#let me be lazy with sword blood and metallic rendering

[suchsunshinescribbles]

[13 January 2022]

One BBEG design manifested in collab with my DM. He is only one of many BBEGs we will face in a long, arduous campaign, or at least with what we know so far. Something something undead blood god parasite (affectionate)... something something fuck these saving throws and legendary resistances (derogatory).

[skywillsometimeswrite]

Where are you going to put the ring?

Read it on AO3

Grif and Simmons are kidnapped by aliens after a communication error goes wrong. The crew goes to find them and Tucker hatches a plan to finally end years of pining.

Simmons woke up in a cold sweat, which, of course, was nothing new to him, but this time it was warranted as he was laying in what looked like an asylum room minus the padding. Hard, almost blinding tile covered the walls, ceiling, and floor and seemed to be radiating their own light as well, even though he couldn’t feel any heat. There was nothing particular that stood out to him but it was unnerving all the same.

He tried to recall exactly what had happened before -- there has been a large beam of light from one of the alien temples on Chorus after Tucker had unlocked it with his sword, he remembered. It was only after Santa had told them it was distress temple and they just called the nearest Sangheili to them did they panic. Why that was kept separate from the Communication’s Temple didn’t make any sense, but alien logic, he guessed, was different. They had all stayed at the temple overnight to try and convince the aliens it was an accident and they should leave, and of course, Grif got hungry and had to wander off. And then Simmons had to go after him and then there was a ship and large blue bodies that seemed all too familiar and-

“Grif!” Simmons panicked, looking around the room for the first time and, luckily, spotted the orange armor. He scrambled over to him, urgently shaking him, but his panic only grew worse when no response came to him. “Grif?”

A new fear flooded his body. What if the aliens had been too rough with him? What if he had been enough of a smart ass and they killed him and left him here as a warning for Simmons-

And then there was the tell-tale sound of snoring and a second later the sound of armor hitting armor as Simmons punched Grif’s helmet.

“You lazy piece of shit! You scared me!” He sighed, allowing himself to relax a fraction now that he knew his teammate was just being his usual self. A bit of familiarity was good in this situation, he guessed. He sat back, hugged his knees, and watched the now noticeable rise and fall of Grif’s chest under the suit. He did it sometimes when he couldn’t sleep -- it was oddly relaxing. He almost felt his own eyes drooping at the rhythmic sight and quickly shook his head to clear the cobwebs invading his mind. He nudged Grif with his foot. “Wake up, Grif. We gotta find a way out of here.”

Maybe they didn’t, though. The guys surely had noticed they were missing by now, right? They had to have seen the ship take off. They were looking for a way to get them back as the sat here waiting.

Were they moving? Simmons didn’t feel any movement but he knew some spaceships had that effect, especially if they were towards the middle.

He barely stifled a whine as he shook Grif this time. “Come on, Grif. W-We don't have time for this.” He was replied to with a loud snore. He was over this -- he stood up and gave a firm, but not too rough, kick to the side of Grif’s armor.

There was a small whimper as Grif’s arms moved to hold the assaulted spot, turning to face away from Simmons. “Let me sleep dammit.” He groaned.

“We don’t have time to sleep!”

“I don’t care if Sarge wants to run stupid drills. I want sleep.” Grif huffed before snoring again a few seconds later.

Simmons was about to kick him again when a panel in the wall opened up on his left. He froze, one foot in the air as he stared at the hole in the white light that surrounded them, finding a red and green alien staring at them. He yelped, losing his balance and falling to the floor with a thump.

The two creatures dragged their feet towards them, blarghing and honking all the way. Simmons was silent as the green one towered over him -- if he had sweat glands he was pretty sure there would be a pool by now.  He didn’t dare break eye contact with it until its own head turned towards a questioning honk. The red one stood over the unmoving Grif, blarghing at him but with no response. He barely rendered what he saw before he moved -- watching the red claw-like limb move quickly down towards Grif’s head. Simmons was quicker than he remembered being because there wasn’t any sound of a head being crushed but instead metal bending, wires snapping, and the sound of kevlar suit ripping as his vision turned dark.

 Simmons was really glad he couldn’t feel pain in his cyborg parts.

“Simmons?”

Grif’s voice was actually rather comforting, and he slowly opened his right eye to look up at his teammate’s worried face, both of them now helmetless. He struggled to sit up, having trouble pinpointing exactly why that was until he saw a piece of maroon armor sitting on the floor a few feet away from them. An entire limb of maroon armor, actually.

He feels like he should have screamed, but instead, he just looked down at his shoulder, some wires tied together that Grif must have done in an effort to help him, and then back at the missing limb before looking at Grif again. “Are you okay?”

Grif looked like he was about to have an aneurysm. “Am I okay? Dude! You’re missing your fucking arm!”

“It’s not like I can feel it. You were the one almost getting your head banged in by an alien claw!”

“You are waaay too fucking calm,” Grif muttered to himself after a few more seconds of staring at his friend. “Did they hit your head instead? Since when do you care if my head gets bashed in or not?”

Simmons opened his mouth only to close it a second later, looking down at the tangled mess of wires again, an orange and maroon one fittingly tied together. “Sarge can fix it. And Dr. Grey can make sure he doesn’t fuck it up.”

Grif sighed, settling back up against one of the walls. “I never thought I’d be asking this: but where the fuck even is Sarge? If it was just me I’d expect him to convince them to leave me with the weird fuckers, but you’re here, too.”

Simmons felt like protesting but his head was still too blurry to even properly register what Grif had said.  He just slouched in on himself and stared at his right arm, blinking with only his organic eye while the other half of his vision was dark and unnerving. Grif was right… They should have found them by now, right? Then where were they?

-----

“Dang nabbit, Simmons! Where in Sam’s hell are ya?”

Sarge banged the control panel of the ship with his fist. Tracking Simmons’ cyborg parts was supposed to be easy! How come, all of a sudden, he was offline?

“I thought you said you had this?” Carolina cooly asked him from behind and he couldn’t help but feel a little intimidated. Damn these Freelancer girls! Always so strong and cool!"

“I do have this, thank you very much! I just gotta find Simmons’ signal, or, if it comes down to it, we can try faxing something to him.”

She sighed, leaving the red leader alone to his frustrations. He just lost half of his team to aliens that might be out for blood -- anyone would be nervous, even if he wouldn’t admit to it. She knew she should have kept a closer eye on Grif, but he had proven sneakier than she had thought. Maybe that training had actually done him some good. Too bad all it did was get him and his teammate kidnapped. And as a result, they were all left to deal with the messy pieces; also known as Donut’s uncontrollable emotions and Sarge’s crazy, life-risking plans. She could almost imagine Grif and Simmons were enjoying the silence for once. Granted, it never would be silence with only those two now would it.

“Dammit, do these idiots ever shut up?”

“I’ve told you before, it’s part of our charm.”

Tucker was leaning against a wall of the ship, with a stupid little smirk on his face that spoke “haha I wasn’t the one to fuck up this time.”

Carolina waited a second for Epsilon to respond with some witty comeback before a heavy realization hit her again for the fifth time that day. “Charm is not how I would put it.”

“I’m sure it’s the way those two are seeing it. Being stuck alone on an alien spaceship with the possibility of certain death? Sounds like the plot to a porno to me: bow-chicka-bow-wow.” When he was met with Carolina’s expressionless (and really tired) face he sighed, pushing off the wall to look at least a little concerned. It was a trick he had learned in countless meetings with Kimball. “They’re fine. If they aren’t fucking yet, I’m sure they’re arguing about some stupid movie or something. They’re tougher than they seem. Especially together. It’s like that cliche where true love prevails or whatever. Simmons has this weird six sense when it comes to Grif and Grif is the only one who can calm Simmons down enough so he isn’t having a panic attack every five seconds and, well, long story short they can handle each other until we find them.” He walked towards her, patting her shoulder as he passed her. “We’re not losing anyone else, okay?” There was an air of sympathy and connection in the quick look he gave her before walking into the control room.

Tucker was greeted with a metal panel flying towards his head which he quickly dodged, letting it hit the wall instead. “What the hell?” He asked as he saw Sarge digging through the ships inner workings.

“Red Sergeant says he is upgrading the ship to find Simmons’ metal-thingy parts!” Caboose answered, as oblivious as ever.

“Somethin’s obviously broken! I can’t track Simmons without the tracking system in proper working order! That just doesn’t make any daggum sense!”  Sarge added, voice muffled by how his head was currently stuck inside the machinery.

“You’re right. It doesn’t.” Tucker sighed, his fucks could not be less here. “Have you tried just looking for the alien ship that took them? They give off a pretty big signal on the radar.”

Sarge’s head popped up into view. “That’s ridiculous! We want the element of surprise!”

“Uh, dude.” Tucker grabbed his sword, activating it and letting its dim blue light demonstrate his point. “We might be able to talk some sense into them.”

It took several more minutes of bickering before Tucker was able to convince the red team leader into closing the hole he made and searching for the alien ship instead, finding the giant within five minutes. The whole crew stood in the cockpit now, surrounding Tucker at the com.

“Do all of you seriously have to stare at me?”

“They’re my men! I deserve to hear from them!”

“They aren’t going to be the ones to answer! You guys aren’t even going to be able to understand the aliens!” Tucker explained. They were lucky he could even understand the aliens after having to learn to talk to Junior. “Ugh, fine. You can stay but don’t say a fucking word, got it?”

Soon after the outgoing call was answered and a series of intimidating blarghs and honks filled the cockpit. Tucker buckled very slightly under the words, he forgot how straightforward this species was. That was until the conversation progressed a little bit.

“He what?” Tucker could feel himself paling a little bit at the thought of Simmons’ arm being ripped off, glancing at Sarge for a moment before quickly staring back down at the com. “Are you sure that was him?”

These mates are very odd.

Tucker had to keep himself from breaking out into laughter. “You- You think they’re-” He quickly composed himself then looked back at an inquisitive Carolina, a smirk growing on his face as his planned form. “They are, we know. Hey, if you let us on this ship we can arrange something with you, okay? I can explain the whole situation in more detail.”

This was going to be the best day ever.

-----

Grif had managed to convince Simmons to rest, propping his back up against the wall while he stayed awake just in case the aliens came back. Whenever he felt himself dozing off he glanced at the severed arm still in the middle of the room and that promptly woke him up. He still couldn’t believe…

He didn’t get to finish his thought as the door slid open, and in walked two figures. One was unexpected.

“Tucker!” Grif scrambled up, trying to wake Simmons up with his foot while never taking his eyes off the alien. “Took you long enough.”

“Oh, hey Grif.” Tucker sounded as relaxed as ever. “Good to see you guys are all in one piece,” he paused, glancing at the floor, “mostly, at least.”

Grif glared at him openly, as he had never bothered to put his helmet back on. Before he had the chance to respond, though, Simmons stumbled up, using Grif as a support as he blinked his eye into focus.

“Tucker?”

“Perfect, he’s up! Now, uh, bad news. We’re getting you out of here but the aliens have a bit of a custom, I guess? It’s kinda like a wrestling match but instead of going up against a two-ton man made of muscle, you’re going up against a two-ton armored monster.”

The two of them stared at the teal soldier, Simmons’ expression blank while Grif looked scared out of his wits and he squeaked: “What?”

“Yeah! It’s like to make sure you’re worthy of freedom or some shit, I don’t know. So, uh, this big guy is going to escort you to the battlefield or something, yeah.” He patted the alien’s back before beginning to back out of the room. “And we’ll be in the background the whole time so make it a good show okay bye.”

“Wait, what?” Grif barely had time to react as the alien picked both him and Simmons up over his shoulder. He weakly pushed against him, trying to wiggle free but to no avail. “Tucker! You fucking asshole!”

They were carried into a large hall deeper into the ship, placed across from each other at one end of it. Looking around, the walls were just as blank as the cell was, the only glaring difference was the lighting and the weapons mounted on the walls. The alien blarghed at them before walking out, and Grif didn’t waste any time in flipping him off as he walked away.

So, what happened now? Did they just wait here for their demise? He really hoped Sarge enjoyed watching him get ripped to shreds.

The answer came soon enough as the door opened again and a growling blue alien walked through, looking like a predator stalking its prey. “Oh, shit...” Grif muttered, glancing at Simmons who looked like he was still half asleep, swaying as he stood there, eye closed. “Simmons?”

He heard claw-like footsteps speeding towards them. Which was a problem in itself but even more so as Grif recognized the alien was making a bee-line for Simmons, who was yet to realize the situation. “Simmons!” Grif acted faster than he usually did, jumping and tackling Simmons out of the way of the charging alien, hearing the thump of the armor ramming the wall.

“Uhm, Grif?” Grif’s eye’s met Simmons’ at only a few inches away from hitting foreheads. “Why are you laying on top of me?”

“Because someone decided to doze off. Not the time to be slacking, Simmons.” Grif scolded as he got up off of his friend, catching sight of the alien’s head still partially stuck in a newly formed dent in the wall.

“Oh, you’re one to talk.” Simmons’s grunted as he struggled to stand up, catching sight of their surroundings for the first time. “Wait, what’s going on?”

“Long story short, Tucker got us wrapped up in some alien ritual or whatever. So that guy is trying to kill us. I think.”

“Fuck.”

“Yeah." Grif glanced back at the stumbling Simmons behind him. “Just, try to not fall over, alright?”

“Great plan.” The eye roll was audible. “What are you going to do?”

“Distract him. Grab, like, a gun or something and start shooting.”

“Wait, what? Grif-”

Before he could finish Grif was waving his arms at the now free alien, gaining nothing more than a little glance before the blue monster charged for Simmons again.  What the hell?  He thought as he ran after the alien, jumping on its back and causing it to stumble backwards, sending them both to the ground. “Don’t just stand there, move!” Grif ordered, causing Simmons to yelp and quickly move to one of the weapon-covered walls.

“There aren’t any guns!” He yelled back, panic rising. “I-I don’t know what any of this stuff is!”

Grif rolled away from the alien, getting up just as he did, earning a growl. “Shit. Uh,” he looked behind him, finding more weapons. He grabbed what looked like a glowing staff, blue carvings lighting up as he swung with all his strength onto the head of the alien. Sparks flew as electricity coursed through the alien before he promptly fell to the floor. “That’s handy.”

“Jesus Christ, Grif are you okay?” Simmons was already by his side by the time Grif put the staff back. His organic arm touched his own forearm in what he assumed was a comforting manner.

“Uh, yeah. You doing good?” When Simmons nodded Grif quickly added, “Good because I need someone to cover my duties when we get back to Chorus. I need a month-long nap.”

“Grif!” Came the obligatory, high-pitched response that never failed to make him smile.

-----

They were all finally back on the ship, Simmons and Grif sitting next to each other in the open central space. They had all silently agreed they deserved the rest for the moment being. Sarge had placed a black garbage bag over the hole created by Simmons’ missing arm, claiming it worked in preventing damage until he could properly fix it while Grif had almost fallen asleep when Caboose’s voice broke through the silence.

“So how was the surprise party? Are there any babies?”

Grif cracked only one eye open to look at the blue soldier. “What are you talking about, Caboose?”

“Tucker said you guys were getting married as a surprise!” Simmons was awake now, a faint red covering his the pale side of his face. “That must mean there are babies.”

“Tucker!”

“Not my fault, dude! It was the perfect opportunity to end, like, fifteen years of sexual tension between you two. Don’t worry, Donut’s already setting up the honeymoon.”

“How did you even-”

“The Sangheili already thought you guys were fucking, just like everyone else does. I just talked them into a wedding ceremony.” The fucker looked so proud of himself.

“That wasn’t a wedding, that was a set up to fucking kill us, jackass!” Grif looked about ready to strangle Tucker, which, Simmons was okay with right now.

“That’s their wedding customs. Two males have to fight over the female and whoever comes out on top gets to keep her. Just be glad I talked them down to just that part -- the rest would have gotten real uncomfortable, real quick.”

Simmons just covered his face as best as he could with one hand, listening to Grif and Tucker argue back and forth. They were never going to hear the end of this. Then again, maybe that was a good thing. If Tucker followed through with that honeymoon promise, maybe they could get a vacation that didn’t involve nearly dying every other day. Soon enough, he pushed Grif back into his seat. “Just give it up, Grif.”

“Yeah, listen to your husband, Grif. Accept it and thank me later.”

There wasn’t a moment of quiet for the next few hours, but Simmons managed to sleep through most of it, head on Grif’s shoulder the entire way home.