with you, but you had headphones in your ears. I asked again, and you told me "Step off, loser. This seat's taken."."

Now Delroy remembered, and fuck, did he feel guilty about it.

"Like damn, all I wanted was a place to sit. You didn't have to be so rude about it.", Nicky took another swing of Bud Light.

Another moment of awkward silence before Delroy said something else.

"Look, Nick. I think there's been a huge misunderstanding."

Nicky turned to look at him again.

"I wasn't much of a people person in middle school, and I was having an off day that day. I didn't know you were the new kid, and I only heard about it when I heard kids murmuring about you behind your back. I wanted to apologize the next day, but I had a doctor's appointment. So I tried apologizing the day after, but when I saw you hanging out with Aaron, I just kept my distance."

Nicky rolled his eyes.

"Of course, because everyone thought Aaron was cursed. Yeah, right, I almost forgot.", he slurred, trying to form coherent sentences, but it was getting hard with all the alcohol running through his system.

"Why were you even hanging out with Aaron anyway?", asked Delroy.

"You really wanna know? You really really wanna know?", Delroy nodded. "Because Aaron was the only one in Raven Brooks who didn't treat me like dirt. From the moment I got to that school, everyone seemed to hate me, and I never understood why. Aaron, Mya, and Lucy were the only ones who actually gave me a chance. They were some of the bestest friends I've ever had."

Another moment of silence, and another swing of Bud Light. Delroy said something else that would shock the entire world.

"I'm sorry, Nick."

Nicky nearly dropped his Bud Light, but he tried to keep a firm grip on it. It was just so surprising to him to hear one of his long-time enemies apologize to him.

"I guess everything we've been through together has been just a big misunderstanding.", he said.

Nicky sat in silence for a while. "I'm sorry too.", he said. "I guess I thought that Aaron was the only one who wanted to be my friend, and when he went missing, I lost my mind trying to find him, and I ended up turning everyone against me."

It was at that moment, Delroy felt bad for Nicky. He put a hand on his shoulder, and smiled awkwardly.

"So...we cool?"

Nicky nodded so hard. "Come here you son of a bitch!", he said before wrapping his arms around Delroy.

The man stilled for a moment, but then slowly hugged back.

[kav3h]

CUMPLANE. theyr so insane I need them 2 kiss

[nanihirunkits]

I'll stay just like this until you agree to be my friend.

HIGH SCHOOL FRENEMY | EP6

[cocktailjjrs]

Soukoku has ruined it for me...

Any other pairing for Chuuya and Dazai in whatever context you wanna take it - platonic, romantic, found family, soulmates, enemies, frenemies etc etc - one can't be without the other or in the same capacity what they have with each other...

Like, I can never imagine Dazai getting frustrated with anyone and downright saying to their face - 'You're no ray of sunshine either' - other than Chuuya

or Chuuya ever saying - 'I used corruption because i trusted you' to anyone other than Dazai (tbf, he literally can't say even if he wants to, unless it's another nullifier)

or Dazai spending day and night, thinking up ways to annoy anyone but Chuuya

or Chuuya doing a rich girl impression or equivalent just because someone said he will do so

or Dazai talking about how anyone's ability is too overpowered and its final form, sound equal parts smug, fond and worried

or Chuuya looking at any agency fight and thinking, if it was Dazai there won't have been a fight to begin with

or Dazai planting a bomb under any of his friends/colleague's car, fully certain it won't harm them

or Chuuya shooting his subordinates out of their discussed plan, just to shut them up because they were getting cringe

Or you know - the in general - devising a whole plan, heading into enemy's side, getting stabbed with poison and trusting the other will save you, without any sort of communication what so ever.

And the said other person, doing exactly as was expected of them and activating the uncontrollable part of their ability, without any confirmation of the only person known to deactivate is even alive.

One shotting the other in head, the other letting it happen.

One trusting the other with their humanity, and other making sure to keep it intact.

One getting kidnapped and leaving a clue that only the other could connect.

.

.

.

I mean, you could argue one or two of these things can happen with either half of Soukoku and someone else, but all of these?

They may have n number of different kinds of relations with all the other's from bsd verse, but what they have with each other is unique and it's only them who will have that kind of thing...

I'm not saying they are a ideal - friends, enemies, couple.... Partners

What I'm saying is, what ever they are to each other - is the best they will get... it's one of a kind - only piece available in the whole world

[sharklighter]

leo and marcus THEMMM.

also the parallels. self-sacrificial hero vs self-sacrificial villain. raised to be a shield vs raised to be a weapon. no bionics vs the strongest bionics but they both feel unable to escape from their situations.

both never acknowledged for their accomplishments. both living in the shadow of someone else. both craving familial love and attention. foils to each other but they're also so alike.

okay on the other hand they're so goofy together i lol when i see them

them being archenemies IS SO FUNNY

[allu-viia]

Idk I highkey like whatever these two had going on in the Beast-Yeast story 🙏

[somewherefornow]

WALLY WEST/THE FLASH & KYLE RAYNER/GREEN LANTERN in JLA: OBSIDIAN AGE

[feralpercy]

"If I'm mom, who's dad?" Percy expected the kids of half blood camp to point at Annabeth, deciding to indulge them in their musings.

To his surprise, they pointed at Clarisse.

As the daughter of Ares storms to them, Percy cackles his ass off.

"Why is Clarisse dad??"

"Because dad always gives us to you whenever something regarding emotions happens." Will teases, eyes on the young woman as she attacks the son of poseidon with her fists.

"Not my fault you cannot comprehend emotions!" Percy gasps out between the punches with a laugh.

"I can! Shut the fuck up ass!" There is a furious flush on her cheeks, clearly embarrassed.

[thequeenofsastiel]

Fellas, is it gay to watch sadly as your enefriend runs off to have sex with someone else?

[hikaaa-bi]

forget friends to lovers. forget enemies to lovers. give me frenemies to lovers. "friends" who secretly hate each other and are constantly plotting against the other, acting like friends on the outside. the more time they spend together, the more they start catching feelings.

[maxdreavus]

The Winter to his Spring (March x F!Farmer)

Rating: Teen+ 

Summary: March reluctantly (not really) accepts a snack from the farmer. Later that night, he returns the favor by tending to her new wounds (he couldn’t stand to see her hurt). All the while, he does his best to ignore how much she annoys him (he’s smitten, but struggles to admit it even to himself)

Check it out on ao3!

March stared daggers into the back of Mistria’s newest farmer as she talked to his brother, making her typical rounds through the village to gather errands before disappearing to do gods know what in the narrows to fulfill them.

She was quiet. Reserved. Aloof. She seemed like she wouldn’t be as generous as she is. 

Her icy blue eyes could slice diamonds, her lacking expressions were jarring, and her mild rasp gave her soft voice an edge that didn’t match its words. 

Her smile, when it graced her lips, was as bright as the sun reflecting off of snow; and the dimples it formed on her almost-sickly pale skin were footprints, leaving dents in the substance after a heavy flurry. 

She was everything March wasn’t. For starters, her name was December. 

Fucking December… seriously? 

She was the winter to his spring. He ran warm, she ran cold. He was kinda tall, she was kinda short. He was uptight and easily agitated while she was outwardly calm and sometimes a little goofy, even under his blunt scrutiny. 

He was jealous of her innate smithing abilities while she didn’t even enjoy working at the forge all that much; and where March saw competition, she sought comradery. 

All of that bothered him. She knew as much. He made sure everyone knew, their only hint that he’s maybe (definitely) hamming it up being how affectionate he gets towards her during his drunken Friday nights at the inn. It had been nearly a year since she moved in, so there was no fooling anyone anymore… drunken words are sober thoughts, and all that. But that wouldn’t stop him.

As December turned from Olric and made her way towards the redhead, he pretended like he didn’t notice her. Like his heart didn’t feel palpable in his chest, and his palms didn’t feel clammy beneath the leather that protected him from the scorching metal he handled.

She silently watched him for a few moments. He was unsure if she was looking for conversation or simply observing his techniques, but either way, it pissed him off a little. 

“Is it just me,” he led her on, “or are you getting more skilled…” 

His gaze met hers, which swam with something he couldn’t put his finger on. Curiosity? Hopefulness? Why was she so hard to read? 

“…at breathing down my neck while I’m working?” he finished with a glare. 

December’s mouth twitched and her dark grey brows furrowed slightly, but she otherwise didn’t react. As she took a few steps closer, she dug through her backpack, eventually pulling out a bar of chocolate.

She held the snack up between them. March kept his agitated expression plastered on her grasp. He couldn’t help but notice that, despite having delicate fingers and neatly shaped cuticles, her hands looked rough and calloused, with some dirt speckled beneath her nails. 

He had the urge to hold them, massage them until they were less sore, help her groom them so that she would have one less thing to worry about—

Wait. What?

When March didn’t take the bar outright, December explained, “Olric told me once that you have a sweet tooth. So do I,” she shrugged, “so I thought maybe we could share it.”

…Huh.

March ripped his stare from December’s hand and scanned her face, his own warming up when he noticed how intently she was watching him. He chewed the inside of his cheek in an effort to ground himself.

Rather than thanking her — like he knew he should — he ran his mouth. “Are you trying to butter me up with food I like?”

She raised a brow, retracted her arm, and spun on the heel of her boots. “Guess you don’t want this, then.” 

It almost sounded like she was teasing him.

Why did that excite him?

“Wait,” he said, wrapping a hand around the farmer’s wrist. 

She looked at him over her shoulder, and he could’ve sworn there was a mischievous glint in her eye. She was winding him up on purpose. 

“U-um,” he stuttered at the realization, “Fine. I need a break anyway.”

The corner of December’s lips that he could see curled up ever so slightly while she looked at their joined skin, wordless. It took a moment for March to snap out of his trance and let go. 

With the chocolate still in its wrapper, she snapped it in half, tore it open, and took the top piece before handing March the contained rest of it. Then, he watched her as she made her way to the wall nearby. She slid her bag from her shoulders before leaning against the stone, tilting her head to the sky, presumably to watch the clouds rolling overhead. 

“Not even gonna give me the first half?” he complained, joining her.

He didn’t actually care. He didn’t know why he was being combative.

He never really did.

December broke off a square and popped it into her mouth, nudging March with her elbow. “Figured you wouldn’t want your grubby hands touching it.”

He took off his gloves and tossed them aside, then shimmied the treat closer to its foil opening. “Grubby?” 

She nodded. “I know damn well they’re sweaty.”

Feeling a little self conscious, March scanned his free hand while he took a bite directly out of the candy bar with the other. He let the chocolate melt on his tongue, enjoying both that and how the late autumn breeze felt on his skin while he opened and closed his fist.

…She wasn’t wrong. 

“Whatever,” he muttered, wiping his palm on his apron. December breathed a laugh out of her nose. “At least my nails aren’t gross.”

She leaned in to get a better look, as if to confirm if his words were true. When her coconut-scented shampoo wafted to him from her blindingly white hair, he couldn’t deny how his stomach fluttered.

With a small “Hm,” she leaned back against the stone, proceeding to study her own hands before nodding. “I should start wearing gloves while I farm.” 

March’s mouth moved before his brain could stop him. “I might have a spare pair, if you want them.” What? “I-I mean, they might not fit, though.” They definitely wouldn’t. They’d be huge on her. He knew this because she’s literally worn them at the forge. “And they’re thick.” No shit, Sherlock, they have to be.

She politely shook her head, but smiled to herself. As his chest swelled with pride, he realized that he really liked making her smile. 

He didn’t know how to feel about that. He angrily stuffed the last bit of chocolate into his mouth.

“You already gave me a hoe, I don’t want you to supply all of my stuff.”

“You better be putting it to good use.”

“Of course I am,” she scoffed. “It’s nice. It feels weightless.”

“Obviously.” Tilting his chin up and smirking, March bragged, “I’m the greatest blacksmith in Aldaria after all.” He punctuated the claim with a wink.

December looked away, the tips of her ears rosy, if March wasn’t mistaken. Hm. “Bold words.”

“I’ll have you know that I—“

“Yeah, yeah, trophies and medals and et cetera.”

“And what do you have?” he prodded.

“I have my own awards…” she pouted as she slipped the last square of chocolate between her lips. “Just not the same kind.”

“And you never will.”

“Can’t we just get along?” 

“Can’t you stop bugging me every day?”

“Some things are simply unknowable.”

March laughed. December grinned up at him, visibly proud to have gotten a reaction, and the blacksmith quickly turned away, covering his reddening face with his fist. The foil crumpled within it became a stress toy for a beat before he tossed it into the nearby trash bin.

“I have work to do,” he grunted, sliding his gloves back on. “Scram.”

December put on a low and gruff voice in a poor attempt to mimic March’s, “Thank you for the chocolate, December. That was fun, December.”

He stopped himself from laughing this time, but being turned away from her view, he at least let himself smile. “Goodbye.”

“Smell you later.”

“S-smell..?” March whispered to himself. 

He gave his pits a quick sniff. It’s a given that he wouldn’t smell like roses, working such a physical profession, but he had no more of a musk than usual.

“I don’t—“ he started to defend himself. When he turned around, December was already gone. “Damn it.”

__

March was wrapping up for the day as December made her way back down the road. Her hair, which had been down before, was now tied in a high and messy ponytail; her jacket laid securely around her waist, revealing a high-necked, sleeveless, navy blue top; and her arms and cheeks were littered with dirt and cuts that were just begging to get infected.

March sighed. 

He guessed he’d have to do something to help. 

Not like he wanted to, or anything. 

It was for her, not him. 

Not that he cared. 

Whatever. 

“The fuck happened to you?” he prompted when she was within earshot.

She dumped her jacket and noticeably heavier bag near the wall they’d leaned on earlier, trudged up the steps to the forge, and made a beeline for the spare apron and gloves March kept near the furnace. 

She looked exhausted.

“Monsters,” December answered simply, untangling the straps and beginning to lift the apparel over her head. 

No way in hell he was letting her forge now. With all those injuries and the dark circles under her eyes, she would surely just hurt herself even m—

…She would mess something up. 

She would… break something? 

Burn his… apron? 

Something...

Ugh.

March stomped over to the farmer and wrapped his hands around her forearms, pulling them up and towards him before taking back his apron. 

“Nuh-uh.” She stared at him plainly, her hands still frozen mid-air. “You look awful.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“No, you— not like—“ he stopped himself with a grunt, lest he accidentally admit how pretty she looked despite her disheveled appearance. “Come on.” He took one of December’s hands in his and ushered her into the smithy. 

She went along without question, allowing March to only hope that she was content with this. He sat her down at the stool beside his blueprint-riddled desk; disappeared into another room, reappearing with a first-aid kit; kneeled down in front of her; and got started right away, opting to not explain himself. 

December winced a little at the pain of antiseptic on a gash near her wrist. March told her to hold still. She stuck her tongue out at him, and he wondered what it tasted like, and that thought startled him. He immediately averted his gaze so that he wouldn’t be so tempted to try and find out.

December didn’t say a word while March tended to her wounds, which he was thankful for. She probably already noticed how gently he was treating her. How his everlasting scowl was more so focused than peeved this time. And he knew he’d drive himself mad wondering all the possible ways she could have been perceiving him, so he did his best not to linger on it. 

He settled into a simple rhythm of blotting antiseptic with a cotton ball, applying ointment to the deeper cuts, and bandaging, before scanning for the next area to treat. He didn’t even think twice before standing between December’s legs, cupping her face in his non-dominant hand to care for a wound just above her eyebrow. 

He only noticed how intimate it was when he felt her face burning up beneath his touch. If he hadn’t seen the starstruck look in her usually blank eyes, or the pinkness to her washed-out skin, he would have just assumed she overworked herself into a fever and scolded her accordingly.

March’s eyes widened slightly while his cheeks quickly began to rival his hair. He parted his lips as if to say something, but nothing came out. Seeing December so flustered just flustered him right back… what should he even say at a time like this?

A wave of relief washed over him when she averted her gaze. He took the opportunity to get back to the task at hand — the sooner he could get her the hell out, the sooner he would be able to relish in the feeling of knowing that he didn’t do something stupid that would change the trajectory of their dynamic forever.

At the sound of her voice, though, his hand stilled again. “Um,” December started. There was a pause before she went on, “Thanks for doing this.”

A silent moment lingered between them while March tried to figure out an answer. His gaze rested on her eyelids; whether it was shyness or discomfort keeping her from looking back up at him, he couldn’t say. 

The normal thing to do would be to tell her that it’s no problem at all. That it felt right. That he wanted her to be safe. Whatever pleasantries people would typically say in response to a “thank you.”

Instead, he did what he does best. “Well… just think of this as repayment for the snack.” 

Damn it, March.

In spite of her medic being a dick, December still smiled to herself. March’s heart stuttered at the feeling of her skin dimpling beneath his palm in turn. He’d always kind of wondered what that would feel like…

Without thinking, he let his thumb lazily swipe at it while he patted her cut with the dry side of the cotton; and when she melted into his touch like ores over the hot coals of his furnace, he began to wonder if it was worth it to keep up his charade of distrust and malcontent towards her. 

All he wanted to do was tell her he wanted to do this for her. That he cared about her, that he was tired of pretending for others and himself that he felt any other way. That he wanted to kiss her over and over until she smiled so much that her dimples were permanently carved into her cheeks.

To absolutely no one’s surprise, though, nothing changed.

[scrunglepaws]

Two different flavors of Scourge and Scourge. The one where Scourge hits Scourge in the femoral artery seems more plausible I think. Making people bleed out is just Scourge's thing, y'know? He's quirky like that. And Scourge just insulting a random animal for no reason seems legit.

[paynomindtotheinsanity]

Chapter 13: Foxhole

[devianttxrts]

open to: w/nb muse: phoebe aria savile. 24 - 29. bisexual. from a wealthy/crime family, runs a dance studio

"i'm serious! we should get married." phoebe wasn't begging, but they had to know she wasn't joking. "i get out of marrying some sniveling bore of a man, and i get to piss off my parents, and you get endless wealth and a really hot wife. everybody wins." maybe a different approach would work better; she stepped closer. "come on, we can consummate it however you want."

[mynerathemystic]

request by: @midlandslady2 a rewrite of daemon x alys' conversation where he says he wants rhaenyra to rule by his side.

"And how fare you, Prince of Nightmares and Dastardly Deeds?"

A scowl marred Dameon's face as he looked up from the edge of crumbling rock where he rested, his jaw clenched when Alys Rivers announced her arrival. She met his gaze with a smug grin, her severely straight raven hair parted to reveal eyes far too wide and seemingly endless. He quickly averted her stare and resumed sharpening the ax in his hand, the clang of iron against stone harsh and aggressive.

"It appears not too well," she said, her voice thick with mock concern. 

Daemon continued to ignore her after she sat down and moved in close to study him, a cloying mix of peppery spices and something burnt wafting from her and assaulting his nose. She moved to touch his cheek and Daemon caught her wrist and shoved her hand back, returning to his work with a grunt, much to her apparent amusement.

"I am certain there are far more constructive ways for you to fill your time," he told her, counting each whack to remain focused on the task at hand and not the intrusive thoughts telling him to drive the tool into her skull.

"And I could say the same for you," she argued, leaning back using her arms. "You look awful, by the way—dark circles, sickly complexion, hair matted like a rat's nest. What will Rhaenyra say when her husband returns and has aged so," she trailed off, subjecting him to the slow, scrutinizing drag of her eyes along his body before tutting and shaking her head, "...poorly."

Daemon stood and without hesitation pointed his ax between Alys’ eyes. "I haven’t time for you, witch. Keep her name out of your filthy mouth and address her properly as your queen.”

Alys' lips curled at the insult. She retrieved an apple from her pocket and cleaned it using her sleeve.

It was uncertain to Daemon at what point it occurred, but the halls, once filled with men meandering to and from the courtyard, had gradually become quiet. The sounds of splitting wood and tools scraping were absent; instead, an insidious silence replaced it. The sky had shifted as well, no longer the cloudless cerulean of mid-day but the deep blackish-blue of a starless sea that engulfed him.

"I see. So you are worried." Alys inspected the piece of fruit and took a hefty bite, indifferent towards the change in scenery. "Worried that she'll abandon you. Leave you here to rot once she realizes how pathetic—"

"I am not—" Daemon's nostrils flared, his weapon still leveled at her face. "You know nothing."

"And pray tell, what is it I don't understand, Daemon?" she pushed, unfazed by the hatchet aimed at her. "What is it I can't already see inside of that arrogant, dense, vain head of yours?"

"She cannot succeed—she cannot rule without me."

In the midst of her last mouthful, Alys choked, the apple tumbling to the ground once laughter overtook her. The wind whistled between the gaps of bare branches and joined in her merriment, as though it too thought little of him.

"And what do you know of loyalty?" Daemon asked, his tone even yet abrasive. "What do you know of devotion? Confined within this castle, haunting the halls with your childish bag of tricks and horrid tonics. You, Alys Rivers,” he stepped closer, “know nothing of me, my mind, or my heart. And you never will. Because you—a creature committed to nothing but torment—do not possess any of it; not a mind, let alone a heart.”

Alys came to an abrupt stop, as if someone suddenly cut the strings of a puppet. The air stilled and she tilted her head, her eyes boring into his.

Satisfied with her response, Daemon continued. 

"I am Rhaenyra's shield. I am her armor. As long as I draw breath, no harm will befall her. This is how to ensure her ascension. And that is why I must do my part."

"What?" Alys scoffed. "Become a pawn, a knight, in this game? And what if you fail? What then? Give up your life for hers?"

"If necessary."

"And what of your dear wife? And your children?"

At this, Daemon’s grip faltered and he shook his head, his brow furrowed. "Sacrifice is but a necessity of war. I live on through them." He was the one that uttered the words, but they sounded rehearsed and distant as they hung there in the void between them.

Alys inspected him further, as if there were stories there, written between the folds of his skin that she was desperate to devour. 

“You're awfully dreary, you know,” she finally said with a sigh. “Death, devotion, and such.”

Daemon glowered at her, feeling somewhat exposed in a manner he was not accustomed to. "Well, then. I am sorry my life does not have much to offer as a source of entertainment."

"Oh, don't be.” Alys rose and yawned while she stretched, the heavy hush that once blanketed them dissipating in an instant. She nudged Daemon’s ax with the back of her hand and it fell out of his hold and onto the ground. “I'm plenty entertained."

Within a second, the sun broke through the fathomless dark, and the sounds and smells of workers tending to the rebuilding of Harrenhal were once more present. 

Daemon knelt to retrieve the tool, irritated by her theatrics, while she continued.

"And for the record, don't underestimate the will of the Gods. Perhaps one day they’ll work in your favor."

"Oh, is that so?” he asked, humoring her. “Which ones?"

Alys shrugged and turned to leave. "The ones who decide to listen."

[infinitelilith]

There's Enemies-To-Lovers, Lovers-To-Enemies, Friends-To-Lovers, Friends-To-Enemies-To-Lovers, and then there's whatever the fuck these two got going on