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demi-dufresne · 7 years

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Halloween God

Because I’m sentimental and miss Halloween, here, have some red team loving to support my blue team pals. Grimmonns for romance in the @rvbficwars bingo!!!

Have you ever seen Mean Girls? Right. Yeah, come on, who hasn’t seen Mean Girls. Now I want you to picture that scene where Caty goes into a halloween party. Picturing it? She was all dressed up as Frankenstein's Bride, covered in gross, gory zombie makeup while everyone else was in skimpy little bunny outfits. Remember that? Now imagine Caty is an angry drunk who lashes out at everything, tackling potential boyfriends to the floor and eating all of her friends’ Oreos.

Because that’s pretty much Grif’s life right now.

“Hey, glad to see- uh. Grif?” About an hour prior to this shit going down, Tucker had opened the door, staring at the man in front of him. He was covered head to toe in bright orange armor, something that looked straight out of Halo 4. “Is that you in there, buddy?”

“Yeah, what was the giveaway?” Grif gave a grin, not that Tucker could see it.

“You’re the only one I know would show up in fucking- ugh. Whatever, just… come on in, hurry,” Tucker said, shutting the door. He himself had on a football jersey and jeans. Maybe the joke was that he’d never be caught dead in that outfit otherwise, who knows? Grif walked right into Tucker’s living room, a grin on his face.

Twenty steps in and the grin was falling.

Like, okay, he figured his costume would be a little out there. But his mom had ordered it online somewhere, he didn’t want to disappoint, and there was no way in hell he’d make himself a homemade costume. That required, like, effort.

He figured it’d be a little out there, but compared to what these other people were wearing, he was… well, he was…

A goddamn Halloween god.

Okay, so maybe Grif lacked the humility most would have. Who needs to worry if you’re standing out if you’re standing out and looking this awesome? Not even awesome, effortlessly awesome. The only thing better.

Most teens around him were wearing sports uniforms or like, fishnets and short dresses in the cases of girls. Grif was pretty sure Tucker would be having an aneurysm right now. What a loser. Grif, in his Halo Spartan Mark VI Armor was definitely the coolest dude around.

He did spot one guy dressed like Link. The dude was talking animatedly to some other guy dressed like a doctor. Grif waltzed right over to say something. If this night goes bad, at least he could get a new friend to hang with, specifically one who loves Legend of Zelda as much as he does. Becuase hey. He would definitely need to replace Tucker, that asshole. “Hey, uh, Hey!” He struggled to shout over the echoing music. “So I’m guessing you like video games?”

Link turned around, looking him up and down. The guy had bright blonde hair, and patchy scarring across the left side of his face. “I mean, duh. I am Zelda,” he said. Grif took a second.

“You mean Link.”

“Uh, no, I’m pretty sure I mean Zelda. Or Donut. Pleasure to meet you!” The dude stuck his hand out for a handshake, which Grif ignored. He took a deep breath. Why did he continue to go to Tucker’s parties? They were always a fucking disaster anyways, he didn’t know why he thought this one would be any different.

“Right, uh… I’m gonna like… use the bathroom,” Grif said. He trailed away from the guy, not really having to go. He just didn’t want to continue that conversation, thanks. He had a little dignity. And boy, did he need a drink.

Little did he know, at the other end of the house, his situation was basically being met.

“Church! Hi! Uh, why aren’t you wearing a costume?” Simmons was standing at the front door to Tucker’s house, looking Church up and down. The guy was wearing a flannel and a beanie, with a half-emptied Solo cup in his one hand, his cell phone in the other. He was swaying a little. Simmons knew better than to comment on that.

“I’m a lumberjack, dumbass. Or maybe a hipster. Or a cowboy? I still haven’t decided yet. What the fuck are you?”

“Don’t you remember? You, Caboose and Tucker came over to my house last week, right after you and Tex-”

“Don’t say her name. Don’t even,” Church said, taking another long swig from the cup. He might have downed the rest in one sip. Simmons was pretty sure some of it got stuck in his goatee, but again. Didn’t say anything.

“Right. Okay, uh, we played Halo. The video game with the aliens. Remember that?”

“Sure, whatever, man. Come in, I guess,” he said. He opened the door a little wider, the pounding of the bass and the staunch smell of alcohol reaching his nose.

“Wait. What kind of party is this? I thought we were just gonna like, hang and play board games, maybe talk about TV shows…” Simmons trailed.

“You’ve obviously never been to one of Tucker’s parties before. Come on in.” Church opened the door wider, an invitation that he wouldn’t let Simmons decline. Simmons sighed, defeated. This armor weighed a ton. He didn’t know how long he’d be able to take this place.

He stuck out like a sore thumb. God, he was so stupid. Why couldn’t he have just dressed like Church, normally, finding something to say he was later? Then again, Simmons’ wardrobe and Church’s wardrobe were a little different. He didn’t know how he’d feel showing up to this place in a polo and nice slacks, either. Ugh, this whole thing made him want to leave immediately.

The song that was playing wasn’t something he was generally opposed to, thank god. Maybe that was his saving grace- the DJ had a thing for techno renditions of video game OSTs. He lost himself among the dancefloor, bobbing his head along to the beat. Soon enough, bobbing his head devolved into shaking his body, which lead to something that, whatever it was, couldn’t be described as dancing.

“Grif, cut it out!” Tucker said, pulling Simmons by the elbow. “You look like you’re having a fucking heart attack.”

“Who’s Grif?” Simmons said.

“Haha, very funny. Look. I found someone really hot. Some friend of Church’s sister, I don’t know. I don’t want you to make a scene, got it? You’re already a mess in that fuckin’ cosplay, dude. Now like, stand by the wall or, I don’t know, just… stop doing whatever that is. Like, you’ve been to enough parties you’d think you’d know that I’m just here to get laid.”

“What?” Simmons asked. But Tucker had disappeared into the crowd. “He’s probably stoned,” Simmons reasoned to himself. Yeah. That’s probably it. He wouldn’t put it past Tucker, especially at a nutty party like this.

“Hey, Grif, have you seen Wash?” Grif, meanwhile, was standing in the kitchen, looking in Tucker’s pantries for a box of Oreos when Carolina approached him.

“Who?”

“Oh, you know, tall guy, blonde hair on top, super grumpy?” She pulled a face, mocking her friend. Grif took another sip of the drink through a straw into his helmet. It was somewhere near his fourth one. He knew he should probably stop, but that wouldn’t stop him.

“The only super grumpy guy I know here is your bro Church, and I’m pretty sure he’s drinking away his sorrows in the dining room. Sorry,” Grif said.

“Eh, no problem. I’ll just ask your girlfriend,” she said, walking off towards the living room.

“My- my girlfriend? Carolina, what?” Grif said. He followed her, curious. He left the cabinet open, search for the Oreos forgotten.

He staggered after her. Arriving in the living room, he saw her across the dancefloor, talking to someone- wait. Someone in Halo Spartan Mark VI armor… No.

His vision was dancing, and only one thought crossed his mind.

There could only be one.

“Uh, no, I don’t know a Wash. Also, who’s that Grif guy you guys keep talking about? I’m pretty sure I’m not him, and I’m definitely sure I’m not dating him,” Simmons said.

Carolina ignored his last two sentences. “Oh. Huh. You’re a boy. Well, you send Grif my love, tell him congratulations on coming out or whatever. Now I gotta find Wash before Tucker does. See ya,” Carolina sounded off. Simmons shook his head, watching as she faded into the crowd. Maybe this is why he didn’t go to parties.

“You copycat motherfucker!” Simmons could barely register what was going on when he was tackled to the ground. Nevermind. This was why he didn’t go to parties.

“Wh- Wait! Wait, help me!” He called. Some dude was on top of him, punching him in the damn gut. He was wearing- wait. He was wearing Halo Spartan Mark VI Armor.

“Simmons!” Church called. “Simmons, stop punching- yourself? What?” He paused, looking down at the situation.

“Ah-ow-owww,” Simmons whined, curling up with each punch.

“I’m the Halloween god!” Grif cried.

“Grif, stop beating up your boyfriend, that’s domestic abuse!” Carolina called in, wrenching Grif off.

“Copycat motherfucker, I’m the halloween god!” He shouted again.

“What the fuck,” Simmons said. He was suddenly glad he decided to wear this stupid armor. It got him beat up, sure, but it didn’t hurt nearly so bad as when he was only wearing a Polyester-Cotton blend polo and khakis. Trust him. He would know.

“Alright, both of you, out,” Carolina said. “I’m serious. Leave. I still need to find Wash, before- aah, who am I kidding. He’s probably sleeping with Tucker as we speak. I don’t think there’s anyone here who hasn’t slept with Tucker, that asshole.”

Church nodded solemnly.

“Anyway. No more fist fights between you lovebirds, or I’m calling the police. We clear?”

Simmons, having not even drank a single drop, nodded. “Crystal.” He grabbed the other guy- Grif- by the forearm, dragging him after him out the front door.

“Stay here. You probably just need some water, or… something. I’ll be back,” Simmons said. He walked back into the house, closing the door behind him.

Grif was fuming. He was supposed to be the coolest one there, and they kicked him out? It was all the stupid maroon guy’s fault. What was his name again? Stimpson? It’s his damn fault. All Grif’d wanted was some stupid Oreos and now he’s stuck on Tucker’s stupid doorstep while Tucker probably fucks Carolina’s stupid friend. It was all so stupid.

He checked where his pockets would be for some cigarettes, then realized that they’d have to be under his armor. That stuff took ages to take off! Grif groaned, putting his face in his hands. He was too fucking drunk for this.

“Here. Maybe this will sober you up,” Simmons said from behind him. Grif didn’t move his head from his hands. Simmons sat down next to him, offering him the cup of water.

“I’m not thirsty,” Grif muttered.

“I found some cookies to make it better,” Simmons said offhandedly.

“You- you what?” Grif said. He looked over to Simmons, who held up the blue pack of Oreos he’d been looking all over for. “Where did you find those?”

“They were on top of the fridge. It almost seemed like they were trying to hide them from you specifically. Can you even reach the top of the fridge?”

But Grif was ignoring Simmons at that point, too driven to really care. “You know what? I think you’re actually the Halloween god. I take it back, that crown goes to you.”

“Oh really? Thanks,” Simmons said. He was being genuine, too. “You like the costume? It took me hours to make it.”

“Eh, I got mine online for like, twenty bucks,” Grif said.

“What?” Simmons said. He paused, taking off his helmet to get a closer look at Grif’s.

Wow. Grif was pretty impressed. This guy was kinda hot. Not in a conventional way, really, but… something about the (almost latin?) darkness of his skin with the bright red of his hair… It was nice.

“You can see the cracks in yours. Mine’s much better, obviously. I even have the little decals on the shoulder blades, see?” Simmons said. “Red team.”

He was a dick, kinda, but he was still hot.

“Yeah, well. Fuck that. I spent no time at all on this thing. Now who’s the real winner?” Grif plucked his helmet off, reaching for the Oreos.

Simmons wasn’t blind. Nor did he have particularly good taste in dates (that thing with Jenkins… that ended poorly.) But still. The guy who just beat him up? He was undeniably pretty.

“Dude. Would you stop staring at me? I’m trying to eat my Oreos in peace, thank you.” That didn’t mean he wasn’t an asshole.

“Hey, just out of curiosity. Cookie or the cream?” Simmons said. Grif paused eating, chewing thoughtfully.

“If I had to pick, I’d say cream. But then again. What’s the cream without a cookie? They’re a cookie sandwich, Simmons. What’s one without the other?”

“That’s… a pretty good answer,” Simmons said. “I think if I had to pick, I’d go with cookie, though.”

“Of course you would, Simmons,” Grif said, picking another cookie from the box. “Of course you would.”

#rvb bingo wars #blue team entry #square: romance #in a weird way #grimmons romance is always weird in a way #i love them though #jeez i need sleep

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