#both dudes gotta get contacts to get the right eye color but otherwise I mean... these are the best matches I have :(

[hollowsart]

Thoughts?

#Ghostie mumbles #these are like the best options I got as of rn unless there's anyone better?? #both dudes gotta get contacts to get the right eye color but otherwise I mean... these are the best matches I have :( #there's gotta be someone else that fits my doc ock?? right??

[365daysofsasuhina]

[ 365 Days of SasuHina || Day One Hundred Fifty-Eight: In A Garden ] [ Uchiha Sasuke, Hyūga Hinata, Uzumaki Naruto, Tenten ] [ SasuHina ] [ Verse: Best Years of Your Life ] [ AO3 Link ]

“...you’re kidding, right?”

“Nope.”

“...but...why?”

“Cuz it’s fun, dude!”

Sasuke deadpans. “...dressing up in costumes and acting, in real time...is fun.”

“Yeah! LARPing is amazing! A few friends of mine from my old school were into it when we were kids! And since I’ve been getting back into contact with ‘em, I asked if they still did it? And they do! And we are totally going to a session and -”

“No.”

“But -!”

“That is the dorkiest thing I’ve ever heard of. I wouldn’t be caught dead doing that.”

“But Sasuke -” Naruto begs, curling fists under his chin. “I told everybody we’d be there!”

“You need to stop making promises on my behalf, Naruto.”

“C’mon, man! You tellin’ me you’ve never wanted to be, like...a badass knight? Or...or a mage? You never played games like that?”

“Yeah. Games. Where I sit and be myself, playing a game. I’ve never thought I should become the game.”

“Dude...do you know anything about cosplay?”

“...yeah. I do.”

“Y’ever looked at some really hot cosplay girls?”

A light tint of pink colors the Uchiha’s face. “...I’ve seen them, yeah.”

“Well, it’s like that...only they actually stay in character. And you get to interact with them, in character! And you can have battles, and sit in a tavern, and look awesome! I promise you’ll have fun. And like I said, it’s mostly people from my old school! You wouldn’t even know anyone there to be all embarrassed in front of!” Naruto nudges him in the ribs. “We’ll get you looking awesome, and they’ll just be impressed!”

Sasuke heaves a long sigh, staring at his friend skeptically. “...and what, pray tell, did you have in mind for me to wear?”

Sensing he’s convinced him, Naruto gives a wide, devious smile. “Oh, I think you’re gonna like it…!”

The event, as it turns out, is being hosted in a large park across town. Good, Sasuke can’t help but think. Fewer chances of being spotted by someone he knows.

Because while he’ll never admit it...he does look awesome. But...that also plays against him for looking like he’s taking this seriously.

Donning a thief build getup, his scheme is black and a midnight blue, with highlights of silver. It’s actually made of leather, for the most part. The armor, at least. He’s got boots, trousers, a tunic...and his armor. A chest plate, bracers, shin guards...the whole works.

And he hates that Naruto was right. Though he tried to resist...the more he looked at himself in the mirror...the more he thought he actually looked...really cool. And he can totally pull off a thief character.

Otherwise, he’s just a human - no pointy elf ears or orc makeup. That...would be taking it  a little far, in his opinion. Wielding a foam dagger, he only has a scar painted over an eye.

You know, just to add to the badass image.

Getting out of Naruto’s car, they soon see the ruckus. A fair number of people - more than Sasuke expects - are out in the grass. A gazebo seems to be a make-believe tavern, coolers of drinks (non-alcoholic - they’re still minors, after all) and food are made up to look like chests. There’s a fair amount of variety in the costumes - both in terms of characters, and of skill level. And no one seems to be ripping on each other. They’re just...having fun. A few people spar with their false weapons...others sit and talk with tankards. One guy even looks to be selling potions...which are just funny colored water.

“Sooo...whaddaya think?” Naruto asks, leaning against his friend to jostle him, wiggling his eyebrows.

“...looks like a nerdfest.”

“An AWESOME nerdfest!” the blond declares, lifting his broadsword. He, of course, is a knight...with armor Sasuke will admit is even more impressive than his own.

“So, where are all the girls?”

“Oh! I think Shikamaru said they were having a, uh...a photoshoot? In the gardens. If I had t’guess, they’re probably all there getting their pictures done before their hair or whatever gets messed up. Wanna go see?”

Sasuke goes pink. “...that won’t be weird?”

“Nah, we’ll just...get our pictures taken, too! It’ll be totally fine,” Naruto insists, waving a hand. “I really do wanna get pictures, though. I want this moment immortalized! Sasuke wearing LARP getup...I’m gonna show your kids.”

“Tch, whatever…”

They head up the hill to where the kept gardens of the park are grown. Sasuke’s been here a few times, but mostly when he was a lot younger. The park really isn’t his favorite haunt anymore. At least, not unless something is actually going on. While his mother used to take him and Itachi all the time in the Summer when they were kids...they’re both a little old for that now. Itachi’s in college, after all.

And, as Naruto said, there’s indeed a few photographers hanging around, snapping pictures of various roleplayers. Most of the ones up here are indeed girls. Barmaids, mages, princesses, knights...anything and everything, really.

“See? What did I tell ya? Aren’t they beautiful?” Naruto whispers, nudging Sasuke again. “Check them out!”

Grunting, Sasuke gives him a glance, not wanting to be...overtly obvious. Pretending to be watching the goings-on, he scopes out a few of them. They’re pretty, sure...but none really catch his eye too dramatically.

“Please, Hina?”

“I-I don’t know about this, Tenten…”

Glancing, Sasuke spies what looks like a weaponsmith talking to a girl in a long coat, which she clings closed with embarrassment.

“But you look awesome! It turned out so great! Shouldn’t you want everyone to see it?”

“I mean...I guess? I don’t know, it’s just...e-embarrassing…!”

“Dude, everyone here is in costume! No one’s gonna make fun of you! We’re all nerds here, right?”

“...r-right…”

“Besides, if anyone gives you trouble, I’ll knock ‘em one!” the one called Tenten assures her, drawing an oversized hammer from a belt at her hip.

Her companion smiles, gaze dropping as the current group moves out from in front of the camera.

“Next?”

“Ooh, us!” Naruto insists, tugging Sasuke forward with a yelp.

“Just you two?” a photographer clarifies.

“Uh...I guess. Unless anyone wants a group shot with us?”

“We’ll join in!”

Everyone looks over to Tenten, who hauls her friend forward by a hand. The other keeps her coat closed. “Got room for two more?”

“Yeah, sure!” Naruto quickly agrees.

“C’mon, Hina! You gotta take the coat off!”

Pink with embarrassment, the one called Hina pauses...then peels the garment aside.

Sasuke’s eyes go wide.

Donning fake elf ears, her hair is long and dark, straight as a blade to her tailbone. Pale lavender eyes match a few layers of her dress, which has several materials of various shades of purple. A delicate circlet with violet gems sits on her brow.

...wow...she looks like the real deal.

She’s beautiful…

“...oi, Sasuke. We gotta pose.”

Snapped back to the present, he blinks, realizing he’s...still in the garden. And everyone’s looking at him. Oh crap, was he staring that badly?!

“Sorry about him, he’s a little spacy sometimes,” Naruto snickers. “Thieves and their short attention spans, amirite? If it’s not shiny, he’s not paying attention!”

Scowling, Sasuke knows he’s trying to cover for him. “...better than starting all manner of brawls just to prove your chivalry, you dunce.”

“Ha! See? Such a kidder…”

...huh...this is actually...kinda fun.

The four of them pose for a few photos before they let someone else have a turn.

“So can we get copies of these?” Naruto asks one of the photographers.

“Yeah, they’ll be on our website.”

“...website?” Sasuke repeats. They’ll be online?!

“What, like anyone you know is gonna be looking at this kinda stuff, right?” the blond counters, pouting.

Likewise, Hinata goes pink. “Tenten...you didn’t say they’d be p-public…”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know!”

As their more...exuberant friends try to work out the details, Hinata and Sasuke are left to the side, glancing to each other. “...your costume is amazing,” he offers, trying to make conversation.

That gets her to perk up. “You...you think so? I made it myself!”

“What?! No way!”

“Mhm!”

“Oh...I just bought mine, I’m not...crafty or anything.”

She laughs softly into a hand. “That’s just fine. We all do this differently. I just...r-really like making clothes! Maybe I could make you something sometime, um…?”

“Oh, uh...Sasuke.”

“Hinata.”

“Okay guys, they’re gonna keep ours under a password! Apparently they do that for private shoots, and...they’re making an exception for us! So we can see them, but...no one without the magic word can.” Naruto gives two gloved thumbs-up.

“Oh, g-good,” Hinata sighs in relief.

“Yeah…”

“Now, onward! To the festivities! There’s battles to win and ale to drink!” the blond then announces, leading the charge back down to the belly of the park. Tenten follows with a cackling laugh, wielding her hammer.

“...well, I guess we’re hanging out?” Sasuke asks.

“I guess so,” Hinata laughs.

“...cool.”

                                                        .oOo. 

     ...this is really random xD I kinda wanted to do something else, buuut I don't have a dedicated verse for it (yet), so...maybe another time, lol      I've never done LARPing...I watched a few friends do it BRIEFLY, and uh...they were some of the very low budget kind xD Which is fine! But means in truth, I know very little about it, so...hopefully I didn't get anything wrong, lol!      ANYWAY, I'm FINALLY done with the ship week I was doing on Tumblr, and uh...oof, am I burnt out. I'm surprised I got this done, tbh ^^; So hopefully I'll be a bit more...prompt from now on. And a bit more wordy. Doing two daily writing things at once is uh...a bit much, lol      But anyway, that's all from me for tonight~ I'm very tired, so time to crash! Thanks for reading <3

#sasuhina #uchiha sasuke #hyūga hinata #uzumaki naruto #tenten #best years of your life [ au ] #365daysofsasuhina

[dontdowhatisayandnobodygetshurt]

Odd :) numbers :)

You say you don’t care who I do but I’mma do Jesse and Vrox anyway XD

under the cut bc *insert vaguely angry but also just very affectionate ‘my son is a dick but I love him’ eyes here*

questions are from here, send me some if you’d like! :P please try to specify which character tho, less stress for me X’D

1. What’s the maximum amount of time your character can sit still with nothing to do?

Jesse: He’s actually very patient. He might jolt his bounce his knee a bit and twiddle his fingers, zone out/daydream. He’d probably have a nap after a while, he can fall asleep anywhere. He could last hours and hours if needed.

Vrox: You don’t leave Vrox alone in a room for a long time. Something will get broken, Even if there’s nothing in the room to break, something will get broken. About two hours at MOST before he starts getting annoyed.

June: They could last a long time if needed, though they would not be happy about it. They like to complain at the best of times.

3. How do they put themselves to bed at night (reading, singing, thinking?)

Jesse: Normally has a long shower and eats whatever unhealthy shit they have for dinner (normally cereal or take out) and then plays music low in the background to help him nod off, occasionally he’ll replace it with an audio book but he’ll put his earbuds in for that. He and Vrox are both big night owls tho so keep in mind this is usually at about 3AM.

Vrox: Drags Jesse into dancing with him, eats whatever Jesse’s bottomless pit stomach couldn’t hold, and works out for a while (where Jesse can see of course because he’s a show off.) Then he has a very short paranoid shower because his DICK BOYFRIEND used up almost all the hot water, and tumbles into bed. Not gonna lie he and Jess have sex most nights, they’re… incorrigible. 

June: Soaks in the bath for a hundred years and refills it for every one of those years, then pulls on their super expensive silk PJs, does a facemask and pulls out whatever disgusting trashy knock-off romance novel they’re currently reading and pick it apart like the happy little vulture they are. They have a massive bed but they rarely ever sleep in it, most of the time they fall asleep on the couch until the sun wakes them up through the blinds they forgot to shut and they stumble into the bedroom cursing and go back to sleep till Taco wakes them up (they would sleep in all day if he let them.)

5. How easy is it to earn their mistrust?

Jesse: It depends on what you do. If you make a mistake, he’ll be fine. If you turn out to be transphobic or generally a dick then woop there goes his trust.

Vrox: hates everyone from the get go and that rarely ever changes, you don’t even have to try dude

June: Them?? Trusting anyone??????? *hysterical laughter*

7: What triggers nostalgia for them, most often? Do they enjoy that feeling?

Jesse: Nostalgia for him is bittersweet. Music is the biggest trigger since his dad loved it and had a record player that was like his second child, he used to dance with Jesse’s mom to Let Me Call You Sweetheart. One time Vrox found the old record and played it for him and Jesse absolutely broke down. He tries to think of the good rather than the bad, but it all gets jumbled up a lot: being gay, trans and black in 1910s was not a good life to lead. He’s got to step carefully around his memories.

Vrox: Doesn’t have a lot of nostalgia, but he DOES get weird dream-memories sometimes of back in his ‘baby years’, when he was just a simple hellhound without sapience yet. Jesse always laughs his ass off when Vrox has one of those dreams because Vrox looks so confused and disgruntled - and annoyed and embarrassed when he remembers something humiliating.

June: 99% of their nostalgia is soaked in PTSD, so no, they don’t enjoy it. The sound of the ocean, the smell of roses and citrus, wearing heavy dresses, any kind of grating or grinding on their teeth, and washing clothes by hand are all triggers, they hate it.

9. Do they swear? Do they remember their first swear word?

Jesse: Said “drat!” once and his mom made him wash all the dishes for three months straight. Needless to say, he doesn’t swear much even now. It gives it more impact when he does… unless in the bedroom, them he swears like, well, a demon.

Vrox: Fuck yes he fucking swears and he’d like any motherfucker to try and fucking stop him. Honestly the first word that came out of his mouth when he evolved was probably a swear of some kind.

June: Swears a lot. They’ll swear in front of you and your grandmother and your 6 year old, they don’t give a shit. They don’t remember their first one tho.

11. How do they cope with confusion (seek clarification, pretend they understand, etc)?

Jesse: Definitely asks, he’s a responsible bean who’s mature and wants to know exactly what’s going on.

Vrox: Probably doesn’t care enough to ask, unless it’s just him and Jesse, then he’ll ask.

June: They’ll fake it till they make it or ask with a blunt “what the fuck are you talking about?”

13. What color do they think they look best in? Do they actually look best in that color?

Jesse: Looks fucking fantastic in blue and/or yellow and knows this. Vrox can’t stop kissing him when he wears yellow and it almost reduces his big scary boyfriend to tears because “you look so cute, what the fuck, how are you so cute?!”

Vrox: Red. He loves red. But blue brings out his eyes and suits him better, tho red is also good on him.

June: Black or a dark smokey grey. They know they look damn good. They’re highly allergic to bright colours, you understand.

15. How do they speak? Is what they say usually thought of on the spot, or do they rehearse it in their mind first?

Jesse: Is the chillest charasmatic person you’ll ever meet, amazing at putting people at ease and making lasting conversations or small talk. Master people person. He can still talk a little ‘weird’ for our time and some old slang slips out occasionally, but still very confidant. thus i have no idea how to write him LMAO how are you cooler than me i created you wtf

Vrox: No small talk, no rehearsing. He’s intimidating and doesn’t normally talk to people unless absolutely necessary, or he’s trying to pick a fight. Has 0 interest in making people feel at ease or comfortable around him, he wants to be left alone as much as possible. People think he’s got a weird accent when he does talk, one that’s pretty unrecognizable - he spent most of his life in hell, after all, not on Earth.

June: Clipped, concise, they get what they need out of a conversation and then conversation is over. They don’t rehearse, they’re blunt and don’t care about feelings. They have the faintest hint of a cockney accent that gets stronger when they’re drunk/angry/emotional.

17. Are they easily embarrassed?

Jesse: Kind of. And he’s easily scandalized, and sometimes not in a funny way. He still forgets that it’s okay for him to hold Vrox’s hand in public where people can see.

Vrox: Only Jesse can really get blushes out of him.

June: Occasionally, but they’ll get irritated faster than they’ll get embarrassed, and when they get flustered they tend to scratch so be careful with that.

19. What is their favorite number?

Jesse: 2.

Vrox: 666.

June: 43.

21. Why do they get up in the morning? 

Jesse: Sometimes he doesn’t. Mostly because he tries to find good little things in every day that he looks forward to. Or because Vrox wheedles him out of bed with breakfast and kisses.

Vrox: Because somebody’s gotta annoy Jesse out of bed. Also because once he wakes up he gets restless and needs to move around, no peaceful lie-ins for him.

June: Because Taco won’t stop drooling and shedding on them, otherwise they wouldn’t. Sleep is like the only thing they enjoy... just not the dreams.

23. How does envy manifest itself in them (they take what they want, they become resentful, etc)?

Jesse: Gets a bit quiet but tries to feel happy for the person he’s envious of.

Vrox: Angrily. What did you expect. Tries to get the thing and if he can’t have it he tries to ruin it, or he just stalks off.

June: They get pissy and territorial and they sulk. A lot.

25. What are their thoughts on marriage? 

Jesse: Likes the idea, definitely wants to get married one day. His parents were both people of faith (even if it wasn’t SUPER strong) and he doesn’t really like that they would disapprove of him living in sin, ironic as it is. And he just wants to get married as an intimate tie.

Vrox: Doesn’t give a shit but would do anything to make Jesse happy.

June: HhahahAHAHAHAHAHAHahahahAHAHA no.

27. What causes them to feel dread?

Jesse: Any kind of weird looks in public, people he cares about running late, having anything around his neck, sleeping in the same room as other people (asides from Vrox.)

Vrox: Not being able to contact his (admittedly few) loved ones for whatever reason, and really not much else. Vrox doesn’t dread a lot.

June: Literally anything to do with their past, being shown affection, knowing they have to go out to a public gathering bc they are a big introvert, knowing they need to sleep at some point.

29. Do they usually live up to their own ideals?

Jesse: He tries damn hard to. you’re doin great sweetie.

Vrox: Has no real ideals and still disappoints himself on a regular basis.

June: They don’t really have any ideas other than ‘be a snarky asshole’ and they sure live up to that.

31. Who are they the most glad to have met?

Jesse: Vrox. He kept him safe when he needed it most, supported him through everything, always encouraged him to kick ass and do what he thinks is right.

Vrox: Jesse. He taught him that it was okay to let people in and to be soft, that just because he was a demon doesn’t mean he has to let it define everything he is.

June: Dante. He showed them a way out and helped them build a life, always there to support them. And Taco, of course.

33: Could they be considered lazy?

Jesse: No. At worst, depressed. He’s definitely not lazy, not by a long shot, very active in human rights, painting, social activities.

Vrox: Not really, he’s somebody who always has to be Doing Something.

June: Absolutely. They enjoy it greatly.

35: How do they treat the things their friends come to them excited about? Are they supportive?

Jesse: Super hyped and into it, gonna be asking lots of excited questions and listening to every word.

Vrox: Might playfully tease but always encourages whatever it is

June: Will roll their eyes and put on a show of not being interested but you bet your ass they’ll be paying attention and they will care (and anybody who manages to get close to June would know this)

37. Do they have a system for remembering names, long lists of numbers, things that need to go in a certain order (like anagrams, putting things to melodies, etc)?

Jesse: He’s got an okay memory but if he really needs to remember something he’ll scribble it in his sketchbook

Vrox: Is one of those people who needs to sing the entire ABCs while looking up a word in the dictionary. But he doesn’t really care.

June: Has a good memory, but if they forget something they don’t give a damn. If they forget somebody’s name they’ll just call them by a bunch of different insulting names and ignore the person trying to correct them.

39. How easy is it for them to ignore flaws in other people? 

Jesse: It really depends on what the flaws are, but mostly he’s pretty chill.

Vrox: Is Vrox. Everything pisses him off, what do you expect. He doesn’t take shit.

June: If they care about you, they will tolerate a lot, though they won’t overlook them. If they don’t care about you, prepare to have all your flaws thrown in your face.

41. How do they feel about children?

Jesse: Not good with little kids and feels awkward around them, but he’s good with older kids/teenagers.

Vrox: Is very good with little kids and likes them more than his scarred angry ass will admit.

June: Loves kids but they make them uncomfortable so they avoid them at all costs.

43. If someone asked them to explain their sexuality, how would they do so?

Jesse: “Gay, gay, very gay, have you even seen guys? Guys are great, I’m gay, I’m so gay.” (Vrox, in the background: “GAAAAAAAAAAAAYYYYYYYY”)

Vrox: “I don’t care, if I like you you’re stuck with me.”

June: “The void.”

#alex--blue #asks #my OCs #Jesse #Vrox #June #this took me a whole-ass day to write PFFFFTTT #thank you for asking buddy I love you #<3 <3 <3

[wordsinwinters]

Then Again, P3 Peter Parker x Reader

Author’s Note: Thank you again to everyone who liked Part 1 and Part 2! Each notification I get makes me embarrassingly happy - it really means a lot. I appreciate your notes more than I can say! (and if you want to leave a review, that’s super appreciated as well!)

About the story: I am so excited for the next chapter update! It’s awful writing Peter being as rude as he seems during this section, but upcoming chapters will fluctuate between his P.O.V. and the reader’s. Hopefully, that’ll clear things up and he'll seem more in character. I really love writing his chapters, they’re my favorites.

Part 1, Part 2, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10, Part 11

Anyway, here we go!

Then Again, Part 3:

(Word count: 1,813)

Aside from Peter’s obtrusive moodiness, the dinner ends up better than I imagined. We try to avoid too much debating - to save our brainpower for the coming tournament... and, though no one says it, to avoid being kicked out of the restaurant because Peter was getting way too loud while arguing with Flash.

Instead, we go a different route. We breathe life back into a handful of school memories, the kind I hope we always remember, even when we’re eighty. A personal favorite of mine is the time the captain of our baseball team misheard “shoe string” as “g-string” during the “Lost and Found” pep assembly game and, without hesitation, reached into his pocket and threw one down to Mr. Harrington (whose face was appropriately horrified). Or, a favorite of everyone’s, the time Abe spilled saline on Flash in Chemistry. Most of us were there when Flash pulled the emergency shower and started stripping in the middle of class because he assumed the liquid was acid and Abe was laughing too hard to tell him otherwise.

“Seriously? That’s so old!” (It was only two months ago.) Flash can’t let that story slip without protesting, yet he has to force his own laughter down. His mouth might be running, but I can tell he’s mostly amused, partly embarrassed. For once, he doesn’t seem like such an asshole. “And you shouldn’t laugh, Y/N, given what you did in first grade!”

I raise an eyebrow.

“Me? What about first grade?” I ask. He raises an eyebrow back to me as I squint, trying to recall. After a long pause, I remember. “Oh.... That about first grade.”

Of course he remembers. My face is changing colors, I know it is.

“Are you blushing?” Ned asks, astonished and intrigued.

I try to stifle the laughter rising in my throat. It bursts out anyway. I really can’t believe I forgot about this. If Flash hadn’t mentioned it, maybe by the grace of God, it would never have crossed my mind again. Damn you, Flash.

Peter shifts in his seat. His arm brushes mine as Flash begins to boast; he pulls it back. It makes me jump, just barely, from the warmth.

“Miss Goodie Goodie Two Shoes dragged me,” Flash says, “an innocent young boy, under the slide - during recess - to kiss me. And boy did she.”

Flash leans back in his chair, arms crossed, with an I won smirk that he directs at me, then Peter.

Screw you, Flash.

“You did not,” Michelle says in disbelief. “You kissed Flash?! And never mentioned it?”

“Hold on!” I say. Side conversations have halted for this piece of old gossip and there is no way Flash gets to bring me that low with something from a decade ago. “Back then, he was little, brainy Genie. And to be fair, he had a gumball machine delivered to my house. Yeah, Flash, don’t think I won’t bring up the fact you liked me, not the other way around. I assumed he was a rich prince and that if I kissed him, he would turn into a frog and I could steal his money from his locker and his desk. It wasn’t like I got naked in front of twenty-eight students and my teacher two months ago!”

“That’s so not how the fairytales go, Y/N,” Ned mutters. “Was your childhood okay?”

“You thought he was a frog?” Peter asks, speaking to me for the first time tonight. He crosses his arms.

“Yes, Peter Parker. I thought I could rob a magic frog prince. It borders on childhood criminal fantasy, but the point is: I was a child. You can’t make fun of me for something I did at six years old.”

“Oh, really? And what does frog taste like?”

His shoulder nudges mine as he leans in close, his eyes flickering to my lips for emphasis. My heartbeat is pulsing at the tips of my ears. I untuck my hair from them in case they turn red. I never thought he would look at me like this. Even if that look is for the wrong reason, it’s like a finger curling around my collar bone building pressure as it pulls downward. My breathing verges on painful.

What was the kiss like?

I pause.

“Dirt,” I say. Make this funny again. “Even as I dragged him to the slide, his hands were stuffing his mouth with dirt.”

Laughter erupts again. Thank God. Soon, Abe is almost in tears over it, clapping Flash on the back as Flash stammers to defend his choice of lunch ten years ago.

Peter goes silent again, eyes on the floor. Against my will, I can picture a tiny Peter Parker sulking inside my brain picking at the loose threads of my mental Perfect Day tapestry. My optimism is coming completely undone. Frustration or anxiety or both are pushing me off of my little “today” high.

We exit the restaurant at 10:27. Goodbyes and “See you in the morning!”’s pass between everyone in a jumble of half-conversations. I eavesdrop on Ned and Betty, both leaning against the window, cloaked in neon red glow with taxi headlights gliding over their kneecaps.

“So lame that Mr. Harrington won’t let us bring non-team members,” Ned’s saying. “He’s always being such a stick in the mud. Somebody should just... I don’t know.” He stumbles for words. “Like, kill him or something.”

Betty lets out an awkward chuckle.

“You know,” he hurries, “as, like, a prank.”

She snorts, covering her mouth as she doubles over.

“Totally. I’ll write the Morning Announcement piece on it and everything. See you in Psych in a few days?”

“Yeah! If I’m not in jail for murder, you know?”

Now they’re both laughing. Little stars of excitement bloom in my chest. I’m so glad Betty came. I’m thinking about all the future excuses I can muster up to force them to work with one another in class. My daydream dissolves as Michelle hip checks me back into the present.

“I hope you’re ready to lose a seventh hour buddy,” she whispers.

“Nah. I’ll stay on that love train as a third wheel. Gotta make sure the conductor doesn’t wreck it.”

“Trains have like, 8 wheels per segment.”

“Per car, you mean.”

“Exactly. I think Ned can handle it.”

“This must be a new record for us derailing a metaphor because I don’t follow the tracks you’re laying down.”

“Those are terrible puns and you know it.”

I shake my head and roll my eyes. The phrase I love my friends should be etched into the bone of each of my ribs. The phrase repeats itself so often in my head I like to visualize it that way.

As Cindy, Abe, Sally, and Betty wave goodbye, I turn to Ned. He’s waving back at them, a grin sprawled across his face. Eventually I catch his eye and smirk.

“You saw what you saw,” he mouths, jerking his head slightly to where Betty had been standing and giving me his best “cool guy” attitude.

Before I can respond, Flash finishes his conversation with Peter (which... though tense, didn’t seem hostile for once), and addresses the remaining four of us.

“You know, I thought this dinner thing was a joke at first, but it was actually... not the worse idea in the history of Midtown Tech. It gets an official Flash rating of Not Totally Lame.”

Michelle raises her eyebrows. Ned and Peter look vaguely annoyed. Personally, I’m not that surprised. (I’m kind of surprised - that he vocalized it.)

“You’re wel-”

“Yeah, dude, well, you were only invited a few hours ago,” Peter says. He scratches the bridge of his nose and rubs his eyebrow before making eye contact with Flash again. “And the rest of us planned this last month. Like, ages ago.”

Everyone freezes.

“Cool,” Flash says. “Bye guys. Fuck you, Penis Parker.”

Peter doesn’t speak a word as we walk back to his and May’s apartment. His behavior is so foreign, so drastically cold even compared to how he’s been all week, that Ned, Michelle, and I keep our mouths shut too. Until we reach the door.

Peter unlocks it and turns around.

“You guys staying here tonight?”

“Yeah,” says Ned with the tone of obviously.

“Do you want us to go home?” I ask.

He looks at the ground as he shrugs. He seems almost as shy as the first time I met him, years ago.

What is going on in Spider Town?

“Just thought you guys might sleep better in beds. I know that couch sucks.”

“The couch is fine,” I say, wondering if he needs the reassurance of us wanting to be there. “MJ is what sucks. She pushed me off in her sleep half a dozen times. This time, she gets to sleep on the edge.”

Michelle nods. “But if you try to spoon me even once, I’m going to roll over and crush you.”

Peter stops listening and pushes the door open.

I fight the urge to kick at his heel while I follow. Peter Parker has always been the sweetest person in this city. Right now, though, he’s genuinely pissing me off. He’s acted worse than Flash has tonight, completely unlike himself. If anything, he’s making Flash look like a better friend.

After faces are washed, teeth brushed, and retainers stuck into place (everyone but Michelle - her teeth are naturally perfect), we turn off the lights and head to our usual sleeping stations. Michelle and I on the couch, Peter and Ned in the bunk beds. I lie on the couch for fifteen minutes, itching my index finger.

“Hey, I’ll be right back. Don’t steal my spot.”

Because of my retainers, it sounds more like, “Don’t thteal my thpot.” I take them out.

Maybe I can end this on a good note.

I stumble in the dark for a few steps until I find the hallway with my hands. I reach Peter’s door and turn the knob. A quiet conversation stops.

“Ned,” I whisper from the doorway. “Before I go to bed, I just need to clarify: if you do murder Mr. Harrington, legally I’ll have to testify against you. And I don’t want to see you behind bars. Try a different way to impress her, maybe?”

“Oh my goddd,” Ned groans. “I.... I still have no idea why I said that.”

I imagine Peter smiling on his bunk. He probably isn’t. If he were in a good mood, he would laugh and ask what we were talking about. If he were in a better mood at all, he would know by now.

“I know,” I say. “Goodnight!”

As I pop back out of the room, I hear Ned’s reply and Peter’s quiet, “Yeah.”

Who says “Yeah” to a “Goodnight”?

Peter Parker, apparently.

Tomorrow, I’m either going to hug him or kill him.

Part 4

Next update: Saturday 7. 

Or Friday 6 - whichever day you guys prefer.

I hope you guys enjoyed this! Let me know what you think!

P.S. I apologize for my awful frog jokes in P2 and P3.

#peter parker x reader #peter parker x you #peter parker imagine #spider-man x reader #spider-man x you #spider-man fanfiction #spider-man fanfic #tom holland x reader #tom holland fanfiction #tom holland #tom holland imagine #spiderman homecoming #spider-man homecoming #smh #peter parker #avengers #avengers fanfiction #spider-man #part 3

[pratktcven]

bloom

bloom part two. heith. pg-13. in which keith is a florist and hunk is a tattoo artist. thanks to @faorism and @blackcatbone for the beta! also available on ao3

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part one

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They work in relative silence, a quiet upset only by the snip of Keith's shears, the rasp of Hunk's soft lead pencils, and the occasional question.

"Hey, Keith," Hunk says several minutes after settling onto Shiro's stool. Keith looks up from his work—which he was struggling to focus on instead of Hunk—and tilts his head wordlessly. "Sorry to interrupt but, uhh, can I pick these up? I want to sketch them from different angles."

"Yeah," Keith replies. "Go ahead."

Hunk grins at him and gently picks up a stem. He holds it carefully as he examines it, sketching quickly and from several different angles.

"Do these come in different colors?" Hunk asks when the blue thistle is pinched between his fingers. "I mean, not this one, specifically, but all of them. My client was still trying to decide between grayscale and color, and I don't wanna make something yellow when it should only be red, you know?"

"Well, the thistle you're holding is always blue or purple, in any shade between the two," Keith answers. "The wax flowers—the tiny ones with the needle-like leaves—are commonly white or pink or magenta, though I have seen variants in pale green or red. As for the cabbage roses, those can be pretty much be any warm pastel color you want, like pink or peach, yellow or ivory."

Hunk writes down Keith's notes in the margin of his sketchbook, tongue between his teeth in concentration. He circles a few and draws arrows to some of his drawings; Keith recognizes the motions, but he is too far away to see any real detail.

"What about the filler?"

"There isn't any variation on those."

Hunk hums a thank you as he jots down a few more words at the bottom of the page, then flips the sketchbook over to a clean sheet.

"Okay, last one," Hunks says. "Do these flowers have any special or secret meaning?"

Keith snorts at the question. Hunk grins wryly at the derisive sound, as though to say, "That bad, huh?" It is very different from the sour frowns Keith usually receives from customers when he is impolite, but it is enough of a reminder for him to feel a tiny pinprick of guilt.

"Sorry," Keith murmurs, dropping his gaze to the echeveria, hydrangea, and dusty miller laid out before him. Sometimes he forgets that not everyone has been a florist since they were seventeen. "It's just—well, nobody really cares about flower language anymore."

"Really?" Hunk blinks. "What about, like, roses and stuff?"

"Those are an exception," Keith admits. "Red roses for love. Yellow roses for friendship. But those are mainstream enough that people buy them by the stem or by the dozen if they're trying to say something. Otherwise it's all about the recipient's personal taste."

"Do you get a lot of clients who ask about it?"

Keith shrugs. "Some. Shiro's the one who deals with most of the orders, and he always tells them that what's important is who it's for, not what it's for."

"I get that," Hunk says with a nod. "A good tattoo is the same way. It's how you feel about your tattoo, not how other people do."

Keith's eyes dart from Hunk's face to the intricate lines covering Hunk's skin. They're gorgeous, straight lines on an organic, curving canvas, and they manage to be both delicate and masculine. Surely the tattoos mean something—Hunk does not seem like the kind of person to do something without purpose, even if that purpose were for aesthetic—but by the time Keith gathers enough courage to ask, Hunk has returned to his sketchbook.

Briefly, Keith regrets his inability to make conversation. He wants to talk to Hunk and learn more about him. He even tries to think of something to say. Everything he comes up with sounds stilted though, and if it's awkward inside his own mind, Keith can't imagine how his thoughts would flounder off his tongue. So instead of speaking, he heaves a silent sigh, and returns to his arrangement.

.

Keith does not know how long Hunk sketches. There is no clock in the shop, and Keith's cellphone is plugged into the outlet by the register. He cannot gauge a time by his arrangement either, since his normal efficiency is hindered by the distraction of the man across from him. If Keith were to hazard a guess, however, he would say that Hunk spends an hour perched on Shiro's stool before he hops off and stretches.

The hem of Hunk's pale blue, pineapple-and-palm-tree print muscle tank rides up over the swell of his belly. Keith's gaze sweeps over Hunk's exposed skin, before his common sense reminds him that it's impolite to stare.

"Get everything you need?" Keith blurts in an attempt to act casual.

"I think I did!" Hunk beams in reply. "I have enough rough sketches to get the feel of the flowers. Now I just need to google the main flower. After I do that, I can start fitting it all together and make some concrete designs."

Keith takes a sprig of dusty miller from his arrangement, mumbles, "Sorry I don't have any king protea for you," then sticks the silver-green foliage right back where it was.

"Dude," Hunk interjects emphatically. "You have helped me so much, you don't even know. I'm not kidding when I say this is my first floral tattoo. I didn't even know where to start before I came over. I owe you big time, seriously."

"You don't owe me anything," Keith says, his shoulders tightening at Hunk's praise. He loves his job and he knows that he has a good eye, but compliments are difficult to accept when he hasn't really done anything. "It was fun."

"Pretty sure I still owe you," Hunk responds with a smile. "How about I buy you lunch at Xi's?"

The brittle tension in Keith's shoulders slips down his spine. While he cannot think of anything better than having lunch at Xi's Noodle Emporium, eating with and talking to the man he has been harboring a crush on for the better part of two months, he also cannot think of anything worse. The tables at Xi's are tiny; if Keith spends an hour knocking his knees against Hunk's legs, he is sure that his face will become hot enough to spontaneously combust.

So instead of accepting Hunk's offer, Keith shakes his head and lies.

"Sorry," he declines. "Shiro and Lance are going to be back soon, and they said they were going to pick up lunch. But—umm—thank you?"

"Oh." Hunk blinks. "Okay." He pauses, his eyes flickering over Keith's face. Briefly, Keith wonders if Hunk can tell that he isn't telling the truth; Shiro has always maintained that Keith is a terrible liar, but Keith doesn't know how accurate the statement is considering that Shiro is also his cousin. "What about some other time this week?"

At this point in their conversation, Keith's back is so tense that if anyone touches him, he may snap in half. He wants to say yes—he really, really does—but he also knows what would happen if he did. He is not good at maintaining conversation, only killing it, and he balks at the thought of their easy rapport dying an awkward but inevitable death.

"Sorry," Keith says again, though this apology sounds much more sincere and much less panicked. "I have a shipment tomorrow and a wedding on Sunday, so I'll be really busy until then."

This, at least, is not a lie. Keith will be consumed by work the moment he receives his awaited order.

"Oh." Hunk's smile dims a little and his gaze dips down. "I guess it is wedding season, isn't it?"

"Yeah," Keith affirms. "It is."

Silence descends and stretches into several very uncomfortable seconds. It is exactly what Keith had been trying to avoid with his first rejection, but he supposes that the presence of such discomfiture only confirms his previous surety of disaster.

"Well, uhh, you gotta do what you gotta do, I guess." Hunk tucks his notebook firmly between his bicep and his torso, then reaches up and scrubs a hand across the back of his neck. "I should get back to the shop and get started on some real sketches. Not that these aren't real, because they're obviously there on the paper, but like—more together? I—shit—I already told you that. About putting it into a single piece. Right?"

"Right," Keith says.

"Because I thought I did, but then I just blanked? Or whatever. But—uhh—thank you? No, that came out wrong." Hunk clears his throat. "I mean, thank you again. For the help. That I needed. For my… client." Hunk visibly winces as he stumbles over his own words, his wide, handsome face momentarily pinched. "Wow, okay, this is not how I imagined this going."

The last statement is muttered beneath Hunk's breath, giving Keith pause. He is a little perplexed by the devolution of Hunk's confidence into disjointed rambles, and this confusion makes him tilt his head and ask, "Imagine what going?"

"Nothing!" Hunk blurts. The hand on the back of his neck flies upwards into the space between them, his palm out and fingers splayed as though to physically deflect Keith's suspicion. "Nothing at all! I was just—just talking to myself! Ha! But seriously, this is me leaving. Right now. You're busy, I've taken up way too much of your time and—bye. Yes. Thank you very much for your time, I hope the rest of your afternoon is great, good luck with the wedding."

After this last sentiment falls out of his mouth, Hunk nods to himself, turns around jerkily, and all but speed-walks to the door with his shoulders squared stiffly and his head held unnaturally high. Then—when his free hand comes into contact with the exit's stainless steel push bar—he stops.

Pauses for the space of a heart beat.

Looks over his bare, tattooed shoulder and grins, small and sheepish and warm.

"Bye," Hunk says.

"Bye," Keith echoes.

Then the bell above the door rattles, and Hunk is outside, skin cast golden beneath the summer sun. Keith watches as he checks for traffic; as he briskly jaywalks across the undivided four lane street; as he approaches the tattoo parlor. He does not look back before he disappears, the door swinging shut behind him, and Keith mentally chides himself for the stab of disappointment he feels. Keith is the one with the inconvenient crush, not Hunk, and no matter how much Keith wants him to, Hunk isn't obligated to cast a final look at the floral shop…

Or ask Keith out to lunch for a third time.

"Stupid," Keith mutters to himself as he drags his gaze away from the tattoo parlor's closed door and back towards the table. He needs to finish his arrangement, not stand in the middle of the shop and overanalyze every word he and Hunk exchanged. "Stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid…"

And with that mantra in his brain, Keith grabs his trimming scissors from his apron pocket, and gets back to work.

.

to be continued!

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#heith #keith #hunk #my fic #text

[dememarquette]

GSI AU

[Prelude] - Part One - Part Two

IN THE JANKY HALLS OF THE GSI OFFICES…

No sun, no air, hardly the sound of another human being unless you count the incessant scrabbling of pen against paper (though it sounds much more like a convict taking a spoon to the concrete wall), the tepid wasteland of GSI offices lay nestled beneath the extravagant offices of tenured professors. You know you’ve made it when you have a window in your office. For now, the majority of us sit ass to elbows and wait for a student to pass by so we can, at last, feel useful.

The next time you think the life of a graduate student is glamorous, think again. I’m here to tell you that we hate ourselves just as much as you hate us for calling you out on your shitty paper.

Yes, in the dark underbelly of each building hides a squadron of graduate students furiously pedaling away to keep the electricity going. Don’t forget it, and make sure you clear out by 6 pm because that’s when we all emerge to return home, bringing doom and gloom up to the surface alongside us.

I glance at the clock. 5:59 pm. Time to go. Everything is packed into a folder, a binder, a pencil case with a compartment for each pen and pencil, and then I’m good to go, hitting the light switch on my way out to startle the remainder of the graduate team. They blink at me owlishly atop piles of empty coffee cups like dragons hoarding gold.

That, at least, gets me ten feet out the door before I have to backpedal. When you’re on the way home, it takes the supernatural to hold you back. That or the foul stench of defamation.

Amongst the chaos of the bulletin board, the brightly-colored posters and the stray cry for help (DISSERTATION EDITOR NEEDED IMMEDIATELY!! And IS MONOGAMY A LIE??), all that’s left of my flyer is a corner. In its place stands a Spotify promotion disguised as an educational flyer, in turn disguising Gwen Stefani as music. It reads:

LINGUSTICS. THIS SH!T IS BANANAS. B-A-N-A-N-A-S.

I glare at it for a minute before tearing it down and putting my flyer back up.

The next day, Gwen Stefani glares right back at me.

***

“Alright, so remember we have a quiz on Thursday, and that English uses Greek as an embellishment, but in Greek those words are simple as hell and make you sound like an idiot. Martyr. Witness. Phobia.” I shrug. “Fear.”

I shove my folder into my bag and zip it shut, nearly getting my finger caught in the zipper. Fuck. Play it off. “Okay, now get out of here and take Greek 1.”

The students miserably shuffle out the door. The girl in the back was pounding two thermoses of something all throughout lecture, either coffee or liquor—maybe both. I don’t blame her. It’s about that time where the line in my office goes right out the door and to the bathroom around the corner. Please, the desperate college student begs, I will literally die if I don’t get a B in this class.

Well, fuck. Just die then because it isn’t going to happen.

I lean against the podium and watch the back row clear out. I’m not in a particularly forgiving mood this semester. Too many apathetic faces staring at me, but at least I’ve come to a tacit agreement with my students. We’re all here against our will. They’re here because, as first-year undergrads, they have shit registration times and got stuck with a 7 am Greek Religion class, and I’m here because I tragically split hot coffee on my advising professor’s pantsuit. Twice.

When the last person leaves the classroom, I immediately deflate onto the table and groan. It’s an impressive groan that lasts for at least a minute, don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.

“Wow. What an impressive groan.”

I don’t have enough self-respect to lift up my head. “Yup,” I say. “I’ve been practicing.”

“It’s paying off. Hey, do you mind moving a bit to your left? I gotta plug my laptop in.”

I move the chair to the left. The dude has adventurous taste in footwear. When’s the last time I saw a pair of monk straps? The answer is there was never a time. I have never seen a pair of monk straps in person, other than on myself. So you got me, dude. I’m down on my self-respect but I would never turn down a chance to look at the owner of a magnificent pair of shoes.

I look up. As expected, his shoes are the best part of him.

“Okay,” I say, abruptly standing up. “Farewell.”

“See you.”

Why, Erebus? You could have stayed, the two of you could have talked shop! You never find another GSI wearing anything outside the category of high school boy footwear. Yeah, I could’ve killed myself too, doesn’t mean I’m going to do it. I laid there for five minutes, and now my workload has interested by a corresponding five minutes. Ugh.

I step out of the classroom and maneuver around the crowd of students lining up to enter the room, forcing me to go a different route. I trot down the hall—with dignity, might I add, which is a lot harder than it sounds. Trotting is generally undignified, but I am all dignity.

That is, until I come across an entire wall of Gwen Stefani posters pinned all over the Center of Religious Studies corkboard. The paper taped on top of the board reads: DO NOT POST WITHOUT PERMISSION. I’m pretty fucking sure Spotify didn’t get permission from the department.

I have a fuckton of work sitting on my desk and last month’s test scores are backlogged in the system, but I also have a stapler in my bag and a whole stack of event flyers hot off the press. Why the hell not?

It takes me fifteen minutes to rip down the entire wall of Gwen and replace the posters with my own. I leave one defiled Spotify poster, just as you leave one man alive in an army you slaughter. You know. As a warning.

***

“610, Muhammed receives a message from the angel Gabriel. He is told the Arabs must follow the Abrahamic God, and that he is the chosen prophet, Jesus Christ’s legitimate successor. The Eastern Christian Church already split from the Greek Orthodox Church at this point in time—why? The Romans were—man, the Romans were off their game. Christianity no longer emphasized discipline and moral fiber, but Muslims did. That’s why the Romans were so offended by Islam. Because it was, essentially, a purer form of Christianity.”

There’s a lecture this Friday on the beginning of Islam and its relation to Greek Orthodox Christianity. If you’re interested, look at the poster board outside the classroom.”

Apparently, I spoke too soon. When I went into the classroom, my flyer was up. When I went out, it was replaced by Gwen Stefani. Fuck.

“I hate you,” I say to Gwen, pressing my nose right up into the flyer.

Someone clears their throat behind me. “You a big fan of Gwen Stefani?”

“You wouldn’t ask a Jew if they were into Hitler. Why would you ask an East Asian if they’re into Gwen Stefani?”

“Woah.”

“Yup. Totally wish I could take that back. But hey I haven’t made eye contact with you yet so this conversation never happened. Goodbye.” I scuttle away, keeping my eyes on the floor. Oh. It’s monk strap guy. Good to see you again.

Back in my office, there’s a post-it note on my desk summoning me to the department head’s office that afternoon. I’ve done a lot of questionable things that would warrant a summoning—I’m going to need more fingers to count the possible things this meeting could be about. Uhm. As a historian of Islamic history, I’ve been reported as a ISIS-sympathizer. One time a white supremacist reported me for being racist, which was fun.

I wait on the bench outside her office, flanked by Gwen Stefani posters. I drop my head in my hands and groan.

“Oh hey, Hitler dude. What’s up?” Someone sits down beside me when the entire bench is available.

“Gwen Stefani.”

“What?”

“No, seriously. Look up.”

Monk strap guy looks up and squints at the poster before snorting. “Shit. Okay, that one was definitely not me.”

“Wait—what?” No. Don’t do this to me. Don’t let my only acquaintance who has ascended far above Adidas and Nikes be—be a Gwen Stefani sympathizer. “Are you the one posting all these fucking Gwen Stefanis everywhere?”

“Are you the one replacing my posters with, what was it, Religious Studies?”

“Replacing—I’m not the one replacing them. You replaced mine first, and it’s Center! CENTER for Religious Studies, and I’m restoring the poster boards to their original glory, their—their academic glory! There is no academic glory or integrity in Gwen Stefani.”

“Oh. I thought we had a friendly rivalry going on.”

“We aren’t friends,” I hiss. “We are enemies.”

“That’s cool too.” He extends his hand and I stare at it suspiciously. “I’m Demetri.”

“I’m Erebus, and I don’t shake hands. Germs.” Right as I do jazz-hands, the department head’s office door opens and I get up to go. I turn back, narrowing my eyes at Demetri. “This is a ceasefire. Stay off my turf and we’re all good.”

Demetri shrugs. “Sure.”

***

The following day, David Bowie’s face on my office door squints back at me.

#au #gsi au #GSI is teacher's assistant at a college #story #birthday gift #not my writing #erebus

[bananashemmo]

#244: You Meet At A Masquerade Ball

A/N:

This one makes me really excited because it was different and original I couldn’t say yes fast enough when it was requested. @urbanstrangersfanfics was the one coming up with the idea in my DM’s and normally I don’t check those because of spam but god I’m happy I did!!! :-) x

Requested: Yes //  Find my Masterlist here 

Luke:

“Sorry, I didn’t see you there.” Normally when hearing that sentence, it was assumed that the person never actually mean his words. It was something said out of habit without giving a single glance towards the person being bumped into, but when you both shared the eye contact you could tell there was something to it. “It’s alright.” You casually mumbled and fiddled with your dress, not really knowing what to say or where to go. You had been standing at the same spot for at least an hour now. He looked down at you with a blush on his cheeks by the otherwise little push he had given you in the shoulder and placed his hands into his blazer pockets. “I’m sorry I’m so awkward I’ve just been away from my friends and with all these masks I’m having trouble trying to find any of them. You know that feeling?” The way he was looking down at you with blue eyes that charmed their way out of his black masquerade mask showed that he was actually a little bit nervous but you didn’t mind. “I’ve been standing here in the same spot for too long now. My friend had the same mask as someone else but now I feel like I’ve seen the same beige one seven times.” You fiddled with the glass in your hand and laughed quietly when he giggled as well. The only thing that seemed to stand out from his mask was his curly locks and tall frame that with eyes, seemed almost magical. “Well while we’re both lost,” He reached his hand forward in invitation of a dance and nodded his head towards the dance floor filled with many unfamiliar guests, “How about we introduce our secret selves with a little formal dance?”

Calum:

“Oh, no no this wasn’t supposed to happen!” He exclaimed with wide eyes and kept on almost apologizing, his hands fumbling around the back of his hair, “This is so embarrassing I’m not even shocked it is happening to me.” It had been less than seconds before he had gotten the chance to introduce himself to you that he in accident felt his mask starting to lose. It had been in a quick reaction that he placed his drink onto the table behind you and grabbed onto the mask to make sure he wasn’t revealing himself. It was all about the secrets, it was what the ball was about in the first place and he wanted the keep his anonymous identity. You stood for a few seconds debating with yourself whether or not to help because he was getting a little bit stressed, his inked hands shaking to get the mask wrapped around his face again. “Here, let me help you.” You couldn’t witness his helpless self anymore and leaned up to his tall frame to grab the mask from his rough fingers and tied a small knot yourself. He stood completely relieved by your help and cleared his throat when getting eye contact, letting you see the chocolate orbs of his. “I’m Calum, by the way.” He introduced in laughter, “Sorry about the panic. I just really adore the traditions of these kinds of balls and I’d be sad to do a complete fool of myself already before even getting the chance to introduce my name.” “That’s completely fine.” You replied and took a step back to see him fully, his hair wasn’t that short but he still looked great. “I’m Y/N.” You grabbed your drink and reached out to shake his hand politely, seeing him give you an award-winning smile.

Michael:

”Normally I would never have the confidence to do this but since this is a night of secret faces I thought I had to do something different.” You looked up confused by the sudden guy taking a seat on the mini bar you had seated yourself at, eyes wide by his sudden gesture. “And must I admit your eyes are just as pretty as they looked on far distance.” A deep blush came to your cheeks by his compliment and he smiled gently, “Okay I’ve been drinking plenty of welcome champagne and my mask is white and made out of paper… But hey, at least I’m trying.” He ran a hand through his dirty blond locks and chuckled quietly at his behavior. “I think you’re very good at what you’re doing right now.” You giggled softly and swirled the olive around your glass of martini with a toothpick. He smiled to himself by your words and positioned on the bar chair so he could look over at the view of people dancing. “You were dragged here by your friends as well?” He questioned and played with the mask he was wearing, having the navy blue color. “Yeah I’m not really sure if this is actually my thing.” You admitted and hurried to drink the rest of your glass when he suddenly grabbed you down and pulled you from the chair. “That makes you my partner in crime of the night! I’m getting revenge on my friends for dragging me here by loosening people’s mask to reveal their faces!” You had absolutely no idea who this dude was but it was better than drinking alone and trying to get over the night. “And the best thing,” He announced, “We’re both masked. Nobody will ever find out that it’s us.”

Ashton:

“I’m gonna warn you already! I’m a horrible dancer.” Your eyes looked up dizzy by the sudden change of dance partner, seeing a curly haired lad stand in front of you with a black mask and hazel eyes. “But I’m gonna try my best just to make sure I don’t embarrass us.” He gently grabbed your hand and wrapped the other around your waist, doing his utter best to not fail. You giggled softly by his nervousness and bit down on your lip, you hadn’t seen him around. He was in fact doing very well, he had nothing to be nervous about. It wasn’t that you were bumping between other partners and his smile seemed to make everything ten times better. “I think you’re doing very well.” You admitted, seeing it become even wider and he looked down at his shoes almost forgetting his next step and knocked himself into you. “Okay I’m gonna keep quiet not to trigger it.” You exclaimed and he was quick to laugh. “I just gotta concentrate, mysterious girl.” He gave you an extra look as if he was trying to figure out who you were but truth was you had never seen each other before so giving up would be the easiest way. He had this expression that told he was trying his best but he only hummed. “If we survive this dance maybe you’ll be able to see my face.” A challenging expression came to his face by your words and he licked his lips carefully before giving your shoes another glance. That was definitely something he found interesting and he leaned down to whisper in your ear.  “Then I must prepare myself for something great because with eyes like yours it’s killing me not to see the rest of your beautiful face.”

#i want to go to a ball so bad :(( #biggest dream #we dont really have those around here #we had one once and it flopped completely #5sos #5sos imagine #5sos imagines #5sos preference #5sos preferences #5sos au #5sos aus #5sos writing #5sos wirtings #5sos smut #5sos smuts #5sos blurb #5sos blurbs #5sos fanfiction #5sos fanfictions #5 writing #5sos writngs #5sos scenario #5sos scenarios #5 seconds of summer #5 seconds of summer preferences #5 seconds of summer preference #5 seconds of summer imagine #5 seconds of summer imagines #5 seconds of summer smut #5 seconds of summer writing

[a-taller-tale]

Two Dudes Walk Into a Bar

Trope prompt for @hakanakiki: Grimmons undercover at a gay bar. Summary:  Simmons is determined to get the information and get a commendation by whatever means necessary. [Also on Ao3]

Once Grif got the bartender’s attention, he pointed his thumb at Simmons. “He’ll take the girliest drink you serve.”

“What the fuck, Grif?!” Simmons shoved him, but they weren’t in armor, so Grif didn’t fall off the bar stool like he would have liked.

The bartender eyed Simmons. “Something sweet?”

“I’ll take a beer,” he huffed. “Whatever’s cheapest on tap.”

“Jeez, Simmons. They have good drinks here. Who’s the insecure one now?”

The bartender nodded to Grif, who sighed. “I’ll take a Painkiller. For this pain in the ass.”

The bartender winked at both of them to diffuse the 'fight.' Oh god, he thought they were dating, didn’t he?

No. This was good. That was going to be their cover. Their instructions from Command were to stake out this bar every day for the next week. The city wasn't far from Blood Gulch, but it was far enough that every mile they'd traveled driving up here, Grif had gotten more and more cheerful. He wasn't taking this mission seriously at all.

Luckily Simmons was more than up for this. They were supposed to be on the look for a man named Smith, who had a very specific description. Supposedly, he frequented this bar and he had some information that would be invaluable for Red Command and all the Red Army posts. It could be the key to their victory! Why, if this mission was successful and they got valuable enough intel, he could get a commendation! Or even a medal! That would show everyone who never believed in Private Simmons. Take that, Dad!

Well, he might get a medal if his partner wasn’t Grif. As if on cue, Grif sighed loudly, looking so bored he might take a nap at the bar, but still more content than he usually looked back at base.

The whole thing could have been way worse though. It could have been Donut.

Or Sarge. He couldn’t imagine Sarge in a place like this, but it would probably be the stuff of nightmares.

While they were waiting on their drinks, Simmons took a look around to get the layout. The club wasn’t very different from any other club. Not that he’d been to any in person, but he’d seen them in movies, like The Matrix. There were some glow sticks, but not as many as he thought there would be.

Considering what kind of club it was, he’d thought it would be more Donut’s color scheme. Donut had definitely talked enough about the schematics of his future club, The Donut Hole, during Red Team meetings for the images to be burned into his brain.

But this place was just dark and crowded. There were dimmer lights near the bar and glowing neon lights on the dance floor near the DJ. There were only men dancing together. Simmons tried not to feel too on edge. It probably would have been worse if there were girls here anyway.

Their drinks were set in front of them.

“Why are we at a…” Simmons looked around and whispered the last part.

“What was that, Simmons?” Grif took a sip of his drink.

“A gay bar,” he whispered louder.

Grif cupped his hand around his ear. “What?”

“A GAY BAR, ASSHOLE!” It was in perfect timing with the last song ending, so his yell echoed through the club.

Simmons ducked his head and took several gulps of his drink, feeling eyes on him. He’d feel slightly better after he downed half his beer. Beer was comforting in new territory.

Grif patted him on the shoulder. “Cheer up, buddy. Now everyone knows where they are.”

Goddammit, Grif.

“As for why we're here, uh.. the guy probably likes dudes. Or the drinks. This place isn't bad. I say we relax, have a few drinks, and watch the game," Grif said. "No way is this guy gonna show up the first night.”

Which was exactly the moment Simmons spotted a flash of dark purple in the crowd. “There he is! That’s our target!”

“What? It can’t be.” Grif looked really confused. Figured. Grif thought this was a vacation or something. There were here on official business, Grif!

“Yeah it’s totally him! He has a ridiculous handlebar mustache and a purple suit with a yellow lapel flower! He exactly matches the description! We got him the first night!”

“Fucking figures…” Grif didn’t move, sipping more of his drink.

“C’mon Grif, we gotta follow him!”

“He’s just dancing or something, dude. I don’t think he has any information on the enemy. How can you even be sure he’s the right—?”

Simmons pulled Grif out of his seat, which was more of a struggle than it usually was out of armor too. Grif was really solid. The fat-ass managed to drain his drink without spilling it all over himself and leave it on a nearby table as Simmons dragged him. “We have to get over there. We’re supposed to be following him!”

Simmons’ nerves picked up as soon as they were out on the floor. It was crowded. Luckily the purple suit guy was easy to spot. A lot of guys here were dressed…nicer? Wearing tight pants or tight tops or suits, and one guy was even wearing a shiny sequined number that reminded him of Donut. It was less over the top than Simmons imagined a gay bar would be, but he was still really under dressed in comparison. Pressed shirt and slacks, but at least looked less sloppy than Grif who was just wearing an open button down over a t-shirt and loose jeans.

God, they sucked at this.

The guy in the tailored purple suit had found a dance partner… or his contact!

They had to get over there and listen in. It… Was it weird they didn’t have any other instructions though? He didn’t have any spy gear or anything to plant on the guy. They were just supposed to observe and report.

Still, this was starting to really feel like an action thriller. Normal military life in Blood Gulch was never this exciting.

Dragging Grif closer he found a spot in earshot of the two and grabbed Grif’s hand in his left and placing his right hand on the small of Grif’s back.

“What the hell are you doing?” Grif asked flatly.

“We have to dance! We’ll stick out otherwise!”

“Are you actually trying to ballroom dance with me right now?”

It was the only dance he knew. His mom had signed him up and he’d never danced with anyone else, but he got the forms perfect after practicing in the mirror.

“You have a better idea?” Simmons demanded.

“Literally anything else,” Grif said with an eyeroll. Asshole.

Simmons scowled. “Everyone’s dancing. I don’t see you helping.”

Grif batted his hands off and took a lead position, hands on Simmons’ hips.

“I don’t see how that’s that different than—“

And then he started moving and, he actually had good rhythm even though it wasn’t a real dance or anything. Simmons was a full beat behind on every move Grif tried to make with him, but he just smirked and they kept awkwardly dancing, even though Simmons felt like a wooden puppet.

Sometimes he couldn't tell if he was having fun with Grif, or if Grif was just laughing at him. If he had had a couple more drinks maybe he could relax. It was so foreign to have someone touching him. “I can’t hear anything. We have to get closer.”

Grif let out an annoyed breath through his nose, but steered closer to where the other couple was dancing closer.

The sooner they got any information the sooner they could leave, because he was starting to feel really weird about Grif dancing with him and being so close. And they weren’t doing much better with blending in since Simmons couldn’t stop moving like a robot. Grif didn’t seem to mind very much, but—

Suddenly, purple-suit-guy started leaning towards his companion. This was it. After they heard his plans, Simmons would have the key to victory!

Holy shit, they're making out.

Simmons was suddenly hyper aware of everyone else around them grinding and kissing and god they were sticking out so much. The purple guy was going to make them in a second! And then they’d lose their chance for Simmons’ well-deserved promotion forever!

“We’re not going to get any information tonight,” Grif said. “Let’s just go back to the bar, you need to have another—"

Simmons kissed him.

Grif stared at him like Simmons had just slapped him in the face. “What the fuck are you doing?”

“Blending in!” Simmons winced at how high pitched his voice came out. He coughed so his voice would go back to normal levels. “Everyone else is making out.”

Grif looked exasperated which was ridiculous because he wasn’t helping at all. “You kissed me on the cheek, you loser.”

Grif was going to blow their cover with all his snarking! Simmons growled, kissing him on the lips this time to shut him up.

After just a frozen moment Grif melted slightly, and tilted his head so their lips slid together at an easy angle. Jeez, he was… he was suddenly really into the role.

Simmons was still taller than Grif, but Grif was bigger than him out of armor. Because he was so fat. Yeah. It didn’t feel… nice to have Grif’s hands on him, to have Grif kissing him.

Simmons’ arms tightened around his shoulders and he was aware how close he was pressed to his teammate. No armor separating them, just a couple layers of fabric. He was really warm, and his mouth was surprisingly soft.

Simmons must have made a noise or something, because Grif broke the kiss very suddenly, dark eyes wide. They blinked at each other for a few seconds. Simmons started leaning back into Grif’s space, when Grif spoke. “There’s no mission,” he said.

Simmons whipped his head back to where the purple guy had been. “Oh no, he’s gone! We didn’t get anything!”

“No, dude, that was just some random guy. I hacked the main frame to get us some shore leave.”

“Wha—You hacked the system?–It’s not a mainframe system!”

“It’s not that hard to ‘hack’ when the password is ‘password,’ Simmons.”

“But then, why were we here?” People weren't paying them any attention, and with the pressure of the potential mission off, Simmons suddenly felt oddly calm, and his eyes kept wandering back to Grif's mouth. Stop it.

“I like this bar,” Grif said.

“This is a gay bar," Simmons said, enunciating slowly just in case Grif had missed that.

“Yeah. You told everyone that earlier.”

Simmons registered Grif’s hands on his hips and how he had been kissing him just now and... Oh. Ohhhh. “Oh.”

Then he realized that this mission had been a fake. So Grif had been making fun of him all night. And Simmons had danced in public when he wasn't even in the running for a medal.

“I’m going to kill you.”

#my writing #rvb fic #grimmons

[dioskourixx]

Chapter 10 (Yongguk P.O.V)

I saw him before he made his way over to our table. Ethan. My mood darkened almost immediately, but I tried to keep my face neutral for Hazel’s sake. She doesn’t know about my dislike towards Ethan, and it’s probably best to keep it that way. Though the reason is still unknown, even to me. He walked up casually behind her, looking at me the whole time. Did he just smirk at me?

“Hazel,” he called out to her and her face lit up at the sound of his voice. I was already beginning to pack up my things. She was done copying my notes and there honestly wasn’t a reason for to stick around.

“Ethan. Hi. You remember Yongguk don’t you?”

“Of course. Nice to run into you again.” I nod at his fake pleasantries.

“Yeah...you too. Haze, I’ll see you later, okay? I gotta get this tutoring schedule in order and stuff. I’ll text you alright?”

I knew it seemed abrupt to leave, but I didn’t want to stick around. Something about him bothered me down to my core. I made my way to the doors that lead outside.My backpack seemed heavier than before as I walked with no destination in mind. There’s something off putting about him. That much I knew, but what? I don’t really know the guy. Hell, no one does. So bringing it up to the others were out of the question. They’ll just think that I’m overreacting or just plain jealous. Well...was I? No. At least...I didn’t think I was. Then what’s the problem Yongguk? Huh? I just want her safe is all...as a friend, that’s all I want. I will have to look into him on my own and find evidence to back up this gnawing feeling I have in the pit of my stomach every time he’s mentioned or shows up. Especially with Hazel’s increasing interest in him. Where the hell did he even come from? It’s like he just kind of appeared out of nowhere. Without realizing it, I found myself in front of my dorm. With a sigh, I walked up the stairs. I knew that Himchan was gone before even opening the door. He had class around this time, last time I checked. Throwing my backpack on the floor by the door, I headed over to my bed and dug out my notebook tucked away behind my pillow. It was an average black and white composition notebook that I’ve had for about six months. Its binding was well worn like the many other notebooks I kept in the past. Flipping to a random blank page, I pulled off the pen that hung to the worn cardboard and started writing random words along the page. I’m not sure how long I stayed there writing words and accompanying them with little doodles, but the doorknob to the room started turning. Looking up from my book, I greeted Himchan with a quick nod.

“Hey. What are you doing here? I thought you had class around this time?” Himchan asked as he placed his belongings near his bed. Confused, I glanced at my watch and realized that he was right. I was suppose to be in class right now. Well...looks like I’m using a sick day.

“Umm...yeah. Just didn’t feel up to it today. What’s going on? Getting ready to head back out or something?” Himchan was in the process of looking himself over in the mirror making sure each strand of hair was in place. He even went as far as to dab a little cologne on. Must be meeting up with Sophie. He finally acknowledged me once he was done.

“Uh, yeah. I’m meeting up with Soph for a bit. She asked me to help her with something for her class. Some project or something.” I gave him a teasing look. I knew it.

“Mhmm...and helping Sophie out requires you to put on cologne, eh?” I started to see the red creep on his face as he blushed from embarrassment. As he regained his composure, he waved it off as him just wanting to look and smell good under the pretense of “you never know who you’ll meet.” But I know the real reason. Himchan had his eyes set on Sophie for a while now, and vice versa. It was only a matter of time before they both realized it and finally make it official. But until then, I’ll keep my mouth shut and refrain from saying anything to Soph. But that doesn’t mean that I can’t have my fun teasing Himchan about it in the meantime.

“Are you two planning on eating together then?” I try to ask casually.

“It’s a strong possibility. Why?” He asks. I can see the gears turning in his head already trying to find an excuse on why I can’t or shouldn’t join them. But I have no intentions on third wheeling during their time together. My reasons for asking are completely unrelated to romantic gestures and such. I simply need a time frame of how long he’ll be out of the dorm. I shrug my shoulders.

“I was just wondering of how long I’ll have the room to myself. That’s all.” Himchan scrunched up his face and looked at me suspiciously.

“Dude are you planning to...you know?” I looked at him blankly...wondering what he was hinting at. I guess he realized I wasn’t following, because with an exasperated sigh, he made a jerking hand motion near his crotch. My face fell as I threw one of my pillows at his laughing face.

“What?! Dude! What the hell? No of course not! Even if I was, I wasn’t gonna tell you about it! Best friend or not.”

“Yeah yeah. I’m kidding. But really, what do you have planned tonight?”

“Eh, I’m just gonna stay here and catch up on some school work.” Well it wasn’t a total lie. I was planning on staying in.

“Oh ok. Well don’t wait up. I’ll see you later.” Himchan grabbed his wallet and jacket and was headed out the door as I told him bye.

I was alone once again, notebook back in my hand. I looked at the words that I thought were just thoughtlessly written, until I realized that they had a common theme...Hazel. The words “Protect,” “suspicious,” and “untrustworthy” jumped out at me from the page. I know that I must get to the bottom of this Ethan situation sooner or later, otherwise it’ll drive me crazy. Plus...if I’m right, and Ethan is not who he portrays himself to be and proves to be dangerous, Hazel will be in danger. And I can’t live with myself if something happens to her. But first I need to do something that requires immediate attention. Flipping through my notebook to previous pages tells me how long it’s been since the last time. Almost a week and a half according to this last entry. Grabbing the pen laying beside me, I quickly jot down today’s date and close the book, returning it back to its original secluded spot.

I look over the room once before getting up and heading to our shared mini fridge, letting out a deep sigh as I open the door. Towards the back of the fridge in an isolated spot, was a faded hospital green lunchbox. Pulling it out of the fridge, I stood just holding it as if it were some sort of mystery. It wasn’t. I knew exactly what it contained. Unzipping it with care, three blood bags stare back at me harshly with their bold color, reminding me of who I am...or rather what I am. I usually fed once a week. I had enough control now to where I didn’t need to feed more than that. I never drank from a human being...well not anymore, which explains the blood bags. Taking one out, I place the rest back inside its hiding spot and back in the fridge. The coppery taste ran down my throat, coating it with a euphoric taste that I will never grasp despite being alive for quite some time. The beast inside is appeased and drinks eagerly, though it demands more. I quickly dismiss that thought. No need to start a habit that would lead to recklessness later on. As I drank the last remaining drops from the cold blood bag, the door knob starts to jiggle, signaling the return of Himchan. “Shit.” I quickly dispose the blood bag behind my bed and wipe at my mouth to make sure that there were no traces of blood left on my lips. The door opens.

“Hey, sorry. I forgot-” he stops talking.

“Forgot what?” I ask, curious as to why he stopped so abruptly. It wasn’t until I noticed his face drain with color, eyes wide with shock, and his feet clumsily stumbling away from me that I realized what kind of scene he walked in on.

“Y-your eyes...what the hell?” Himchan turned on his heels and started heading for the door. But not before I could stop him. In an instant I was blocking the door and now stood in front of him.

“What the fuck? How’d you do that? What the hell are you?” The fear was evident in his eyes, as he tried to grasp the situation. He started backing away looking around for an exit. He was afraid and I didn’t blame him. I was a monster. I wasn’t anywhere close to being human. And now...everything I worked for to try to have a normal life. One filled with friends, laughter, and good memories that would last me well beyond their time on Earth, was now ruined. The sound of Himchan’s heartbeat racing brought me back to the present. I needed to regain control. I stared at the floor as I breathed through my nose, willing my eyes to go back to its normal shade of brown instead of the black abyss it had become. Once I was sure of that, I lifted my head to look at him directly. Hopefully he can see the fear in mine as well.

“P-please...don’t hurt me.” He pleaded to me, and my heart sank. I never in a million years even thought of harming him. I let out a sigh full of sadness and despair.

“No...no. Himchan, I would never hurt you.” I tried pleading with him as I took a step towards him, but stopped, when I saw him shrink away.”

“D-don’t come near me...please.” I could only nod my head in acknowledgement.

“Himchan...Please. You’re my best friend and I would never hurt you. You’ve gotta believe that. Just let me explain. Be my best friend as you always have been and hear me out. Please...I’m begging you.” I  search his face, silently praying that he will prove to be my friend even in this situation. He stayed silent for what seemed like hours before actually looking at me.

“I need to go,” was all he said and I felt my shoulders slightly sag as I nodded, stepping out of the way of the door. I can’t hold him hostage or make him hear me out. This was it then? My life here had reached an abrupt end. I avoid eye contact as he passed by me, making sure there was enough distance between us. The closing of our room door seemed ear splitting in the looming silence...dammit.

#In the Blood #Yongguk #supernatural #vampire #fanfic