RvB - You're the Bomb
Title: You're the Bomb
Author: Kyrianne
Fandom: Red vs Blue
Pairing: Onesided Grif/Donut, sort of onesided Grif/Simmons.
Rating: PG-13 for language. Nothing serious in this one, it's just silly haha
Word Count:
Summary: Grif swallows a bomb. Insanity ensues.
Disclaimer: I am neither a Rooster nor a Tooth.
A/N: This was spawned from watching little kid shows with the kids I'm babysitting. No seriously. I even think about RvB while freaking BABYSITTING. I think something is wrong with me. ;A;
The show in question was that one about the penguins from Madagascar, and I realized that they're a lot like Red Team. So... Here's a blatant ripoff of the plot used in that cartoon, Red Team style xDD
This may not be the best because I'm typing it on their computer and directly into LJ instead of through MS Word like I usually do. Sorry about that.
---
This morning, like every other morning, Sarge had Simmons spy on the Blues while he tinkered around with Lopez and any other of his various creations. This morning, unlike every other morning, there was actually something to report.
"Uh... Sir?" Simmons asked nervously, not wanting to interrupt Sarge as he gave Lopez yet another tune-up. Both the robot and the man turned to glare at Simmons' entrance (well, Sarge glared; with Lopez you could never be sure).
"What is it, Private?" Sarge demanded. "Can't ya see Ah'm busy here?" He waved his wrench around in the air to bolster his claim. Lopez remained silent.
"The Blues got a new shipment in, Sir."
"Those dirty, dirty rascals. What was in it this time? More mayo-nayz?"
"Uh... No, Sir. They got a warthog."
"They got a WHAT?!" Sarge screeched, dropping his wrench in his surprise as he jumped up. "Show me, Ah don't believe ya!"
The were back on top of the base in 10 seconds flat. Sarge peered through the sniper rifle, seeing for himself what Simmons had reported. "Son of a bag o' polecats..." he muttered darkly. "Them dirty, dirty blues." He turned to Simmons, handing him back the sniper rifle. "You keep yer eye on them, Simmons. Ah'll be back. Ah've got a plan."
Simmons nodded and watched him leave. Then he turned back toward Blue Base with the rifle. If the Blues so much as sneezed, Sarge would know.
About a half hour later, Sarge was back. He was covered in black soot and looked a little rough around the edges (well, more than he usually did, at least) but he had a huge grin on his face. "Ah've done it," he announced. "Ah left it in the kitchen where no one will find it until we can deploy it."
"Deploy what, Sir?"
Sarge's smile turned decidedly evil. "Mah new bomb."
+++
Grif grumbled into the kitchen, scratching an itch on his thigh as he made his way to the fridge. Hooowee, did he sleep in late today. He wondered why Simmons hadn't come in demanding that he get up. It kind of fucked with him, to tell the truth; he expected the kiss-ass's lovely -- no no no, annoying and too loud -- voice to jolt him awake.
He yawned, stomach growling impatiently. God, he was tired, but he was so much more hungry.
There was something on the counter. Food? Did he not have to open the fridge? Score. Less work for him.
He came closer, scrutinizing the blocks of darkish gray material sitting there. His eyes were blurry from sleep, so he couldn't see very well, but he decided they looked a lot like oreos. Simmons must have put them out there for him when he got up.
"God, what's going on with that man? Being way too nice," Grif mumbled to himself as he shoved a block into his mouth and swallowed. It went down harshly, and it tasted fucking awful. "Oh gross. Maybe he's not being nice. Those oreos have to be like, five hundred years old." Grif shuddered a little and made a beeline to the fridge, drinking orange juice straight of the carton. The jolt of citrus helped wake him up and he decided he'd take a closer look at those oreos.
...Which weren't oreos at all. "Fuck, what did I just eat?" Grif exclaimed. It was then that he heard the ticking.
+++
"SIMMOOOOOOOOONS!"
They could hear the panicked scream all the way from the top of the base. Simmons' heart froze in terror and he dashed off, leaving a bewildered Sarge alone. "Derdgern dirtbag," the C.O. growled, but followed Simmons to the source of the scream.
He found him, shaking Grif by the shoulders and yelling, voice almost a wail. "What the fuck did you eat that for?! How did you even think it was food, for chrissake?!!"
"I don't know!" Grif was just as scared as Simmons sounded, if not more. "I was tired, I thought they were oreos! I thought you fucking left out oreos for me because you were being nice!"
"You idiot!" Simmons turned his attention to Grif's stomach, leaning forward to place an ear near Grif's belly button. Through the wall of organs and fat he could hear the steady ticking. Grif squirmed, unnerved at Simmons' closeness and not willing to examine the butterflies he got at the touch. Simmons pulled away, frowning.
"We gotta get it out of there," he announced.
"Well, no fucking duh! We can't just leave it in there!"
It was then that Donut decided to make an entrance. "Hey guys, what are we talking about?"
"The dirtbag here ate one o' mah newest bombs," Sarge said almost sadly. Donut stared at him, shocked that he'd be sad about Grif's potential demise. "Ah was savin' it fer the Blues, too!" Well, that was more like it.
But Donut had a more pressing matter. "GRIF!!" he bawled, running forward to tackle him in a huge hug. "Don't die! Please, don't die!"
"I'm not gonna die, get off of me!" Grif snapped, then turned a worried look back toward Simmons. "...I'm not gonna die, right? You can save me?"
"Shut up, I'm thinking!" Simmons barked, wringing his hands in thought and worry. "We don't have a stomach pump. And who knows how long we have until that thing explodes?" He bit his lip, glancing back down at Grif's stomach.
Grif knew he was looking at his stomach, but Simmons' face coupled with the general area he was looking at gave Grif some pretty bad ideas. "Oh god," he muttered to himself. "Don't think about that, you're gonna fucking die."
And with that, Donut was human superglue again. "Grif! I didn't even get to tell you how much I loved you!" he sobbed, clutching tightly. "And now it's too late, and we'll never have that house on the beach I wanted, or 5 kids, or the awesome lightish red Maybach!"
Simmons glared at him, flushing slightly. "Would you shut up, I'm thinking here!"
"And sorry Donut, but I kind of really don't like you that way anyway. At all"
Donut pouted, but stayed clinging to the other man. "I don't care, you're dying!" The effeminate man turned to Simmons. "Maybe he'll like you better, Simmons. Tell him you love him too!"
"Donut!" Simmons yelped. "I don't... I'm not going to...! He's going to be just fucking fine, okay?!" He turned so they wouldn't have to see his face, which was currently very team-spirited. "You got any ideas, Sarge?"
"Well, we could lure Grif over to the Blues with one o' them orie-o cookies he likes so much, and then while he's not payin' attention we'll run away and he'll blow up the Blues AND himself! It's a double whammy! Heh heh."
"No! We have to save him! Goddammit!" Simmons turned back around. "Either of you good for nothing dumbasses have an idea?"
Donut just wailed again, snuggling closer to Grif. Grif was white as a sheet, not even seeming to notice Donut anymore. "Simmons, you gotta help me here... I can't die... Fuck, there's so much I need to do still!" Like you, he added in his head. It didn't make him feel any better.
"We'll think of something," Simmons reassured, though he didn't look very convinced. "We have to."
+++
15 minutes later and they still hadn't made any progress except to move outside so if Grif did explode, there wouldn't be as much damage. Everyone was in their armor except Grif; Sarge was adamant that he didn't want it getting destroyed, even if it was the ugliest color he ever saw.
Suddenly, Donut shrieked excitedly . "I think I know how to save him!" he yelled, his face almost frantic with hope.
"What? What is it?!" Simmons demanded quickly.
"Make yourself throw it up!"
"What?!" Grif exclaimed. "But what about all the food I'm still digesting?"
"Who the fuck cares?!" Simmons roared, jumping at Grif as if he would punch it out of Grif if he needed to.
"Okay okay geez! How am I even supposed to do this?"
"Stick your finger down your throat? That's how they do it in the movies," Donut offered helpfully.
Grif stuck out a tongue in disgust. "Fine, but you guys don't get to watch. That'd be weird." He turned and trundled off behind a rock. Retching noises were heard, then Grif came running back, clutching the bomb in both hands, absolutely terrified. "THERE'S ONLY 5 SECONDS LEFT! WHAT THE FUCK DO I DO?!"
Donut answered by snatching the bomb from Grif and hurling it as far away as he could.
+++
Tucker was actually taking watch today. He'd decided it was important that he pay attention today, for whatever reason; it just felt like something bad was going to happen. And so, since he was watching the skies intently, he saw the small gray object sailing in the air. "What the...?" he muttered to himself, squinting to try to see it better. It landed with a dull thud in the front seat of their brand-new Warthog. Tucker was starting down to investigate when it exploded violently, sending Warthog shrapnel flying everywhere. Tucker ducked, adrenaline pumping his heart overtime before he realized he was okay. Unfortunately, the new Warthog that he was supposed to be guarding wasn't.
"Oh, son of a..."
Author: Kyrianne
Fandom: Red vs Blue
Pairing: Onesided Grif/Donut, sort of onesided Grif/Simmons.
Rating: PG-13 for language. Nothing serious in this one, it's just silly haha
Word Count:
Summary: Grif swallows a bomb. Insanity ensues.
Disclaimer: I am neither a Rooster nor a Tooth.
A/N: This was spawned from watching little kid shows with the kids I'm babysitting. No seriously. I even think about RvB while freaking BABYSITTING. I think something is wrong with me. ;A;
The show in question was that one about the penguins from Madagascar, and I realized that they're a lot like Red Team. So... Here's a blatant ripoff of the plot used in that cartoon, Red Team style xDD
This may not be the best because I'm typing it on their computer and directly into LJ instead of through MS Word like I usually do. Sorry about that.
---
This morning, like every other morning, Sarge had Simmons spy on the Blues while he tinkered around with Lopez and any other of his various creations. This morning, unlike every other morning, there was actually something to report.
"Uh... Sir?" Simmons asked nervously, not wanting to interrupt Sarge as he gave Lopez yet another tune-up. Both the robot and the man turned to glare at Simmons' entrance (well, Sarge glared; with Lopez you could never be sure).
"What is it, Private?" Sarge demanded. "Can't ya see Ah'm busy here?" He waved his wrench around in the air to bolster his claim. Lopez remained silent.
"The Blues got a new shipment in, Sir."
"Those dirty, dirty rascals. What was in it this time? More mayo-nayz?"
"Uh... No, Sir. They got a warthog."
"They got a WHAT?!" Sarge screeched, dropping his wrench in his surprise as he jumped up. "Show me, Ah don't believe ya!"
The were back on top of the base in 10 seconds flat. Sarge peered through the sniper rifle, seeing for himself what Simmons had reported. "Son of a bag o' polecats..." he muttered darkly. "Them dirty, dirty blues." He turned to Simmons, handing him back the sniper rifle. "You keep yer eye on them, Simmons. Ah'll be back. Ah've got a plan."
Simmons nodded and watched him leave. Then he turned back toward Blue Base with the rifle. If the Blues so much as sneezed, Sarge would know.
About a half hour later, Sarge was back. He was covered in black soot and looked a little rough around the edges (well, more than he usually did, at least) but he had a huge grin on his face. "Ah've done it," he announced. "Ah left it in the kitchen where no one will find it until we can deploy it."
"Deploy what, Sir?"
Sarge's smile turned decidedly evil. "Mah new bomb."
+++
Grif grumbled into the kitchen, scratching an itch on his thigh as he made his way to the fridge. Hooowee, did he sleep in late today. He wondered why Simmons hadn't come in demanding that he get up. It kind of fucked with him, to tell the truth; he expected the kiss-ass's lovely -- no no no, annoying and too loud -- voice to jolt him awake.
He yawned, stomach growling impatiently. God, he was tired, but he was so much more hungry.
There was something on the counter. Food? Did he not have to open the fridge? Score. Less work for him.
He came closer, scrutinizing the blocks of darkish gray material sitting there. His eyes were blurry from sleep, so he couldn't see very well, but he decided they looked a lot like oreos. Simmons must have put them out there for him when he got up.
"God, what's going on with that man? Being way too nice," Grif mumbled to himself as he shoved a block into his mouth and swallowed. It went down harshly, and it tasted fucking awful. "Oh gross. Maybe he's not being nice. Those oreos have to be like, five hundred years old." Grif shuddered a little and made a beeline to the fridge, drinking orange juice straight of the carton. The jolt of citrus helped wake him up and he decided he'd take a closer look at those oreos.
...Which weren't oreos at all. "Fuck, what did I just eat?" Grif exclaimed. It was then that he heard the ticking.
+++
"SIMMOOOOOOOOONS!"
They could hear the panicked scream all the way from the top of the base. Simmons' heart froze in terror and he dashed off, leaving a bewildered Sarge alone. "Derdgern dirtbag," the C.O. growled, but followed Simmons to the source of the scream.
He found him, shaking Grif by the shoulders and yelling, voice almost a wail. "What the fuck did you eat that for?! How did you even think it was food, for chrissake?!!"
"I don't know!" Grif was just as scared as Simmons sounded, if not more. "I was tired, I thought they were oreos! I thought you fucking left out oreos for me because you were being nice!"
"You idiot!" Simmons turned his attention to Grif's stomach, leaning forward to place an ear near Grif's belly button. Through the wall of organs and fat he could hear the steady ticking. Grif squirmed, unnerved at Simmons' closeness and not willing to examine the butterflies he got at the touch. Simmons pulled away, frowning.
"We gotta get it out of there," he announced.
"Well, no fucking duh! We can't just leave it in there!"
It was then that Donut decided to make an entrance. "Hey guys, what are we talking about?"
"The dirtbag here ate one o' mah newest bombs," Sarge said almost sadly. Donut stared at him, shocked that he'd be sad about Grif's potential demise. "Ah was savin' it fer the Blues, too!" Well, that was more like it.
But Donut had a more pressing matter. "GRIF!!" he bawled, running forward to tackle him in a huge hug. "Don't die! Please, don't die!"
"I'm not gonna die, get off of me!" Grif snapped, then turned a worried look back toward Simmons. "...I'm not gonna die, right? You can save me?"
"Shut up, I'm thinking!" Simmons barked, wringing his hands in thought and worry. "We don't have a stomach pump. And who knows how long we have until that thing explodes?" He bit his lip, glancing back down at Grif's stomach.
Grif knew he was looking at his stomach, but Simmons' face coupled with the general area he was looking at gave Grif some pretty bad ideas. "Oh god," he muttered to himself. "Don't think about that, you're gonna fucking die."
And with that, Donut was human superglue again. "Grif! I didn't even get to tell you how much I loved you!" he sobbed, clutching tightly. "And now it's too late, and we'll never have that house on the beach I wanted, or 5 kids, or the awesome lightish red Maybach!"
Simmons glared at him, flushing slightly. "Would you shut up, I'm thinking here!"
"And sorry Donut, but I kind of really don't like you that way anyway. At all"
Donut pouted, but stayed clinging to the other man. "I don't care, you're dying!" The effeminate man turned to Simmons. "Maybe he'll like you better, Simmons. Tell him you love him too!"
"Donut!" Simmons yelped. "I don't... I'm not going to...! He's going to be just fucking fine, okay?!" He turned so they wouldn't have to see his face, which was currently very team-spirited. "You got any ideas, Sarge?"
"Well, we could lure Grif over to the Blues with one o' them orie-o cookies he likes so much, and then while he's not payin' attention we'll run away and he'll blow up the Blues AND himself! It's a double whammy! Heh heh."
"No! We have to save him! Goddammit!" Simmons turned back around. "Either of you good for nothing dumbasses have an idea?"
Donut just wailed again, snuggling closer to Grif. Grif was white as a sheet, not even seeming to notice Donut anymore. "Simmons, you gotta help me here... I can't die... Fuck, there's so much I need to do still!" Like you, he added in his head. It didn't make him feel any better.
"We'll think of something," Simmons reassured, though he didn't look very convinced. "We have to."
+++
15 minutes later and they still hadn't made any progress except to move outside so if Grif did explode, there wouldn't be as much damage. Everyone was in their armor except Grif; Sarge was adamant that he didn't want it getting destroyed, even if it was the ugliest color he ever saw.
Suddenly, Donut shrieked excitedly . "I think I know how to save him!" he yelled, his face almost frantic with hope.
"What? What is it?!" Simmons demanded quickly.
"Make yourself throw it up!"
"What?!" Grif exclaimed. "But what about all the food I'm still digesting?"
"Who the fuck cares?!" Simmons roared, jumping at Grif as if he would punch it out of Grif if he needed to.
"Okay okay geez! How am I even supposed to do this?"
"Stick your finger down your throat? That's how they do it in the movies," Donut offered helpfully.
Grif stuck out a tongue in disgust. "Fine, but you guys don't get to watch. That'd be weird." He turned and trundled off behind a rock. Retching noises were heard, then Grif came running back, clutching the bomb in both hands, absolutely terrified. "THERE'S ONLY 5 SECONDS LEFT! WHAT THE FUCK DO I DO?!"
Donut answered by snatching the bomb from Grif and hurling it as far away as he could.
+++
Tucker was actually taking watch today. He'd decided it was important that he pay attention today, for whatever reason; it just felt like something bad was going to happen. And so, since he was watching the skies intently, he saw the small gray object sailing in the air. "What the...?" he muttered to himself, squinting to try to see it better. It landed with a dull thud in the front seat of their brand-new Warthog. Tucker was starting down to investigate when it exploded violently, sending Warthog shrapnel flying everywhere. Tucker ducked, adrenaline pumping his heart overtime before he realized he was okay. Unfortunately, the new Warthog that he was supposed to be guarding wasn't.
"Oh, son of a..."