Homestuck Ficstuck

Perfect. Humanstuck!GHB x Reader

(y/n) wasn't your typical modern day female. She didn't have smooth flawless skin, and she didn't have a perfect hourglass body. She didn't have whimsical story book worthy hair, and she didn't have any and all designer clothes. She was just a girl in a world of "perfectionists". He never knew how she did it, how she continued walking and being comfortable in her own skin when the entire world was pounding this perfect image into her brain. Her (eye shaped) eyes were (eye color)

Nothing rare, nothing strange.

Her (body type) body was usually clothed in (most occurring clothing in your/your oc's closet), (shoe type) usually adorning her (shoe size) feet. Every now and then her nails were painted, though sometimes they weren't. Other times they were chipped. She had a few talents and hobbies, she wasn't good at everything like people were expected to be. Sure she really loved (hobby/interest/talent) but she wasn't some prodigy at it. She wasn't perfect, standing at (height) with a weight of approximately (weight) pounds she was anything but. She didn't always walk around flawless, some days she had bags under her eyes, her (hair length) (hair color) hair frazzled or (clipped out of the way/put into a bun) and a large oversized sweater that screamed 'don't-even-think-about-talking-to-me'. She wasn't rich but wasn't dirt poor either. Sure there had been times where ramen noodles had been the only thing she was living off of, she wasn't some heiress and didn't have a huge multi leveled mansion built for god himself, but she didn't have a one room lean-to either. She owned a moderate apartment down on Baker Street. Her apartment was brick and had that classic 1990's 'Hey Arnold' or 'Little Bill' look. She hadn't graduated high school valedictorian, but she wasn't a drop out and didn't completely fail. She passed with moderate grades, though they were enough to get her a scholarship at the local college.

She wasn't perfect.

But that's what made her perfect.

Her imperfections made her perfect.

She was perfect to him.

Hell she was perfect FOR him.

Then here he was, a tall six foot eight man weighing 165 pounds of pure bitch muscle, a full sleeve tattoo on his right arm, spanning over his chest a bit and a bit on his neck. He had a few tattoos on the other arm. His curly untamable hair pulled into a ponytail, and a newly lit cigarette between his moderate sized lips. He wore a black Black Sabbath tee shirt and a pair of baggy black cargo pants, which were tucked into some black clearly not new combat boots. Every ounce of him screamed 'I'm-going-to-rip-your-fucking-throat-out' and all he had to do was wake up in the morning. Stereo-typical 'bad boy'?

Maybe

Did he give a shit?

Nope.

He took a drag of his smoking death mechanism and stood up, losing his place of leaning on the brick wall. He, just like (y/n), was a college student. In fact that's where they had met each other. He had remembered her from high school, always seeing her in the hallway walking from place to place. Now here they were, in their late teens early twenties, starting the rest of their lives.

He flung his cigarette to the ground and stomped on it, she always hated when he would smoke. He scraped his boot across the ground and stretched a bit waiting for her to come out.

Sure enough a few moments later she emerged from her apartment clad in a (shirt color) (shirt style) (logo or any image of that sort) shirt and (pants color) (pants type/style) her hair was (hair style) and a light layer of chapstick coated her naturally pink lips. "Alright are we ready?"

He nodded and walked over to his 2015 Harley Davidson Softail Deluxe.

Long story short his old one was totaled in an accident involving a pig, a rabid Gumby and a Mosh pit.