#BEAUTY AND THE PUPPET AS ACADEMIC RIVALS

[kazoosandfannypacks]

shipping two characters: ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐

shipping two characters but there's a third guy there all the time who just roasts them: ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐

(to clarify, this third guy is not romantically involved with either of the people being shipped. he's literally just. there.)

[kazoosandfannypacks]

ME TOO AND ALL OF THEM ARE DIFFERENT SHIPS

Hate it when I have no less than FIVE long form WIPs to work on and NONE OF THEM SOUND GOOD RIGHT NOW

[loserboyfriendrjl]

r u mine by the artic monkeys <3

dorcas to/about marlene, definitely. i'm a huge fan of arctic monkeys, btw, so trust my judgement </3 /j

"I'm a puppet on a string" <- literally the effect that marlene has on dorcas. she's got her wrapped around her finger and everyone knows it. she can play dorcas any way she wanted to, and they'd let her. the feeling is reciprocated, and this devotion and implied trust (because it takes a lot of courage to open up to someone, to show not just the beautiful, but the ugly and bruised as well) to each other was sort of what made their relationship hold on so well, even during the war.

"She's a silver linin', lone ranger ridin' through an open space / In my mind, when she's not right there beside me / I go crazy 'cause here isn't where I wanna be" <- i do not know how to describe it but the first line is marlene. also, dorcas is definitely the kind of person who would ditch everyone just to hang out with her girlfriend, and the only place where they could be in forever and never get bored of it was next to marlene.

"And satisfaction feels like a distant memory / And I can't help myself / All I wanna ever say is, "Are you mine?" / Well, are you mine?" <- these lyrics are giving enemies to lovers, honestly. the second lyrics, to me, implies sort of a... not wanting to always think about a certain person, not wanting them to be yours, which in dorlene's case seems right, seeing the fact that they were in opposing houses (my headcanon) and academic/quidditch rivals. they had always hated each other, so why were they falling in love now? also, the "are you mine?" is obvious.

"I guess what I'm tryin' to say is I need the deep end / Keep imaginin' meetin', wished away entire lifetimes / Unfair we're not somewhere misbehavin' for days / Great escape, lost track of time and space" <- this part of the song makes me think of their need for escaping from the war, and the third line really encapsulates that. wanting to misbehave and push each other out of the routine that had both been created for them and had been created by themselves too, wanting to run wild, knowing they didn't have much time left.

"And the thrill of the chase moves in mysterious ways" <- this lyric makes me think especially of the period when they bordered on both love and hate. "the thrill of the chase" being wanting to let the other know more, but at the same time, pushing each other away in order to be mysterious, to still leave secrets to discover; after all, where's the fun in knowing everything?

[duskypetals]

jolie

word count: 2815

fandom: harry potter

pairings: harry x gabrielle (unusual pairing)

a/n: one of my most popular works on fanfiction.net! it’s also the second-longest one shot i have there :)

requested: yep / nope (my ask box)

Gabrielle Delacour is a doll.

She looks just like her sister, doesn't she? Speaks just like her. So sweet and obedient and beautiful.

(She's everyone's puppet, that's what she is.)

Gabrielle is born perfect, her life set, and her smile in place. She's the prettiest little baby in town, because, oh, she looks so much like Fleur doesn't she? She's so blessed, with her jovial father, beautiful mother and doting sister. She's going to shine one day, they promise. Shine bright and beautiful.

(Oh, but not as bright as Fleur, oui? Because nobody is as good as their chere belle Fleur.)

There are little things. Unnoticeable things that speak of her inferiority in their eyes. "Fleur, tu ressembles à une déesse ce soir! Gabrielle, ma chérie, tu as l'air jolie aussi!" Her Aunt Delacour always says when they attended her Christmas soiree every year. Gabrielle bites back tears, gives a charming smile and curtseys in gratitude.

Of course, Fleur is a goddess. Gabrielle is just… pretty.

Gabrielle laughs and smiles and dances her way through life but she always feels like she's being eclipsed. Like how the sun blots out the stars in the morning time, so that they only show there beauty at night, Fleur is a constant dot of brightness in her dark world, always so cheerful and beautiful and sweet. Fleur is just more of Gabrielle. And that makes her the bitter shadow.

(Ah, chérie, what did you expect? That you would shine, that you would break free from your miserable life? I think not, darling, I think not.)

When Gabrielle pads behind Fleur towards the enthralling Beauxbatons chalet for the first time, all she can hear is, Another Delacour! So much like you, Fleur! Trés jolie! Une petite Fleur!

A small Fleur…

Like… Like she's a doll. A miniature of a girl she doesn't even want to be. Gabrielle bites back tears and sits down at the opulent tables, staring at the chandeliers, pointedly avoiding the simpering girls around her.

And so a year passes, and it is still a sunny day in Gabrielle's world. Sunny, but a bitterness hanging in the air. It's Fleur who's the sun, you see. What chance does Gabrielle's tiny star stand against her luminous beauty?

(Night will come, she assures herself. Night will come, and my star will glow.)

There's a new announcement in school, then. "Ze Triwizard Tournament? Ça veut dire quoi? Est-ce que tu en sais?" Gabrielle whispers to her sister when Madame Maxime makes the announcement in the Dining Hall.

"Shh, Gabrielle! I am trying to listen here," responds Fleur and Gabrielle murmurs a tiny Sorry, before slipping out of her seat.

She doesn't feel like eating anymore.

(The sun hurts her, sometimes. Too bright in her eyes. Too much light for her to bear.)

A few months later, she's shivering as she steps out into the cold Scottish air, her figure tiny as she nestles against Madame Maxime. At least the Mam'zelles and Monsieurs liked her. She is better at her studies than Fleur is. Of course, Fleur Delacour is wonderful at her academics, but Gabrielle is a prodige. At least she has her brains to rival her sister's beauty.

Her first few weeks of stay in the Ravenclaw tower is quiet and uneventful. She attends a handful of classes, but spends half her time teaching the Hogwarts students basic French, out of her first copy of Langue Français. She enjoys it. She feels useful and admired – a novel feeling, Gabrielle thinks to herself.

And then, the Second Task finds her at the bottom of the Black Lake. She is not aware of being there, of course, but she felt scared at the idea, when Monsieur Dumbledore explained the Task to her. She vows to be brave (after all, Fleur is brave. Why shouldn't she be courageous?) and drinks the potion offered to her in one swallow.

It's not her sister who pulls her out, but Harry Potter, the legendary boy with the scar. He pulled her out. He could have left her there. She wouldn't have died, but he could have left her there. But instead, he took the trouble to drag her weight along with him to the surface, damn the consequences. She feels a flutter in her heart.

(Non, Gabrielle. That is not wise. He will not fall for a little girl like you… what is the point of falling for someone who is sure to break your heart?)

She doesn't stay any longer. She's sick of all the people fawning over Fleur – and Fleur enjoying the attention. She just wants to be home, back in Beauxbatons' beautiful gardens, the graceful chalet overlooking the sapphire-blue sea. She feels homesick for it.

She bumps into Harry and his friends when she is heading to Dumbledore's office – to take a portkey back to the French Riviera. Gabrielle feels intimidated, looking at them – the Ravenclaw girls called them The Golden Trio. Hermione offers a smile and she relaxes, offering a shy one in return.

"Are you heading back to Beauxbatons, Gabrielle?" She asks, bending a little to reach Gabrielle's eye level. Gabrielle hates it when people do that. She feels so… inferior.

"Oui," she answers, straightening up a bit. "Monsieur Dumbledore arranged for a Portkey to be sent back to ze chalet. Eet will leave in a few minutes. Eet was nice to meet you," she says, using the little English that the Ravenclaws taught her. Hermione and Harry bid her goodbye (the latter's smile sending her heart into a frenzy) while Ron just waves at her.

(Perhaps he is bitter, Gabrielle thinks, because I resemble Fleur so. The sour taste of being lesser to her sister returns.)

A couple of years pass. Fleur gets married to Ron Weasley's eldest brother on a wonderful summer morning, the sun shining ever so brightly on the bride. Everyone is captivated by her simple beauty, in a glowing white gown. She's looking so magnificent that everyone just… fades into the background.

But that's normal for me, Gabrielle thinks, almost nonchalantly.

(Almost.)

She doesn't see Harry around. Perhaps it is foolish of Gabrielle to pine after someone who barely talks to her, but Harry is like a storybook hero to her – handsome, noble and with a sweet smile. But what sets him apart is that he is human.

Just like the rest of them.

A few boys approach her. They all have that awestruck expressions on their faces that is usually associated with seeing someone of Veela blood. As an eager little twelve-year-old, she used to be flattered.

Now… now, she's just tired.

But who's to say that she won't take advantage of the situation? With a flirty smile and a little Oui, Monsieur she dances the night away in the arms of strangers, with a heavy heart and teary eyes.

(This is what happens when you grow up too fast, dear. You do not know yourself anymore. Perhaps you do not want to…)

The War starts shortly after the wedding, when the Death Eaters enter the wedding tent with threats of death and danger. Gabrielle watches with wide eyes as all the guests scream and gasp in fear. She's still frozen when her Maman grabs her arm roughly and says, "Allons, Gabrielle!" as they run towards her father, who's struggling to hold a Shield against a cackling, black-haired witch. The world dissolves into nothingness, and an instant later, she is home.

The war passes in silence and worry – she returns to Beauxbatons shortly after Fleur's wedding and it seems as if everyone is talking about Voldemort, the deathless one. The Riviera is relatively unaffected except for one Dementor attack on the village adjacent to Beauxbatons – Lavaudieu, but the Professors banish them quickly.

And then, when the year is closing, she receives an owl from home – The war is over. Fleur is alive, and so is Bill. Fred Weasley died but the Weasleys are recovering, ever so slowly.

Gabrielle breathes a sigh of relief. She might envy her sister, but Gabrielle still loves her.

(Traitorous little things, aren't they? Our hearts, that is. So dark, yet so hopeful. So dead, yet beating frantically to be alive.)

When Gabrielle finally returns to England, it is three years after the war. She is eighteen, graduated from Beauxbatons with honours and a promising job at a Potions Research Centre based in London. Fleur seems accepting of the job, but Gabrielle knows that she didn't exactly like it. Fleur was never one to get her hands dirty.

Oh, but of course. Pretty princesses don't like such things, do they? Remnants of the old resentment returns. She quells it. It's too childish. And Gabrielle is above such things.

Her first stop is Shell Cottage. Offering a smile and a quick handshake to Bill (she genuinely likes him – he is a rational influence on her sister), a warm hug to Fleur (pleasure courses through her when Fleur returns it with equal love) and a slobbering kiss to a laughing and squealing Victoire, who's toddling about on her little legs, she turns to the sitting room, exhausted from her Floo journey to England.

She is rather shocked to see the person awkwardly standing in the middle of the room – Harry Potter. Her cheeks go red: her schoolgirl crush on him might have disappeared long ago, and she might have dated several other boys, but he was her first crush.

"Bonjour, 'Arry." She cringes at the usage of French. This is England. Not France, Gabrielle.

"Hi… Gabrielle Delacour, right?" He asks, offering a hand to her.

"Oui – Zat ees to say, of course! 'Ow 'ave you been?" She sits down on a comfortable armchair, keeping her handbag to the side. Her hands fidget. She did not expect him to be there.

"Ah, good. Everything's good," he says, with a smile. (It is a little sad, if I am not wrong. I wonder why, thinks Gabrielle.) There is a lull in conversation, while Fleur goes to the kitchen to make some tea and Bill, to the nursery, as Victoire is drooping with sleep on his shoulder. Gabrielle smiles affectionately at her niece – she had not seen her properly for quite a while.

Fleur returns and exclaims, "Oh! Gabrielle, Maman told me zat you graduated with ze 'onours! Je suis fier de toi, ma petite sœur." Gabrielle smiles with good grace but she is overjoyed at her sister's exclamation.

(It is time to move past their differences.)

"Honours? Congratulations, Gabrielle!" Harry says, warmly and Gabrielle glows even more.

They chat for a few more minutes, before Harry announces that he has to go.

"Teddy will be waiting for me. And he's pretty scary when he's annoyed." Harry chuckles. "It was nice to see you again, Gabrielle." He's gone with a swish of his hand dropping the Floo powder into the fireplace, and a yell of 'The Tonks' Residence!'

Gabrielle's eyes stare at the fireplace for a while before she draws her eyes back to Fleur, who's asking her, in rapid French, about all the things that happened, back at home, since her departure.

(There is hope, for everyone. It is only that it's hidden between thorns and daggers. How can we live on, when we don't even know if the hope is for us?)

It's quite easy to adjust to England, she discovers. Her job is amazing and keeps her occupied for most of the day, but she finds herself wandering in the streets of Muggle London in her spare time.

It's on one such ramble that she suddenly bumps into someone she certainly did not want to see.

"Gabrielle!" Harry exclaims, grinning. "What are you doing here, in the heart of Mu- London?"

"I like to wander sometimes, eet calms me. What are you doing 'ere, 'Arry?" He looks nice, his cheeks a little pink from the autumn cold and his pale skin striking against his dark blue coat.

"Oh, just meeting a few friends in the… pub. Would you like to join us?"

"I would not want to intrude, 'Arry…"

"It's no problem. I'm sure they'd love to see you," he assures her and pulls her along to the Leaky Cauldron, which is just a few roads away.

She feels her cheeks burn, but she steadfastly ignores it. Because, obviously, it's not worth commenting on.

(But there's this little voice in your head. Telling you to stop it. To stop dreaming and hoping of things that can never be. Because you can't be that lucky can you?)

She spends a few hours with him and his friends – which include the Weasleys, Hermione Granger, Neville Longbottom and Luna Lovegood. She feels like a little twelve-year-old again, amongst these legendary people who saved their world from the clutches of destruction, who experienced things that can't even be described.

Mostly, she feels like a twelve year old because of the stupid little crush that's showing its cheeky face again.

They all leave a few hours later, minus Harry and Hermione. Gabrielle wants to leave, but they insist she sit down. Gabrielle is pleasantly surprised that she actually enjoys talking to them. They are witty and pleasant and not at all disdainful of Gabrielle's French accent, and Gabrielle feels comfortable in her skin after a long, long time.

Hermione too, gets up to leave after a while and Gabrielle feels nervous. She doesn't like the knowing glint in Hermione's eyes.

"How do you like England?" Harry asks and she starts from her reverie.

"Eet ees nice, I guess, but it's not home, see." She folds her hands in her lap to keep them from fidgeting.

"I can understand that." Harry has a faraway look in his eyes as he surveys his glass of Butterbeer. "But at least there's Fleur and Victoire here, yeah? And we're here for you too," he says, smiling and Gabrielle feels gratified.

"Merci, 'Arry." Gabrielle offers him a hint of a smile and stares into his emerald eyes. For one breathtaking moment, he looks at her, and Gabrielle feels flustered. Averting her eyes, Gabrielle checks her watch and hurriedly gathers her coat and bag before standing up. "Eet really ees late. I 'ave to go. Thank you for ze invitation, 'Arry." She offers him a clumsy, one-armed hug (friends do that, oui?) and slips out of their lounge room, feeling breathless and dizzy.

(Love is dangerous, affection is dangerous. But that's what keeps us coming back – the risk, the absolute high of being cherished, no matter if your heart will be in pieces on the floor and you will be broken beyond repair. Love is what makes us and breaks us. Isn't that puzzling, honey?)

They meet again, several times - a chance meeting in the Ministry, at the Burrow Christmas Dinner, when the whole Weasley family meet again for her birthday (Of course, she was a Weasley, Molly had assured her. And Weasleys pulled out all the stops for birthdays) and once again, at the Leaky Cauldron.

"Bonjour, Harry," she greets him again. She's smiling, nervousness almost invisible under her smile, because she's gotten used to being around him.

"Hello," he greets her, a bit forlornly.

"Ees everything alright?" she questions, eying him shrewdly.

"No, no. I'm okay. It's just that… Ron and Hermione are going to have their wedding in a few weeks and…"

"You feel lonely," she finishes for him. Gabrielle speaks a lot, she knows, but she also observes everyone she interacts with. Ron, Hermione and Harry were friends for a long time. But with Ron and Hermione drifting away from him, Harry is flailing.

"Yeah. Something like that," Harry says, draining the last of his Butterbeer. He looks at her curious green eyes and she averts her own.

"I observe people, Harry," Gabrielle says quietly. "I 'ave been overlooked for so long that eet ees instinct for me."

He does not comment. There is an uncomfortable silence for a while, before Harry suddenly says, "Your English is improving. I mean, I'm almost Harry now."

She grins. "Thank you, 'Arry."

"It's just that, we've been friends for so long that I cannot imagine that we're drifting apart. It was bound to happen, I guess." He shrugs.

"Perhaps… But look on the bright side, Harry. You made so many new friends."

He raises his eyebrows. "Like you?"

Gabrielle smiles. "Like me."

"Well then, Gabrielle, my new friend, what do you say for lunch tomorrow afternoon? I'm sure you can find the time, yeah?" He asks teasingly and Gabrielle blushes.

"I can fit you in, maybe." She likes talking to him. He doesn't have too many airs and graces, he's funny and easy to converse with.

"Great. I'll see you, then." He smiles brilliantly and disappears into the crowd, leaving Gabrielle alone at the table with a stupid smile on her face.

(Ah, but love is our nectar and hope, our ambrosia. It is difficult to find, hard to believe and almost impossible to keep… but guess what? At the end, it's all worth it.)

© 2017, cheadsearc/ @duskypetals

hope you liked it!

[kazoosandfannypacks]

🌹🌹🌹

Belle looked up at Ruby, who looked back down at her and smiled.

"Floor time?" Ruby asked.

"Floor time," Belle nodded.

[kazoosandfannypacks]

summary: when sworn academic rivals Belle French and August Booth are put in the same group for a presentation, things get out of hand— not in the predictable arguing or usual banter, but instead in Belle and August spitefully asking each other out on a date.

word count: 6K words (five chapters, all uploaded at once)

a/n: i started this one a while back but finally came around, polished it up, and got it finished for you guys! I wanna warn you going into this that it is horribly out of character, especially since most of my beauty and the puppet fics are very soft, and this one is a bit... crunchier? edgier? anyways, it's great and we love it. shoutout to the loyal and spectacular @kanerallels for betaing!

taglist: @kanerallels  @accidental-spice  @poptart-cat-78  @booksteaandtoomuchtv  @silver-the-phoenix  {if you’d like to be added to or removed from my Beauty and the Puppet taglist, let me know!}

the first chapter is here, but you can read the full story on ao3!

Calling Bluffs- Chapter 1:  the group assignment that doesn't go as planned

 If you'd asked August who he'd pick as his partners for this group assignment, he wouldn't've picked the class clown and his academic rival.

 If you'd asked Belle to pick her partners, she wouldn't've picked Will— she'd made that mistake before— and she certainly wouldn't've picked the only other student in class whose intellect came close to hers— not nearly her equal, if course, but pretentious enough you wouldn't know the difference.

 If you'd asked Will who he'd pick as his partners, he'd've been smart enough not to say the two smartest students in class— the only people on campus stubborn enough to push him to do some of the work himself.

 And yet, when Professor Heller announced the team assignments in class last Monday, he put August, Belle, and Will in the same group.

 And so, Belle found herself in her dorm room with Will and August, sitting around their textbooks and a bag of chips, trying to work on a presentation about classic American Literature.

 "So, what were everyone's ideas for this presentation?" Belle asked.

 "Oh?" August said, "you're actually going to condescend to such lowly individuals as anyone-who's-not-you and actually listen to our input?"

 "I don't know," Belle rolled her eyes, having already failed at starting this project as professionally as possible, "are you going to share intelligent input?"

 "More intelligent than some people here," August glared at Will.

 "For your information," Will rushed to his own defense, "I actually do have an idea."

 Belle knew Will too well than to suspect this would be a good idea.

 "Let's hear it," August said.

 "Our report's on great American writers, right?"

 "Classic American writers," August corrected.

 "Exactly!" Will said, "and who's a more classic writer than famous songwriter Rick Astley? I suggest we start our presentation with…"

 Belle cut him off before he could finish vocalizing his stupidity. "We're not rickrolling our classmates."

 "You didn't even let me finish!" Will said.

 "But was she wrong in her assumption?" August asked.

 "What's that got to do with anything?" Will asked, "Literature is all about conveying emotion, and it's hard to put to words that emotion you feel when an inconspicuous link leads to Never Gonna Give You Up."

 "We're not gonna rickroll the rest of the class," August said.

 "Yeah," Belle agreed with August for the first time that semester, "some of us actually care about our grades."

 "A little too much," August said.

 "For the sake of diplomacy I'll ignore that hypocrisy," Belle said, trying as she may not to get into one of those petty academic feuds they so often partook in, "did you have any ideas that won't fail us immediately, August?"

 "As a matter of fact, I do," he said, "we pick an author, each of us writing a synopsis about a different aspect about them- such as recurring themes, personal lives and how it affected their literature, or effects on their works in the academic community- and then compile our findings, using the same template for the PowerPoint so it looks like we actually worked together on the project."

 "An unexpectedly great idea," Belle said.

 "I'm down for it," Will said, "how about I create the PowerPoint while you guys work on the boring stuff?"

 "I don't think so," August said, "in a group project, everyone brings something to the table- something more than throwing a PowerPoint together. What exactly do you bring to this group?"

 "For one thing," Will said, taking a few chips from the bag in front of them, "Doritos."

 "You'll have to try harder than that," August said, "we won't do your work for you."

 "August," Belle said, leaning closer and motioning for him to do the same, speaking in hushed tones so Will wouldn't be as likely to hear, "do you really want to be graded based on how Mr. Astley's biggest fan over here writes a report?"

 They watched Will stack six Doritos on top of each other and shove the whole stack in his mouth at once.

 "He's trying to take advantage of my intellect and your stubborn persistence not to appear imperfect," August said.

 "Will has a special set of gifts," Belle explained, "and one of them is graphic design. He can make our PowerPoint look so professional that no one will notice how pretentious you sound while you're presenting."

 "And to cover up for whatever your intellect may be lacking," August clapped back, then turned to Will, "I think we can make that work- just promise me you won't troll the rest of the class."

 "What if I find a way to thematically tie it into our selected author's themes and narratives?" Will asked.

 "Deal," Belle rolled her eyes again.

 "No deal!" August said, appalled.

 "You wanted him to do research," Belle said, "and he'll do best if he's researching something he's passionate about."

 "And next he'll be comparing The Gifts of the Magi to tortilla chips."

 "I care about more than just tortilla chips," Will scoffed, "there's potato chips too. But believe it or not, I am capable of getting us an A on this assignment."

 "You'd better be,' August said.

 There was silence for a moment as Belle picked up her textbook.

 "Which author would you guys like to write about?" Belle asked, "Hawthorne, Poe, Hemingway…"

 "Samuel Clemens?" August suggested.

 "Everyone is going to do an assignment on Samuel Clemens," Belle said, "that's the most basic answer you could've chosen."

 "You suggested Edgar Alan Poe, and you think Samuel Clemens was a basic suggestion?" August asked, "any self-proclaimed academic would come up with that one."

 "O'Henry then?" Belle asked.

 "Fine by me," August said, "I'll work on the themes and analysis if you wanna study his personal life."

 "So you think the personal life is the easy part, then?" Belle asked.

 "Pardon my display of chivalry," August said, "I simply thought you'd enjoy digging into people's history. Which part of the report would you prefer to give?"

 "Personal life is fine," Belle said, "I wrote about his themes back in high school and want to give myself a challenge this time."

 "And I'll put together the PowerPoint based on what you find," Will said.

 "Meet back here next week to compare findings?" Belle asked.

 "Fine by me," August said.

 "But you guys are bringing chips to the table next week," Will said.

 "Gladly," August said.

 As they began to pack up their supplies, Belle's roommate, Ruby walked in.

 "Hey, Ruby," Belle said.

 "Working on your Classic American Literature project?"

 "Just finished deliberating about it," Belle said, as Ruby sat down at her desk.

 "My group finally settled on an author," Ruby said, "we're gonna present on O'Henry."

 The others all sighed.

 "I told you that was a basic choice," August snapped at Belle.

 "You said Poe was basic," Belle said, curtly, "and that O'Henry would be fine."

 "Let's just do Hawthorne instead."

 "May as well," Belle said.

 "Doesn't matter to me." Will said.

 "Oh, hey, Belle," Ruby said, pulling out her phone, "don't forget to take out the trash."

 "Take out the trash?" Belle asked. Tired of trying her best to be civil, she turned to August, "fine then, wanna go out sometime?"

 It was a cheap shot, but she had to take it.

 "I suppose I have to say yes," August stood up, "it's my turn to take out the trash as well. Tomorrow at six?"

 "Sounds like a date," Belle crossed her arms.

 It wasn't until after the guys left that Belle turned to Ruby and asked, "what just happened?"

 "I think you just got yourself a date," Ruby said, not even looking up from her phone.

 "We were only arguing with each other," Belle explained, "it's a thing, ya know?"

 "Arguing, flirting," Ruby said, "it's all the same thing the way you two do it."

 "You don't," Belle laughed, "you don't think there's anything between August and I, do you?"

 "You mean besides chemistry, tension, and half the campus shipping you?" Ruby asked, "not at all."

 "The rest of our peers think there's something between August and I?" Belle asked.

 "Some of the teachers do too."

 "The same August who refutes everything I say in every class we have together?"

 "He's obsessed with you," Ruby said.

 "Obsessed with hating me," Belle said, "I can't stand him."

 "Yeah," Ruby smiled, "he 'can't stand' you either. That's why he asked you out."

 "We can't carry on a civil conversation," Belle said, "he's a pretentious know-it-all who's always trying to one up me. Why do you think he asked me out as a joke after I asked him? He can't stand being second to me. Knowing him, he'll probably show up at our door with a bouquet of cheap flowers tomorrow night, just to spite me."

 "How is that spiteful?" Ruby asked.

 "Trying to get me to back down from fake asking him out," Belle said, "I'll just have to be one step ahead."

 "How's that?" Ruby asked, "getting all ready for a date, just in case he does show up?"

 "Exactly," Belle said.

 Ruby sighed and rolled her eyes.

read the full story on ao3!