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notmrskennedy · 4 years ago

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Eight Seconds

Howdy! I’m honestly freaking out bc this the first Spencer Reid anything I’ve written and bc I try not to out myself as country too much bc well the world right now. (I honestly wish there was more people out there who had a thing for cowgirls/boys as I do.) I hope at least one person enjoys it as much as I liked writing it.

Summary: Spencer Reid meets the cowgirl of his dreams...

Warnings: I think I swear like twice? other than that it’s fluff

Word count: 4.5k

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He doesn’t think that it would be Penelope Garcia to catch him. Sure, she’s a genius and a tech wizard and an overall queen at gathering gossip. But she isn’t around him as much as JJ. Or Emily. Or Morgan.

What gave him away to her and not everyone else?

Because he knows he’s given something away when she texts him. Urgent. Batcave now! He’s hopeful. Optimistic. Maybe Penelope’s got some burning question about Star Trek. Or Doctor Who. Or when the next convention is. Maybe it’s a serial killer.

But he isn’t that lucky. Spencer Reid never is.

He knocks hesitantly, worried for exactly what’s to come. Her gaze snaps up from her tablet. Snaps to him in an incessant kind of ‘I know what you did’ way. It’s a look for scolding children. Not a pleasant, let’s have a tea time chat, gaze.

Spencer settles into the extra chair and waits. There’s a storm brewing behind her eyes and when she finally speaks, she doesn’t disappoint.

“What’s her name?”

And he can’t stop it. Lovesick smile, starry eyes—Penelope doesn’t have to be a profiler to see it before he sobers up. Her mouth opens into a toothy grin. An insufferably contagious grin and he knows he’s caught for sure.

He leans back in the desk chair, stares up at the ceiling and breathily whispers, “Shawn.”

“Oh!” Penelope gasps. He can hear the mental scolding. There’s backtracking with no end in sight. “Well, I didn’t mean to presume and it’s—it’s okay if Shawn is—or you’re—and I just didn’t know—you never said anything—“

“Relax,” he chuckles and grins at her softly for good measure. “Shawn is a girl. Her legal name is Shawna if you’re that curious.”

And he knows Penelope is curious. She’s grinning and waiting and listening. He can tell she wants to prompt. To ask questions. To dig through every tiny detail she can. Is it bad to make her wait? To not want anyone to know about the girlfriend he’s kept hidden for so long?

“Tell me more,” Penelope buzzes, bouncing in her seat, monitors—work—forgotten. “Where did you love story begin?”

He smiles to himself. It’s not a matter of when, but how long.

It took eight seconds. All of eight seconds.

At first, he wasn’t even sure it was eight seconds. He’d been running, running harder than he ever had. Chucks flapping against the hard packed dirt. Horse trailers flying by him as he jumped hitches and slipped through patches of mud.

It was five minutes of burning lungs and dust caked nostrils before those eight seconds. Quick glances between trailers. Got to keep moving, Reid, got to keep up. Because Morgan’s chanting was getting distant, too distant. The last time they’d split up—

Five minutes of a maze he hadn’t learned. Five minutes of being utterly lost, following the sound of Morgan’s thundering boots and desperation. They were all desperate. It was a desperate move to keep running, not to find solace in an empty horse trailer on the killer’s part. The bastard thought he could lose them, shake the FBI agents off his tail.

Reid knew better, but he was getting desperate too. His lungs were burning. It’d only been five minutes.

“FBI! Stop!” Morgan shouted from behind him. Reid skidded through a patch of horse shit into the main thoroughfare. Thank god. No more trailers. A walkway, a solid walkway, a clear line of sight. The man was running. Why do they always run?

Reid picks up his lungs in his desperate hands and pushes on. Grits his teeth, clenches down on every spare inch of fortitude left. Morgan catches up easily but doesn’t surpass. They’re both tired. They’re both panting. They’ve both got weapons drawn, but who could make a shot at 50 yards with a moving target?

Not Reid. He knew better.

But Morgan tried one more time. Shouted and called and screamed. The man didn’t look back. Prison was on his heels and he was desperate enough to keep running. A coward. There wouldn’t be a standoff. Smart enough to not get cornered, not smart enough to keep from getting caught.

They both pushed harder. This was their eight seconds. They were getting close, they reasoned to themselves, hearts panting to the same rhythm. They could keep it together for these last seconds. He’d get tired—they were getting tired—he had to be tired by now.

He was racing in snakeskin cowboy boots. How could he be keeping that pace in those shoes?

Reid hoped his lungs would give out. Save the heroic work for Morgan. Morgan could get the bad guy. Morgan could get the girl. He could have anything he wanted. Reid just wanted to fall face first into the dirt and let the fresh mud extinguish the flames in his lungs. In his throat. In his mouth.

But then the eight seconds came.

In the first second, he realised his heart didn’t gallop. It didn’t have the imprints of hooves. It wasn’t the two thousand pound animal gaining momentum behind him. His heart was clogging his ears that badly. Thankfully, with his wits about him, he looked back.

In the second second, Reid saw the animal. Mid-step, perfect stride. A plastic figurine of a race horse, nostrils wide at the end of its long face. It took only the second second to see the crazy in the horse’s eyes. How they focused and blinked and bled the insanity. How it was more beast than domesticated pet. Reid was convinced the black stockings on its legs were dripping grease from its gears. He could see the muscle in its shoulders and flanks. Muscle groupings bigger than him. An animal that could crush him. A machine running with a single thought: faster.

He saw the rider in the third second. One he didn’t expect. Maybe it was his own memories of cowboy movies, but cowboys weren’t supposed to be dipped in glitter. Weren’t supposed to be such overtly female. But there she was. Her dark curls billowing behind her. Sun glinting off the gold of her hat. Glinting off the impressive amount of glitter on her eyelids. And the rhinestones on her black button-down. She was stunning. Furrowed in her concentration. Elated in her grin.

The rope came in the fourth. It was twisting in her hand, coil and reins held precariously in her other. It loops over her head, slack enough to swallow her whole. Slack enough to get caught on her. Get caught on the horse. She keeps perfect control and the hand comes around and around until she—

In the fifth second, the rope releases and Reid slows his feet to watch it. The horse has gained on the man, so close that teeth could get involved. The man doesn’t seem to know, or is too desperate to change direction. Because he’s gone straight and the horse has followed and the rope is sliding through her hand like it’s meant to be there forever. It goes and goes and goes. He thinks the loop is bound to catch her foot, a hoof, something. But it doesn’t. It never does.

With six seconds down, the man finds he doesn’t have feet anymore. The loop of the rope tightens around his legs and he’s falling. He doesn’t have feet under him. Barely hands to save his face. Reid hopes the fall is harder than it needs to be. But he’s not focused on the man, he’s focused on the girl. The girl who expertly catches the rope in her hands. Who expertly ties the end around the saddle horn. Who’s horse pulls the rope taut and the man goes down.

At seven seconds, the horse is still backing. It knows. It’s practiced. Reid can see the elation on both rider and animal. Their pride is palpable. He doesn’t know it, but this is the best run they’ve done together. Not the fastest, but the best.

Eight seconds is when the girl turns to them. Grinning, hollering, hands up in the air. Reid watches as they catch up, slowing down to match the horse’s speed. The man tries to flip himself over, dragging on his back towards the federal agents. Reid can feel his heart and he wonders if it’s beating harder from the run or the thrill.

He’ll never admit it but he’s always wanted to be a cowboy. This girl has his other dream in her hands, wearing it as her favourite belt buckle.

Eight seconds later and she’s smiling down at the agents, still hollering some form of yeehaw! Reid grins, dragging his aching limbs forward to help Morgan flip the man onto his stomach and cuff him. The dragging discontinues and the horse knickers his anger that the trial is over.

Reid loosens the rope from the man’s feet, working the fray between his fingers. He moves to hand it to the cowgirl but she’s already snapping it from him and coiling it back up. She latches it back to her saddle, chest heaving with the excitement of it all.

“Bitch!” the man spits as Morgan hauls him to his feet.

The girl just smirks and tips her hat back. Reid can’t help but watch her pretty red lips as she says, “I’ll stick my foot so far up your ass, you’ll taste my good leather if you don’t shut your goddamn mouth.” Vulgarity has never sounded better off of anyone else’s tongue. She’s got the first sermon he’s ever wanted to listen to sitting on her lips and he wonders if this is why people believe in God. If pretty girls have always made men believe in things they shouldn’t.

Her drawl is thick, sticky, and unsweet. She’s got more threats bubbling up in her chest, sitting precariously close to her heart. She comfortable in sliding off her horse, landing softly in the dirt.

He won’t admit it, but he can’t ignore how round her ass is in those tight jeans.

She pats her horse, sliding her rough hands under its harnesses and it’s mane. Reid knows enough about horses to distinguish several muscle groups and bone structures from others. He feels out of his depth. He’s drowning being so close to a dream he can never have. He wonders if he should ask her to stay. Tell her there’s reports. Witness statements. Paperwork. Anything to get her to stay longer, to prolong the closeness to the dream. The closeness to her.

The horse gives a bleated scream as Morgan passes with the handcuffed man, both human males looking equally frightened of the animal. It settles into a role of domestication as the girl lets the horse throw its head into her shoulder begging for pats.

Spencer knows he supposed to follow Morgan, but he can’t move. She’s everything in that moment. And just as he gets the courage to thank her, thank her for stopping the burning, she meets his eyes and drops her jaw.

“Well as I live and breathe!” she shouts. It’s too rough for a squeal, more of a whistle of her words. “Spencer Reid, not even a day’s difference. How in the hell are you?”

Is he breathing? He doesn’t think he’s breathing. She knows him. She knows him. She knows him. And he has no idea who she is. He searches her beautiful face. Running over the ruby lips. Over the pink blushing cheeks. The glittered eyelids and the long eyelashes.

She’s so unfamiliar it hurts.

Morgan stops in his tracks. There’s blood in the water for the first time in ages. The last time these waters were chummed was a bartender who called him exactly once.

And it gets worse. Her face falls. Emily and JJ are rounding the corner. Everything in him sinks to the floor. Every details about himself becomes apparent. He’s gangly and uncoordinated. His hair’s too long and he’s got circles under his eyes darker than the grease stains on her horse. He’s so unperfected and this girl reminds him of the girls in high school he could never have.

He wonders for a moment if she’s from high school. She can’t be though, he thinks as he fights the bile in his throat. She’s younger than me.

“You know boy genius?” Morgan asks, handing the killer off to Emily. He’s strutting. Ever the first impressionist. The girl barely glances at him, still studying Reid with a crestfallen little smile perched on her perfect lips.

“Not really,” she settles on, getting a better grip on the reins she’s holding. Getting a better grip on herself. “We met once. In Vegas. I was 15 and I’ve done my growing up since.”

Reid still hasn’t moved. He’s not sure he can. His feet are putty from the run. Putty from her smile. Just ask for her name, he screams at himself, but he can’t. There’s no guarantees. There’s no ‘of courses’, only ‘what ifs’. The what ifs can consume you and he’s worried he’s going to let them.

Morgan extends his hand in the stretching pause. And she shakes it. All crimson lips and pearly teeth. “I’m Agent Derek Morgan. You obviously know, Dr. Reid.”

Her eyebrows raise for half a second. She’s surprised. And impressed. And Reid’s heart warms for no longer than she answers. “I’m Shawn, Shawn Healy.”

“Shawn? That’s an interesting—“

Everyone pauses at the sound of hoofbeats. Whips around to see another girl, a blonde in even more glitter, ride up on her own horse. Shawn swings back onto her horse and spurs him off, following the other girl. Spencer doesn’t see the flags they’re carrying until it’s too late. Until she’s already apologising for leaving. She’s late.

Spencer wonders if he’ll ever see her again. Black curls bouncing over her shoulders. Stained lips. Sun glinting off every inch of her.

In another eight seconds, she’s gone. Eight seconds to win his heart. Eight seconds to ride off with it.

He gives Penelope some condensed version of the story that she’s hooked on anyway. She’s leaned forward, elbows on knees, perched on every word that leaves his mouth like it’s from God himself. It’s comical, he thinks. Spencer’s never really been invested in anyone else’s drama, not for longer than five minutes.

Penelope’s going to be invested, heels sunk in, holding on for dear life. She’s invested for life.

“So, how’d you get her back?” she asks. Starry eyed. Concerned. This is her white whale and she’ll go down with this ship. “She could’ve been anywhere! How’d you two get together?”

And he knows this part isn’t complicated. And it’ll be enough to tide her over.

The quick answer is that he googled her. Read every newspaper article, column, and paper mentioning her. Shawna Healy had been mentioned more times for winning rodeo competitions than he had papers published. She was accomplished in her culture, in her part of the world. She’d won up to regionals while in college. Even boasted to being the first girl on the UT Dallas Rodeo Team. Currently employed at Montgomery’s Cattle Ranch just outside of DC. The same ranch who was hosting a For-Charity Bull-riding Competition.

Spencer hadn’t known what to do with the information so he sat on it. For a month. Until he couldn’t wait any longer. The competition was that weekend. He had to go.

He just kept repeating to himself, this is for academic purposes. This isn’t stalking. You might not even see her. This is for—

And he stops thinking. There’s no reason to think anything other than: I’m sorely underdressed. He’s sinking to the bottom of the deep end of the pool, lead weights tied to his ankles. Every man, woman, and child here is nothing sort of their earned Country label. There’s boots and buckles and ball caps. There’s dust and dip and drawl.

And he’s in a cardigan. Why was that a good idea? He doesn’t know, but he’s tempted to shrug it off and disappear. To run right back out of gates. To get swallowed by everyone staring at him. Gawking at him. He’s back in high school again and he wants to drink bleach.

He’s almost to the bleachers, past the makeshift bar, just at the corner of the dirt arena. Spencer knows he should just go home, shake it off, and dissolve into wishing the world takes pity on him. He’s too out of his depth. These other people belong. He most definitely does not.

And just as he’s about to turn tail, pussyfoot out of every bit of confidence he’s ever had, when he sees her.

She’s on a different horse. One not quite as beastly as the other. This one’s mellow, waiting on the edge of the arena, while she’s chatting absently with another man on horseback. She looks different. She’s far, but there’s no glitter. No outstanding colours. No glinting under the fluorescents. She’s in a cowboy hat, tipped forward over her loose braids. She’s traded her button down for a flannel, rolled up to the elbows and he finally understands why Penelope said it was such a turn on.

There’s no words as the announcer suddenly comes on and a bull bursts from the chute. It’s one of the most terrifying things he’s ever seen. A tiny man holding onto a two ton absolute beast with one hand—it’s absurd! But he can’t stop watching. Can’t stop being impressed. Waits on bated breath for the man to get bucked off after his nearly eight second run.

He does and Spencer has had falls like that. They aren’t pleasant.

The bull bucks and kicks for another few seconds. Shawn and her friend lazily canter forward, guiding the animal back to the other side of the arena and through a gate. She whistles and the gate closes behind it.

The pair retreat back to their corner and the process starts all over again.

“You look a little lost, honey,” a sweet voice chirps beside him. He startles, head caught up in Shawn and every single perfect What If. This girl reminds him of a movie star he can’t remember the name of. Big blonde curls. Big eyelashes. Big smile. Tiny waist.

She’s amazingly beautiful. Amazing doll like. Amazingly…not his type.

Spencer still nervously smiles and clears his throat. “I kind of am.”

“Cardigan gave it away,” she giggles, turning him towards the edge of the stadium seating, dropping them onto the bottom row seat. “I’m Kaley Montgomery. My brother and my sister are this shift’s pick up riders.” Spencer nods along like he knows what she’s saying. “I tell ‘em I’m here to support them and my daddy—he put this whole thing on you know—but I’m just here to pick up cute cowboys.”

“I’m not a cowboy,” Spencer blurts. Her laugh is slick like the sugar in a Venus fly trap. He tries not to get drawn in, but she’s all encompassing. Bright perfume. Colourful clothes. Soft skin and warm empathy. There’s nothing uninviting about her and he wants to move back.

“No, honey, you aren’t.” Kaley pauses to look him over. Whatever she sees makes her softly grin. “Why are you here anyway?”

There’s no judgement. She’s safe and alluring and exactly the opposite of what makes him nervous at that moment. The confidence surges for a moment and he answers, “I’m actually trying to find this girl I met a while ago.”

“Must be a special lady. What’s her name?”

“Shawn Healy,” Spencer sighs. It’s wistful. It’s longing. It’s half desperate. It’s been a month since he’s seen her. A month since he snuck back to see if he could catch her at the rodeo one more tine.

Kaley snorts. Her lady-like instincts kick back in and she covers it was a giggle. “Honey, you met the right girl. Shawn’s like my sister. Her shift ends in a few rounds, and she’s meeting me here if you just wanna stick around for a second.”

And he does. Kaley keeps him laughing, has him singing the high praises of Rodeo sports by the end. It’s maybe another ten minutes. Ten minutes of calming down, easing into the world. Kaley looks like she has whiplash with all of the questions he’s asking. And she’s a little dazed when he blinks at her sheepishly.

“Told he was smart, didn’t I?” a voice says behind him and Spencer jumps out of his skin. He’s desperate to slip it back on without seeming desperate. Without seeming nervous. But it all melts. Shawn’s in front of him. Shawn’s grinning. Shawn’s even more beautiful without the glitter.

“How did you recognise me?” he blurts. There’s stumbling as he tries to backtrack. Shawn’s eyes are green this close up and she smells like leather and oats and apples. His sentences lose traction as she peels her hat off, and sits down next to him.

There’s nothing soft about her. She’s callused. Rough. Nothing like any other girl he’s ever had the pleasure of meeting. Spencer doesn’t need more than ten seconds to know that Shawn’s never worn glitter more than the one time and never will again. To known that Shawn is simple and complicated and every grey area he’s ever wanted to explore.

Shawn’s eyes are still and focused. She follows Kaley as the girl stands and leaves. Returns the gaze to Spencer with a glint he can’t categorise. There’s a pause. Lead up to another eight seconds of life changing to be done.

“You were sitting by yourself at a sorting event at the South Point,” she breathes, brushing a piece of dirt off the hat in her hands. Setting it beside her on the bleacher. She gives him plenty of time to stare. To appreciate her.

There’s plenty of time, Spencer thinks and he keeps her gaze with a nervous grin.

Shawn brushes a hand over the frazzled bits of her hat hair. “I came and sat next to you because you looked so lonely. You were so afraid.”

His brain fires and spits and roars to life. He can remember the strange girl who came to sit by him, a sea of empty spaces around him. He’d just committed his mom. Was just about to leave for MIT. He’d been swimming in a sea of self-hatred when he’d been greeted by braces and pimples and too much dark hair. She’d explained every second of the calf sort, almost unprompted, and sussed out every single one of his questions.

It had been as close as he ever dared get to being a cowboy. A decade later and she was every introduction to this world he’d ever had.

Shawn’s got two seconds left on the clock and she doesn’t disappoint. Her fingers are delicate as she places a precarious hand on his knee. There’s a soft pressure to his patella. Shawn’s touching him and he can’t help the shock.

“I had one of those day long crushes. You were the smartest man I’d ever met.”

And no words are suddenly good enough. He wants to tell her that he’s fallen in love now. That he can’t help it. That all he wants is to listen to her drawl on for the rest of his life. That she’d made that last week in Vegas bearable. That she’d been everything. Still was.

But there’s no good way to articulate that. And maybe she knows that. Maybe Shawn Healy was a profiler in a different life because she lets go of his knee and switches subjects. Leans back against the seat behind her, stretching out into the spot of sun.

“It’s my lunch break,” she announces, her boots drifting closer to touching his chucks. The eyes don’t matter as the bleachers stare. What matters is Shawn’s tricky smile. “Have lunch with me.”

He nods and doesn’t think he could bear to disagree with her. Shawn disappears for a moment long enough that he’s worried she isn’t coming back, but she plops french fries into his lap not a second later than the worry begins to fester. Shawn’s not one to back out of commitments, he learns, and ends up hearing enough bad stories that Spencer isn’t sure how they’re getting along so well.

Because they’re getting along so well. Too well. Like they’ve never stopped talking since she was 15 and he was 18. Three hours is too early to say I love you, but he’s thinking it as she talks through a basket of french fries. As she sneaks them to some tiny kids in even tinier cowboy boots.

He’s thinking it every time she laughs.

He’s thinking it as she shoves his shoulder and demands to know why he doesn’t own a pair of jeans.

He’s thinking it even as she stands and apologises and stuffs her business card in his shirt pocket. “We’ll get you cowboy’d up one of these days, Dr. Reid. Now, don’t you forget to call—I’m late again.”

She runs off and he can’t stop thinking I love you so much as she waves at him over her shoulder and once again when she’s in the arena, back on a new horse.

Penelope is near tears at the end of Spencer’s story. He relaxes into the new world he’s entering. The one, two years later, where he’s wondering exactly how much he can keep to himself. How much Garcia will suss out and how much he’ll tell her himself.

Penelope folds her arms and suddenly frowns. She’s got a bee in her bonnet and Spencer’s afraid of what it means.

“Shawn,” she murmurs to herself. “Spencer Reid is shacking up with a cowgirl. I can’t—I’ll see it when I believe it.”

This is her attempt to get Spencer to show her pictures, or call Shawn, or even bring her around. But he doesn’t. He just smirks. No matter how much he actually can’t work the phone in his hands, he doesn’t want to. Shawn’s worried enough about meeting the team, she doesn’t need one Penelope Garcia tracking her down and tackling her.

“How ever much I love this chat we’re having, I have to get back to work,” Spencer announces. He stands. Walks off before Penelope can ask more questions.

And despite all of her yelling and protests and shouting for him to just come back here and tell me if she’s your girlfriend, Penelope knows she won’t get anything more. She’s determined anyway, and plans to corner JJ later on.

She finds doesn’t have to ask JJ, cornered or not. Because not four hours later, does Penelope find one Dr. Spencer Reid admiring the diamonds on the wedding ring he’s holding up between him and the coffee pot. He’s quick to shove it in his pocket as Penelope enters the little kitchenette. Quick to stir sugar in his coffee like nothing’s happened. Like Penelope definitely didn’t see the ring he’s waiting to give Shawn.

“When did you get the ring?” she asks, quietly opening the box of tea.

“Promise not to think I’m crazy?”

Penelope nods, turning just enough to see just how love stricken the poor boy is. “I’d even pinky promise, my love.”

He smirks and softens and says almost so quietly she doesn’t hear, “It was about two weeks after our first date. It took about eight seconds to find the right one.”

#pls I'm doing my best #i've also got anxiety to the moon and back #spencer reid #oc #criminal minds #dr spencer reid

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aen-maggs · 4 years ago

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YOUR MESS IS MINE - Chapter 7

There was a pounding at my door that sounded similar to the pounding in my head. I looked at the clock and realized it was noon already. Stumbling from my couch, I made it to the front door. Opening it without even looking through the peephole, I already knew who it was by the force of the knock.

"How the hell did you know where I live?" I asked while I squinted my eyes to the sunlight.

"A little birdie told me." Eddie said pushing passed me and walking into my living room.

"A Moxley Jay." I quipped and shut the door. Running my fingers through my hair, I tried not to feel embarrassed at how I looked. I was going to have to have a talk with our mutual friend. Jon knows both Eddie and I too well.

"Oh ho! Looks like someone demolished a bottle last night." He said pointing to the empty bottle and shot glass on my coffee table.

"Judgey much?" I said and went to the kitchen to make coffee. I was hung over for sure, but I didn't need him rubbing it in.

What are you doing here?" I demanded. He ignored me as he sat down on the barstool in my kitchen. He tilted his head to the bottle.

"Avoiding the nightmares or avoiding me?" He asked. I looked up from my coffee pot.

"Both." I said leaning against the counter. "Why are you here?"

"Why are you avoiding me?" He returned.

"What do you want, Eddie?" I said getting angry.

"Ok, don't answer. How about them dreams?" He was really pushing it.

"Damn will you stay off the nightmares? I have bad dreams. It's isn't abnormal." I said louder than I meant to.

"Nah. You are in self destruct mode. I can see it and as your friend, I am going to do what I can to stop you from fucking up your opportunities. You have to talk to someone. Stop being a cold hard bitch and let me in, just a little." Eddie snapped.

We got quiet, neither of us wanting to say the wrong thing and create a full blown argument. I brain and heart were processing the question as to why Eddie was here in the first place when he broke the silence.

"I'm sorry for being an ass yesterday. That's all I wanted to say." He stood up ready to go.

"Wait." I said. I couldn't believe it, but I didn't want him to go. I wasn't sure why, but I felt like I needed him to stay just for a while longer. I owed him, realizing that, I took a deep breath.

"A year before I met you," I started, "so that would be 8 or 9 years ago?" He said nothing, just stood staring at me. Like if he said anything I would hide behind my walls again.

"I was in a relationship, in fact I was engaged." I saw Eddie's jaw tighten. I figured he wouldn't like this bit of information, but it would only get worse. I continued.

"I was so young then. Stupidly optimistic and very insecure. It wasn't a healthy relationship. We argued a lot. He was often times uncaring and liked humiliating me. I mean, to the point of making me cry in bed because he got off on it." I stopped to catch my breath.

"Don't get me wrong, a little rough stuff is kinky and sexy, but he was too rough. No safe words. Just wanting to push me to make me break. But, you know me - I don't give in." I was avoiding his gaze, but I could see he was still staring at me with those pale blue eyes.

"One night we played a game. I was tied up. He got a stick. Beat my ass literally. Black and blue. I was in pain and crying and there was no way to make him stop. He didn't provide any comfort or after care. I was just a toy, a thing that he had control over. I finally got out of that place, and promised myself I would not be controlled by anyone again. I started wrestling not long after because he always said I wouldn't ever make it. Too weak." I realized I was crying and my tears began to roll down my cheek.

"My nightmares are of me being trapped in that house we shared and I can't get out. I feel every bruise again. Hear every hateful word or goading remark. There are no doors or windows. I'm just trapped. I wake up not knowing if it's real or not." I finished and started getting a coffee mug from the cabinet. Eddie was next to me before I put the cup down, pulling me close to him. I felt his heartbeat and smelled his scent of cologne and smoke and mint.

"Alright." He said softly, and I felt myself lean into him harder. I felt his rosary under his shirt and closed my eyes, feeling safe. I was angry at myself for crying in front of him. It hurt to open this past life up to anyone. Still, if anyone knew pain, it was Eddie.

I pulled away from him. He looked down at me as I wiped tears from my face. "Hey, it's done. We ain't gotta talk about it no more."

"Thank God." I said with nervous laughter.

"If I ever find out who he is, I'm gonna fuck Jim up something special." He said through gritted teeth.

"Ok ok," I said, shoving him playfully in the chest. He laughed and then leaned down and kissed me. His mouth was warm and his kiss was deep and tender. His tongue slid between my lips and I melted into him without resistance. I wanted him so bad in that moment, but he broke the kiss before I could make any move.

Looking down at me, Eddie straightened up and ruffled my hair. "Now, you have a big match. Get your shit together and let's go to work."

#aew fan fiction #aew fanfiction #eddie kingston fan fiction #eddie kingston fanfic #eddie kingston

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dumbpissfiend · 5 years ago

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Lala Omorashi (Monster Musume)

I should have seen this coming...Thought Lala, her head resting on a chair in the living room. Cursed spider...I'll reap her for this myself the first chance I get...As she thought this, she winced and gritted her teeth in pain, letting out a small whimper. It may not have been in the same room, but her body, wherever it was, was in quite the pickle: bursting to pee, and making sure she was well aware of it.

Lala took a deep breath (more for the psychological benefit than actual need of air), and concentrated, trying to maneuver her body to see if she could undo Rachnera's bonds. But the spider-woman was a consummate professional, and there was no getting out of these ties. Plus, struggling was only making her predicament worse, so the dulahan ceased her futile endeavor quickly. Instead, she tried to focus past the urgent pain in her abdomen and think of her options: she couldn't do anything to help herself in her current condition, so, though she was loathe to ask, given her predicament, she would need help from one of her housemates. Rachnera was out, obviously, she was the one who'd done this to her in the first place, the sadistic bitch. Miia had started shedding, and was holed up in her room for the duration. Papi and Suu were apparently out of earshot, perhaps playing in the bath together. Lala wasn't sure they would be much help, anyway. Mero was in her room as well, and would probably come if she heard Lala calling, but with her limited mobility she wasn't the best candidate for a top-to-bottom search of the house, especially with time being of the essence as it was. It seemed it was Centorea's turn for laundry, so she was out on the balcony, unlikely to hear Lala calling, and aside from that, the centaur still intimidated Lala, and she wanted to ask her for help least of all.

Truth be told, she was so embarrassed by her circumstances that she didn't want to ask any of them for help, but she was running out of time and if someone didn't help her find her body soon she wouldn't be able to face any of them under any circumstances. She counted herself lucky, though, that Kimihito was out shopping at the moment. Though his absence was probably part of why Rachnera had done this in the first place, he was the only member of the house she absolutely didn't want-

"I'm home!!!" Kimihito called from the entryway.

The shock caused Lala to momentarily lose control and she felt a jet of warm liquid moisten her panties, which only deepened her panic, and for a moment she thought she would lose control entirely. Nononononononononono she thought as she frantically worked to tighten her muscles and stay dry. She managed to, through sheer force of will, but was whimpering quite loudly with the effort, and only when she heard Kimihito's footsteps approaching did she remember why she had been panicking in the first place, and now her frantic thoughts shifted gears as she squeezed her eyes shut, gritted her teeth, held her breath, and thought to herself don'tseemedon'tseemedon'tseemedon'tseemedon'tseeme. There was silence for a moment, and she thought maybe he hadn't heard her after all and had instead gone straight to the kitchen with the groceries, so she opened her eyes.

And found herself looking directly into Kimihito's, who had crouched down in front of her, and nonchalantly asked "Is something wrong, Lala?"

She let out a small shriek and her face screwed up with tension as she once again leaked into her panties. It was harder to stop this time, and she was sure there would be a noticeable wet spot on her skirt where it was bunched into her crotch by Rachnera's bindings.

But the thought of the humiliation of wetting herself in front of Kimihito, (even if he couldn't actually see it happen), strengthened her resolve and she managed to regain her composure enough to reply to him with a simple, quiet, "...why do you ask...?"

"Well, just uh...you're sweating bullets, (however that works), and you won't look at me...you just seem kinda flustered in general..."

"Tch...foolish mortal...as if anything on this mortal coil could possibly vex a harbinger of death such as KYAHHHHH!!!"

"Wh-what?! What's wrong Lala?!?"

"Nonononononono, stop stop stop stop stop, god DAMN you Rachnera!" the Dulahan hissed through gritted teeth, her face flushing from it's characteristic pale blue to a bright crimson. The arachne, apparently unsatisfied with the dire straits she'd already put poor Lala in, had started massaging and prodding her overfilled bladder with her claws. The shock and pain had tensed her up so much that she miraculously avoided leaking anymore, but holding back the flood was harder than ever and her head felt dizzy with the exertion of it. She needed relief so badly tears were forming in her eyes.

"Huh? Rachnera? Oh boy...what'd she do to you this time...?"

Lala opened her mouth to answer, but hesitated. She would rather have avoided Kimihito knowing what state she was in than almost anything. Almost. But at this point, she would suffer the humiliation of telling him if it meant making it to the bathroom in time.

"...w-well, um...right after you left to go shopping, she um...asked if I wanted some tea, and I said yes...and then she set me down here, poured the entire pot down my throat, and then walked my body off somewhere because she 'wanted to try something'...and that was a few hours ago now..."

It had been hard to tell the story through the desperation and embarrassment, and Lala hadn't looked him in the eye once the whole time. But when he said nothing, she cast a sidelong glance at him and caught him looking confused. Finally he said,

"Uhhh, soooo...what's the problem?"

Now that just pissed her off.

"Well how would you feel if someone forced you to drink an entire pot of tea and then tied you up somewhere for hours?!?!" she barked.

Kimihito was shocked. He didn't think he'd ever seen Lala truly lose her temper like that. But now she was looking embarrassed and distracted again, and finally everything clicked together in his brain, and he hesitantly asked,

"Wait, Lala, do you...do you have to pee...?"

She cast her eyes downward, and for a moment the young man was terrified he'd been wrong after all and just made things awkward for both of them. But then she said, almost too quietly for him to hear,

"...of course I do..."

She was practically crying in desperation at this point, and Kimihito was overcome by sympathy.

"Oh, I'm uh, I'm so sorry, I didn't realize you uh...that that was something you needed to do..."

"Well, I need to drink like the rest of you, don't I?" she asked, still a tad annoyed at him for making her spell it all out so thoroughly, "doesn't it stand to reason that it has to...go somewhere..." she blushed even deeper and averted her gaze again.

"R-right, good point...I'm just never sure..."

Lala whimpered and tensed up once again. She really wasn't going to last much longer, and she was so desperate she couldn't even think about how to get out of this situation anymore. But suddenly she was moving, and when she opened her eyes she saw she was in Kimihito's hands.

"What are you doing?" she asked

"What do you mean? I'm gonna help you find your body so you can use the bathroom."

"Oh I..." she almost started arguing, but quickly realized she had no pride left to fight for now that she had told him, not that she could do much to physically protest, or think straight enough to convince him that she didn't need his help. "...thank you..." she finished quietly. She shut her eyes, and tried to focus on holding the rest of her pee without being distracted by the thought of imminent relief. It wasn't easy, and she silently willed Kimihito to hurry.

First they tried Rachnera's room in the attic, but apparently the spider had thought ahead and realized it would be too obvious. So they descended the ladder and started searching some of the supply closets on the first floor. The house had gotten so big now it was slower going than either of them would have liked, and Lala worried that thinking she might actually get relief in time had been too optimistic. Kimihito had skipped the second floor, figuring the rest of the gang were lounging in their rooms and thus the spaces wouldn't available, but there was hardly anywhere else to check, so he started ascending the stairs. As he did, Lala desperately whispered,

"Please hurry...I can't hold it much longer..."

"D-don't worry! We'll find your body in time, I promise, just hold on!"

Lala could only moan in tentative agreement.

Kimihito knew Miia was in the middle of shedding, so they skipped her door. Papi had left hers ajar, and they could see it was empty. Cerea's was closed, but there was no answer to their knock. He was about to call for her when he heard movement from the balcony. He rushed over to the door and saw Cerea outside, still working on laundry. When she saw him, she called out,

"Oh! Welcome home, Master."

"Hey, Cerea. I didn't realize you were out here, I thought you were in your room."

"Hmm? No, Rachnera asked if she could use my room while I was doing laundry for some kind of 'training'. She said my floor mats would be better than the hardwood in the attic."

But Kimihito was already hurrying back to her door, calling back his thanks. Lala hoped to god they would find her body behind that door. They certainly did, but the reunion was bittersweet, and it was at last clear to Lala exactly why she had had such an inordinately difficult time holding it.

Rachnera had suspended her from the ceiling, in her classic full-body binding, with her wrists and ankles tied together behind her back, and extra threads keeping her thighs spread apart and several knots pressing directly into her clearly overfilled bladder via gravity. Rachnera sat beside her handiwork, gently swinging the Dulahan's body back and forth like a tire swing. The motion was not helping Lala's condition, and several breaths caught in her mouth like sobs as she desperately fought not to soak herself.

"Oh, welcome home, honey." Rachnera said as nonchalantly as if she were reading a book on the porch on a fine summer day, as opposed to actively torturing her roommate's bladder.

"Don't 'welcome home honey' me! What do you think you're doing to poor Lala?!!"

Rachnera simply shrugged.

"Well, you were out, I was bored, and I've been curious to try this sort of thing for a while, so I figured what the hell. Gotta say, it hasn't been too exciting, though." she flicked Lala's bladder bulge as she said this, and the Dulahan squealed in pain.

Rachnera blinked. Then she flicked again.

"Please stop...!" Lala begged through tears.

"Huh. For some reason, I didn't imagine the head would be the most entertaining part of this little experiment. Now I wish I hadn't left her downstairs."

"Well if you hadn't tied her up like that! You might've actually...I-I mean she would've...I..."

"Go on, honey. Would've what?"

Kimihito's train of thought had run away, and images of Lala's body, unfettered by Rachnera's silk, writhing in desperate agony flashed across his brain. He saw her headless body pounding on the bathroom door with one hand with the other buried firmly between her thighs, as she frantically bounced up and down, crossed her legs as tightly as possible, and danced in place in a desperate bid to keep from soaking her knee-high stockings in urine. He involuntarily shuddered at the unexpected excitement these images sparked, but hearing Lala's desperate moans snapped him back to reality.

"N-nothing, I, I was, I, forget it! Just help me get her down, for chrissakes!"

He set Lala's head down on a shelf near the door, picked up one of Cerea's replica swords, and approached the body hanging from the ceiling.

"Here, hold her steady while I cut."

"Whatever you say, Honey." said Rachnera as she gripped Lala's calfs near the knee and braced her crotch against one of her many legs, eliciting a gasp from her head across the room.

"Oh...it's a little wet here...better hurry, Honey."

Kimihito didn't need to be told twice. He was no expert, but by now he'd had enough experience getting himself and the others out of Rachnera's bindings to have a pretty good idea where to cut. He first got the wrapping off of her body so the threads weren't cutting into her bladder, and her head sighed gratefully at this small measure of relief. Once her body was mostly free, he started sawing at the numerous braided cords around her wrists and ankles. Rachnera caught what he was doing and said,

"Oh, Honey, be careful cutting-"

*snap* The silk securing Lala's ankles came undone all at once and her body swung forward by the wrists. Kimihito reflexively reached out to catch her, accidentally slamming his forearm directly into Lala's bladder at full speed. Her head quickly cried from its perch, and that was it. Pee gushed from between her legs in a relentless torrent, soaking her underwear, skirt, boots, Kimihito's shoes, and the floor mats. It poured from her without cease for a solid minute before finally tapering down to a trickle, and eventually just the residual dripping from the soaked fabric was the only sound in the room.

"-that one..." Rachnera finished lamely.

Kimihito glared at her before cutting the ties from Lala's wrists and working on removing the last of the threads still wrapped around her. When he was finished, he turned to ask Lala how she was, and the question stopped in his throat when he saw tears streaming down her face from her closed eyes. Her body slumped to its knees in her puddle and jerked in silent sobs.

Finally Kimihito approached her head and wiped her tears away.

"Hey, Lala...it's okay. I mean, it's not like it was your fault," Rachnera looked down at that, "you've got nothing to be embarrassed about. And there's no way I'd tell anyone, so you don't have to worry about that. And neither will Rachnera. Right?" he asked, shooting the spider-woman a very pointed look.

"No, of course not. Lala, I'm...I...I'm sorry...I'm really sorry. I didn't mean to take this this far...Not that that counts for much now, I suppose, but...I am sorry."

"It'll be okay, I promise. We'll get a bath going for you, I can take care of laundry, that'll be it. Only the three of us will know, and it's not like we'd ever hold it against you. Okay?"

At last the Dulahan's tears slowed down, and she opened her eyes and looked at her host. He was giving her a worried smile that didn't completely wash away the embarrassment of what had just happened, but made it seem like less of a big deal. She sniffed and tried to nod, which led to her falling straight off the shelf. Kimihito managed to catch her, reflexively pulling her to his chest, where she could hear his heart pounding. She barely had time to wonder why it was beating so hard before Rachnera said,

“Oh, shit.”

“What now?” Kimihito asked.

“Well I just realized...unless we can replace these floor mats like right now, we will have to explain to Cerea what happened…”

The dread of facing Centorea with this humiliation hit Lala like a cold wave. Her face flushed and she felt like crying again. But then a very different sensation hit her and she realized the cold tingling wasn’t dread and she was blushing for another reason entirely. She involuntarily gasped in pleasure, startling Kimihito and Rachnera. Suddenly, the trio realized there was movement coming from where Lala’s body knelt on the floor. Well, where it had been kneeling. It was now lying on her back squirming with a bluish green mass writhing between her legs.

“Suu! Wh-what’re you doing?! Wait, when did you get here??”

In the hustle and bustle of things, all three had apparently missed her coming entering the room. She resolved herself into humanoid form to answer Kimihito, leaving Lala’s body heaving on the floor with her head breathing heavily in Kimihito’s arms to match.

“Lala looked so sad that her clothes were wet, and I was thirsty, so I got all the moisture out.”

The other three looked at the body, mouths agape. It was a little hard to tell because of the sheen Suu left behind, but Lala’s skirt did look decidedly less drenched. The same could be said of the floor mats, and Suu’s presence would be much easier to explain to Cerea. Still, Kimihito, Rachnera, and Lala’s minds reeled at the implications and they stared at Suu, unable to think of anything to say for a moment.

Suu was the one to break the silence, asking with some trepidation,

“Was that bad?”

“N-no! Uhhhhhh...no, as long as you’re fine with it, it’s actually very helpful, thanks Suu. You sure you feel okay?”

“Mhmm!” replied the slime cheerfully. She loved being helpful.

Kimihito took Lala’s hand and helped her body to its feet before reuniting it with her head.

“Sorry again about all this Lala.” he said.

“No, it...it’s fine.” she said, though glancing away bashfully.

He smiled at her and said, “Here, if you wanna go take that bath to wash, uh, Suu off of you, just leave your clothes outside the door and I’ll get them washed like I promised before dinner.”

“...thank you.” she whispered. She’d rather not having been in this situation in the first place, but it was a comfort having someone like Kimihito to rely on to get through it.

Even though she had technically been dried by Suu, she would feel better after a bath, so she did as Kimihito suggested, left her clothes outside the bathroom door, and prepared for a good wash. As soon as her toe touched the water, she was so shocked she retracted her foot quickly and almost dropped her own head on the floor. Apparently the tea wasn’t quite done working through her system and she crossed to the toilet in small, quick steps.

Kimihito bent to pick Lala’s clothes off the floor and paused when he thought he heard the water running. Weird...Papi was bathing not that long ago, it should still be pretty warm… But then he realized it wasn’t the same sound as the tub faucet, and his confusion only grew before the sound tapered off and was punctuated by a deeply satisfied sigh. His heart skipped a beat and his face grew hot when he realized what he’d just been listening to, and he walked away quickly to the laundry, trying and failing not to dwell on it too much.

#omorashi #fanfic #monmusu #lala #oc

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pickalilywrites · 6 years ago

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Hiiii! When you get the time can you pls write a levi/petra one-shot in which they end up having a second date (their first one was a failure) ❤️ thank you!

I was watching a kdrama where two celebrities pretend to get married and pursue a relationship for a variety show and i was like “cute”

Let’s Fall in Love!

Rivetra. Dating Show AU.

4547 words.

Buy me a ko-fi!

It is every girl’s dream to date Levi Ackerman, lead singer of the hit rock band No Name. In fact, Petra herself had fantasized him being her boyfriend when she was just a teenager, but she’s completely changed her mind after their initial meeting when he had clasped his hand in hers for a handshake and remarked that her hand was unusually cold.

“Kind of a like a dead person’s,” he said aloud.

At first, she was sure that she had just misheard, but the rest of their interactions only confirmed his rudeness. Petra knows that you should never meet your heroes, but this is ridiculous.

“I liked the part when he was complimenting her,” Eld says with a grin. He reaches out twirl a lock of Petra’s hair around his finger and watches it unwind as it falls away. He mimics the constipated expression of the famous rock singer and says in a low voice, “’Your hair…is very orange.’”

“Oh, what about the time he visibly cringed when he saw her putting cream in her coffee?” Gutner says.

“Or when he said he’d never heard of her music before?” Auruo snickers.

She’d yell at them to get out of her dressing room, but she’s trying to keep her temper in check especially when she eventually has to meet up with Levi again. She’d rather never see him again after the disastrous date from last week, but they’ve already signed the contract and she can’t back out of it now. Goddamn variety shows.

“Are you guys done?” she asks through gritted teeth. She stands up from her dresser and brushes herself off. She looks at herself once more in the mirror and frowns at her reflection thinking that Levi will definitely hate her no matter what she looks like. Not that she cares. She’d wear her ugliest clothes, but she’d get a lot of criticism online if she didn’t look perfect. Sighing, she runs her hands through her hair and looks warily at her bandmates. “Besides, it’s our music that he hasn’t heard of. Aren’t you guys the least bit offended? We’ve idolized No Name our entire lives and he’s not even interested in us even after the success of our last album. He could at least pretend to be a little impressed, don’t you think?”

Gunter shrugs. “Everyone knows he’s pretty reclusive. If it were his bandmate Hanji or their drummer Mike, I’d be miffed, but it’s Levi we’re talking about. He doesn’t seem to be interested in anything.” He pats her on the shoulder when her frown deepens and gives her a smile. “It’s just a silly show for fun. I doubt you’re the worst celebrity couple they’ve put on this show.”

“Not according to some people on Twitter,” Eld says as he scrolls through his phone. He chuckles as he reads a few out loud for them. “’Levi and Petra have absolutely NO CHEMISTRY at all.’ ‘Watching Levi and Petra together makes me want to tear my eyes out. They’re so terrible!’ ‘Petra doesn’t deserve to date Levi.’ Oh.” Eld frowns when he comes across a particular tweet. “This person wants to kill you for dating him. That won’t do. Don’t worry, Pet, I got you.”

“If they want to date Levi so badly, they can,” Petra groans as Eld furiously taps away on his phone. She’s stopped reading any tweets involving her lately. While she does get a bunch of tweets about how lucky she is to be dating the No Name front man or compliments about how nice she looks on the show, she’s been bombarded with more insults than she normally is and she’s thinking about staying off all her social media until this is all over and done with. “Don’t they know this isn’t real anyway? It’s just a TV show.”

“Does it matter? It might as well be real. You know about half the celebrities that get paired up on this show end up dating each other in real life?” Auruo says as he leans against her counter. He inspects his nails and grins at her slyly, watching her from the corner of his eye. “I know high school you would be ecstatic at an opportunity to date Levi Ackerman even if it’s just for a variety show. You were over the moon about him, saying that he was the greatest male vocalist in our time and you’d die if you ever met him in real life. I think you even said you’d marry him at one point.”

Petra side-eyes her friend, thinking that it’s unfortunate that one of her bandmates has to be her childhood friend. He knows far too much about her. She’d get rid of him, but he’s terribly good bass guitar player and it’d be a bitch to replace him. “Are you sure you don’t want to marry him instead?” Petra asks him as he splutters and turns beet red. “You certainly seem to have a lot of good things to say about him even now and isn’t your hair cut in the same style as his?”

“Alright, alright,” Gunter says, holding his hands up to signal them to settle down. “It’s not so bad, right? Our sales are going up at any rate, so just try to do your best with him, Petra. It’ll all be over in a few weeks anyway.”

“That’s easy for you to say,” Petra mutters. “You don’t have to date him.”

Just then there’s a knock on the door and someone on the outside, probably a studio hand, calling Petra out. She’d rather just stay in her dressing room than go out there and see Levi again, but she is getting paid for this so she might as well just go.

“I’m coming,” she calls, pasting a fake smile on her face as she heads towards the door.

“Good luck, Petra!” Eld calls as she pushes the door open, the rest of the band also sending her off with their own well wishes.

“Looks like your band is optimistic,” smiles the studio hand. It’s Eren Jaeger, the studio intern who had comforted her after she had filmed the first episode. It turns out that while he’s a big fan of No Name (like most people are), he’s also been a fan of Wings of Freedom ever since its conception and talked to her excitedly about how much he looks forward to her band’s new music after she’s done filming for this show.

“Yeah, well,” Petra says, dropping her mask and giving him a weary smile. It’s nice to have an ally in the studio, she thinks. “It can’t really get much worse than last week, right?”

“Oh, it wasn’t that bad,” Eren says with a shrug. He fiddles with the paper on his clipboard with all the tasks on his schedule, folding and unfolding the bottom corner. “I’ve seen interviews he’s done with people he really hates, and he’s nothing like that with you. Besides, you guys might not get along swimmingly, but you definitely have one of the more interesting dynamics this season. I really think the viewers will be rooting for the two of you in a few episodes.”

“Rooting for us to break up and leave the show early,” Petra snorts. She actually contemplated the possibility after the first shooting, but it’d take a chunk out of her earnings. “How much did you guys offer him? It makes sense for me to sign up for something like this. Wings of Freedom might be big now, but it’s still somewhat of a fledgling of a band. I’m sure No Name is well off even without being featured in shows like this.”

Eren scratches the back of his neck and shifts his gaze away from her. “Er, I’m not supposed to know things like that,” he mumbles. “But he must be interested in you somehow if it’s not the money, right? Why else would he sign up for something like this?”

“Because the headshot you used when you were convincing him to pick me was really good?” Petra suggests. When Eren frowns, she ruffles his hair and grins at him. “Don’t worry, it’s not that big of a deal. I’m glad you’re enjoying us though. It’s always good to have a supporter.”

He grins widely back at her and asks her how Wings of Freedom’s second album is coming along as he leads her to the nearby café near the studio that they’re filming at for today’s “date.” It’s the same one that they had gone to in the first episode and unlike a lot of the other celebrity couples that had visited this place, Petra doesn’t have any happy memories here.

“Hey, nice timing!” someone says. When Petra turns, she sees Hanji, the lead guitarist of No Name. They have what looks like a friendly smile on their face, but Petra has no idea why they’d smile at her in that way if they’d seen the last episode. They hold out a hand for Petra to shake and Petra takes it tentatively in hers. “I’m Hanji, but I think you already know that. I’m flattered you find our band such an inspiration! The way that Wings of Freedom is rising up the charts, you’re a real competition to us, you know? It’s good to finally meet you, Petra. Hopefully, I’ll be able to meet all the other members as well!”

“Nice to meet you too?” Petra says. She’d be ecstatic about meeting another member of No Name, but her experience with Levi so far has made her cautious. “What are you doing here?”

“I just want to see how much of a dumpster fire this date’s going to be,” Hanji says casually. When they see Petra reel back in surprise, they laugh and throw an arm around her shoulders. “Hey, don’t worry about it. If it’s terrible, it’s going to be Levi’s fault. That guy’s just difficult to get along with. I should know since I’ve worked with him for years! You couldn’t do anything wrong even if you tried, Petra. You’re adorable. If you want, I could take his place and date you instead.”

Before Petra can say anything, Levi appears from behind Hanji. He reaches up to pinch his band mate’s ear and scowls, “Shut up, Hanji.” To Petra, he says, “Come on. Let’s get this over with.”

At least she knows he feels the same way about this.

“Welcome once again to Let’s Fall in Love!, the show where you get to see your favorite celebrities fall in love with each other!” the announcer says, gesturing toward where Levi and Petra sit at the café table. She’s a rather nice woman named Ilse, although Petra’s sure she’d like her better if they hadn’t gotten acquainted on this show. “While it wasn’t love at first sight for them, maybe they’ll find love today at this very same café!”

“It’s good seeing you again,” Petra murmurs. She tries to give him her most genuine smile, but it’s so forced that she’s afraid that he can see right through it.

“Hm,” Levi says in reply, not even bothering to give her a proper response. He looks at her briefly but looks away immediately afterward. It’s probably because he can’t stand the sight of her. If she weren’t on camera, she’d scowl at him.

“Let’s see how well these two know each other now after that first date! They’ll be ordering for each other today by writing it on these napkins, which we’ll give to the barista,” the hostess says with a plastered-on smile. They wave one of the napkins around before placing it in front of Petra. “And we’ll join them while we wait for their drinks to arrive to see the progress they’ve made.”

It’s not a lot of progress, Petra thinks with a grimace. Outwardly, she smiles pleasantly at the hostess and speaks about how great it will be to let others catch up on her relationship with Levi, how much she’s learned about him so far, and how she was looking forward to exploring this relationship with him further. Levi, meanwhile, sits at his end of the table with that perpetual scowl on his face. Looking at it now, it’s difficult for her to understand how she could have ever thought his frown sexy back when she hadn’t known him.

“So, have you and Levi gotten together off-camera after the events of last week?” Ilse asks Petra. Petra’s sure that the woman had intentionally spoken with her first instead of Levi knowing that Petra was far easier to manage than him.

“Unfortunately, no,” Petra says sheepishly. She hopes that she doesn’t look too happy about it. “Both our bands are busy, I’m sure. Wings of Freedom is currently working on our second album, so my bandmates and I are spending as many days in the studio when I’m not busy filming over here.” Even if she did have free time to spend with Levi, she wouldn’t. Not that she’d say that out loud though. It definitely wouldn’t go over well with viewers and Levi already hates her as it is.

“What have you been busy with, Levi?” Ilse asks.

Even though the hostess gives him a polite smile, he only stares back at her with a frosty glare. “Rehearsing for the No Name’s upcoming tour,” he replies, not even bothering to give her his answer in a complete sentence.

“Wow, you two have some much in common. It’s a shame that you don’t spend more time together. I’m sure you’d hit it off even more if you did,” Ilse says, but even Petra can tell that she’s finding Levi difficult to handle from her strained smile. The hostess pulls out a small deck of index cards from her pocket, tapping them against the table as she turns once again to Petra. “Well, we all knew this would happen with two superstars, so let’s play a little game! I’ll ask you a few questions about your partner and you’ll answer. Even if you get it wrong, you’ll still be getting to know each other!”

Petra laughs weakly. It seems that Levi has similar feelings because he’s looking like he’d rather die than stay here and play a get-to-know-you game.

“Sounds fun,” Petra says, sitting up and folding her hands in front of her. She gives Ilse a cheerful smile. “I don’t mind starting.”

“Great!” Ilse says. It might just be Petra’s imagination, but Ilse looks a little relieved. Their hostess clears her throat and glances at the first card before saying, “We all know that you and your band are huge fans of No Name and consider them to be a big inspiration for you, so I expect some of these questions to be a breeze for you, Petra. First question: When is Levi’s birthday?”

“December 25th,” Petra says without hesitation. She notices that both Ilse and Levi are staring at her, probably surprised because she answered so quickly. Is it really that surprising though? She is a fan…or at least she was one. Refusing to be embarrassed, Petra reaches up to pat her hair down for any stray hairs and laughs nervously. “It’s an easy birthday to remember after all.”

“I guess that is true! It’s the same day as Christmas after all,” Ilse laughs. She turns to Levi now, glancing down at the card. “You have a slightly harder question, Levi. Your question is: What year was Petra born?”

His frown deepens, and he looks at Petra and back at Ilse as if one of them will tell him the answer, but none of them budge. He finally takes another long, hard look at Petra before opening his mouth and saying very slowly, “1998?”

It’s more surprising than when Petra answered the question. This is because while Petra took less than a heartbeat to answer and was right, Levi took his time and still was off by half a decade.

“Do you think I’m twenty?” Petra asks. She had been able to resist herself before, but she can’t hold herself back now. She really wants to know if he really thinks she looks twenty or if he’s just really bad at math. She looks at Ilse incredulously. “Do I look like a fetus?”

Even Ilse starts to laugh at her reaction, but Levi looks less amused. He crosses his arms and turns away from her. “You look abnormally young for your age,” he mutters under her breath, but she’s not sure if this is supposed to be a compliment or not.

“I’m very well above the drinking age,” she informs him with a smirk.

He raises an eyebrow and props his elbow on the table, leaning towards her as he asks, “Is that so? How often do you get carded despite that?”

Nearly every goddamn time she has to get drinks, she thinks sorely. When she doesn’t answer, he smiles smugly. She’d feel even more insulted if she weren’t so surprised. She doesn’t think she’s seen him smile at all in front of her until now.

“Alright, alright,” Ilse says, clearing her throat. She nods at the both of them and flips to the next card. “Petra is actually born in 1993, Levi, so at least you got the decade right. Are the two of you ready to move on to the next couple of questions we have for you?”

Petra looks up and meets Levi’s eyes from across the table, but he looks away quickly from her.

“Yeah, whatever,” Levi mumbles. He taps his fingers impatiently on the table. His ears are still red with embarrassment from answering the last question wrong.

For the first time since being on set, Petra thinks that this might just be fun after all.

The rest of the game goes similarly. Whatever question Ilse throws at Petra about Levi, Petra answers flawlessly without much thought. She has impeccable knowledge about all of No Name, Levi included, and she’s aware that she might come off as an obsessed fangirl after this episode comes out, but she doesn’t care at the moment. She’s far too amused by Levi’s inability to answer any of their questions about her at all.

It doesn’t matter what they ask him about her. He gets it wrong every time. With each incorrect answer, he gets more flustered and tongue-tied. He snaps out his answer grumpily whenever Ilse turns to him and scowls whenever she informs him that he’s wrong. He can’t name a single song Petra’s written, where she grew up, or the other bands she listens to aside from No Name. He’s so frazzled that Petra’s sure that if Ilse asked him what her hair color was he’d get it wrong even though she’s sitting right across from him.

“Petra, what’s the first song that Levi wrote for No Name?” Ilse asks her.

“’The Reluctant Heroes,’” Petra says easily. She glances over at Levi who scowls at her once more. She only shrugs and smiles in reply.

“Correct once again! You really weren’t kidding when you said you loved No Name. I’m sure Levi is flattered to be with such a talented artist and dedicated fan,” Ilse says, not at all noticing the glower on Levi’s face. To Levi, she asks, “Final question is for you Levi. What is the name of the song Petra and her band Wings of Freedom covered that helped propel them into mainstream success?”

Petra sits up, smirking at Levi because she’s sure that he’s going to get this answer wrong as well, but he has the oddest look on his face. The hardened gaze of his is gone and his expression has softened. Gone is his frustration and impatience, and he looks at her quietly before answering in a quiet voice, “’Call Your Name.’”

“That’s right! After covering No Name’s best-selling single ‘Call Your Name,’ Wings of Freedom began to catch other people’s attention and helped lead them on the road to success,” Ilse says happily. “While you might not know a lot about Petra now, you’ve certainly learned a lot about her today, Levi, and it’s good to see that you at least know something about her.”

Levi doesn’t reply and instead continues to look at Petra, who finds herself blushing. She’s not sure if it’s because he’s looking at her with such a soft expression or because she’s finally being acknowledged by her childhood idol or some other third reason she doesn’t even want to think about at this moment, but his gaze makes her turn away.

“It was a really…it was a good cover,” she hears Levi says. “Beautiful.”

She can feel her face burst into flames. “Thanks,” she mumbles.”

A waitress finally comes by to hand them their drinks. What good timing. They’ve taken far longer than they should, and Petra suspects that they delayed the orders to allow more time for the game. These stupid shows and their stupid games, she thinks with a sigh.

The black coffee Petra had ordered for Levi sits in front of him and Petra finds her own drink set in front of her. It’s a mocha topped with a generous amount of whipped cream and sprinkled with cinnamon and chocolate swirls. Just looking at it makes her feel like she has a cavity and she looks over at Levi confusedly.

“Well,” Ilse says, clapping her hands together and looking from Petra to Levi again. Petra wonders if the hostess is ever tired of acting so excited for these things. “You have your drinks in front of you. Tell us how you like them! Levi, did Petra make the right choice for you? I wouldn’t be surprised if she did!”

Levi takes an awkward sip in front of the camera, pausing before he answers to taste the coffee. Somehow, he’s shocked, and he gives Petra a suspicious glare as if she shouldn’t know his coffee preferences despite her showing how knowledgeable she is about him and going on a coffee date with her last week where he ordered the exact same thing. “It’s good,” Levi finally says.

“And you, Petra?” Ilse asks eagerly. She gestures at the cup in front of Petra, motioning at her to take a sip.

“Ah,” Petra says with a nervous laugh. It’s not that she doesn’t like sweet things, but she doesn’t like overly sweet coffee. If she wanted something sweet and chocolatey, she would have just ordered a hot chocolate. Still, she doesn’t want to seem rude and hesitantly picks up the cup and holds it to her lips. It’s even sweeter that she had thought it would be, and she begins to choke from the taste of it. “Oh, it’s…it’s very sweet,” Petra coughs.

She’s not sure why, but Levi looks hurt. How strange.

“I don’t usually drink such sweet things,” Petra says apologetically, but she’s not sure if she should say this to Ilse or Levi so she just awkwardly speaks to the space between them. “It’s not bad though…it’s…nice.”

Ilse laughs at her response. “Well, I’m glad you can still enjoy it even though it’s not quite to your liking. Thanks for joining Levi and Petra once again on their romantic journey. Let’s hope that Levi can get to know Petra even more in the upcoming weeks!”

Once the cameras are finished rolling, Ilse sighs and rips off her mic. Smiling at Petra, she says, “Thanks for playing along so well, Petra. And thanks for your participation today too, Levi – ah.”

Levi has already torn off his microphone and stalked out of the café without so much as a goodbye. Petra does notice that he did take his coffee with him though.

She should really stay behind and talk with Ilse for a while, thank her for being such a wonderful host, but she really wants to chase after Levi and ask him something, so she smiles apologetically at Ilse and excuses herself, saying that she’ll catch up with her sometime during the week.

When she catches up with Levi, she sees him being held back by Hanji. Or Hanji’s trying to hold him back. Levi’s managing to walk quite well despite having to drag along another person behind him.

“Why’d you run away? Go back!” Hanji tells him. “Don’t you want to talk to Petra some more?”

“No, I don’t want to talk to her,” Levi says, trying to shake Hanji off.

“Should I go back then?” Petra says amusedly. While Hanji looks at her with an expression of pleasant surprise, Levi looks incredibly horrified. “Sorry. I just wanted to talk to you for a little bit, but I can just see you next week if you’d rather not see me.”

“I can talk to you, Petra!” Hanji says, letting go of Levi. They wrap an arm around her and grin down at her. “Levi’s always a grouch, so don’t mind him. I’m much better company than he is!”

Levi sighs and stomps over to where they are, pulling Hanji off Petra and glaring. “It’s fine. I’ll talk to her. Just…go back to the hotel and talk to Mike or something,” he grumbles at Hanji. When he looks at Petra, she sees that his face is flushed the same way it was when they were at the café together. He’s starting to look a little less mean-looking, Petra thinks. To Petra, he asks, “What did you want to talk about?”

“The cover my band did,” she says. “Did you really listen to it?”

“Yeah. Hanji made me listen to it during rehearsal last week.” He shoves his hands in his pockets and turns away from her. “It was good. It was really good. I was going to sit and listen to your album, but I haven’t got the chance to do that yet.”

“Oh, I’m glad you liked it. I didn’t think you’d be interested in listening to my band,” Petra laughs. She’s starting to think that although he’s difficult to get along with at first, he’s not a bad person. Maybe this won’t be so unbearable after all.

“Why not?” Levi asks, looking at her with a furrowed brow. “Your voice is beautiful.”

“Huh?” she says stupidly. It’s difficult to believe he’s complimented when she had firmly believed he hated her only an hour ago. She’s blushing more than she usually would if any other person had said the same words to her and she covers her cheeks with her hands in an unsubtle attempt to hide her blush. “Ah, that’s…I’m so happy…”

“Hm” is all Levi says. He continues to look at her, his expression curious now, and she remembers why she had swooned over him back in her high school days.

“Er, I have to go now,” Petra says, desperate for an excuse to escape. She doesn’t reconvene with her band until tomorrow, but it’s not like Levi knows that. She doesn’t even know he says goodbye to her because she’s already run away.

She doesn’t think she hates him anymore though. No, she’s pretty sure she doesn’t. She’s not sure how she feels exactly, but she does know that there’s a part of her that looks forward to seeing him next weekend even though this relationship isn’t really real.

#rivetra #petra ral #levi ackerman #dating show au #snk #requests #asks #answered #anon #anonymous #hanji zoe #auruo bossard #eld jinn #Gunter Schultz

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janspep · 6 years ago

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Family History (part 2)

☡☡BLOOD WARNING☡☡

Previously -"There are some things we need to discuss.. Rodney, untie those two, and let's just all act like civilized human beings." He responded, scratching the back of his head. -

After being untied, Andrew stood up from the cold hard floor, still shaken and bloodied. He glanced over to his sister who had just risen from her chair. "You have explaining to do." He stated sharply, tears still trailing down his blood stained face. "You," he turned his head towards his father angrily, "where the hells my Mom?" He questioned through gritted teeth.

"Now, now, don't do anything you'd regret." Lacy threatened, running a hand through her golden silky hair.

"Don't threaten him, Lace," Rodney came up behind her grabbing her hand gently, immediately calming her down. "James can take care of them himself, their his kids." He assured her.

"Lacy, get cleaned up, and go get Rosa, Rod, you stay here with me." James interrupted the two.

Lacy nodded "Of course, sir." She said, walking into what the twins assumed was a bathroom, and coming out within the next minute or so wearing a new set of black jeans and a leather jacket. "I'll return shortly." She stated, giving Rodney a quick wave and heading out the door.

"Rod.. would you mind going and grabbing Vero? We need our best nurse, you guys did a number on these two, I'm surprised they're still awake. And grab them each a change of clothes while your at it." James asked. Rodney simply nodded and waked through a door in the back of the room. "I don't want to have to do this the hard way, but I need your help." James motioned to a table near by "Please, sit, and I'll explain."

Blair did as she was told and took a seat. Andrew however did not. He stood still, arms crossed and feet planted to the floor.

"Drew, just do what your told, please don't make this harder than it has to be. I know this is hard for you but we can make the best out if this, we really can." Blair cried.

James looked down at her "Good girl, you always were so optimistic, I've missed you, kid." Blair said nothing in response, she only kept her head down and willed herself to be strong. If not for herself, for Andrew.

Noticing how hard his sister was trying to help him, he lowered his head "Fine." He gave in, running a blood stained hand through his long copper hair as he sat at the table.

"Thank you." Blair choked. Andrew looked at her, worry evident in his eyes.

"How are you two feeling?" James questioned "Are the injuries too bad?" He approached his kids cautiously.

"He pistol whipped her. He hurt my sister, I don't give a damn what he did to me, but everyone of you sick bastards will pay for what your little lackey did to my sister." Andrew growled, moving over to Blair and holding her gently, but firmly, running a hand through her ginger hair in a desperate attempt to calm her down. He could care less about the blood still trickling down his temple. His only concern was the broken down girl in his arms.

As if on que, Rodney returned with a chestnut skinned girl with a short, messy, brown bob cut and bangs that covered her forehead. While everyone else at the agency wore tight dark clothes and boots, she wore a knee length pastel blue sun dress with tattered navy blue converse. She gave the three a gentle awkward wave as she made her way over to Blair and Andrew.

"Kids, this is Veronica, also known as Vero. She's our best nurse around. She's only here to help." James explained.

"I won't let a single of you gang junkies near my sister!" Andrew hissed.

"Gang? Are you fucking serious? How dare you call us a gang!" Rodney defended.

"We're.. we're actually a spy agency.. we just want to help people, I'm sorry Lacy was rough with you two.. sometimes she gets overzealous." Vero explained timidly.

Andrew loosened his grip on Blair, seeing as she had finally looked up. "Spies? You're spies?? Why was Blair so afraid then?" Andrew breathed.

"I was scared you'd hate me.. I've hurt people, bad people, but they were still people nonetheless." Blair mumbled into his blood soaked sweater.

"Blair. I'd never hate you. You did what you had to," Andrew cried as he helped her up "I'm just glad you're okay." he turned to Rodney, "I'll still kill you and your little blonde bitch if you come anywhere near her though, and... I'm still sceptical about the whole.. spy thing." He barked.

"Cool your jets, red" Rodney rolled his eyes.

"If it makes any difference, I'll be training you to be a nurse! I've heard you don't like hurting people, so you don't have to! Oh! And I brought you two these! You can get yourselves cleaned up and ill tend to your wounds!" She cheered, holding up two bags of clothes.

"What will Blair be trained as?" Andrew asked

"We'll have some top of the line agents train her to be an assassin, so she'll basically be a field agent," James revealed. "Among those agents.. is your mother." He smiled, trying to make the twins as comfortable as possible.

Blair looked down "I don't know if we should get involved with the agency, dad. It might not be a great idea. I mean, Drew isn't used to it, he just now found out, and I haven't been here in ages, some of the agents might not want me back."

"Nonsense, we've all missed you terribly, Blair." Vero said with a heartfelt grin and a sincere tone.

"You haven't changed a bit, have you, Ver?" Blair looked up at her old friend, remembering the time they spent together as kids.

"I have, I've grown and I've learned." She said, running a hand through her already messy hair.

"Yet your kindness remains the same." Blair stood up, grabbing onto Andrew for support.

"Lets get you cleaned up, hun" Vero ushered Blair to the bathroom to tend to her wounds and clean her up, leaving the boys in what she called the 'interrogation room'.

#violence warning #violence #original #original character #original story #my writing #my words #my work #my wips #my wip #writer on tumblr #writers #writeaway #writeblr #spilled writing #spilled ink

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what-happened-to-agent-georgia · 7 years ago

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Home

Happy. Motherhecking. Angst War ( @rvbficwars). @riathedreamer I screamed when I got your prompt, and it consumed my entire week. So thank you. Her prompt:

“Grif and Simmons find out transplanted organs don’t last forever.”

Pairings: Grif/Simmons, background Kimbalina

Characters: Grif, Simmons, Grey, Kaikaina Grif, Sarge

Warnings: Major Character Death, hospital/medical stuff, angst (so much angst), canon-typical language (pleasssse let me know if you need me to put more warnings, I can do that no problem).

Summary: Well... I mean. Grif and Simmons find out that transplanted organs don’t last forever. Also on Ao3.

Grif stares at Grey, and Grey stares back.

She’s waiting for him to say something, to react, but he’s still having trouble wrapping his brain around why he’s not surprised. But after a few moments, his lack of surprise makes more sense. It’s just the same shit, different day—bad luck follows him wherever he goes, how is today any different?

Drawn for the one-man draft, sole survivor of the massacre on his first outpost, landed with a shotgun-wielding maniac, caught up in a fake war—then caught up in a real one. The latest and greatest involved more Blue Team Drama™, but then, that seems to be the root of most of Grif’s problems these days.

So, when Grey tells him that his transplanted organs have started shutting down, Grif isn’t surprised so much as he feels this is just the rotten cherry on top of the fucked-up cake.

“That explains the recurring food poisoning,” Grif says. “Well, guess it wasn’t food poisoning.”

“Have you been sleeping more?” Grey asks. “Agitated? Anxious?”

“All the time,” Grif snorts. “Uh, but I have noticed I actually sleep more now.”

Grif likes to pretend he spends most of his time sleeping, but the truth of the matter is sleep means nightmares, and nightmares fucking suck, so he gets four hours a night if he’s lucky. Or, he did, until earlier this week, when he slept for twelve hours. And it wasn’t a tired feeling, but more of a heavy feeling.

The thing that brought him to Dr. Grey in the first place, though, was that he woke up this morning and forgot where he was for a good five minutes, forgot who the person lying next to him was.

“I see,” Grey says. “And how long have you been having episodes such as the one you had this morning?”

“Today was the first,” Grif says.

Grey taps something out on her data pad.

“So, what now?” Grif asks, wringing his hands.

Grey sets her data pad on her lap and purses her lips. Her cheery demeanor vanished long ago, replaced by a furrowed brow serious eyes. Grey is amazing at hiding her emotions, having been a doctor for so long, but Grif is no idiot. He grits his teeth and waits for her answer.

“You have time,” she begins, “I’d estimate two to three weeks.”

“Wait—can’t we just, like pull another mad doctor and make me part-cyborg? Like Simmons?” Grif asks.

“I’m afraid not,” Grey replies. She reaches up and takes her glasses off to massage her eyes and the bridge of her nose. “It’s a miracle you both survived the first procedure. Your body won’t be able to withstand another surgery of that caliber.”

“Well we can give it a fucking try, can’t we?” Grif snaps, rising to his feet. He sways a little, light-headed, but goes on, “What’ve I got to lose?”

“Time,” Grey says, voice level. She places her glasses back on her face and crosses her arms. “I don’t want to be unsympathetic, but I also need to be realistic, Captain Grif.

“And the reality is,” she continues, rising to her feet as well, “You will not survive surgery. Wouldn’t you rather spend the rest of the time you have with loved ones?”

Grif opens his mouth to say something then snaps it shut. Swallowing, he flops back down into his chair.

She’s right. He knows she’s right.

Grey lowers herself into her chair once more, starts talking about ways to make him more comfortable—antibiotics, supporting oxygenation, fluid resuscitation, lowering blood sugar—but the list is too long and Grif is much too tired. Why prolong the inevitable?

Before he’s even finished thinking the thought he knows why.

Simmons.

Fuck, Simmons is going to lose his shit.

“Is there a way to do all this stuff without anyone finding out?” Grif asks, interrupting Grey, who gives him a dirty look. It quickly shifts to confusion when she registers what he’s just said.

“I don’t mean to pry, but why don’t you want to tell anyone?” Grey asks, raising an eyebrow.

“I don’t need everyone freaking out, okay?” Grif huffs. He crosses his arms. “It’ll make everything different, why tell anyone?”

Grey doesn’t say anything, and at first Grif thinks she’s going to lecture him. But she just lets out a long sigh.

“If that is your preference, I’ll see what I can do,” she says. “I’ll send you a message soon to set up an appointment.”

“Thanks.” Grif rises to his feet, more slowly this time, but he still feels a little off. He turns to leave the hospital room, eyes aching from the fluorescent lights reflecting off the white walls.

“Grif?” Grey calls as he reaches the door. Grif stops, waiting.

“There will come a point where it will be impossible to hide this,” she says.

Grif just nods and, shoving the door open, walks out to where Simmons is waiting for him.

“How’d it go?” he asks.

“Fine,” Grif dismisses, waving his hand. “Like I thought—food poisoning.”

Grif spends the first day of the last week of his life with Kai. He’s afraid she’ll ask questions at first, but honestly, after being apart for so long, the only thing she wants to know is if Grif still likes cookies and cream ice cream.

The answer, of course, is “duh”.

“I like it here,” she says, shoving a spoonful of ice cream into her mouth. “It’sh happenin’.”

“It’s what?” Grif raises and eyebrow. He’s already finished with his ice cream and is contemplating seconds.

“Happening,” Kai repeats, swallowing. “I could totally open a club here, no problem.”

Grif is amazed at his little sister, how far she’s come, how much she’s accomplished. How Kai’s managed to stay this optimistic through everything she’s been through—even before Grif was shipped off to war—he’ll never know. Fuck, if she can have a successful business in the middle of a war, she can do anything.

He feels a surge of pride for Kai. He tries not to think about how he won’t ever see her Chorusian Night Club Empire.

“Just one?” he asks. “You could open at least fifty-seven.”

“Well, duh.” Kai rolls her eyes. “But not all at once, that’s shitty strategy. You can’t use a sex swing without a firm bar to hang it from.”

“Yeah,” Grif agrees. “Wait, what?”

After ice cream Grif trails along after Kai as she flutters from shop to shop, most of them barren in the aftermath of Chorus’s civil war, but he can practically see the gears turning in her head. Chorus is lucky to have Kai, she’ll make this a hotspot in no time.

When they’re finished in the shopping district, Kai is toting three bags—one with clothing, one with makeup, and one with boxing gloves.

“Lina said she’d teach me,” Kai says. “In exchange, I’m going to teach her yoga. That girl is tense, I’m so glad she’s got Nessa now.”

“’Nessa’?” Grif asks.

“Kimball,” Kai clarifies. “Oh, yeah, Lina, Nessa, and I are totally on a first name basis after last night.”

Grif doesn’t ask, Kai doesn’t elaborate.

They spend the rest of the day lounging around the apartments Kimball provided for them. It’s like they’re kids again—cartoons blaring, Kai’s painting Grif’s toes, junk food everywhere. Grif almost forgets it won’t be like this forever.

“Hey, Kai?” Grif grabs the remote and mutes the show. Kai, half done with Grif’s left foot, glances up before promptly going back to work.

“What’s up?” she asks.

“I’ve got some shitty news,” he says, and when he says it he’s hit with an overwhelming sense of déjà vu, and it’s like he’s been drafted all over again. This time, however, there’s a zero percent chance of him coming back.

“That’s what you said the first time you left,” she says softly.

“Yeah.” Grif looks away out the window. The sun is setting, and an airship zips past their apartment. “Kai, you remember how Simmons gave me half his organs and became a cyborg that one time?”

“Yeah, that sounds like it was so badass,” Kai says. She laughs, but it’s shaky, too-high pitched.

“It totally was,” Grif agrees. “But, uh, I went to see Grey yesterday, you know, when I thought I had food poisoning?”

Kai nods, still not looking up.

“Kai, I’m dying,” Grif says. “Uh, the transplanted organs are failing.”

Kai nods again, and Grif notices the last two nails on his left foot are messy, and there’s nail polish all over her fingers.

“I’m really sorry—” Grif starts, but Kai leaps to her feet.

“It’s not fucking fair!” she yells. Her face darkens, and she kicks the end table next to Grif’s couch, and suddenly he has this image of eight-year-old Kai when he told her she couldn’t have chocolate for dinner. “I just got you back!”

“Kai—”

Kai lets out a frustrated growl and, rather than kick the table again, grabs it and flips it, sending bottles of nail polish flying. One of them shatters, and thick blue liquid seeps out onto the floor. She grabs a pillow and hurls it at the TV, which shakes and almost tips backward. It manages to stay upright, but Kai, unsatisfied, rushes forward and shoves it. It crashes into the floor, and as the life sputters out of it, Kai deflates as well, sinking to the floor.

Taking care not to step on the glass from the nail polish, Grif moves over to Kai’s side. It’s been a long day, and even this almost has him out of breath. He’s pretty sure the polish on his toes is being ground into the carpet, but he doesn’t give a shit. Kimball can replace it if she feels like it.

Grif puts his arm around Kai’s shoulder, and she leans into him, sobbing.

“This is so fucking unfair,” she whispers.

“Life’s a bitch, and then you die,” Grif says. Kai laughs shortly, smacks him on the shoulder, and hugs him back.

They’re still there two hours later, when Simmons, Sarge, Donut, and Doc traipse back into the apartment.

“What the fuck?” Simmons yelps, reaching up and grabbing at his hair.

“Grif! Is that blue nail polish!? Unbelievable! Unforgivable!”

“Wow, this looks just like my place after our first date!” Donut chimes in, looking over at Doc with a toothy grin. Doc’s face goes red and he excuses himself to the kitchen to put away groceries.

“Dex,” Simmons says, voice hoarse. “What. The hell?”

“Uh, there was totally a big rat, and I freaked out okay, and I tried to kill it, but it was super freaking fast, holy shit it was fast!” Kai babbles. “Then I was so mad my nail polish broke I started crying!”

Grif nods.

“That is one hundred percent what happened,” he says.

Simmons looks like he’s ready to faint, while Sarge has started vigorously cleaning the spilled nail polish, muttering to himself.

Grif meets Kai’s eyes and nods. The corners of her mouth twitch, and she nods back.

Turning his gaze back to Simmons, he lets out a sigh. As he watches Simmons rush over to Sarge (“Sarge, no, you—you’re just rubbing it into the—just let me—”), he wonders why he told Kai and why he can’t bring himself to tell Simmons.

He’ll have to sooner or later.

Kind of hard to hide death.

Grif spends the rest of the week divvying up his time.

He lets Sarge chase him around, waving his shotgun as he shouts expletives cursing blue nail polish. It takes a while for Grif to catch his breath once he ducks inside a fuel station, where Lopez stares at him in a way only Lopez can stare.

“Idiota, solo empeoráras tu condición,” he drones.

“Cállate,” Grif wheezes.

If Lopez could roll his eyes, he would.

Grif lets Doc and Donut have him over for dinner, stomachs more innuendos he thought possible. He’s oddly relieved something other than his dying insides is making him nauseous. What Grif can’t stomach is the food, but he does his best to push it around the plate. Besides, Grey would kill him if she knew he was eating so much sugar.

He visits Grey twice a day, always when Simmons is off doing something else. Simmons and Donut are in charge of organizing the menu and decorations for Kimball and Carolina’s wedding, though Grif can’t imagine working with Donut on a coloring book, let alone an entire fucking wedding. But behind Simmons’s half-hearted complaining, Grif can see he’s enjoying putting his energies towards something other than not getting shot.

“You really should try to get more rest,” Grey tells him for the millionth time.

“Have you met me?” Grif snorts. “I’m always resting.”

Grey rolls her eyes and lets him go.

Caboose invites the Reds to movie night, and despite Sarge’s grunting and grumbling, they spend hours with the Blues, watching shitty action movies, playing cards, and shoving their faces with popcorn. Grif enjoys the company, but he keeps getting frustrated with the movie—the movement makes him nauseous, and even though it’s one he’s seen a thousand times, he’s having trouble following the plot. He loses most of the card games too, but he just shrugs and insinuates foul play from the Blues. Sarge agrees.

Carolina keeps giving him weird looks, like she knows something. But she doesn’t say anything, like she understands his secrecy. Grif wonders at first if Kai told her but dismisses the idea. Kai wouldn’t do that without telling him.

Grif spends the fifth day after his diagnosis with Simmons.

They’ve been spending time together all week, of course, hell, they share a bed. But Grif wants to give the entire day to Simmons.

In the morning they drink coffee while Simmons tells him about his new Dungeons and Dragons campaign. Grif watches Simmons’s eyes light up, hands flailing. The nerd becomes so animated he almost spills his coffee.

“You want to drink the coffee, Rich, not oil your arm with it,” Grif teases.

“Hey—I take offense to that!” Simmons snaps. “Just because—fuck!”

Simmons hisses and jumps up from his chair as coffee sloshes out of his mug and onto his hand. Grif, keeled over with laughter, feels the telltale sting on his own jittering hand as he spills his own coffee.

“God dammit!” Grif shouts, dropping the mug. It shatters as it hits the cement, and more hot coffee splashes up and onto Grif and Simmons’s bare feet. “AH!”

“Dammit, Grif!” Simmons scrambles backwards, tripping over his chair as he moves. Grif, wheezing with laughter, reaches out and barely misses the scruff of Simmons’s shirt as he falls on his ass.

Sinking to his knees, Grif struggles for composure as he inches towards Simmons.

“Are—ha—are you okay, Rich?” he asks.

“Fuck off, Dex,” Simmons says, but a huge grin splits his face and suddenly the both of them are losing their shit.

They sit there for at least five minutes, quieting for a few seconds only to start up again. It would have been shorter, Grif thinks, but when Simmons tries to sit up he puts his arm through the glass of the patio door, and once clear of the shards, they dissolve into laughter once more.

Tiptoeing over the glass as they go back inside the apartment, Grif hopes Kimball doesn’t find this until after they’ve gone back to the Moon.

After Simmons has gone back to the Moon.

“Dex, are you crying?” Simmons frowns and leans in to inspect Grif’s face.

“Yeah, from laughing so fucking hard,” Grif says. “That was the weirdest shit of all time.”

“Hey, you started it,” Simmons says, rolling his eyes.

“Shut up, nerd,” Grif retorts.

“Dumbass.”

“Kiss-ass.”

“Hey.”

“Yeah?” Simmons turns to face Grif. The two of them are on the rooftop of the apartment, huddled on the couch they dragged up there a few days ago.

“You remember when you were fighting Gene, and I asked you if you ever wondered why we’re here?” Grif asks.

“Of course,” Simmons answers, cheeks going red.

The sun has started to set, making Simmons’s hair look like it’s on fire, and Grif resists the urge to reach over and touch it.

“Dex?” Simmons waves a hand in front of Grif’s face, yanking him away from his thoughts.

“Yeah?”

“Why do you ask?”

“Well, I guess I was wondering if, you know.” Grif shrugs. “Wondering if you have an actual answer?”

“Like, have I ever wondered that or do I, like know why I’m here?” Simmons asks, tilting his head and raising an eyebrow.

“The second one,” Grif says.

Simmons looks away from Grif and out at the sun as it disappears behind the towering black buildings of New Armonia. Grif wishes he was on Simmons other side, the one without the mechanical eye; he loves it when Simmons gets lost in thought, loves how his eye goes far away and darts back and forth, like he’s studying something. He watches as the corners of Simmons’s mouth twitch down into a pensive frown, wonders what the guy is thinking about. Wonders if Simmons will actually answer the question. Simmons always hates it when Grif bothers him with these questions—which is why Grif does it.

“I think I’m just here,” Simmons says at last.

“What do you mean?” Grif asks.

“Well, um, does there need to be a reason we exist?” Simmons turns towards Grif once more. “I mean, obviously there are reasons why I’m here, specifically, in New Armonia, with you. But as far as me, existing here, in this universe for however long I’m here, I don’t think there is a reason.”

“Well, shit,” Grif says. “I’m usually the one who stumps you.”

“The pupil surpasses the teacher,” Simmons sings.

“Nerd.” Grif shakes his head. Not the answer he was expecting, not from Simmons. Simmons is usually the more optimistic one.

“Do you have an answer?” Simmons asks.

Did he? Grif thinks about growing up, practically an adult at eight years old, getting drafted, meeting Simmons, almost dying a billion freaking times. The sequence of events that brought him here had to have some meaning—right? Or maybe it’s all random, like Simmons said.

“I think fate is a cruel asshole,” Grif says.

“That’s it?” Simmons snorts. “Fate’s dumb, that’s why we’re here?”

“Isn’t that exactly what you just said?”

“Well—I mean—no, I was talking about, you know, getting here was based on the choices and actions of others, but existing in general is random, and—”

“This is making my head hurt, Rich,” Grif interrupts. He’s lying, of course. His head’s been hurting for days now.

Simmons sputters but snaps his mouth shut, swiveling his head to look back at the setting sun with a huff.

“You know I’m here because of you, right?” Grif says.

Simmons sidles over, nestles into Grif’s side and reaches for Grif’s blanket. Grif sighs and hands it over, shivering despite the sweat forming at his hairline and lip.

“Duh,” Simmons says. “I’m here for you too.”

Grif leans down and to kiss Simmons, who returns it, gently but eagerly. When they break apart, Grif wraps his arm around Simmons and they finish watching the sun go down.

“I love you, Rich.”

“Love you too, Dex.”

SIMMONS

They’re still on Chorus, spending time on the planet for Carolina and Kimball’s wedding. The ceremony was yesterday—beautiful, sappy, all the things Simmons loves and Grif rolls his eyes over. Then Carolina fucking carried Kimball outside, where they both hopped in a Warthog and took off for a few days. Grif, Simmons, and the others plan on leaving once they return so they can say a proper farewell.

Simmons would normally enjoy a mini vacation, seeing Jensen and the others, not being roommates with Sarge nor neighbors with the Blues for a few days.

But ever since the visit to Grey’s office, Grif has been acting weird.

Simmons figured that having food poisoning would look a lot different. Like, he thought Grif would be a lot grumpier, complain all the time, and, well, sick.

Sure, he’s had the symptoms—chills, nausea, and all that unpleasant shit, but through it all, Grif has been his normal self. Meaning, he still complains all the time, but not about himself, and he’s asked Simmons to watch Battle Star Galactica every night this week and pretended to be interested in the Dungeons and Dragons campaign Simmons is working on. There are bags under his eyes, but his speech is rapid fire, and he’s awake almost all night, watching videos on his data pad and pestering Simmons with the usual existential questions.

Also.

Does food poisoning usually last a week?

“Is everything okay?” Simmons asks one morning.

“Yah, why?” Grif says through a mouthful of cereal.

“I don’t know,” Simmons says. His face goes hot. Shouldn’t have brought it up, dammit! “You just seem different.”

“No idea what you’re talking about, Simmons,” Grif snorts. Using the back of his hand, he wipes a bit of milk from his chin and continues eating.

Simmons frowns. Grif hasn’t called him by his last name in months, not since the whole Temple fiasco.

“No, seriously,” Simmons says, “You’re being way too nice.”

“Giving you a break after years of torture.” Grif grins.

Simmons rolls his eyes. “Can you cut the shit?”

Grif doesn’t say anything, just stares blankly at Simmons.

“Jesus, fine!” Simmons shoves away from the table and storms out of the room.

Why did Grif have to be so freaking stubborn? Simmons thought they were past that beating around the bush crap, yet here they are, dancing around yet another issue. Of course, knowing what the issue is would make things a little easier.

Simmons is pacing back and forth in their bedroom when he hears the crash.

Any other day, he’d chalk it up to Grif being clumsy—they’re both guilty of upending a few chairs and dropping some plates. Any other time, he’d sigh and drag himself back to the kitchen to see if Grif needed help.

Today is different. Simmons feels fear, cold as ice, slice through him as everything off about Grif this past week flashes through his head. And there’s something about the finality in the sound that came from the kitchen that causes Simmons to sprint back.

The first thing he notices is milk everywhere, which is bizarre all on its own because Simmons has never known Grif to leave the sugary, cereal-flavored milk in the bowl.

Simmons takes in the upturned chair, eyes drifting down to Grif, flat on his back and passed out on the linoleum. His breathing is labored, and just as Simmons is about to call for help, Grif groans and pries one eye open.

“Oops,” he wheezes.

“What happened, are you all right?” Simmons swoops down on Grif, who’s trying—and failing—to push himself into a seated position.

“Uh, tripped,” Grif says. His breathing is levelling out a little, but his eyes are closed again.

“We should call Grey,” Simmons says. He’s not going to call bullshit on Grif’s excuse just yet, because the last thing they need right now is a squabble.

“Nah, no,” Grif protests, opening his eyes. He looks up at Simmons but can’t seem to focus, lock onto Simmons’s face. “’S all good, prom’ss.”

“Uh, yeah no, I’m calling Grey,” Simmons argues. He can actually hear his poor cyborg heart humming at what feels like the speed of light.

“Simm—Rich, I’m good, look—” Using his left arm, Grif pushes himself up a few inches. Simmons watches as Grif’s elbow shakes, struggling to support himself, and bites his lip when Grif sighs and sinks back to the floor.

“Dex?” Simmons hates this, hates seeing Grif like this, hates how small his voice sounds right now.

“Maybe…” Grif sighs. “Call Grey.”

Grey has to repeat herself five times before what she’s saying registers in Simmons’s brain.

“What?” His mechanical heart whirs, complaining as he attempts to control his breathing. “What?”

They’re standing in the middle of the waiting room, waiting for the others to arrive.

“I’m so sorry, Simmons,” Grey says, placing a hand on his arm. Simmons rips away.

“Why didn’t he tell me?” Simmons demands. Anger, red and hot and roiling, surges through his blood, into his hands, down to the pit of his stomach.

Why didn’t Grif tell him?

“He wanted everything to stay normal for as long as possible, and I wanted to honor his wishes,” Grey explains. “I’ve done everything I can to address the symptoms, but eventually, his organs will completely shut down.”

“Normal?” Simmons scoffs. “Normal? This is anything but fucking normal, you should have told me! He should have told me, fuck normal!”

Grey opens her mouth to respond, but

Simmons feels his face go hot, and suddenly he’s seeing red. Anger courses through his body, screams into his ears, squeezes his lungs. He can’t see straight, form a coherent thought—he’s not sure how long he’s lost but when his vision clears he’s screaming, and he has one hand clutched around the collar of Sarge’s shirt, the other pulled back into a fist.

“This is your fucking fault!” Simmons is shouting. “Your fault!”

Sarge just stands there, stone-faced, doesn’t even flinch when Simmons sends his fist into the wall next to his head.

“FUCK!” Simmons shoves Sarge backwards into the wall, turns away from him and runs a shaking hand through his hair.

It’s not fair, he knows, he knows it’s not fair. Sarge saved Grif’s life years ago, he’s lucky to have survived this long without the organs rejecting his body. But there’s nothing to be angry at, nothing tangible anyway, so he latched onto the first person he saw. Shit, he may have even freaked out at Caboose if he’d been the one to waltz in.

Maybe he should be angry at the UNSC, for dropping them on Blood Gulch in the first place, where they almost died on countless occasions, where Simmons became part cyborg and Grif became part Simmons.

Simmons lets out a breathy laugh. Part Simmons.

Grif would think that’s super cheesy.

Maybe he should be angry at himself, for wasting so much time. Years, so many years wasted denying what he felt—what they both felt—and now that they’re finally happy, finally free, it’s all been fucking ripped away. Simmons can feel every second hammering at the back of his skull,

There’s a pressure on his shoulder and Simmons freezes, ready to pounce, but then realizes it’s Sarge’s hand. Simmons glances at him over his shoulder, expecting anger, finding understanding.

“S’all right, son,” Sarge says.

“I—I need to go.” Simmons shrugs Sarge’s hand away.

He beelines for the door to Grif’s room, hand freezing over the latch.

“I’m sorry,” he says, not looking at Sarge. Sarge doesn’t say anything, and Simmons enters Grif’s room.

Grif is half asleep when Simmons enters his room. Simmons tries not to flinch when he sees the tubes and wires tethering Grif to life, tries to block out the beeping and hissing of machinery as he shuffles towards the bed.

“’Sup, nerd?” Grif mumbles as Simmons sits down next to him.

“Oh. You know,” Simmons says, giving Grif a shaky smile.

“Yelling,” Grif says.

“Huh?”

“Heard yelling,” Grif elaborates.

“Oh, that.” Simmons sighs. “Uh, kinda yelled at Sarge. But, uh, don’t worry about it!”

“Rebel,” Grif laughs. Then he frowns. “Wait why… were you yelling?”

“Don’t worry about it, it’s stupid,” Simmons insists. Next thing he needs is Grif giving him shit.

“Not his fault,” Grif mutters.

“What?”

“Not his fault,” Grif repeats. “Not his fault, not your fault. Just bad fucking luck.”

Simmons lets out something between a laugh and a growl. Bad luck, fate, bullshit—whatever it is, they’ve been plagued by it for basically their entire lives.

“Like you said,” Grif says. “No reason.”

“Fuck what I said,” Simmons says. “I change my mind, I exist, and you exist, and we exist, so we can be together.”

“Simmons.”

“Why didn’t you tell me, Dex?” He called him Simmons again. “We could’ve done something, or, or Sarge could’ve given you cyborg parts or—”

“Rich,” Grif says, raising his voice above the hoarse whisper he’s been using. “It’s going to be okay.”

“Okay?” Simmons laughs. “Nothing is okay, Dex. You’re dying.”

“You’ll be okay,” Grif insists. “You have to.”

“Do I?” Simmons snaps.

“Yeah, idiot, you do,” Grif says. “You better not fucking leave Sarge to his own devices.”

“Sarge will be fine,” Simmons says through gritted teeth.

“Can you make sure Kai gets to visit home?” Grif asks.

“Home?”

“Hawai’i. Honolulu.”

A pain like a knife slices through Simmons, and the realization hits that he won’t get to see Hawai’i with Grif, will have to see it without Grif, will have to see everything without Grif.

“Yeah, I can—” Simmons’s voice cracks. “I can do that.”

“Promise?”

“Promise. Whatever it takes.”

Grif chuckles.

“Kiss-ass,” he mutters.

“Dumbass,” Simmons says. He takes Grif’s hand in his and watches as Grif falls asleep, the ghost of a smile on his face.

Four days pass.

Grif doesn’t wake up.

Simmons stays by Grif’s side until he’s led away—Donut? He thinks it is, can’t be sure, all he can discern is the tone. Can’t pick out the words. Can’t turn to check. It isn’t until they stand up to greet the other people entering the room and Simmons sees the shock of straw-colored hair that he knows it’s Donut for sure.

A few people come up to him, mouths moving, and he can hear a dull hum of noises he can’t quite string into words. Everything is covered in a dense fog, and Simmons can’t tell if he’s hot or cold. Eventually, people stop bothering him and whisper among themselves.

Time passes, he isn’t sure how long, and suddenly there’s a new face in front of him.

They’re warm and bright and dressed in yellow.

“Kai.”

Kai nods, leans forward, and throws her arms around Simmons, and every feeling suspended up in the dense cloud around his head comes crashing down. Grief, black and suffocating, settles in his chest. Anger, at the world at Grif at himself at everything and everyone. Relief, that Grif is finally free.

“He’s gone,” he croaks. He feels Kai nod into his shoulder, and he can feel the warmth of her tears as they soak through his shirt.

And they sit there, sharing their grief, clinging to each other as if, without something to tether them there, they’ll drift away.

As the room clears, as Simmons and Kai wait for the worst of the storm to pass, Simmons pulls away.

“Kai?”

“Yeah?” she says, letting out a shaky sigh.

“We’re going to be okay.”

Hawai’i is vibrant.

It’s cerulean and emerald and orange and violet. The buildings of Honolulu creep right up to the edge of the ocean, defiant. At night the city gives off a warm glow, reflecting on the water, clear and never quiet. Mountains surround the city on three sides, covered in vegetation and even some houses, and at the edge of the city Lē’ahi—the Diamond Head volcano—lies dormant.

Kai points out clubs and local shops, talkative as always, and after a while Simmons tunes her out. Instead, he looks up and down the streets, inside storefronts, restaurants. He imagines Grif waiting in line at the video game store, leaning back in the one of the café’s patio chairs, enjoying copious amounts of ice cream, napping on the beach.

Everything about Honolulu, about Hawaii, screams Dexter Grif.

Whenever Grif talked about his home, his face would light up and his speech would quicken. His eyes would go far away, and after a few minutes, his face would darken, and he’d mumble something about needing to go to the bathroom. Simmons didn’t understand—not at first. Leaving home was the best thing that ever happened to him.

Then Kai crash landed on Blood Gulch, and Simmons realized that Grif, unlike him, left something he cared about behind. A family, this beautiful fucking island. After Chorus, Grif would bring up visiting home some time, and when they had to travel to Earth to save it from Temple, Grif complained about not taking a vacation.

Simmons looks down at the box tucked under his left arm.

Well. Grif is finally home.

“Oh, man, we would come here all the time,” Kai sighs. “Dex napped mostly but sometimes we surfed together. Oh, and this is a perfect spot to bring a date. Man, the sand gets in all the cracks though.”

“Yeah,” Simmons says, squinting into the sunset. It’s turned the water a bright orange, and— “Wait, what?”

“C’mon, his favorite spot’s over here!” Kai calls, already bounding across the sand.

Simmons is considerably less graceful as he tries to run after her. How does she stay so balanced? He wonders if it would be easier if he was barefoot, but then remembers he’s just as clumsy on solid ground.

When he finally catches up to Kai she’s doing cartwheels in the sand. Occasionally, her hand slips in the loose sand, but for the most part she stays upright. Simmons stands and watches for a minute or two, waiting for her to notice he’s there.

“Oh!” Kai claps her hands together to get the sand off. “Finally!”

Simmons rolls his eyes.

“How are you so… happy?” he asks. Now more than ever he feels the weight of the box under his arm as he watches Kai’s face fall. He shouldn’t have opened his stupid mouth, he should’ve—

“I’m happy ’cause I’m home, I’m happy ’cause Dex is finally home, and he’s not suffering anymore,” she says, looking away from Simmons. “But I’m sad too, you know. I miss him. I wish he could’ve come for real, and not in a fricking box.”

Simmons realizes that Kai, having spent years alone after her brother was drafted, must have been afraid of exactly this. Grif coming home in a casket—or box.

“I’m sorry, I was just a huge ass hole,” Simmons sighs. “I wish he could be here for real too.”

“I mean, he is here for real,” Kai counters, gesturing at the box Simmons is holding.

“Ah.” Simmons shifts on his feet, looking off over the water. “Right.”

For a moment the two of them stand there, watching the sun sink lower beneath the horizon. Then Kai plops down and pats the sand on her left. Simmons recalls what Kai said about sand getting in all the cracks, but his legs are so sore from traversing through Honolulu all day he decides he’ll deal with it.

Setting the box gingerly on in the sand, Simmons sits down next to Kai.

About an hour passes in silence as they admire the waves swooshing up and down the beach, the lazy way the sky turns from orange to grey to navy blue. A few clouds roll in, covering up the moon, but they have plenty of light from the city. Simmons gazes at Honolulu’s reflection in the water and thinks it almost looks like there’s a second city in the ocean.

Kai leans over and rests her head on Simmons’s shoulder, lets out a sigh, and pushes herself to her knees.

“I guess now’s as good a time as any, huh?”

Simmons’s toes twitch but he realizes the last thing he wants to do is stand up. Walk to the water. Do what they came here to do. He knows he’s being stupid and selfish, but he can’t bring himself to move.

Kai’s eyes meet his and she lowers herself back down to the sand. This time, when she leans her head on his shoulder, she leaves it there.

“We can totally wait,” she says. “Nighttime is really pretty so, like, no rush here.”

Simmons just nods and stares out over the water. Normally he’d cringe at such close contact from anyone—well, most anyone—but Kai’s keeping him grounded. Another wave of anger and guilt washes over him—he should be the one keeping Kai grounded. Dex was her brother, after all.

Kai sniffles. Simmons’s eyes widen, and he looks down to find Kai crying.

“Shit, I’m sorry—I’m dragging this out, we can—we can do it now, okay?” Simmons scrambles to find the right thing to say; he’s never been one for comforting people. He pats her on the shoulder once, twice, and is about to give up when Kai throws her arms around him.

“Oof!” Simmons freezes, breath knocked out of him, arms outstretched. He’s not sure what the fuck to do with his arms at first.

Slowly, gently, he returns Kai’s embrace.

Simmons is about to complain that he’s got something in his eyes, sand maybe, but he just cries instead.

“God, Grif would give us so much shit right now,” Simmons laughs.

Kai giggles and pulls away, wiping her arm across her eyes. “Yeah, but you know he’d secretly be all over this sappy shit.”

Simmons grins. He stands then, brushing the sand off his pants and offers a hand to Kai, who raises her eyebrow and rises to her feet on her own. Simmons shrugs and scoops up the box, and together they make their way to the edge of the water.

The steady rumble and crash of the waves fills Simmons’s ears. The smell of salt and sand permeates the air, but it isn’t unpleasant—better than the dust-filled air on Blood Gulch. Fresh. Simmons can taste salt as well, but that’s probably from all the crying.

Once they reach the ocean, Simmons holds the box out to Kai. Kai takes the lid off and drops it on the ground next to her, just out of reach of the water washing over their feet. They both look down at the ashes, then back at each other.

“Uh, should we—” Simmons jerks his head towards the water.

“Yeah, let’s do it,” Kai says with a grin.

Together, hands gripping the box, they sprinkle the ashes in the water. They swirl with the waves, some of them getting pulled back into the ocean, some drifting along the shore. Simmons imagines Grif here, swimming—or napping—and for the first time in weeks, he feels happy.

He’s happy because Grif is finally home.

Grif is finally home and, as Simmons looks out at the ocean one last time, breathing in the salty air, feels like this is where he belongs too.

Kai elbows him in the ribs.

“C’mon, let’s go home,” she says.

Simmons nods.

Home.

#rvb angst war #grimmons #h writes #angst #major character death #canon-typical language #hospital #medical #kaikaina grif #dexter grif #dick simmons #emily grey

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requiescat-aria · 4 years ago

Text

just don't deceive me | Voting End / Testimony | Chapter 4

Rather than a cheering crowd, this time, Jim simply claps his hands a few times to get your collective attention.

“My, what a show! I could watch you lot all day, but despite having all the time in the worlds, we don’t have the time at all, haha! Let’s see how you did.”

At the back of the stage, a projector screen slowly lowers from the rafters, and a tally is projected onto it.

Ronny - 7

Default - 4

Abstain - 2

“If I recall correctly, you had seven votes to correctly abstain last ASSESSMENT, right? Funny how these things work out.”

With a hearty chuckle, Jim motions to something or someone you can’t see stage left. Behind him, the audience begins to murmur with feverish excitement.

“Well, you know what happens next. Everyone loves a good cameo, right? And I’m sure you want to say goodbye.”

You hear the sound of something moving, and suddenly, a platform rises center stage. Jim motions a hand towards the back of the audience, up at the balcony, and suddenly two spot lights illuminate the figure standing on it.

Ken’s eyes blink open, and she glances between each remaining member of the group, quickly looking away when her eyes land on those she held dear and never making it to a sole member of the group. Her fists clench at her sides, and she looks away, shoulders stiff as she begins to speak through gritted teeth.

“Fuckin’ figures, don’t it? ‘S jus’ cosmic justice or whatever ya wanna call it. Equalin’ th’scales, karma, what-fuckin’-ever. Tch. It ain’t hafta lemme get brained a second time, though, did it? Couldn’t it have given me somethin’ a lil more unique? No use beggin’ for somethin’ else when yer murderin’ scum o’th’Earth, though, huh?”

She clicks her tongue and shakes her head, letting out a sad laugh.

“I ain’t even remember doin’ it. When I walked int’th’amphitheater, I knew I was meetin’ up with’er t’say somethin’, but I wasn’t even capable o’rememberin’ what I came t’say. ‘S like when ya walk int’a room t’get somethin’ an’ you can’t remember what ya went in there for. I felt like I should’ve remembered, though. Felt like it was real fuckin’ important that it came back t’me, but...it ain’t never come back. Not in time.”

The entire time that you’ve known her, Kennedy Adams is known to not have been one for getting well and truly angry, but, as you stare at her form, it’s easy to see the emotion leak further and further into every fiber of her body. The last place it reaches is her face. Her head had been tilted down, gaze fixed on the floor. Now, it’s raised, and she’s using every single centimeter of her height to glare down at Veronica Castillo.

“I regretted it, I think, after a few weeks o’bein’ here, when I had th’sense t’cool down an’ think ‘bout it all. That’s what really gets me. That I felt bad fer endin’ th’life of th’person who always and constantly ruined mine without a goddamn care in th’world. Sixteen years o’my life I gave ya on that ice. Ten years o’my life, m’heart was yers t’hold an’ treasure, but I ain’t think I really ever got ten seconds o’yer love. Not really.

Y’took, an’ ya took an’ ya took an’ y’ain’t never give nothin’ back t’me, you fuckin’ bitch. YA TOOK TH’DECISION T’CONFESS AWAY FROM ME!!!”

Her voice booms, and she puts a hand to her chest, breathing heavily. The screaming has clearly relieved her stress somewhat, enough that she is able to look around at the people in the room one last time, eyes softening when they land on certain people. She’s uncertain of whether or not she’s really allowed these moments with them, but they’re the last ones she’s ever going to get, so she...she needs to take them.

[♫♫♫]

She refuses to leave without saying goodbye.

First, she smiles at Aki. It’s small and sad, but she’s clearly trying to replicate the infectious joy she usually put out.

“Aki, yer an amazin’ person an’ an even more amazin’ friend. I’m lucky I was able t’call ya my bestie. Sorry I ain’t gon’ be able t’show ya th’ferris wheel. I promise it’s amazin’. An’ skate fer me. I believe in ya. Jus’ keep tryin’, an’ don’t give up b’fore ya even gave it a shot. You’ll be fine. Remember that I’ll always be yer bestie, even if I ain’t there t’remind ya ‘bout that.”

Next, she looks to Ryuji. The smile is brighter now, but it’s clearly harder to keep up and keep her voice level. It wobbles as she speaks--both the smile and her voice.

“Ryuji, ‘m sorry I ain’t gonna be able t’take up yer guitar lessons. I was really lookin’ forward to’em. Thanks fer bein’ a great roomie an’ a greater friend. I meant it when I said y’were one o’th’best guys I ever met, an’ I enjoyed every single second I got t’spend with ya. I...ya were family. An’ I’ll miss ya. A lot. B-But...But go home for me, okay? Go home an’ be safe an’ see yer brother an’ his fiance get married an’--an’ catch th’bouquet for me!! An’...An’ I believe in ya. Yer feelin’s matter, an’ I’m sure...I’m sure things will work out.”

It’s clear now that she’s avoiding looking at the last two members of her patchwork found family the most. One is out of shame, unable to face her after having such personal things revealed to the world in the worst situation. The other is out of a deep ache. Eventually, she looks to Enji. He said he didn’t care about her and how he didn’t want to find love here because it’s dangerous. He had been acting when he said that, but...she’s not sure it was wholly an act. Unlike her other addresses, she’s not able to keep her tears in her eyes, and they roll down her face.

“....I ain’t wanna leave, Mr. Enomoto--”

She needs to take a moment to compose herself as her tears have become stuck in her throat. She loved Ryuji dearly and with the same intensity, but she latched onto Enji from the moment she met him. Even if he was completely different to how she thought he was, he was still...he still...she still saw herself in him. He still cared for her. He comforted her, gave her advice, humored her, let her hold onto him…

Ken still saw him as a father.

“‘M sorry I gotta go, I ain’t want to, please believe me, D-Dad, I ain’t--I ain’t get t’do anythin’ I said I was gonna do. I wanted t’come an’ visit ya on our roadtrip an’ camp outside o’your apartment or whatever an’ go fishin’ with ya an’ tease ya ‘bout bein’ th’manager o’our band a-an’...Please let those things still happen. I-I ain’t gon’ be able t’see it or hold ya to it or nothin’, but please let them happen. Jus’ ‘cuz I ain’t there don’t mean no one else ain’t gonna be. So...So please. Keep an eye on everyone for me. An’ give Poirot an’ Soseki kisses.”

Her eyes finally fall on Jinghei, and she’s full on sobbing now, unable to even keep up the pretense of staying strong and seeing everyone off with a smile. Even diehard optimists have their moments, and speaking to the woman who she was beginning to want to spend every day with, who she made plans for the future with, who she thought she was destined to meet no matter what happened, well, she thought that was a pretty valid reason to start sobbing.

“I wanted t’show it to ya. I wanted t’show so many things to ya an’ try so many things with ya, find myself with you by my side. Y’made me feel safe. Like it was okay t’not know what was goin’ on. I wish we got more time together an’ not just ‘cuz o’what th’bitch spilled that wasn’t hers t’tell. I loved ya as a best friend b’fore I felt anythin’ else, an’ th’rest came later b’cuz of it. Jinghei, please get out and go home to Mingzhu. Find yerself with’em an’ stay safe. Stay who ya are ‘cuz…’cuz I think yer th’most a-meow-zing woman I’ve ever met. We’ll meet again. We’re destined to, remember? A-An’ ask Ricky t’be let int’th’room I shared with Ryuji. Th-There’s somethin’ in there for ya.”

She laughs pathetically at her ill-timed and out of place joke, but she has one last goodbye to make.

The last person her eyes land on is the person who, before that fateful day, she would say she loved most in the world, the woman she would throw her own desires to the wind for, the woman she would do anything to stay with. Well. Would have. Would have once upon a time.

“Veronica Castillo, y’ruined us in life, and now y’ruined us in death. Th’biggest mistake I ever made was lovin’ you for even a moment.”

With her final declaration made, the spot lights cut out, and Ken is suddenly gone.

The audience roars to life with cheers and the sound of crying.

Jim claps, a pleasant smile on his face.

“What a performance! Now, onto the timeline of events.”

#chapter 4 #plot

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bakahimesama · 7 years ago

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Ruby’s Mental State

So this is a quick analysis, because I can’t find anyone else who’s done this for some reason. But I just re-watched the Red Trailer (to get hyped for tomorrow), and I had an epiphany halfway through. This is veeeery long, with some spoilers near the end, so:

Grimm are attracted to negative emotions, everyone knows that at this point. In WoR, Qrow briefly explained that Patch (the island Ruby and Yang grew up on), is a relatively safe place to raise a family. Which means there aren’t many Grimm, and any Grimm that are there, are low in number, and relatively easy to defeat.

So in Red, Ruby is still clearly on Patch, as she just visited her mother’s grave. When she leaves it, she’s surrounded by Grimm. I never thought anything of this, until I remembered why Grimm show up in the first place. So I went back through the trailer and counted them all on the lowest speed. For the first half I counted them as she killed them, for the second half I counted how many were on screen before she activated her semblance.

Ruby’s negative emotions were so strong, that she attracted a total 54 Grimm to her.

54 Grimm, in a forest clearing, on a “family safe” island, were attracted to 1 girl! Even in the Emerald Forest, I counted 15 Grimm that were attracted to 8 people. And we saw from the other 3 trailers, that what happened in these videos are canon. Which demonstrates, not just how bad ass Ruby is, that she could fight all those Grimm off without a scratch. But also, that whatever was going on in her head, was DARK. Since hoards of Grimm aren’t swarming her constantly in the present, I can assume she’s either worked through her emotions, or suppressed them enough to no longer be noticeable. Or, maybe it’s something else.

Throughout the video I noticed her gritting her teeth about 5 or 6 times. Teeth gritting is usually because: you’re working with something heavy, you’re angry/annoyed/frustrated, or you’re bracing yourself for something. Consider she can take on 54 Grimm and come out unscathed, I don’t think the weight of Ruby’s weapon is a problem. And since the only time she braces for anything is when one Grimm attacks her, right before she turns on her semblance, all the other times she gritted her teeth are likely out of anger/annoyance/frustration.

It’s these little moments that lead me to believe, that Ruby’s dark emotions aren’t suppressed, they’re just hidden. She knows how to temporarily lock them away, but eventually, she needs to vent. So she goes into the woods, and lets her negative thoughts take the forefront, attracting Grimm (like how little red riding hood’s innocence, made her a target of the big bad wolf). She then proceeds to slaughter ever last Grimm that comes after her. Once they’re dead, she hides her feelings away, and puts her mask back on. From the way she acts throughout the trailer, it’s almost like none of this is new to Ruby. This kind of seems like something she’s done before. Maybe even many times before. Yet, for all the times she’s potentially vented like this, it’s never enough. She’s always willing and ready to kill more Grimm.

As an extension of this, I noticed Ruby’s tendency to hack off limbs, instead of just killing the Grimm and getting it over with. She does just kill them sometimes, and favors decapitation when she does it, but if she knows no other Grimm are getting too close, she’ll take the time to go for the legs and arms, before she gives a killing blow.

I always found the scene above kind of funny, but now that I’m really looking at it, I see that it’s likely an extension of her venting her feelings.

Which brought me to her weapon. As Ozpin explains it, the scythe is “one of the most dangerous weapons ever designed.” Meaning, not only only is it a bitch to learn how to wield properly, but if you do master it, it will be deadly without much effort on your part. It’s perfect for hacking Grimm to pieces. And while, yes fighting Grimm is a huge part of being a hunter, we’ve seen from the numerous other weapons on the show, Ruby could have easily picked something else. So why pick a weapon notorious for being so dangerous? Well, a weapon says a lot about it’s owner, no?

In my quest for more concrete answers, I turned to the soundtrack. In RWBY, more than in any other show, movie, or video game I’ve seen, the songs tell stories; stories that foreshadow the plot of the show (example, “I’m the One” explaining Mercury and Emerald’s backstories). Surprisingly, the lyrics in “Red Like Roses” doesn’t tell much. It basically gives a one sentence summary of each of the 4 main girls. “Red Like Roses Part II″, however, is a whole other monster.

youtube

(credit to FlyntofRWBYNation for the video, and madiniwa for the background picture)

Looking at the lyrics here, Ruby was clearly hit hard by her mom’s death. Yang tells Blake that Ruby was too young to understand what was going on. But according to Ruby (I wasn’t dreaming when they told me you were gone, I was wide awake and feeling that they had to be wrong), she understood perfectly, she was just in denial, the 1st stage of grief. So what stage is she on now? From the tone of the song, she’s some mix of anger and depression. Looking at the show, she seems to be faking acceptance, so no one is really concerned about her. But looking at her choice of weapon, her brutality against Grimm, and the not-so-subtle hints her song are throwing at us, I’d say Ruby is far from okay.

Yet no one, even in the show, seems to notice. Why? Because Ruby’s been faking for so long, they can’t tell it’s not the truth. After Summer died: Tai shut down, Yang learned about Raven and started to focus on her, and Qrow, was probably still drinking, likely more than he does now. Which left Ruby as the sole person able hold her family together. A job that she shouldn’t have had, but no one else was going to do it, so she stepped up.

She learned to fake a smile. She figured out how to pushed down her negative feelings. She became a beacon (no pun intended) of hope, happiness, and endless optimism for the rest of her family. And she did that so consistently, for so long, that everyone believed Ruby had come to terms with Summer’s death, and moved on seamlessly. Even though, through her actions and choices, we can see that couldn’t be further from the truth.

Once Ruby got to Beacon, it seemed like she was going to eventually be able to work out her feelings. She was in an environment that encouraged hunting Grimm after all, plenty of opportunities to vent. Maybe she’d even grow comfortable enough to finally talk to someone properly. But: Penny died in front of her eyes, then Pyrrha, Yang lost her arm, Beacon is abandoned, Haven is next, Salem is after her because of her eyes, Qrow almost died, Ren went through some heavy shit, Jaune is still going through some heavy shit, and the group is about to have to process everything that is Oscar.

Ruby is, once again, forcing herself to be the positive one in the group. She’s stuffing all of her dark emotions away, like she always has, and is straining to stay optimistic. But there aren’t going to be enough fights, enough chances to vent, for her to be able to keep this up forever. Eventually, Ruby is going to have to either talk about her true feelings, or explode under the pressure of her facade.

And we all know what happens when she explodes.

May the old Gods have mercy on whoever’s in range.

#RWBY #theory #Ruby Rose #Summer Rose #Qrow Branwen #silver eyes #shits about to go down #shits about to get real #character analysis #Red Trailer #Red Like Roses part 2 #god have mercy #calling it now #season 5 hype

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