#because she was kinda... wearing rose tinted glasses for so long (so to speak). | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

miekasa · 4 years

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six thirty

+ pairing: armin arlert x (fem) reader

+ genres and warnings: college au, enemies to lovers… kinda… in a very nerdy academic rivalry kind of way, me being a comedian you’re welcome, fluff, smut/nsfw content

+ word count: 5.6k… pls say sike

+ notes: shout out to ryn for listening to me during our very many rambling sessions and also for extorting me into posting this. consider it a late birthday present for my favorite menace </2

+ side notes: no i am not a part of armin nation and i never want to be, nor do i wish speak of this again.

Armin Arlert is the perfect student. Prompt and well prepared during lecture; smart and insightful during office hours; the apple of any teacher’s eye. Unfortunately for him, so are you.

If you asked Armin, you were a little too clever for your own good, and liked to make it very well known that you believe you’re the smartest person in any room you walk into. That may be true, but it doesn’t mean that he has to sit there and worship your superiority complex.

If someone asked you, you’d say that Armin was a know it all, and a manipulative little piece of shit. Again, not a completely false statement, but perhaps a slightly biased character analysis.

Neither of you are wrong. It’s why you’re both the bane of each other’s existence.

There’s a noticeable grimace on your face, chin in your palm, elbows resting atop your desk, as you turn your head to where, sure enough, Armin is seated where he always is: first row, right side, directly in front of the podium, like perfect little teacher’s pet he wants to be. He doesn’t have any books to unpack like everybody else because a shiny, blue iPad is propped up on his desk in place of all of that. He’s robably looking through his pre-written list of showboaty questions to ask during lecture. Like he’s a cut above everyone else.

Maybe some of the other morons in this course, but not you, that’s for damn sure. You bet that if you broke his thousand dollar tablet he wouldn’t think he’s such hot shit anymore. Maybe that would knock him down a couple of pegs.

“Look at him sitting there with his stupid blue eyes, and his stupid Bieber haircut, and his stupid, shiny blonde hair, and his stupid fucking glasses. I bet they’re not even real and he just wears them to—”

“Did you just call his hair shiny?”

You snap your head to your left, “What—no, of course not. I said shoddy, he’s probably a bottle blonde. Maybe all the chemicals from the hair dye seeps into his head and warps his sense of reality.”

“I’m pretty sure you said shiny.”

“Shut up, Annie.”

She raises an eyebrow at you, “You got something against blondes? Because your track record would beg to differ.”

“Once. We kissed once, and it was truth or dare, and we were both sloshed.”

“You still chose me,” she reminds you, pulling her notebook out of her backpack.

You huff, ignoring her words and turning your head back to Armin, this time finding him twirling his stupid fucking expensive Apple Pencil between his fingers like it’s nothing. You can feel your eye begin to twitch.

Perhaps he can, too—or maybe he can just feel your eyes boring holes into him—because he turns in your direction and ceases his pen twirling the moment you make eye-contact. More students filter in, walking past your line of vision, but each time they move, you and Armin meet gazes again; neither one of you daring to look away, a palpable tension between you.

His eyes might be icy blue, but you can see the rose pink tint underneath his skin, even from the distance; a familiar blush that spreads across his nose and cheeks. You exhale with a silent laugh, breaking your eye contact before he grows completely red, just in time for Dr. Zöe to start the lecture.

Everybody thinks that Armin’s so brilliant, so smart, so untouchable. You know that his only genius is that he’s fooling everyone into thinking that he’s the kind, humble, little nerd boy who wouldn’t harm a fly, when that’s far from the truth.

Armin is mean. He’s competitive and possessive and snarky and sly. He’s the definition of a wolf in sheep’s clothing, but you’re pretty sure the only person in the world who might believe that is Eren. Though, you’ve heard some of the insults Armin throws Eren’s way, and they’re not exactly soft. Granted, that’s a factor in any friendship, and most of his jabs are coated with a layer of intellect the brunette likely doesn’t understand, but that doesn’t make Armin any less sarcastic. It just means Eren’s too dumb to know what’s going on.

Poor kid. Maybe it’s for the best.

That’s all to say that Armin is nothing but a big talker—not even; a smooth-talker, is more like it. He comes across as perfect, all good and sweet and soft, because that’s what he lets people see. Nobody else looks through to the sharp tongue and ragged edges, because they’re too busy cooing over innocent blue-eyed baby in front of them.

But you know that Armin, the one he doesn’t want other people to see: the one that’s so good, he’s bad; so sweet that he’s sick; so nice that it’s cruel. And you know just how much pressure to apply to make his façade crack.

And you intend on doing so.

“I don’t know which formula to use—hey, are you two eye fucking again? Cut it out, I’m trying not to fail over here,” Eren exclaims, poking Armin’s shoulder with his pen.

The jab averts the blonde’s attention back to his friend, eyes wide as he blinks himself back to reality. He curses under his breath when he feels a familiar warmth creeping across his cheeks. Few things piss Armin off like the way he gets red in the face after thinking about you, or even just looking at you, for too long. Whether it’s red out of pure annoyance, or another feeling he tries to push down, it’s irritating, and above all, embarrassing.

He spares one more glance over his shoulder, to where you and Annie are sat a few tables away in the library. You’ve looked away by now, focusing back on your notes, but Armin swears he can still see that irritating smirk on your face from this angle.

He rolls his tongue along the inside of his cheek. He should be able to keep it together around you by now, but he can’t, and it bothers him. You bother him.

“We weren’t eye fucking,” he refutes, turning his back to you completely, “She’s such a little know it all sometimes, s’annoying.”

Eren raises an eyebrow. He knows that you and Armin don’t get along, but he doesn’t understand why. Armin knows almost all your friends, and you definitely know all of his—Eren would even go as far as to say that you and him are pretty close friends—so it’s not a matter of not spending time together. You’re also the two smartest people Eren knows. In theory you should have more than enough to talk about together, but every time you’re in the same room, you hardly acknowledge each other outside of surface level commentary, or glances that border on staring.

Thankfully, the bickering remains in the classroom for the most part. Eren’s seen you and Armin go at, and he’ll be the first to admit that it’s beyond intimidating. Though, a little part of him finds it oddly entertaining, and he can’t help but to be impressed. All the more reason for you two to start playing on the same team.

Eren thinks the two of you should get to the root of the issue already. Which, if you asked him, has very little to do with your rivaled academic genius, and a lot to do with your lack of it concerning your feelings for each other.

“She’s not that bad,” Eren vouches for you, “I think you two might get along if you ever spoke outside of trying to one-up each other in class.”

“I’m not trying to one-up anybody,” Armin rolls his eyes, a nasty habit he’s picked up as of late, “And if you stopped and used your brain for a moment, then maybe you could solve the problem.”

“I did use my brain!” Eren’s lips fall into an offended pout, “But none of this makes any sense to me! I fucking hate math, you know that.”

Armin sighs, feeling sympathetic for Eren as he slumps into himself defeatedly. He knows that Eren isn’t dumb, but math in any capacity is certainly not his strong suit. He also knows that he shouldn’t give Eren all the answers, but sometimes he needs a little push to get him there. A little bit of added guidance and motivation to keep him going. It’s either that, or he has to trick Eren into doing the work himself, but clearly that method wasn’t working out today.

“You already solved for the activation energy, now you’re supposed to use the Arrhenius equation in the expanded form.”

Eren’s lips fall into a small o-shape, as his eyes scramble across his paper again. “But—how do you—”

“There’s two measurements given for temperature.”

“Oh. Oh, yeah! Okay, right, but then—”

“You have to convert it to Kelvin first or it won’t work. It’s given to you in Celsius.”

Eren furrows his eyebrows together, and then it finally clicks for him. He mutters to himself as he puts his pencil to paper to begin to work through the problem, “How do I convert—”

“Add 273.15 to it. Make sure you put the bigger one first in the equation, or else you’ll get a negative error.”

“You didn’t even do it,” Eren huffs, angrily punching numbers into his calculator, “How do you know it’s right?”

“Because I took this class already,” Armin reminds him, sparing a brief glance over his shoulder, “Isn’t that why I’m tutoring you?”

Eren coughs over his embarrassed blush, “Oh, yeah, right.”

It’s quiet between them as Eren makes a final attempt at solving the equation, carefully and proudly circling his answer when he’s finished. He looks to Armin with bright eyes, and is content when the blonde gives him a reassuring nod, confirming that his answer is correct.

“Well that was a bitch to work through,” Eren sighs, stretching his arms behind his head with a slight yawn, “Chemistry is nothing but glorified math. It’s barely a science.”

Armin shrugs, but he doesn’t disagree. He isn’t the biggest fan of chemistry, unlike somebody else he knows. “Why’d you take chem if you knew it would have so much math?”

It’s Eren’s turn to shrug, slumping back in his chair and running a hand through his hair, “I gotta take all the pre-med requirements… just in case.”

“You wanna go to med school? Since when?”

Eren averts his eyes from his friend, a telltale sign of his bashfulness coming over him. It doesn’t happen often, but Armin knows it’s sincere when it does.

“Dunno. I’m not sure of it, just wanna keep my options open, you know?” Eren replies casually, “Doctors help make a difference and all that, and surgery looks kind of cool. Besides, if my bastard father could do it, how hard could it really be?”

A gentle smile grows on Armin’s lips, “You can do it. If you really want to, I know you can.”

Eren’s head snaps up, eyes wide and filled with affirmation and adoration. He relaxes his expression quickly after, but the pink hues are still present, “Thanks, Min.”

From his position he catches eye of another head of familiar blonde hair over Armin’s shoulder, and beside it, your own hair. There’s a flash of a moment when your eyes meet Eren’s, and you offer him a small wave before turning back to Annie to resume doing your homework. Eren barely gets the chance to wave back, but a dopey smile sits on his features at your kind gesture. It fades when he looks back to Armin, once again pondering the animosity between you two.

You and Armin aren’t all that different, you just need to get to know each other better. Actually, Eren thinks that you might make a good couple if you both stopped overthinking it.

“So, what’s the deal with you and (_____)?” Eren asks, bending his right knee to wrap his arm around his leg and rest his chin on top of it, “You act like she kicked your cat.”

“What?” Armin questions, flustered, “What—no, she wouldn’t touch Soup.”

Eren quirks an eyebrow at that. “I still can’t believe you named your cat Soup.”

“It’s technically a nickname.”

“A nickname for what?”

“…For Miso Soup.”

Eren blinks. “Okay, if she didn’t mess with Soup, then what’s the issue? You scared of her or something?”

“Why would I be scared of her?” Armin asks, tone incredulous; then softer, more subdued, like a kid who doesn’t want to admit they’re wrong, “’M not scared of her.”

“You stare at her like you are—well, you look kind of angry, but also scared. Like, when you see those balloon things outside of car washes. You hate them, but you can’t look away from them—”

“I am not scared of those!”

“You are, and it’s okay,” Eren waves away his friend’s denial, “Oh, I get it—is this one of those things where she makes you nervous, so you respond with anger and sarcasm instead of thinking through your feelings?”

“You’ve been going to therapy for one month, relax.”

“Maybe you two should go to friend therapy and work this out,” Eren bites back, “It probably doesn’t help that she’s always with Annie. They both look like they would murder someone with no remorse. I admit, it is kind of scary… but it’s kind of hot, too.”

Armin spares him an unamused glare. Eren crosses his arms in defense, “What? I’m not wrong. It’s sexy in a scary kind of way, maybe that’s why you’re always eye fucking. I don’t blame you, she’s hot. I would let her and Annie axe-murder me without regret.”

“Eren?”

“Yeah?”

“Shut up and do problem six, I don’t have all day.”

Eren huffs, but flips the page to the next problem, grumbling under his breath as he attempts the, “It’s not as sexy when you’re mean, you know.”

Armin hits him silent.

Tuesdays are Armin’s favorite days because he only has one class. Sure, it’s three hours long, but it’s much more bearable than his usual eight-hour day.

It’s also the one class he shares with you. Which is why he’s always mentally exhausted by the end of it, but physically, he feels like he could punch a wall; all his pent up anger and frustration is channeled into his body and he’s desperate for an outlet for it. It’s a feeling he hates to love.

Annie seems to have cut class today seeing as she’s not next to you; and it’s almost as if it’s emboldened you to mess with him even more than usual.

He bites his tongue as Dr. Zöe enthusiastically uses your latest point as a segue into the final topic of the evening. He made that same point ten minutes ago. You just worded it differently—admittedly, more concisely, but somehow with a little more nuance, than when he had hesitantly proposed it—and, yeah, maybe you made it sound more convincing, but that didn’t mean that he didn’t come up with it first. If his stupid, fancy stylus didn’t cost upwards of $200 he might have snapped it in half.

You’re definitely the better conversationalist, that much he can admit. Words have never been his forte and he hates the way you can talk circles around him, and that there’s so little he can say to make you stop.

He wishes you would just shut up. In fact, he’d like to shut you up himself.

Thankfully, class ends sooner rather than later. Armin finds himself briefly talking with Dr. Zöe afterwards, most other students having taken the opportunity to leave early for the night. To nobody’s surprise, you’re not one of them, having stuck around to talk to the professor, too.

“The two of you should consider lab research this summer,” Dr. Zöe suggests ardently, walking between the two of you as you exit the lecture hall, “I could really use two students like you!”

Armin chuckles at his boisterous professor. He’s known about the research opportunities at their lab for quite some time now, and he knows that you have, too. “I don’t know that lab work is really my strong suit.”

The three of you come to stop at the hallway intersection, the professor now standing across from you and him. You give them a polite smile, “And I’m not sure that collaboration is mine.”

Armin spares a glance just in time to see you flash one of your own in his direction. Dr. Zöe’s eyes flicker between the two students rapidly, a slight squint to their eyelids.

They aren’t quite sure why their two brightest students seem to despise each other. They wish you two would just get along already, so that they don’t have to spend the summer training half-witted chemical engineering majors how to use basic lab equipment; and instead, conduct some actual research.

“Well, I hope the both of you reconsider,” they smile, “I’ll see you during office hours, I presume?”

You two nod in sync, sending the doctor off with happy smile, just long enough until you see that they’ve turned the corner further down the hall

“Had fun stealing my point earlier?” Armin questions, looking your way as you still wave mindlessly, eye-twitching at your polite façade.

“I would call it improvement,” you tell him, not bothering to turn in his direction; still and smiling waving like the professor can see or hear you, “You should stick to showing, rather than saying. You never were good with your words.”

Armin kisses his teeth together. He’ll give you what you want, if that’s how you want it.

In a fit of irritation, he grabs your moving hand by the wrist, and pulls you down the opposite hallway, not caring for your dramatic wailing behind him.

“Hey, Einstein, the exit is the other way, do you have any idea where we’re going?”

“Ever heard of observational learning? Maybe if you shut up for a second, you would figure it out,” he snaps, pulling you further.

There’s a door on the left that Armin knows is unlocked, and he’s quick to open it and pull you inside. Before you have the chance to glance around, he has you pushed up against the wall, jaw forced up and forward.

He could scoff at the small hitch in your breath at his actions, clearly a little too satisfied with being manhandled; but instead, he takes the opportunity to press your lips together. Armin quite likes the feeling of your lips on his; warm and soft and far too welcoming; a rare moment of silence.

“Someone could hear us.”

Or not so silent.

“Then be quiet,” he snarls.

Armin feels your fingers weave themselves into his hair, scraping along his undercut in sync with his lips trailing down your jaw. A groan falls from his when he feels you tug at the ends of the strands, just hard enough to force his face back to eye level with yours.

“You’re the one with the big mouth.”

“You’re so smart, huh. Always got something to say,” Armin lets out a low chuckle, deft fingers running down your sides to squeeze at your waist, “You can be really fuckin’ annoying, you know that.”

You mirror half of his ministrations, letting your right hand trail down his chest barely brushing over the very visible bulge in his jeans, before hooking your index finger under the belt loop, effectively pulling him closer to you.

The smile on your face is dirty, but you’re not laughing like he was, “Do something about it then.”

His blue eyes grow cloudy as he takes a good look at you; slowly rakes over your features, from that stupid, snarky look in your eyes, to your kiss-bruised lips, down to your chest, and back up again. Armin finds himself copying your smirk for all the wrong reasons. But it’s your own fault; you always did like to push him one step over the edge.

“Fine.”

Despite your twisted grin there’s a look in your eyes that’s eager; willing; ready for the taking. That same look you have when you talk over him in class; when you pretend to ignore him around your mutual friends; when you want him to fuck you stupid.

Armin uses his right hand to cup your jaw again, closing the distance between your mouths with a less than gentle kiss. He feels your groans reverberating through his body, waves of heat accompanying them and going straight to his erection. Your arch your back into the kiss, but he forces you backwards, left hand flat against your tummy.

Following suit, he pushes himself against your body, pressing his knee between your legs; the thin fabric of your stockings doing little to prevent your thighs from rubbing against him.

He swipes his tongue over the seam of your lips, earning a frenzied whine when glides his tongue across yours, and teasingly licks at the roof of your mouth. Your tongue is lithe against his, but somehow just as deceptive and sly as always, and Armin would be a fool to deny that he loved it.

There’s a spark flickering in his stomach when you push your center harshly against his; and it’s only ignited further when he feels you bite his bottom lip. A guttural growl escapes him, his right hand moving to your throat with practiced ease, pushing the back of your head into the wall.

He pauses for a moment, drinks in your wide eyes and desperate visage, “You are the single most frustrating person I’ve ever met in my entire life.”

And he couldn’t get enough of it if he tried. He couldn’t get enough of you.

You must see through his words, into the grainy expression of adoration in his eyes, because he can see it filtering into yours, pupils dilating with both want and care.

“Aw, baby, I love you, too,” you pout, leaning forward as best to can to peck him on the lips, “Now, shut me up and fuck me. It’s exhausting being this pretty and smart-mouthed, you know.”

Armin dips his head into your neck, squeezes against the column of your throat with warning until he hears a gasp escape from your lips. He presses gentle kisses into your skin, in stark contrast to the increasing pressure from his fingers, waiting for one last request, and then, finally—“Please.”

He smiles, loosens his grip for a moment, just long enough to hear your pretty panting, before slotting his lips against yours again. Your moans are lewd and sloppy and breathless between kisses, and it makes his dick twitch in his pants. You really are so fucking loud. And he wouldn’t have it any other way.

He uses his free hand to push your skirt up, and subsequently dip past the weak barrier of your tights and underwear. The slightest flicker of his fingers against your center has you choking out a moan, and Armin is forced to press his right thumb harder against your neck.

“Quiet,” he reminds you, “You asked nicely, so I’ll give you what you want. No need to be loud about it.”

He watches you nod with short and restricted movements, a sadistic kind of power washing over him at your eager compliance. He uses his middle finger to rub slow, careful circles around your clit; the feeling of your wet cunt against his fingers, coupled with your wanton moaning only spurs on the throbbing in his pants.

“Armin,” you whine, impatiently; but he expected that of you, “Don’t tease.”

His eyes flash to yours briefly, pressing his lips to yours again to swallow your shuddered moans. He dips his tongue into your mouth at the same time he does his middle finger into your cunt. An obscene moan echoing through the classroom, as Armin feels your body arching into his again; feels your fingers frantically flying to his hair, searching for purchase to anchor yourself on.

He pulls away in time to add another digit and watch you groan underneath him. He pushes both his fingers in to the knuckle, carefully curling them upwards to elicit the prettiest sound out of you. He has to admit, it’s probably his favorite thing to hear come out of your mouth.

He keeps a steady pace, pumping his fingers in and out of your pussy with perfect friction, teetering between letting you moan his name and choking you silent. Your hands are frantic in his hair, grasping and pulling and so, so, desperate, Armin can’t help but to finger fuck you harder.

“You want one more?” he questions, but his voice is taunting, words ghosted over your lips just out of reach for you to kiss.

He can feel your leg trembling against his, see you pupils shaking along with your shaking head. Armin stops to smile; he thought you might do that. He could probably make you cry right now if he wanted to. Maybe later.

“Want you to fuck me,” your words short and ragged, eyebrows raised when he uses his thumb to press lightly against your clit, “Armin, please.”

The blonde shakes his head, “You’re dumber than you look if you think I’m gonna fuck you in a classroom, baby, so if you want to cum now, you better tell me.”

You have the audacity to pout of all things, “You’re mean.”

Armin lets out a breathless laugh. “You like it,” he leans forward to peck you sweetly, “So, what’ll it be?”

“Fine, but I want head later, too,” you tell him, words becoming less firm when Armin teases his ring finger against your slit, “Please.”

Armin hums in compliance, leaning forward to kiss you again, this time with more tact, and he chases your whines when he finally pushes a third finger inside of you.

“Look at you,” he croons breaking your kiss and forcing your head back again, “You take it so well.”

“Ah—fuck, there, Armin—there,” you cry, wet heat squeezing around his fingers in intermittent spasms.

Armin watches your chest heave with desperate breaths, air stuttering to pass from your lips to your lungs with his hand around your neck. He can feel your walls constricting around his fingers, feel your body shaking underneath him when he increases his pace. He curls his fingers again, just right, just until he hears you sing a strained call of his name. And when he feels your nails scraping down the nape of his neck, and the slight weight of your body convulsing, Armin knows you’re done for.

He’s nice enough to fuck you through your orgasm, shallow thrusts of his fingers bringing you to and down from your high as he watches you pant for him. He presses small kisses against your throat, up, up, up, until he’s kissing you, and carefully pulling his fingers out.

He removes his hand from your neck, and slides it down your waist to offer you support. He’s not prepared for your sudden pull on his neck, forcing him into a kiss that conveys your content; he’s quick to raise his left hand, palm meeting the wall to hold himself up against your sporadic actions, chuckling lightly into your kiss. You were always so reckless and happy after an orgasm.

You kiss him like you have him wrapped your finger despite being the one pleading moments ago. You do, so he supposes it’s not unwarranted; and he welcomes your flirtatious kisses despite the annoying blush they always bring forth.

And sure enough, he can feel his face on fire when you pull away. Armin scoffs internally at himself; he really should be able to keep it together around you by now. But when you kiss him like that, you kind of make it hard to think straight.

“You’re so good when you’re not… pretending to be good,” you hum, a blissful, hazy look on your features as you wrap your arms around his neck.

Armin shakes his head with a chortle of disbelief; leans forward to kiss you again, “’M not pretending. I am good.”

“Yeah, you’re such a good little saint that arguing with your girlfriend turns you on,” you taunt him, “It’s okay, Armin, you can admit it.”

He groans, out of shallow annoyance this time, and it makes you giggle. “Why are you acting like you’re not complicit in this?”

“Oh, no, no, no,” you refute with an exaggerated roll of your eyes, “You get turned on by hearing me talk about biochemistry. I like it when you tell me to shut up about it. We are not the same.”

“Yeah, because you look hot doing it,” he tells you, “Speaking of which, Eren called you hot today, so I kind of need you to slip a neurotoxin in his Gatorade.”

“Aw, Eren thinks I’m hot? Tell him I think he’s hot, too,” you bat your eyelashes at him, but Armin only offers you an unimpressed glare in return.

“I think he might be onto us, actually,” Armin notes, affectionately bumping his nose against yours.

“If he’s onto us, then it’s because you’re the one giving it away, not me.”

“Oh, because you could never do anything wrong, right?”

“Right,” you flash him an overconfident smile before reaching up to kiss to the tip of his nose, “See you’re so smart, baby.”

Armin shakes his head again in disbelief. You’re a handful, he can see that much.

“Come on,” he prompts, “We should go, I still have to finish my lab write up, and I know you haven’t started your paper.”

Armin tries to motion you forward, but is stopped when he feels your hand combing through his hair, and sees the genuine spark of concern in your eyes. “The one for your elective? I thought you said you were going to finish it on Monday.”

“I was,” Armin admits, “But then I didn’t.”

“You want me to help you with it?” you offer kindly, pushing his bangs back and letting your hands fall down the sides of his face, palms resting against his ears.

He nods gently, turning his head to press a kiss into your left palm, before wrapping his hand around your wrist, “I can help you outline your paper.”

You nod in return, and Armin spares one more kiss, before pulling your hand away to lace your fingers together.

Thankfully, nobody’s around to catch you exiting the classroom, or see you holding hands as you make your way out of the building and towards the bus stop. This was Armin’s favorite part of any Tuesday; the one time he could hold your hand on campus without the fear of getting caught by your friends.

He reasons that you guys should probably tell them soon, though, especially if Eren might have an idea of what’s going on. You were bound to get caught sooner rather than later. That, or Eren and Sasha would start meddling.

“If you think Eren knows, then Mikasa definitely knows,” you note, swinging your intertwined hands as you walk through the parking lot as a shortcut.

“Maybe if you actually remembered to hide Soup’s toys, there would be less evidence for her to piece together.”

“Yeah, well, maybe if you didn’t forget when your midterms are, I wouldn’t have to emergency cat sit the hour before Mikasa comes around, and there wouldn’t be any toys to hide in the first place.”

“I’m bad with dates, you know that!” Armin pouts, “I don’t say anything when you forget about ten page papers until four hours before they’re due.”

“You’re saying something right now, actually.”

“That’s not what I—you know, you’re so—”

Armin’s quiet when he feels your lips pressed against his cheekily, “Annoying. I know. You like it. You’re not very good at staying mad for very long.”

Armin’s tempted to roll his eyes yet again—he really needs to quit it, or at the very least, get your own temper under control before it’s irreversible and completely rubbed off on him—but takes the opportunity to kiss your forehead, instead.

“You’re lucky you’re cute.”

Your eyes twinkle under his affections. “And that you love me?”

He nods, “And that I love you.”

“And that you’re gonna fuck me before you make me write my paper when we get home, right?”

Armin chuckles and presses another kiss to your forehead, “We’ll see about that one.”

Hange huffs as they make their way through the parking. They always forget their keys in their office, and always, inconveniently park half-way across the campus. In their defense, this parking lot is free, and the one closest to the Medical Sciences building is not. So, really, capitalism is the one to blame for their frequent late night car lot strolls.

They hear two familiar voices bickering just as they’re about to step into their car, and are more than surprised to see their two favorite students walking together. Walking together and holding hands. Wait—you and Armin are walking together and holding hands?

Hange blinks for a moment, drowning out the sounds of the conversation after they see you two kiss. Their jaw practically falls to the asphalt and they might not blink for a full two minutes as they process what they just saw.

Their trance is broken when it finally, finally clicks together, and Hange has to try their hardest to contain their squeals before sitting in the driver’s seat, an overly forceful slam to the car door following. They waste no time fumbling with the pockets of their lab coat to fish out their phone, and make a call to their favorite math professor.

“Levi, I told you Arlert and (_____) had to know each other outside of class! I think they might be dating! You know what this means, right? I can have them both in the same lab without worrying they might start a chemical fire, and I won’t have to hire two brick heads this summer!”

Levi has never hung up a call more quickly in his life.

#aot x reader #snk x reader #armin x reader #aot imagines #snk imagines #armin smut #armin fluff #eren x reader

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inkdaydreams · 3 years

Text

Hey, if you like my fics and want to support me please consider buying me a coffee. If you want to read more check out my masterlist.

There's nothing to fix.

Loki Friggason x Avenger! Bubbly! Reader

1502 words

Synopsis: this Avenger is kinda based on a friend (@gingergoddess13 ) who is a ray of sunshine that deeply contrasts Loki, she has healing powers in this fic. However, while this fic is a little niche, the reader is still race neutral so this fic is accessible to EVERYONE. I tried to make her body type neutral too but some plus size women have anxiety about sitting in a smaller person's lap. I wasnt to reassure you, regardless of your size, he wants you on his lap.

Anyways, Loki wants to heal himself from being a Frost Giant because it's the only way he thinks he can turn over a new leaf and he goes to you.

Warnings: a bit of ooc Loki for plot, Loki having low self esteem, not proof read, reader likes pink a lot... like a lot lot...

You hummed the tune of your favourite song, watching as the light pink magic coming from your hands gently brought the flowers you had placed on the roof of the compound back to life. You weren't a responsible plant mom by any means, you always got distracted and forgot about your responsibilites to them. They were fucking lucky you had healing powers.

You thought you were alone on the roof, until you heard a voice behind you and turned, chest to chest with a taller figure, dressed in much darker clothing.

"Hello, Y/N."

"Oh, hi, Loki!" You replied, pulling him into a hug "what's up with you?"

Your smile was contagious, he couldn't help but reciprocate it. You always thought it was a formality, something that had been instilled in him during his time as an Asgardian prince, you didn't know he was rarely as cuddly with anyone else.

"I just wanted to see you, that's all. Tony told me you would be up here." He explained, "I've been reading a little bit about your powers, I'm curious."

Your chest tightened a little when he said that, in a good way of course. Truth is, you had been pining over the God of Mischief for a long time now, and you were delighted to hear he was taking some interest in you too, even if it was purely because of your powers and his lust for knowledge.

"Here, sit down!" You insisted, pulling him over to a pink welcome mat you had placed in front of your already bright pink flowers for 'the vibe'.

You sat on it and crossed your legs, facing your flowers and gesturing for him to join.

He copied you uncertainly. You blended right in. If he could read auras, the picture of you on your colourful mat, facing your colourful flowers, with your colourful personality, would look like a satisfyingly consistent kaleidoscope. Sitting beside you, he was black ink spilled on a pastel pink love letter.

"You can heal people, as well as these flowers you barely manage to keep alive without your magic," Loki said, earning a chuckle from you, and he paused before speaking again, "so can you heal me?"

When he paused you thought he was going to say something worse. You thought someone was in serious trouble. If he managed to walk over to you without any issue then the healing required was minor. You could fix him in seconds.

"Of course, show me where it hurts!" You responded, turning to face him and getting on your knees.

"It's not a-" he hesitated, "conventional- type of pain. You know about what I am."

A Frost Giant. He talked about it a lot with you, and despite never actually saying it out loud you knew what he meant. He had gotten mad at Thor when he told you, but now he was grateful because it had brought the two of you closer. As well as being pulled in by your bubbly nature and the way you saw everything through rose tinted glasses (quite literally by the way, you were wearing rose-tinted sunglasses right now) Loki also fell harder for you when he discovered how good a listener you were. The way you listened to him before judging was hardly an experience afforded to him by others.

"And you want me to heal you from that?" You asked quietly, keeping eye contact so he couldn't cast his gaze down to the ground.

"Nobody trusts I can change, not even me."

You gave him that look, making him chuckle a little.

"Okay, nobody except you."

"Good." You snapped, giving him a false stern face. "And don't you forget it."

He rolled his eyes playfully and turned to face you too, bringing his knees up to his chest and crossing his arms. Now was not the time to zone out and wander at how differently you viewed the world, not the time to bask in the light you radiated. He took on that serious tone once he had your attention again.

"I just think, if you disabled this power in me, I could never be as evil as I was again." He went on, watching you drum your nails on your knee as you listened.

"Loki, you weren't the same person you are now. You know better-"

"Hindsight doesn't erase what I did!" He interrupted frustratedly.

You froze. He watched a small flash of fear flicker across your eyes and cursed himself for putting it there. He put his hand on top of the one on your knee, then drew away nervously.

"Sorry- sorry for raising my voice. It's just- if I can't prove I'm peaceful I can at least make myself harmless. Even if everyone was still weary of my intentions, I would just feel better about myself. I could fly off the handle sometimes without it ever getting that bad."

You had had this conversation with him a million times. He saw everything black and white, and by his standard he was evil. You could spend another heated hour arguing in a way that was uncharacteristic for the both of you, and potentially damage the strong connection you had been building all this time, or you could play along and give him what he wanted.

Your silence made him uncomfortable. He opened his mouth to speak, to apologise again, he didn't want to push you away. You didn't know how much you meant to him. He closed his mouth again though when you closed your eyes and raised your hand close to his forehead, not quite touching it.

You hummed in thought, shooting some pink magic from your hand for theatrics, making it look as if you were trying your best. You could feel him watching you intently, you even heard his breath hitch.

"Look at that," you whispered, keeping your eyes closed, "it seems there's nothing to fix."

"You're lying." He replied suddenly, making you flash your eyes open.

Not this again. Another argument with the person you had an undeniable crush on at this point. You had never actually acknowledged it was a crush but your friends had teased you long enough about it, and even Thor was beginning to get ideas. Regardless, you really felt you had a chance now. You felt the two of you had become even closer these past few weeks, you didn't want to argue and risk starting afresh.

He kissed you.

You blinked, taking a moment before kissing him back. You thought your hands were going to mime wildly while you argued your points, but instead they tangled themselves in his hair. He got on his knees too and put his hands on your waist, pulling you closer to him, deepening the kiss. Only when you ran out of breath, you drew away from one another, slowly.

Still, he held you close and you took your hands out of his hair to place them on his shoulders. You held each other in a silent stare before you spoke up.

"Forgot you could read minds, sorry for lying." You mumbled, looking off to the side. "Could you read how much I liked you then?"

"Only just now." He admitted and you cringed in shame. "I read your mind because I wanted to watch you heal me. That's how I figured it out."

"You like me too though." You stated uncertainly, drumming your fingers on his shoulder, letting him take your chin in one of his hands.

You looked at each other again. Was he flustered? He looked as if he could barely get the words out.

"I would like to have a relationship with you. You Midguardians would call us boyfriend and girlfriend." He explained slowly, his brain itching as he tried to understand your way of life.

"Yes, but we don't have to go by those labels if you don't want to." You nodded, sensing he was uncomfortable at the title "boyfriend".

He repositioned himself so he was cross legged again, then pulled you into his lap. You yelped at his enthusiasm, but then placed his hands back on your waist again.

"We could call it courting!" He exclaimed, praising himself for his moment of genius.

"I- I'm sorry, Loki, but absolutely not. Maybe partners?" You suggested.

"Too business-like, I'm afraid." He commented, tracing small circles on your waist.

You went back and forth bouncing ideas. You thought "lovers" was way too dramatic considering you had only just gotten together, Loki had a feeling you were serious when you said "sneaky link" but he was glad when you confirmed you were joking. You stayed like this for a few minutes, before you shivered and realised the night was creeping in, making you cold.

"We'll figure it out. All anyone needs to know is we're in a relationship, and you're mine and I'm yours, does that sound good?" You reassured, pulling his face close to yours.

"Perfect." He replied in a hushed tone, before kissing you again.

#loki x reader #loki x reader angst #loki laufeyson #loki friggason #yes i called him friggason in the pairing #loki friggason x reader #loki laufeyson x reader

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omg-imagine · 3 years

Text

Forget Me Not (Part 12/15)

Pairing: Keanu Reeves x Reader

Summary: After you wake up from a coma and realize that your memories from the last five years have been erased, Keanu works to bring back what you have lost.

Words: 4.7k

Warnings: Angst, language

A/N: Kinda nervous posting again since it’s been a while, but we’re winding down to the end of this story with only three more parts to go (2 chapters + an epilogue). As always, feedback is appreciated. Thanks for sticking around, and I hope you enjoy!

Part 11

Home.

You are home. It’s supposed to be home.

But it wasn’t. To you, it couldn’t be.

This place feels too far from home, too foreign. You had no memories of it, no recollection of the safety and security it offers. Not even the faintest remembrance of the laughter, smiles, and tears; the fondness and the sadness these four walls have witnessed over the years.

You can’t call it home. You don’t know where home is, and you’re not sure you have one anymore.

Not after leaving him behind.

It’s cold and dark when you first wake, sleep weighing heavily in your eyes. A pair of curtains block out the sun from filtering into the room, leaving you to wonder if you had slept through half the day. With a yawn, you stretch, the bed underneath creaking as your body fully rouses from yet another night of fitful slumber. Almost a month back in New York, and it doesn’t make sense to keep blaming your lack of energy on the time difference.

The ache is still ever-present. The pain caused by the void in your heart remains, sharply throbbing in your chest with its refusal to go away. Two heartbreaks, two betrayals, occurring five years apart, but it feels as though not much time has passed in-between.

It hurts to ponder about it, that evening when your seemingly perfect little world came crashing down. Hiding behind rose-tinted glasses, you were unknowingly tricked, fully caught up in a well-crafted illusion. His illusion. Love has blinded you to the sad reality, and in the end, it left you a shattered mess, a hollow shell of your former self.

You doubt you’ll ever be whole again.

Forcing yourself out from under the covers, you reach for your phone on the nightstand to check the time before scrolling through your notifications. Nothing was of interest to you, fortunately; you didn’t have the energy to respond to those you suddenly abandoned. Friends who cared about you but realized you were never close to them. Not in the way it used to be.

As you skimmed over the new texts and emails, you then came across his now unsaved number. The moment you stepped on the plane, you deleted his contact from your phone and blocked him. Yet the last messages he sent to you were still there and haven’t been read since, though you already knew what they could entail—

I’m sorry.

It was never my intention to hurt you.

Please give me another chance.

Let me fix this.

Just come back, Y/N. Come back home.

Home. There was that damn word again. You were beginning to loathe it, even more so knowing that whenever you think of home, you wind up thinking of him.

The last time you saw him was the morning after the storm. Booking a one-way ticket back to the east coast, you then spent the early hours packing as many clothes that would fit in a single suitcase. Tears had long since dried up, having none left as you headed down the stairs, ignoring the look he gave you from afar.

He was dressed in the outfit he had on the night prior; his hair disheveled, eyes bloodshot, and it was quite obvious he endured no sleep. Your resolve nearly crumbles as your gazes connect, bodies close enough that he could reach out the slightest bit, and he’d be holding your hand in the palm of his.

Fighting the urge, you didn’t cave in. You couldn’t allow yourself to fall for it—for him.

No, never again.

As expected, he followed you out of the house, remaining quiet as he watched the cab driver load your luggage in the trunk. You paid him no attention when he approached the vehicle once you climbed in, wanting nothing more than to escape this nightmare. With nowhere else to go and no one to turn to, you decided it was best to leave California, not that you belonged there anyway.

It played out like a scene from a movie—the taxi pulling out of the driveway slowly as the raindrops started to fall. Hearing him call out your name, his voice cracking with each syllable, made you hesitate for a beat. Perhaps you could forgive him, you had thought in that split-second. Forgive and forget; let what happened in the past stay in the past.

But even if you did, the pain’s still there, and it was overpowering. This pain resulting from his deception had been too consuming, too unbearable to move on.

You told the driver to hurry as you couldn’t afford to miss your flight.

The atmosphere in the car was fraught with grim silence. As the house sequestered in the hills vanishes in the rearview mirror, you knew you were running away from it all. You couldn’t stand being here in LA, where every turn, every corner, and every street reminds you of a life that wasn’t truly yours.

As idyllic it once was, you wanted no part of it anymore. Instead, you sought for familiarity, the life you used to have, the one you could only remember.

What you thought was your real home.

Unable to hold it in any longer, you had broken down in the backseat, never feeling more alone than you did at that moment.

You wish you could forget, but it’s not that easy. It’s never easy. Memories of him linger in your mind, still tragically fresh as they haunt you day in and day out. Closing your eyes, you could see him wearing this smile that used to make your stomach flutter. You came to love his smile the same way you had loved him wholly.

Now? Seeing it was a stab to the heart—a reminder of how he took advantage of your condition, your vulnerability. Of every lie you were fed. That smile, the one you previously hoped to wake up to for the rest of your life, had been an act, a facade.

Everything had been a facade.

A sudden knock on the door startles you, and you clicked off the phone screen before announcing to whoever that they could come in. Your mother Nancy enters soon after, her face displaying concern when she realizes you had just woken up. She’s silent as she walks towards the window and then pushes the curtains aside, the sunlight outside immediately washing over the room.

Briefly, you squint to adjust to the brightness, a confirmation that it was past noon already—another wasted day.

“Hey, darling,” she speaks softly as she moves to sit on the mattress beside you. “How are you doing?”

There’s no point in lying, but as much as you greatly appreciated her caringness, you didn’t want to burden her with your problems. They were yours to deal with and yours alone.

“Better.” And that, you were. Just a week ago, you finally stopped crying yourself to sleep. “I might even go out tomorrow and look for a job. Can’t keep freeloading under your roof, right?”

You release a half-chuckle, a small attempt to lighten up the mood. It was comforting when your mother cracks a smile in response.

“Oh, hush. You’re always welcome to stay as long as you need to,” she assures, a loving warmth radiating from her tone.

Lips pressing together, you sense that she has another thing to address. “What’s wrong?”

Nancy pauses to take a breath, shoulders rising and falling. For some reason, you’re on edge, finding yourself bracing for what was to come.

“Have you spoken to Keanu lately?”

Upon hearing his name, you swallowed away the lump in your throat. After telling your parents what had transpired, it stirred up various emotions—mainly anger from your father, sorrow from your mom. Their hearts sank as you recounted the story, tears blurring your eyes that you couldn’t see their faces. It was a good thing, however; you probably wouldn’t have reached the end.

Since then, they’ve refrained from speaking of him and to him. He’s called the house on a few occasions but could never get past the automated answering machine. Pictures of the two of you hanging on the walls were taken down shortly after the revelation, and you were unsure of who had done it.

Your parents still couldn’t believe he was capable of such a thing. He had played them the same way you were, twisting the truth and omitting facts. Painting himself in a way that made them think allowing you to stay with him was the best decision when just months before he treated you as if you didn’t matter.

As if he didn’t love you.

“No.” Curt, you had nothing else to say.

“He’s a persistent one, I’ll tell you that. Left another message last night,” Nancy comments, feeling her stare as you fiddled with the hands in your lap. The next time she speaks, it’s slow and controlled. She’s careful with her words, wary of how you would react to what she has to say. “Hon, the last time you were here, you told me something. Something that I probably should have mentioned the day you woke up in the hospital.”

You tense, eyes flickering up to hers. “What is it?”

She sighs deeply, her smile fleeting and replaced by a taut frown. “I knew you and Keanu were having… problems. Not the full story, but enough that told me you’ve been unhappy for a while.”

“W-Why didn’t you bring this up then?”

“Because the second I saw him in your hospital room, I could see how much he loves you. How scared he was at the thought of nearly losing you—”

“Pfft, sure he was,” you scoff at the statement in disbelief. “What he did—you don’t do that to someone you love. You don’t lie to them, betray them. Hell, if you had given me a heads up earlier, then it would have saved me all this trouble.”

“Y/N—”

“Don’t you get it? He’s an actor. Of course, he’s good at playing pretend. Got us all believing that things were all sunshine and rainbows. He fucked up and fucked up even more by lying. I’ve always had a bad track record in relationships, so I shouldn’t have been too surprised.”

Tension hangs thickly in the air, an apology murmured at the end of a passing second. You didn’t mean to snap at your mother, to let the anger and betrayal consume you that you began taking it out on others although unwillingly.

But you were just too goddamn hurt. Every day, the memories are suffocating you despite constantly wishing and pleading for them to disappear. That life, the one you had with Keanu, no longer exists, and yet you were still holding onto the frayed remains of it, not ready to move on—to let go.

You grieve. You grieve and mourn for the recent past, the happiness and love you experienced in the time you were left unaware. Never have you felt so complete, so content, and much at ease. You had turned a blind eye to the signs, to the small inklings of doubt brewing inside because you thought that there was no way you could get something else as close to this.

Perhaps you were both to blame after all.

“I thought he was different,” you whisper, sorrow flowing from your words. “I thought he was the one. The man I’d settle down with, marry, and then maybe someday, be the father of my kids. We’d build an entire life together, a family, a future. The kind of life where I could look back on it fifty years from now when we’re old and gray and not regret a single thing.”

Feeling your mother’s hand come on top of yours with a light squeeze, you fought off the tears forcing their way from your eyes. You swore you would never shed a tear for Keanu ever again, but you are crumbling from within. The weak walls you put up are now tumbling down, leaving you even more vulnerable than before.

“I want to hate him. I want him to feel my pain and suffer through it, knowing that he’s the reason why. But I can’t. Somehow, I just can’t.”

“It’s because you still love him. No matter how much it hurts, you’re still in love with him,” Nancy adds solemnly, and you nod shakily. “You’re healing, dear. So far, all you’ve done is put on a bandaid, but it doesn’t mean the wound closes up immediately. It’ll burn, it’ll bleed, and it’ll ache, and right now, that’s what you’re feeling; the pain of a fresh open wound.”

“Make the pain stop,” you mumbled incoherently as you lean against your mom’s side, wet cheeks pressed to her shoulder. “It has to stop.”

“And it will,” she promises, listening to your soft and tired cries. “It’ll take time for the wound to heal, but eventually, it will. Until then, life continues, and you would have to as well. You don’t have to go all-in right away, but don’t let this heartbreak hinder you from living, sweetie. You’re strong, and I believe you will feel that same happiness again, in one form or another. But you won’t find it unless you go out and look for it.”

For the first time in what seemed like a while, you felt something other than loss and despair. It creeps into you slowly, half-expecting a cold, crushing weight to fall heavily on your chest rather than the warmth and light it is. But as quickly as it came, the sensation subsides, a wave of loneliness, emptiness filling the vacant space surrounding your heart.

A shuddering breath released, you then reflect upon what your mother said about time and how time heals all wounds. You wonder how much time is needed until you can finally break free from the remnants of the past and breathe again. Could be days, weeks, or even months more, but it’s right there, waiting for you on the horizon.

You may not have a place to call home, but what you do have is time.

---

Seconds turn into minutes; minutes turn into hours. The sun sets, the moon rises; bright, blues skies bleed into a fiery red before dimming to an inky darkness. The world spins on its axis as people wake, move, then sleep, and the cycle begins all over again.

Two weeks have come and gone, and life pushes onward. You could tell by the scenery outside where the season of fall has taken charge of the Northeast. Days are shorter, with nights stretching out longer as the year fades into winter. Time was flying by at a brisk pace. Very soon, a blanket of snow will cover the ground you walk on, reminding you to take a step back and admire the natural beauty of mid-November.

The crispness of the late afternoon air is refreshing as it fills your lungs, a welcome change from the hazy summer heat. Leaves that were once lively shades of green are now painted in deep hues of amber and burgundy, and they crunch beneath your boots with each leisure step down the earthy path. The nearby lake is as pristine as ever, sparkling freely underneath the rays of the ochre sun as it waits for the impending frost.

Wandering about outdoors for hours now, you were lost in your stream of thoughts. You honestly felt better, not entirely mended, but just enough that you can step out of the house and explore the quaint little town. A picturesque place, it was a perfect settlement for your retired parents where everyone knew everybody; their faces, names, the street they lived on. Boilding down to more personal details such as knowing the pets they owned, which book club they’re a part of, and any recent travels.

When the townsfolk saw you, you sensed the feeling of familiarity. Those you passed by in the streets waved at you, and though you couldn’t exactly recall your relationship with them, it made you smile. Recently, old friends and family in the area had begun reaching out after hearing you were back. You never gave them the full explanation, only revealing that things in California did not work out, and you figured it was best to leave.

Was it a permanent decision? Most likely. Life here is simpler, quieter. You enjoyed the peacefulness, favoring the calm atmosphere of this town much over the hustle and bustle of Los Angeles. It gave you space to think, to focus, to breathe. To reacquaint with yourself, rebuild who you are as a person by taking this journey of self-discovery.

It’s the brand new start you desperately wanted, needed. An opportunity to find your place in this world without the past holding you back. Without the shadow of the woman you once were looming over you. And if your memories don’t ever return, which deep down, you hope they never would, you would be fine with it.

You were tired of being stuck searching pieces of the past. You had to live.

Trekking up the gravel road leading to your parents’ home, a black car sits on top of the hill, one that you did not recognize. Perplexed, you approached the house with hesitant steps, dragging your feet through the pile of dead and dry leaves. There was a moment of panic when you noticed a man sitting on the front porch steps, hands clasped on his knees as he hung his head low, a curtain of dark hair masking his identity.

But you don’t need to think twice, for you already know who it is.

“Keanu?”

His name slipping out of your mouth feels different now. Gone is the affectionate tone that it was usually spoken in. It held no meaning, void of any warmth or tenderness. Keanu, the name is bitter on your tongue, a poison that could cause you to spiral down yet again, and saying it out loud brought upon a rage that swirls through your veins.

How dare he show up here unannounced?

As you take your breaths, one… two… three... and out, Keanu straightens his posture and meets your stern glare. Slowly, he gets up, the expression on his face hard to read. But aside from that, he looked worse for wear. The bags underneath his eyes were dark and prominent, the beard on his chin was unruly and untamed. He appears gaunt and exhausted, as if he hasn’t slept a wink ever since you walked out of the door and out of his life.

“What the hell are you doing here?” You’re the first to break the thick silence, a testament of your bravery and strength of some sort. Brows furrowing and teeth gritting in anger, it contrasts with Keanu’s lax demeanor as he steps closer. “No, stay back. You have no right to be here right now.”

“Y/N, please...” He speaks calmly, each and every one of his movements measured. “I’m not here to fight—”

“I have nothing to say to you,” you seethed, shaking your head as you stormed past him and towards the door. Tears brew in your cloudy eyes, a sign of how much he still affected you. Seeing him again after all this time only proved that the wound he had inflicted bleeds to this day.

“You don’t have to say anything,” Keanu quickly trails from behind, his voice dripping with utter desperation. “Please, just… give me a chance to talk. All you have to do is listen, and I promise you won’t ever have to see me again.”

The seriousness in his timbre causes you to halt in your tracks. Swallowing dryly, you turn around, sad, tired eyes reaching his guilt-filled ones. Keanu stands before you with a face written in despair, making him barely recognizable. The way he’s staring at you as if he’s hopeless and in pure anguish is unsettling, and you almost pitied him for it.

“Y/N…” He pleads softly, defeatedly. “Hear me out, please.”

You wrestled between your options, half apathetic, half curious of what Keanu had to say. Unspoken words on the tip of his tongue, he mutely begs for you to relent, and if this is all it takes for him to leave you alone, leave you for good, then so be it.

“Ten minutes,” you muttered, low enough that he barely catches it at first. Crossing your arms against your chest, the gentle autumn wind rustling through the trees pierces the silent air as you observe Keanu staggering forward, a hand rubbing at the nape of his neck.

“I’m sorry,” he begins, gazing at you with his searching brown eyes. “I-I know saying it a thousand times won’t make a difference, but I really am sorry. What I did before and after the accident was inexcusable and selfish. I hurt you, and I will never forgive myself that. Don’t expect you to do so, either. You probably hate my guts right now, and flying out here might be a mistake, but I needed to talk to you in person. To say goodbye one last time.”

Brushing his hair back, Keanu then pads over to the trunk of the car, and all you can do is wait for him to come back. It doesn’t take long, but he makes two trips to unload two boxes, setting each of them down in the space separating you two. He instantly notices the confusion etched across your features, burying his hands in his coat pocket with an exhale.

“Are those—”

“All the things you left behind,” Keanu finishes feebly. “Thought you would want them back.”

Stunned, a mirthless chuckle escapes your throat. “You didn’t have to do this. Those aren’t my things anyway.”

“But they are—”

“They’re not mine,” you cut him off with a weary gaze. “Keanu, I’ve said this before; I’m not the woman you fell in love with. Not anymore. Look, throughout those months we spent together, I tried to fit into this life everyone told me I had. A life that’s far from what I was used to. God, it feels like a dream being her. So confident, happy, and successful. Waking up from the coma, of course, I would want that. I had just gotten out of a terrible relationship which left me broken and unworthy of anything and anyone. Then you showed me the love I thought I didn’t deserve, and it kept me from realizing that it was all too good to be true.”

Eyes faltering to the ground, your fingers fumbled with the hem of your sweater, ultimately distracting yourself from the tears threatening to fall. “The truth is, I didn’t know you. You were, are, a stranger to me. You had done things behind my back, hid details that would have been a deal-breaker, but you didn’t care. I’ve thought about it a lot lately; would I have stayed if you told me from the very beginning. I wasn’t sure if I was madder at you kissing someone else, knowing how much it would hurt me, or the fact that you lied to fix this—us.”

There is a moment of silence that weighs over everything. The wind stops blowing; the leaves are motionless. Time seems to slow around you and Keanu as he waits for your next words. Words that you are still searching for since you hadn’t prepared to voice those thoughts out loud. They all came rushing, flooding like a broken dam, too overwhelming to keep at bay.

“Which one is it?” Keanu probes delicately, equally afraid of which answer you’re going to give.

“Neither,” you revealed, surprisingly. “I’m angrier at myself for falling too fast; for being the naive little girl who let herself be fooled, who refused to listen to her instincts even though she knew they were usually right.”

You see Keanu open his mouth to speak, but you weren’t done. “I always believed this accident was a curse. It erased years worth of memories that, at this point, I’ll never get back. But now, I see the good that came out of it. Our fights, our arguments, they were all signs that our relationship was falling apart, but I couldn’t let go of it—of you. I held onto us thinking the bad will just phase out eventually when in reality, I couldn’t bear giving up on you and this life we shared.”

Another pause. “Huh, funny. Looking at it, the same thing happened all over again.”

With that said, you felt relieved, somewhat lighter. Despite previous inclinations, you didn’t shout or yell at Keanu. Nor did you discuss to the fullest extent of the suffering you’ve endured. Strangely, it was nearly therapeutic admitting all of that to him, to yourself. For months, you had been unable to let go and accept the truth, allowing fear and doubt to control your actions.

But that was then, and this is now.

And now, it was time for you to be free.

“Guess this is it,” Keanu sighs dejectedly. He didn’t come here to win you back, knowing there’s nothing that he could do or say to repair the damage. Like you, he’s letting go, letting this be the closure he needs, and you need as well. “I guess this is goodbye.”

“Yeah,” you agreed quietly, “Guess this is goodbye.”

Before you could leave his sight to spare Keanu the awkwardness, he holds up a finger, signaling you to wait a second. Swiftly, he goes to retrieve something that’s lying on the front seat, something that you’ve spent countless hours flipping through. He then reluctantly passes it over to you, and you’re unsure what to do with it.

“Your pictures,” he points out, though you were already aware. “I’m not trying to be an asshole or anything by giving this, but this book is yours. Keep it, burn it, do whatever seems right to you. But I want you to know, to remember, that I did love you. I still do, and these photos are proof of it, even if you can’t bring yourself to believe that I’m telling the truth. You deserve love and to be loved, Y/N. More than anything in the universe. I fucked up my chance to be the one to tell you that every day, but it doesn’t mean the next person you fall for will.”

“Ke…” your voice suddenly breaks with emotion, uncertain of what to add after his statement. It’s because you still love him. No matter how much it hurts, you’re still in love with him, your mother’s earlier words echo in your mind, ringing true in your heart. Even after everything, a piece of you still loved Keanu, and saying goodbye to him more painful than you anticipated.

As you stand frozen, Keanu inches nearer until he’s by your feet, the palm of his hand coming to rest on your cheek. He strokes your face with a tender caress before tilting your chin upwards to meet his gaze, brushing his thumb along your lower lip gently. You allow him to have this moment, to hold you and study you for a final time, commit you to memory as this would be the last.

Eyes fluttering shut, you feel him press a soft kiss on your forehead, the warmth of it immediately spreading throughout your body before he slowly pulls away.

“Take care of yourself, Y/N,” Keanu says, opening the driver’s side door of his rental. You look at each other once more and see the subtle, hopeful smile he shoots your way. “And don’t be afraid to love again.”

You watch as he starts driving away, opting to wait until the car is finally out of view before releasing the breath you didn’t know you were holding.

In your hands is a keepsake of your memories. A collection of captured moments that you had cherished so dearly. But things are different now; mistakes were made, words were said, people have grown apart. You found no reason to linger in the past when there’s nothing left to salvage.

Nothing left to do but heal.

The warmth of Keanu’s kiss eventually disappears, the world around you unpausing, continuing as it was before. You stay standing in place, glancing back and forth between the book you clutched on tightly and the boxes laying on the ground.

Yet in the quietude, the wind still blows. The leaves still fall, and the earth still spins.

Time resumes, bit by bit; passing for life to move forward—

For you to move on.

Part 13

Tags: @penwieldingdreamer @fanficsrusz @toomanystoriessolittletime @awessomness @meetmeinthematinee @ringa-starr @ficsnroses @iworshipkeanureeves @keandrews @greenmanalishi @feminine-machinegun @thehumanistsdiary @lilyette @rdjloverxxx @flaminasteroid @danceoftwowolves @ravenpuff02 @wheretheriversrunintothesea @breakthenight @allie1804-fan @partypoison00

#keanu reeves x reader #keanu reeves fanfic #keanu reeves imagine #keanu reeves x you #keanu reeves

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theglguidetowebcomics · 4 years

Text

Full review: Girly

What’s Pink, insane, NSFW, hilarious, and somehow heartwarming at points? This comic is a ride and a half, and I’m genuinely surprised more people haven’t heard of this one… I’ve been wanting to talk about this one for a WHILE.

So let’s talk about the elephant in this room… Because I think it just ate someone’s couch.

Slightly NSFW review with spoilers below.

Girly, by Jackie Lesnick was a webcomic that ran between 2003 and 2010, (and really has some of those early webcomic hallmarks). Its monochromatic pink, vertical, with a poppy early cartoon feel. It’s also listed as a romantic comedy, which is… correct, but cuts a whole lot of what makes this comic good, short.

This review was always going to be one of the 4 I really struggled with. And not just because I lost it the first time without a back up in a code glitch, got distracted by a pandemic, then procrastinated my way to finally making a second version in my new backup folder… No, well also yes but no. This was a comic I read when I was younger (and should NOT have read when I was younger), and have always had a soft spot for. I’ll admit as much as this comic has its flaws or weird moments or just weirdness in general, its one of the few comics I’ve found myself rereading in its entirety more than once. And no matter how much I know it's coming, find myself sobbing, uncontrollably, at the final panel. There’s surprisingly a lot of heart in this comic, and a whole lot of honesty in just the direction the author took this weird little thing. But, first let me take of those rose tinted glasses as much as I can… (actually that might not work too well with a pink comic seriously whats with all these early 2000s lesbian comics being PINK?). And give this old comic a look and a bit of a dust. but , first...

Sex.

Getting to the point - page 3 of “Girly”

Girly is a NSFW comic. It’s not shy about it either. It hits the audience (and the main character) over the head with it literally in the first pages. It has sex positive characters, a sex positive world, some characters with… sex powers almost, and Dildos, a whole lot of dildos. Some even with smiley faces on them. It’s a pretty unavoidable part of the comic that makes up a large core of it’s humour and is baked into its wacky world. So if that’s not your thing, and it’s not really skippable in this case, you won’t like this comic.

But, if you’re alright with that part of it this might just be a hidden gem. Moving on.

Art

Artwork is always interesting in webcomics. They’re usually one man shows, have a weird niche / strong influences, and or usually go on massive journeys as the art improves. Girly is no different here.

Girly starts out rough. Some poses are wonky and its a bit scratchy. Technically speaking it has a few issues, which is fine. Its a free webcomic, from the 2000s that didn't copy and paste faces. (Won’t name names, you know who you are). You can’t be too harsh on a free comic, though.

However, what the art style does, even early on is set the style and feel of the comic. Anime inspired faces, bold outlines, and blocky silhouettes that were really popular with 90’s and 2000s cartoons. It has a newspaper, manga comedy strip vertical style, too. It fits the style of story well as a poppy wacky story. It's the perfect art style it could take.

Its rough in the beginning, but moves on from its scratchy days, to loose pen brush, to finally a polished free hand poppy style. It gets more technically advanced as it goes along, but it keeps its core style throughout. It’s fun, a little unhinged, and just pares perfectly.

The one issue I have with the art is it comes off as a bit cramped. It certainly matches the energy of the story, but it also feels like it doesn't let the characters have any breathing room in the frame. It comes off as squashed, and can make some character poses hard to read. That’s the only complaint I can find though. The issue even fixes itself later in the story, but just very very close to the end. It looks great there, but the majority of the comic is a little cramped. Still that’s just a small complaint.

Nitpicking here but some panels need a lil more room

This a humour comic foremost. It's the biggest part of what makes Girly specifically Girly.

Humour

The humour is mostly wacky nonsense, playing off its insane characters, physics defying world, everything being dialed up to 11. It also works a lot like satire, poking at what influences it, and playing with cinematic expectations. The first page has Otra shooting someone into space on a rocket because they annoyed them, the first “adventure” the character’s go on is stealing everyone’s pants because they couldn’t find anything else to do. Then there’s the kidnapping adventures, knight trials, and slice of life shenanigans that happen. All of it as wacky as the last. I haven’t really found any other lesbian comics like it. Its not everyone’s tastes, but it is certainly unique.

If you’re into a willy wonka tunnel of over the top characters and plots, you’ll like Girly.

Characters

Girl is a LONG comic, it ran for 7 years. The art evolved, the story writing, jokes, and themes along with it. It was originally meant to run for only 50 strips... and it ended up with 764.

so, there’s a lot to unpack.

Firstly, the premise of the story is somewhat simple. It focuses on Otra. The kinda straight man to the entire universe. She starts out almost depressed, out of place, and bored of the wacky inhabitants of her world. Until one of those wacky residents smacks her over the head with a giant dildo and won’t leave her alone for the next 7 years of run time.

What follows is the sullen Otra being pulled around by the always cheery and zany nonsensical Winter as the sidekick for bizarre adventures. Otra’s depressive grounded view keeps the bizarreness funny, while Winter cuts through her negative attitude and causes a lot of the over the top plot. Leaving Otra to warm up to the world, and Winter to get less reckless as they balance eachother out. It’s a fun dynamic, and works as an emotional core of the story. No matter how weird the plot and rules of the world are, their relationship keeps the story somewhat focused and rewarding to see develop.

An example of bold wacky character designs from even early on

The comic isn’t just about them, though. As an ensemble comic there's plenty of side characters that go through arcs and beats as well. From el chubacabre, the man that woman find so irresistible that they sleep with him as soon as they see him; detective Clapjaw the street wise detective who is very bad at his job; Officer Hipbone and police guy from the cute P D; captain fist the ever popular bad at his job superhero who gets all the credit; the news reporter obsessed with captain fist; the woman with babies; Steak; the elephants that just… appear and eat buildings; among many many others. A lot of whom also have nicely written character arcs and depth in later chapters. Many of the character however are simple and remain simple, which isn’t a bad thing. For such a large cast, having a diverse range of strange characters with strong identities and looks even if a bit simple stops it from getting bogged down. It strikes a good balance. Plus there’s plenty enough of characters with more depth later on.

All the character’s are insane, and over the top in a way that really sets up the world they live in and how it works... as dysfunctional as it is. There’s something very Cartoon Network about all the characters, but with some wider influences. something about dumb characters, with very specific goals and quirks that work on their own physics to feed into the high energy insanity of the world. Its entertaining to read, and leads to a weirdly charming feel of the comic.

Story and plot

For the bit people actually want to know about. What is it about?

Just a little bit of influences...

For the style itself the comic comes off as a mix between early 2000s slice of life-y anime, 2000s cartoon Network, and a dose of 2000s webcomic sarcastic action/adventure flare. It definitely has one of the most pronounced styles that I’ve seen, and even if it's very much a webcomic of it’s time it also goes a bit beyond that into something that feels personal to the author and honest. Its a batshit comic. But, it wears its influences on it’s sleeve and really plays with tropes and ideas the author found engaging at the time. It somehow comes off as refreshing in just how willing it is to go weird or niche for no other reason but because it wants to. It's what I appreciate most about the comic. It’s honest.

The overarching story of the comic is without a doubt about Otra and winter growing together as people. But with a comic that’s run for 7 years a little bit more happens in the journey, at least you hope it would. Girly runs on chapters, 15 in total (with 15 having sub chapters due to being the story’s climax), and each one of those chapters follows a different plot or adventure with Otra’s and Winter’s developing relationship gluing them together.

The plots themselves are wild and vary a bit in quality. But for a long comic that’s understandable and expected. They go from solving elephant problems, super villains, body swapping, fantasy parodies, and all sorts of strange things. Sometimes a few plots drag and a few character arcs feel a bit bland. It still manages to be entertaining all the way through though. The plots themselves work to get the character’s to play off each other and explore the strange world it takes place in. Exploring evil teddy bears, or an entire town devoted to cheap gags. No matter what, all the plots work in fleshing out the world and pushing character’s out of their comfort zone or forcing them to change. There are some that are less fun than others, but none of them manage to be boring or useless. Which for a long comic such as this, is quite an achievement.

Conclusion

Girly is a hidden gem, Its an insane sex positive comic. A loose style and even looser physics. It’s bold and unabashedly itself. But, at its core it's about the love story of Winter, the wacky insane woman needing to slow down and open up, and Otra, a sullen woman who’s deemed herself only worthy of being on the outskirts of society. It’s two people growing together in a world that’s up to its ears in care bears, sentient dildos, earth shattering cloning, and jabs at 2000’s paste it comics. And somehow it all sticks together.

The characters resonated, at least with me, which may be the nostalgia talking. But by the end of the comic I can’t help but think back on how long it took them to get there. The bits that made me laugh (a lot of them), the stupid parts, and the character’s arcs, as over the top they could be at times. It may not everyone’s cup of tea. But it has a lot of heart at its core. (If you get past all the dildos).

For all it’s flaws and weird bits. I still find myself going back to Girly.

Maybe now, some more people will too.

#girly #webcomics #review #comic #lgbt webcomics #queer #lesbian

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sxftrxchxe · 5 years

Text

birds-e.k

AN-HI SORRY ITS ME EVIE IM NOT DEAD! I had a lot going on in my life that I needed to handle before I could even attempt to write. Now, everything is much better than before and I have the sweetest and most supportive group of friends ever. Enjoy and I’ll try my best to get all my old drafts and new (better) pieces out soon. <3

SONG: none

WARNINGS: none I think?

FANDOM: It 2017

WORDS-1943

SUMMARY: soulmate au where peoples icon on their wrists relates to their soulmate

yn-your name

ln-last name

ec-eye color

AGED UP TO JUNIORS

Everyone is born with a small icon on their wrist representing their soulmate. While it definitely seemed more like a birth mark most called it a soulmate tattoo or more simply tattoo.

yn ln was never shy with her tattoo. In fact ever since she was five she showed anyone who would look, the glasses on the inside of her wrist. Even when she got older and most people had already seen it she didn't cover it like others did, instead never wearing anything that covered her wrist.

Her best friends were the same. Audra made a point of showing the paper boat on her wrist to everyone she met and Beverly never covered the little book on hers even in the winter.

That's partly why Audra found her soulmate Bill Denbrough so quick. The average age was around sixteen but Audra ran into and fell in love with Bill at thirteen after she saw him practicing making paperboats in the library. He had a rose on his wrist like the one Audra wore everyday as a hair clip.

Beverly found her match in the library too. He had his nose in a book and a fire symbol on his wrist representing Beverly's fiery red hair. By fourteen both of yn's friends found their soulmates. She longed to have hers as well so the double dates could become triple dates and she could stop taking double takes at everyone with large glasses. But it wasn't until senior year she ran into a boy with neat brown hair and a small smile she met her soulmate.

☾

"So that leaves me with yn ln and Eddie Kaspbark." The teacher tapped her clipboard with her pen before nodding and looking back at her class of bored students. "Pair up come on no one here bites."

yn rolled her eyes subtly from her seat near the front and looked around for the boy she was paired with. Eddie Kaspbark. She had heard of him mostly from him being friends with the most annoying boy in school, Richie Tozier. His dark brown eyes met hers from a few rows back presumably looking for her as well. Spotting the empty seat next to him yn swung her pastel bag over her shoulder and carried her pencil case to the spot making a small "oof" as she sat down.

Eddie smiled slightly at the short hc girl as she sat beside him, dropping her bag on the floor by his legs and pencil case at his hand. She finally looked back at him with her eyes that always seemed to have layers of mascara on that more often than not clumped together.

"So Kaspbark any idea on what to do for this project?" He shrugged having not thought about it at all and swiveled into his chair. yn leaned onto the table and tapped her pencil off of it biting her lip as she thought. He saw her eyes gaze around the room before landing on the glasses imprinted on her wrist. His eyes widened at first as he almost recognized them but he quickly shook it off deciding there was absolutely no way his idea was at all logical.

"Well we could do about the whole soulmates thing. Mrs. Mayfield did leave it vague enough for that to be possible. Plus I don't really know much about them aside from the basics honestly."

"You? You don't know much about them?" Eddie asked almost not believing the small girl. She had a reputation to flaunt her tattoo and her two best friends had found their soulmates. How was it possible she hadn't read up on them? Still even if he didn't believe her she shrugged the light blue denim jacket almost sliding off her boney shoulders.

"Just because I like them doesn't mean I'm obsessed. What's yours?" Eddie blinked back at the girl the question not fully comprehending in his head till she shuffled awkwardly.

"M-My what?"

"Your tattoo? Duh." She laughed now her tongue sticking between her teeth as she did. Eddie decided he liked it when she laughed and vowed to try and make her laugh more throughout their three week project. He rolled the sleeve of the oversized beige cardigan slung over his shoulders up holding it towards the blonde girl. She traced the small pattern on his wrist with her pointer finger making sure not to press too hard.

"Birds." She said with a hint of uncertainty in her voice. Eddies tattoo wasn't as clear as others she had seen being more abstract in look. He nodded and pulled his hand back slowly once she stopped tracing it almost wanting to ask her to keep going since it was soothing. "It's cute. Different. I wonder what your soulmate will have to do with birds?"

Eddie smiled a real proper smile back at her for the first time since they had been partnered together. He nodded only slightly not taking his eyes off the small splash of freckles across the girls button nose. She smiled back her teeth showing and tongue sticking between the gap between her front again.

"Yeah...." His voice was softer than usual as he responded. "I do too." He could almost feel the rest of the noisy classroom melt away as yn gulped back and went to say something.

"I-I...."

A shrill sound ring out from behind Eddie that caused the class to cheer and scramble together their supplies as Mrs. Mayfield left the room bringing her empty cup of coffee with her.

"Oh that's the bell." She changed her mind last second pulling her jacket back up and picking her bag off the wooden science room floor. Eddie slunk back in his seat and packed his pencil case cursing the bell mentally for not letting her finish.

"So you should come around to mine after school. I have a laptop we can do research there." Eddie nodded watching the girl leave the short white skirt flowing around her legs before he realized something and called her name making the whole class turn to look at him.

"yn!"

"Yes?" He swallowed ignoring the twenty pairs of eyes on him trying to focus only on yn's ec ones.

"Well umm... I don't have your address." His cheeks now had a small tint of red spreading across them as yn laughed and made her way back to his table. He felt the other students eyes drift off to other places the only ones still watching him being yn's friend Audra.

"Do you perhaps have a piece of paper at your disposal?" She asked in a britsh accent trying to calm the tension she has felt build after Eddie called after her. Eddie scrambled around in his bag before handing her a small crumpled piece of paper to write on. She clicked down a biro and scribbled her address down in scrawled cursive before handing it to Eddie. He nodded back stuffing it into the front of his bag as the girl made her way to her impatient brunette friend now calling her name.

"Bye Eds!" She threw over her shoulder as she left the classroom before breaking into a giggling conversation with Audra who went a few looks Eddies way. He sighed and fell back onto his seat running his hands through his hair.

"Eddie spaghetti! There you are! Started getting worried you ran off." His friend with black curly hair yelled at him as he strolled into the class receiving many eye rolls from the few remaining students. "Come on man lets go to lunch."

☾

yn made finishing touches to the PowerPoint as Eddie corrected her grammar mistakes on their conclusion beside her. The only noise that was heard in the girls room being her typing and his writing after her speaker died midway through a Taylor Swift marathon. "Hey ln?"

yn hummed in response not looking up from the screen until she heard Eddies writing stop as he sighed. He looked worried and fiddled with the hem of the polo shirt he wore that day. "Yes?"

"Do you think we'll still be friends when this is over?" yn closed the laptop down setting it aside so she could turn to fully face the dark haired boy she could now consider a friend.She held out her pinky a happy glint in her usual gloomy eyes covered in mascara.

"Let's pinky promise on it. I do kinda like hanging out with someone not kissing their dumb soulmate every ten seconds for a change." Eddie put his own pinky up allowing to girl to connect them. Eddie could almost feel her climb towards him slowly.

"And I like talking to someone who doesn't do stupid accents and make inappropriate jokes every ten seconds." yn smiled not letting go of Eddies pinky and getting closer till his phone made a noise beginning to vibrate. She jumped back nearly falling off her bed as Eddie picked it up sighing as he saw the name on the screen.

"Speaking of the devil it's Richie. I'll just tell him to-"

"No!" yn said quickly before Eddie could click the decline button. "No. We need a break and we could have some fun with him. From what I've heard he's a great conversationalist."

Eddie groaned and shook his head as he tapped the accept button warning yn she'd regret it as the familiar face of his best friend came on screen. "Hey douchebag why is your room pink?"

"No-Richie I'm with yn. We have a science project together right." yn watched the boy on screen nod in sudden realization feeling his eyes look at her instead.

"Oh yeah the ln girl. Hey what's the deal with your tattoo? Everyone else seems to have seen it but me." yn sighed and moved closer to Eddie on the bed so she could see the boy properly instead of just from the distance

"Well I heard you were annoying and a trashmouth and neither of which are things I like." She pulled the sleeve of her pale pink sweater up holding the glasses towards the camera. Eddie watched in silence hoping it wouldn't go the way he thought it would. "It's just glasses could be anyone really."

yn could see Richie's eyes clearly widen even though the quality of the screen wasn't the best wasn't the best. He leaned away from the screen and she heard scrambling around and cursing wearing large rimmed glasses eerily similar to the one on her wrist. "No way..."

"Yes way." yn took the phone from Eddies hand and asked to see Richie's tattoo. After a few seconds of scrambling and white noise he held up the small tattoo showing a mascara bottle. In fact it was the mascara bottle yn used to apply the layers and layers of mascara as she always did. She smiled back at Richie and asked for his phone number opening her laptop again so she could put it in her notes.

Eddie watched in silence both happy for his two friends and upset. He was upset that yn ln wasn't the three artistic birds on his wrist no matter how much she walked on her tippy toes like she was about to take flight. No matter how much she wanted to get away, leave with the winds to another town even county far away.

No yn ln was just mascara. Mascara to show she liked having long lashes to flutter at teachers to get her way or at nerdy boys to make them do her bidding.

She wasn't the artistic birds on his wrist that they had discovered meant his soulmate was more of a bird metaphorically than a literally.

The yn ln he found himself hopelessly in love with was reduced to something almost meaningless and maybe that upset him more than not being hers.

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royalrastafariannaynays · 7 years

Text

Four Years

Hey! This is a short (sorta) fic for @notedchampagne!!! merry christmas i love you bro!!!!!!!! davekat high school au, rated T! contains abuse mentions and fluff and romance!!!!!!!!!

In freshman year, you ‘meet’ Dave Strider.

He’s the kid who sits in the back of your classes. Every single one.

You came to this school and left all of your friends behind in your other town. Terezi, Sollux and Kanaya saw you off at your parents’ house. Sure you still talk to them online, but it’s not the same, is it? And there aren’t any other pinoy, or even ‘asian’ kids in any of your classes. Somehow that makes it even more lonely.

Anyways, this guy. He sits in the back of every single one of your classes. Somehow the scheduling worked out in the way that you have the exact same schedule. It’s something you notice right off the bat. Since every teacher tells him to take off his weird sunglasses, and he brings them up a note from where he sits in the back of the room.

He passes you every time he walks up to the front, with your seat in the front row. Dave is quiet, a little weird, and laughs at inappropriate times. Shoes ratty and falling apart even though he wears the same ones every single day. There are three layers of duct tape on them, shiny and gray. You think maybe they were red shoes at one point.

As it is, for that entire semester you try not to think about him.

You make a friend who’s an upperclassman, a guy who smokes out by the dumpster every day, and takes pity on you and offers you some of his weed. His name is Gamzee. You refuse the drugs, but find yourself spending time with his group.

The second semester of freshman year at Shit Ass High School, it happens again.

You have the same schedule as Dave Strider.

The last class of the day, you’re practically reciting the teachers’ “take off your sunglasses indoors, Mister Strider” when Dave… doesn’t have his note. He says he’ll retrieve it, and looks mildly panicked. Patting down every surface of his body and double-checking his bag.

The teacher tells him to take off his glasses until he can find the note, and Dave’s search increases in urgency. Eventually he goes up to the teacher’s desk, and tries explaining something you can’t even hear from the front row.

The only time you’ve seen him without those shades, he had his head down on his desk for the entire day, and covered his eyes in the hallways. A piece of broken tinted glass fell out of the bottom of his shoe as he absently picked at it. Surely he didn’t smash themself. You remember him coming back to class with different shades after that.

“I had every class with him last semester, ma’am,” you speak up, and the teacher stares you down. You resist gulping. “And all this semester, too. He’s got the doctor’s note, just lost it.”

Dave looks stricken with relief, and a little annoyed at you for defending. But he gives you a thumbs up when the teacher dismisses him back to his seat.

You pick up your things, and move to the back.

Dave stares at you until you give him a flash of irritated glare.

Flash forward to the end of the school year.

Dave Strider is standing at the bus stop, looking confused and troubled, about a month before finals.

You sigh, and walk over to help him figure out his shit.

----------

Sophomore year.

Besides your father pooling enough money to help you travel to visit your friends, it was an uneventful summer. Well, Gamzee got sent to juvie. That happened. It was entirely unsurprising.

When you walk into your homeroom, you’re not surprised to see Dave there. He’s sitting next to a girl with huge curly black hair, and huge round glasses. She’s excitedly showing him her tan lines, and he’s… grinning. Dave Strider can smile? Huh.

You dismiss it, and head to the other side of the room. You sit in the middle, instead of the back. Anything is better than a fresh new wave of kids making comments about the asian guy sitting in the front because he gets good grades, or something, whatever. Your hair is a little longer this year instead of the buzzy kind of thing you started off with last year. That should help? Maybe?

By the time you’ve gotten through the rest of your day, switching to and from classes and receiving syllabi and papers to get signed by your parents (Parent. Just one of ‘em now.), you find yourself missing Dave’s presence. You never talked to him, but.

He was there. Like a comrade.

Dave Strider always had just one, shitty pencil. And a multi-colored pen. His graphing calculator had a label ripped off the back, old and clearly secondhand. Maybe stolen, who knows. He cleared his throat conspicuously sometimes. It sounded familiar, like that throat clearing Gamzee did.

Right now, you can’t remember if Dave smoked last year. You don’t remember him smelling like it at least.

At the end of the day, Dave walks a little late into your math class. You find yourself a little relieved. Cool, he’s here. You’re not sure why you’re relieved.

When he sets down his books, and stands up to deliver his note to the teacher like always, you see a tiny round burn mark on his arm. He favors one of his ankles, and. Huh. If he’s a smoker, he’s a fuckin’ clumsy one.

----------

A week after that one class plus home room, you decide that it’s time to try to make friends. Maybe. Kanaya thought it would be a good idea, at least. So you stand up, and walk over to Jade and Dave, where they sit comparing notes for what looks like biology? They’re in pre-AP bio together? You recognize the book.

“I figure after a year of classes with you,” you say first, getting their attention. You sit in a chair clumsily next to them. Dave looks a little nervous around you. Weird. Maybe it’s the different context. “I should introduce myself.”

“Uh, hey?” Dave says, fiddling with the corner of his math book.

Jade smiles at you genuinely, looking between you and Dave for a minute and letting the silence stretch. Eventually, though, she holds out her hand to you.

“Hi, I’m Jade!” She says. And you understand how she could make anyone smile. You’re about to reach out and take her hand as well, even if you don’t have her talent for smiling, when Dave speaks up.

“I don’t remember you, dude,” he blurts, and you freeze.

Oh.

You feel a sick wave slide right through you and bubble in your throat. Recoiling, you pull your hand back to yourself and stand stiffly from the chair. It’s quiet for a long moment, as Jade sits there in shock, still looking at you.

It takes a lot not to cry.

Snubbed, you nod at her. And you walk away.

You were just… tired of not having friends here. But it’s okay.

You don’t need them.

Behind you, Jade scolds Dave. You tune it out completely, and go back to your math homework.

That day, you go back to sitting in the front of the class. Fisting your hands in your hair to focus.

----------

About a month later, Dave approaches you in a hallway.

You plan to turn on a heel and walk away, but he pursues you right up to your locker.

“Hey, I’m sorry about what I… did,” he says. You stay quiet. Maybe he’ll go away. “That wasn’t cool,” he continues. “I’m kinda messed up.”

You finish putting your things in your locker, and think. He apologized. He acknowledged what he did. You have no friends, but that’s no reason to take pity on this asshat with so little personality that he has to take it out on everyone else.

So, you walk away, leaving him dejected in the hallway.

The next day, however, you find yourself dropping your things on the desk next to him in homeroom. Jade claps her hands, but you level Dave with a long, piercing glare.

“You have one more shot, shitlick,” you tell him.

Despite your insult, he looks relieved.

“I’ll take it,” he replies. And Jade starts up a word game for the three of you to play.

You’re nice.

Way too fucking nice.

----------

After that, there are a few study sessions in the library where you get to know each other a little better. The next semester, you even have the same lunch. Dave and Jade wave you over to the table with them, and you eat with them and their other two annoying friends.

It’s… nice.

They all seem to warm to you quickly despite your incorrigible nature and spiky personality.

Toward the end of the year, though, something happens with Dave.

One morning, you walk out to the front of the building to meet them, and you see John helping hold Dave up by the shoulder. He looks frantic, and Dave seems to be waving him away. When John’s dad climbs out of his old station wagon, he takes Dave’s other arm.

There’s… you hope that’s not blood. That’s gotta just be his shirt, right? Half of his face is covered by a deep purple bruising.

John helps Dave into his father’s car, and then the tires are peeling away down the street. John looks on until his dad disappears from sight. When everyone is walking like normal, you trot out to ask John what’s going on. He just shakes his head.

Dave is out of school for two weeks after that.

John gets his homework for him, but doesn’t say anything. Rose and Jade don’t seem to know anything, either, even if Rose claims that she has all the answers. Jade lays hesitant hands on your shoulders, and tells you not to worry. Even if she’s worried herself, and her voice shakes when she tells you that Dave has missed a lot of school before, when they were in junior high.

You’re still worried.

When Dave comes back in the third week, he has a broken arm. The black eye is kind of yellow and rapidly fading back under his shades, now. There are bandages on one of his arms, and…

He’s wearing a new pair of shoes?

Dave looks at you with a shaken, but desperate expression you’ve never seen before. “Don’t worry about me, man,” he says. “I’m fine.”

He glances at things in his periphery all day, and misses several questions directed at him by the teacher.

By the end of the year, though, he’s back to normal. Or as normal as he was before, at least. And he isn’t taking the bus anymore. He arrives and leaves with John every day.

----------

No contact with those friends over the summer, even if you do get to visit your friends again. Sollux got a job making amateur security tests, and used a lot of the money to fund your trip.

When you grab your schedule, though, you find out that you and Dave have all of the same classes again. Whoa, what are the odds? It probably won’t happen two years in a row.

Sitting next to him is second nature, and Dave jokes with you, sits near you. He’s in better spirits than you’ve ever seen, and doesn’t even flinch when you reach out to grab worksheets next to him. You always figured it had something to do with his eyes, but… now you’re not so sure.

There’s a late autumn afternoon, where the light hits Dave’s cheek just right.

Maybe your chest flutters.

Maybe just a little.

Dave gives you his new phone number, and you give him yours, and you start to text often. Like friends do. Dave has a lot to say, apparently.

The study sessions move to either of your houses, instead of the school library. Usually Dave’s, just because of Kankri. And it’s not really Dave’s house, it’s John’s. You guess. There are pictures of Dave on the walls, though. And there’s a mug with his name on it in the cabinet. And he looks like he feels at home.

When he shows you his bedroom, he looks so excited to show you where he lives. He talks about how there was never quite enough room for all of his things in his old room. John walks by and makes a snarky comment about how thrilled Dave is to show Karkat his mess, arms full of his trombone case.

On the mantle, there’s a tiny picture of Dave. A polaroid. And it’s half-burned. He’s a really little kid, but you can tell it’s dave. It’s the only one of him as a kid in the whole house, but it has its own shiny wooden frame.

Nearing Christmas, you find yourself blushing when Dave gets close to you. And you find yourself wishing Dave would get closer. Dave listens to your rants with laughter in his eyes, and he does a lazy amount of your group projects, and he only does enough of the homework to pass his classes acceptably. And he’s awful at math. But he’s your friend.

-----------

The next summer, Dave brings you along to a party at Ampora’s house. Even though he’s more of an introvert than you are, he insists on you coming with.

The both of you find the punch, and take a cup to the roof and get tipsy. There’s a rager in the pool, and Eridan is inviting someone to smash his father’s prized ming vase in a way that’ll make it look like a B&E. The sun is setting, and someone found a really good playlist to put on the huge speaker system downstairs.

“I love the weekend,” Dave says. And you frown at him.

“Today’s a Wednesday, Dave.”

He snorts into his drink.

“Nah, the music guy. The singer,” he corrects. “This is his song. Star guy or something.”

You down the rest of your drink.

The fruit juice almost covers the taste of alcohol. It still makes you gag.

“Yeah alcohol is nasty,” Dave confirms, and tosses his drink over the edge. Someone shouts as the sticky sugary stuff lands on them, and a group of people start up some raucous laughter.

“Why are we here, Dave?” you ask him, and Dave leans back on his elbows. You do the same, watching what you can see of the pink fade of sunset in the distance.

“Did I ever tell you why I’m living at John’s?” he asks.

Oh. You drop onto your back, staring at the emerging moon in the night sky.

“No,” you tell him.

“I’m there because John’s dad adopted me after my ‘Bro’ tried to beat me to death,” he says.

And that information is shocking. You remember that morning, with the car and the blood. So it really was serious. How did he make it to the school, then? He didn’t take the bus. He must have walked. That would have been… quite a feat. Excruciating.

“Why the fuck did he do that?” you ask, scowling at the sky.

“A… abusing… me,” Dave starts, and it sounds like physical difficulty for him to get it out. “It was a regular thing for him.”

You choose not to acknowledge it. You don’t know what to do, what to say. Even thinking about the past and Dave’s shoes, and his fear… it’s too much for you right now. So you just blurt the first thing that comes to mind.

“If it was regular, what made this time special?” you ask. Dave laughs. At your frankness, at the wording? Something.

“I went home that day,” he says, and… he’s quiet for a long time. The song changes twice downstairs. Eventually you look at him, and he looks really conflicted. Before you can ask what’s up, though, he opens his mouth again.

“I came out to him, that day,” Dave says. “I told him I liked guys.”

He… oh.

Dave?

A rush of joy and hope fills your heart. You thought, with Jade, and with John being his best friend. And his reactions to you, or lack thereof. Before you know it, something is falling out of your mouth and onto a puddle between you on the roof.

“When I came out, my dad made me get blood tests to make sure I didn’t have aids,” you announce. Dave’s eyes get a little wide for a second, you can see through his shades. Like he wasn’t expecting that possibility. “But eventually he decided that treating me like his son was the ‘christian’ thing to do.”

Dave actually laughs.

It’s not a bitter laugh, or a knowing laugh, like you usually get. It’s bewildered, and like he legitimately thinks it’s funny. Eventually, though, you say “Yeah, it’s fuckin’ rough,” and Dave nods himself into silence.

“So John’s dad is okay? He knows?” you ask. And Dave…

Looks so happy in that moment. He smiles at the sky, just like you. The bleariness from the cheap beer downstairs and the fizz from the punch. “He’s a pretty great dad,” he murmurs.

There’s a hush.

The party booms below.

Night falls.

Dave leans over, in that dark and humid night. He presses a kiss to your cheek.

When he pulls away, there are stars in his bloodshot eyes.

You’re frozen, heart pounding and hands clamped down hard on the roof tiles. Dave grins at you, head still tilted, eyes still so close.

And you scramble from beneath him and… run.

Dave is waving at you with a smile as you swing through an upstairs window.

----------

Dave doesn’t text you for the whole entire rest of that summer.

And when the new school year starts, you have none of the same classes.

You don’t talk much to anyone, getting wrapped up in senior year havoc and spending half of your lunches wrapped up in AP studies with Jade, who’s aiming for valedictorian. Dave does the same as you, you guess, and you don’t see him for the first month or so.

And then you run into him in a hallway.

There’s a magnetism, a compulsion.

You turn around, staring at him, almost crashing into a group of freshmen, and dash away down a corner hallway. You hear voices following you, Rose shouting after Dave and a couple of people annoyed at being crashed into.

As the bell rings, the autumn air biting a little chill into your nose, Dave corners you under the bleachers.

“Stop following me!” you snap at him. But there’s no real feeling behind it. Dave is grinning, hands in his pockets. These southerners have no tolerance for cold weather.

“Wanna be my boyfriend?” Dave asks.

And it’s cool and there’s maybe five crows squawking in the closest tree.

And you just. It’s too good to be true.

Way too good.

“Excuse me?!” you ask, shouting even if he’s only ten feet away.

Months of silence? And then?

Dave sees that you’re not running. His smile grows.

He drops his books, and lifts his hands, and cups them around his mouth.

“I said, DO YOU WANNA BE MY BOYFRIEND,” he hollers through his hands.

And for some reason, you don’t bother answering out loud yet.

Something compels you to stomp over, and grab Dave’s face in your hands.

“Of course not, loser,” you grumble.

Dave is giggling by the time you slot your lips into his, heart pounding and nervous as hell. Clumsy, and together.

#davekat fanfiction #davekat #homestuck #abuse cw #fluff

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queenofmahishmati · 7 years

Note

The send me a character meme: The Baahubali crew (i.e., Baahu, Devasena, Mahendra, Sivagami, and oh-all-right Bhalla ;)

Hai. I will try to be as less critical as possible. If you wanna send more characters→

AMARENDRA BAAHUBALI

general opinion: fall in a hole and die | don’t like them | EH ((only sometimes)) | they’re fine I guess | like them! | love them!! | actual love of my life hotness level: get away from me | meh | neutral | theoretically hot but not my type | pretty hot | gorgeous! | 10/10 would banghogwarts house: gryffindor | slytherin | ravenclaw | hufflepuff ((a gryffinpuff where he’s more the puff))best quality: The way he sees everyone as equal, including himself, even the Lord. And when he loves, he loves with all of his heart, he loves everyone equally. He is perfect and too good to be true!! I said it.worst quality: Those rose tinted glasses he wears while seeing everyone as equals. Like, would you remove it for one bloody second and look only at your brother who is not your brother at all man?? And honestly, you could have at least mentioned your wife if not your son with your dying breath, but of course you sentimentally say ‘amma jakardha.’ It wasn’t your mum who suffered but your wife, through 25 years of torture. I’m so salty about that okay??ship them with: He is the other half of Devasena. There can be no one, absolutely no one… ((well maybe that blue lady among those three dancing ladies from that one song??))brotp them with: Bhalla. If not for all the hatred from his brother, I see a Thorki kinda relationship between them. And also, Kattappa of course. needs to stay away from: Mahishmati’s people. He could have at least lived without earning Bhalla’s ire. ((I still think Bhalla wouldn’t have killed him if Baahu hadn’t played the people’s king role *smh*))misc. thoughts: He is so honorable, sincere in his love, way too heroic, extremely kind, exceedingly intelligent and did I mention, he is boring?? He is such a simple and plain character that we have seen lit in every other story ((look at lord Ram)). His sense of humour is the only thing that kept him interesting.Sorry but not sorry, Baahu wouldn’t have made the best king of Mahishmati because he couldn’t even see the plot against him from three feet away. How would he see it if it comes from countries that are thirty leagues away?? He is unbelievably naive. But I still love him with all my heart because he is a big innocent baby that needed to be protected.

the rest are under the cut and it gets progressively worse ↓

DEVASENA

general opinion: fall in a hole and die | don’t like them | eh | they’re fine I guess | like them! | love love super love them | actual love of my life hotness level: get away from me | meh | neutral | theoretically hot but not my type | pretty hot | 1001% gorgeous! | 10/10 would banghogwarts house: gryffindor ((now this woman is a true gryffindor)) | slytherin | ravenclaw | hufflepuffbest quality: The way she is unapologetically herself. She is such an inspiration especially for the women of today. She stands up for herself not caring about how powerful the people she’s standing against are. She stands up for the right things and not righteousness like her naive husband, and that’s one heck of an admirable trait. worst quality: Impatient. She lacks patience when she’s angry and thus speaks things she won’t utter if she was a cool cucumber and thought twice about it. I’d relate her goal driven attitude to her impatience as well, like when she was determined to shoot two arrows together but didn’t stop to think on how exactly to do it. If she had, trust me, she’s smart enough to figure it out all by herself. Or during the scene were they hunt for boars in the field, if she had given up her goal of shooting even one boar down and turned to look at how Kumara Varma was being victorious, she’d have cracked the truth about Baahu. She needed a lot of patience and guess Bhalla gave it to her eh?? ship them with: She can live without Amarendra but he can’t. AmarSena it will always be!!brotp them with: Bhalla. If he wasn’t a psycho and she wasn’t so stubborn, they’d make an awesome team against clueless Baahu. ((as proved by all the fanfics))needs to stay away from: Sivagami maybe?? So many things would have been different. And distance could have made the heart grow fonder…misc. thoughts: Because of what I listed as her worst qualities, I don’t think she could have made any better Queen than Sivagami, the only other queen stand-in I could compare her to within the story verse. But she was more aware of what would be the right thing for the welfare of the people unlike Sivagami who was all about her word being the only law, so she would have definitely made a better Queen-mother I suppose. But yeah, she was kind of awful at politics erk!!

MAHENDRA BAAHUBALI

general opinion: fall in a hole and die | don’t like them | eh | they’re fine I guess ((only because he sports his papa’s face)) | like them! | love them | actual love of my life hotness level: get away from me | meh | neutral | theoretically hot but not my type | pretty hot | gorgeous! | 10/10 would banghogwarts house: gryffindor ((he takes after his kinda-crazy mum)) | slytherin | ravenclaw | hufflepuffbest quality: His thirst for adventure. He is a risk taker and the ultimate risk he took landed him where he should have been right from the beginning. And he seeks out new things fearlessly, like that come what may attitude, he knows he will figure out a way to deal with it.worst quality: His obsession. He was obsessed with climbing that waterfall. And then he was obsessed with that mask. When he saw the face behind the mask, he got obsessed with that girl. His obsession bordered on stalking and he went as far as drawing tattoos on the said girl’s body without her permission. And then, when the girl rightfully kicks his ass ((or tries to)) for everything he did to her, he is more intent upon showing her, her own beauty that he got obsessed with in the first place and then– honestly, I could keep on going until we realize Mahendra is no better than Bhalla…ship them with: None. Maybe with Avanthika in a better explained universe, I mean the girl did have the gall to fly kick him. I didn’t bat an eye when she drove that sword through his chest after he spoke those cheesy dialogues. brotp them with: Kattappa. Now Kattappa would have kept him in line if he had grown up under his tutelage right from the start. needs to stay away from: Avanthika duh. But also anything climbable, I was surprised when he didn't climb Bhalla's statue.misc. thoughts: I’m actually worried about the state of Mahishmati under this boy-king. Like yeah, there won’t be any of the cruetly or dictatorship that it underwent during Bhalla’s rule. But is he really fit enough to be the King without Kattappa going think-like-Baahubali every five seconds?? What happens when the too-old Kattappa and weather-beaten Devasena pass away??

SIVAGAMI

general opinion: fall in a hole and die | don’t like them | eh | they’re fine I guess | like them! | love them I LOVE HER OKAY | actual love of my life hotness level: get away from me | meh | neutral | theoretically hot but not my type | pretty hot | super gorgeous!!! | 10/10 would banghogwarts house: gryffindor ((hear her roar)) | slytherin | ravenclaw | hufflepuffbest quality: Her knowledge of politics and righteousness ((but what use eh??)). She was pretty much fair in bringing up Baahu and Bhalla as equals. And of course, until they were ready, she managed an entire Kingdom without a King all by herself. That too after dramatically thwarting an assassination attempt with a baby in her hand. ((I’m sure there must have been plenty other attempts at her and princes lives too))worst quality: Her Ego– the thought that she was always in the right. There’s a thin line between righteousness and being right, and Sivagami unfortunately, was too blind to see it despite her lovely big eyes. Also, I don’t think this is an unpopular opinion, but she was a good mother, just not a very good nurturer. She believed she could never be wrong and in that way, justified the partial love she was giving her sons to herself. Now don’t you dare come to fight me about this, she always always tenderly caresses Baahu’s head every time they’re shown in the same screen ((like ever since he was a baby)), and when we get a glimpse of Bhalla and her in the same screen at long last, she doesn’t even look in his eyes properly while speaking. If you don’t believe me, go watch the scene where she gifts him things to make up for refusing him the throne. Grrrr.ship them with: No one deserves her, especially Bijju. In fanon though, I love all these lady loves that @puppyloveblog24 & @avani008 gave her!!brotp them with: Kattappa. They made a kickass team alright!! I love how she dramatically yells Kattappa every time. needs to stay away from: Amarendra and Devasena. She should have sent them to Kuntala but of course her love for Baahu doesn’t let her…misc. thoughts: Seriously, from where do you think Bhalla got it into his head that power was everything one ever needed?? He literally grew up watching Sivagami overlord his own father. He kept on hearing that her word was the only law, to which Baahu too conforms when he remembers how she said righteousness alone must prevail. And only because of that does he conclude he can stand against his mother’s own words. She had a flare for dramatics but was also the most powerful person that held the fate of the entire kingdom in her hands. Now think again and tell me why her sons turned out to be the way they did??

BHALLALADEVA ((I admit I couldn’t wait to get to this part teheheheee))

general opinion: fall in a hole and die | don’t like them | eh | they’re fine I guess | like them! | love only them | actual love of my life ((not really but yes also))hotness level: get away from me | meh | neutral | theoretically hot but not my type | pretty hot | unbelievably gorgeous!!!! | 10/10 would bang ((this hot mess…totally))hogwarts house: gryffindor | slytherin ((perfect slyth)) | ravenclaw | hufflepuffbest quality: His ruthlessness. Trust me, being ruthless will get you so far in your life. But you need compassion along with it to be human, which he very obviously lacks. But still, he is strong, clever and confident. Along with these traits, his heartlessness got him the throne he so coveted, it made him the most powerful character in the story. He’d have truly been a formidable King in his years of rein, a nightmare to any enemy of Mahishmati.worst quality: His discontent. He kept desiring for more and more, greed is not the right word for it though. He was jealous of his brother and wanted everything that Baahu had. He got the throne but lost the girl. He stripped Baahu off all his powers to make him pay for it. But still, even after banishment, Baahu had the love of the people, something he had always wanted as seen in the scene where he converses with the crown. So, he sought to destroy Baahu completely, and in that one moment, we see his absolute descent into darkness and insanity. He goes on to kill his mother, who never gave him enough love. He chains the woman who refused to choose him. He tortures the kingdom that preferred his brother over him. And maybe, for a minute there, we were led to believe he was finally satisfied with what he had. But no, he then rattles Devasena’s chains and tells her how he craves to slaughter his brother one more time with his bare hands. He was never truly satisfied. Not even in his deathbed, where he urges Devasena to join him. He is the most powerful character of them all, but also the lowest form of a being to ever exist. ship them with: Bhalla probably ships him with himself in canon because he deserves none. In fanon though, I would kill for IndiraBhalla. brotp them with: His Ghada in canon and maybe that one second witty banter he and Baahu has in Singapuram made me brotp them. In fanon, Devasena and sometimes with Mahendra. They are the fun lot amongst all the boring ones. needs to stay away from: Everyone. Pfft.misc. thoughts: Maybe Bhalla was influenced by his father’s greed and foul thoughts while he was young, but I’m pretty sure he soon figured it out that he was useless and only kept Bijjala around cause he alone had made him feel important while his mother tended more to his brother. And feel free to fight me, but I’m pretty sure he would have made a decent King if those silly people had let him and just like that, Baahu might have lived. But then we wouldn’t have our epic story. What I’m trying to tell is, hate him all you want, but without him this story would get nowhere just like Bijjala. Bhalla is a deranged psycho that wants to be God, yes. But he is a boon to this story like the writer KVV sir said. Bhalla's words are measured unlike his father’s. He knows whatever he does is right or wrong unlike his mother who believes everything she does is right. He considers love and compassion as weakness unlike his brother. His temper is controlled and flames only at critical points unlike Devasena who keeps raging at every spark. He thinks before he acts unlike his hasty nephew Mahendra. There was also this one time where Kattappa unnecessarily jumps in to save his life from the bull because of his sense of duty and Bhallaladeva appreciates it by offering him a boon like any King would, any boon that he might ask for despite knowing Kattappa wishes to kill him in the deepest of his heart, and he even grants that wish with a twist of his own— that single defining moment, that is when I started stanning this character as hard as I do now and will forever. He is the most interesting of them all!!

#baahubali #baahubali things #baahubali characters #I WROTE A FRIGGING ESSAY #research essay yes #sharme can rant too #meta #baahubali meta #answered #send me a character #avani008 #im proud of the bhalla one its the longest AHAHAAA

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