#trent FULLY checking him out . please

[biggameplayertrentaa]

When in Jamaica

word count: 4.5k

warning: smut 18+

Bold name or pronoun: POV

summary: distant family friends have a lot more in common than either initially assumed. shy!trent x virgin!reader.

author's note: shoutout to the anon who requested this, and credit to @trenty for the beautiful gif! I do hyperbolize tf outta the weather, so pls do not read too much into that.

I hope you enjoy it! Please lmk (in grave, borderline superfluous detail) of your all your thoughts.

Trent was sure he was liquidifying. 

He stripped to just his briefs and fully opened all four of the large windows in the room,  desperate to maybe tease out a breeze from the still air—it was all in vain. A thick layer of sweat still manifested, coating his body in almost a stifling way. Trent was irate–both by the tropical-sweat-inducing temperatures and by his decision to vacation in a location with said temperatures. Jamaica sounded lovely in theory…but in practice, the humidity coupled with the brutality of the sun made him almost wish he had chosen a destination with a climate he was more accustomed to.

Almost.  

Jamaica really only seemed lovely because it was Y/N who had originally suggested the location in conversation with his mother, Dianne. 

For as long as he could remember, you had always been around. Your mothers grew up together, dreaming of a future where they could raise their family alongside each other. This ultimately became a reality, solidifying your presence in his life as a constant. Despite this, Trent could probably count, on one hand, how many times the two of you engaged in conversation. This was, of course, his own fault, being naturally shy–a quality he adapted just as the two of you were growing into yourselves (i.e. when you developed breast and his voice started to crack) That, Trent concluded, was also when his subconscious crush on you became very much conscious, subsequently (and unknowingly) long-lasting, and pretty distracting.  

He was 14 at the time and did not know what to do with the foreign feeling, so he suppressed it. 

Now at 25, he still did not know what to do with the (still foreign) feeling, so he continued to suppress it. Awkwardly–at that, often flushed pink and stammering any time he was stuck near you. 

Trent wanted that to change–he needed it to. 

Not only did he find his crush entirely juvenile, but you weren’t necessarily someone who would be free and single forever. Trent viewed it as a now-or-never situation, deciding when he booked, that this would be the holiday where he would make some sort of effort to at least develop a proper friendship with you.  

This plan was better said than done. 

Though he had managed to stutter out a hi and how was your flight when you had first arrived at the villa and greeted him, he found himself at a complete loss attempting to formulate the appropriate words to trigger conversation. 

(That was two days ago; he’d made no progress since).

Trent reached beside him, quickly retrieving his phone from the bedside table to check the time. It was just now hitting three in the morning. Sleep seemed like a nearly impossible feat, not only finding himself hot and uncomfortably sticky, but also parched.  Eventually, he mustered up just enough energy to stand from his sprawled position and throw on his discarded tanktop. He contemplated pulling shorts over his briefs, but he found himself dripping in sweat and decided against it. 

No one will be up at this hour, anyway, he thought to himself as he quietly opened the door to the room. Just as he expected, the villa was pitch black, the only sounds being the chatters of the night critters outdoors. “I don’t even sweat this much during matches.” He murmured to himself, padding through the dark corridors as mouse-like as possible, forcefully wiping at his perspiring forehead. 

“Yeah, this heat is bordering on ridiculous.” The voice came from just over his shoulder, hushed but still loud enough for him to register who it belonged to. Trent stumbled to a halt. The pits of his stomach suddenly burned to a temperature that stood even to the degree outdoors. It jarred him. So much so that it stripped what little moisture his mouth had left and devoided his mind of nearly all of his learned social etiquettes. 

Nearly.

“What are you doing up?” He kept his tone just as feathery light as yours as he turned to face you. Your hair was gathered at the top of your head– skin decorated with little beads of sweat as you stood there sporting a toothless grin and an oversized t-shirt that barely touched the skin above your knee. 

“This heat makes me too angry to sleep. Next time you book a holiday in this beautiful country, make sure you book it during the winter season.”

“Correct me if I’m wrong but was it not you who suggested Jamaica?”

“Don’t you put this on me. You had the power and credit card to say no.”

“I wouldn’t say no to you.” The words formulated on his tongue and sailed past his lips before his mind could stop them. You cocked a brow at him, a glint of something in your eye as you shamelessly cast a look over his figure. To prevent the nasty, heavy feeling of insecurity from consuming him under your belittling gaze,  he allowed his own eyes to glide over your body. Accustomed to only throwing quick, fleeting looks your way through the years, Trent truly felt like a child allowed to roam wildly in a free candy shop. You were striking; utterly butterfly-inducing, especially looking at him the way you were.

“Come swim with me.” Your eyes hung low, voice notably dropping an octave or two as you motioned toward the garden where the inground pool resided. 

“It’s like three in the morning?”

You rolled your eyes at this and scoffed. “You’re 25 Trent, not 65; live a little.” You said, playfully bumping his shoulder as you walked past him and toward the garden. “Come on.” This time, Trent did not question you, he simply trailed after you. 

The garden was illuminated by nothing but the full moon and the white light coming from the  pool. You waste no time ridding yourself of the oversized t-shirt, revealing the red bikini set underneath. You dip a testing toe in the clear water before seating yourself along the edge of the pool and sliding in. “Are you coming in or what?” Trent hadn’t noticed he was still wordlessly gawking at you. He cleared his throat.

“Right.” He reached behind him, bunching up the material of his tanktop near his neck, and forcefully tugged it over his head. He walked the short distance to the pool’s stairs and carefully descended them, instantly feeling refreshed despite the water’s temperature being lukewarm. 

“Feel better?” You said as you made your way over to stand in front of him, lips still fixed in that toothless grin

“Much.” 

“Trent?” You said after a comfortable pause, toothless grin now vacated from the premise of your face. He hummed in response, curious of the sudden change in your expression. “Has there ever been a problem between us?” You gestured between the two of you, your brows now stitched together. 

“Problem? No-what makes you say that?” He stammered out, instinctively stepping a centimeter closer to you.  Trent met your eye as you looked up at him, and immediately noted the absence of that glint. This, coupled with your grin-less lips left him feeling oddly anxious.

“For starters, this is the most you’ve talked to me.” You began with a chuckle, “And I also feel like you go out of your way to avoid me.” You said it lightly, and decorated it with a smile that he could easily see through. To him, you seemed almost confused–hurt even.  

“Avoid you? That’s not–your–I.” Trent felt as if he was attempting to stand in quicksand–he couldn’t find his footing, let alone the words to explain himself and his innate bashfulness. He never once assumed his disposition could be read as anything but reservation. It almost made him sick to think he had been unknowingly upsetting you throughout the years. He gathered what little coherent thoughts he had and sucked in a breath, “It’s hard for me to be, you know, open.”

“Trent, our mums are practically sisters, they’re so close. I’ve known you for years; you’ve known me for years; I don’t understand your reservation towards me.” The crease just above your brows deepened as you expectantly stared at him. Trent couldn’t help but flick a glance towards your pouted lips–plump and vibrantly pink. He moistened his own before he responded. 

“I know, its just-” He let out an exasperated breath–why was coherency such a difficult feat for him today? “You make me nervous. I get nervous around you.” Because you’re fit and witty and always smell like brown sugar cookies, he wanted to say, but the words were fisted away by logic and slight embarrassment. 

“I make you nervous?” You sounded almost amused. Trent felt his cheek burn as he shifted his gaze toward the pool’s surface. You were standing close enough that your painted toes were nearly touching his. Before his mind could slip into a mode of overthinking, he felt the soft graze of your fingertip just below his chin. “Do I make you nervous, Trent?” You asked again once his gaze was back on yours. He nodded slowly, wordlessly. You stepped toward him, closing the half-inch of distance between the two of you. You threw a casual arm around his neck, leaning into him slightly so your chest was pressed to his. He could feel the erratic beating of your heart, the tempo nearly identical to his own. This soothed him, encouraging him to place a hand on the small of your back, pushing you even further into his bubble.

Trent didn’t really know what was happening; it was all surreal; but his moderate astonishment did not prevent him from sending a silent thank you to whatever entity was responsible for this complete anomaly.  

“Can I ask why?” You whispered, your breath fanning over his lips. 

“I feel like you already know the answer to that.” Your gaze danced between his lips and eyes. He resisted the numbing urge to kiss you; it was hard for him to believe that he was reading the situation right. Maybe this was a platonic embrace—

A ghost of a kiss on his parted lip diminished any doubt he may have had about reciprocated feelings. It was fleeting, soft. Before he could even think to deepen the kiss, you pulled away–just slightly with a parted mouth and unreadable expression. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t-” Trent didn’t bother to let you finish. He cupped your face with both of his large hands and bent down until his lips were back on yours–exactly where they belonged.  This kiss wasn’t feathery light and dripping in juvenile innocence. 

This kiss was laced with heavy desire. 

Yet it was still rhythmic–languid even. Trent was basking in it; loving the way your tongue dragged against his; swallowing your breathless moans any time he would teasingly nip at your lip. The feeling of your nails scratching lightly at the nape of his neck had him letting out little sighs of his own and pulling you even closer to him until he could feel his hardening bulge pressed against your bikini bottoms. He bit back a moan, regaining what little discipline he had to reluctantly pull away from you. Your eyes remained closed, swollen lips still puckered.

“Trent?” You said after a brief, comfortable silence. Had his name always sounded so beautiful rolling off your tongue? Or did the kiss finally make him aware of it? 

“Y/N.” His lips brushed against yours as he murmured your name. 

“Take me to your room.”

You

were sure that you were leaving a trail of water droplets as you quickly and quietly padded through the darkness. Trent was hot on your heel, fingers entangled in yours, occasionally stopping you mid-stride to pull you into another heavy kiss. Your mind was practically on autopilot, operating solely on the emotions you’ve had pent up for nearly a decade. 

Trent had always been around. And for as long as he’s been around, you’ve had the most outrageous crush on him. He had always been quiet, closed off. His aloofness intrigued you, even if it often left you feeling oddly confused and insecure. You assumed his demeanor was a direct response to your forwardness–always being the one to greet him and start a conversation, so you suppressed your feelings and adopted a calmer, more platonic approach thinking it may trigger the development of some sort of relationship. 

It never really did…until this holiday.

 You had noticed the shift the second you greeted him upon arriving at the villa. Conversation was still minimal–awkward; but his actions were less subtle. He was blatant in his glances, more willing to engage in awkward chatter, and would even go out of his way to sit near you at supper. Though you didn’t automatically assume he harbored the same feeling you did, you still understood that something was different. 

This something had you plotting; you needed to get him alone. 

You had no idea that when you got up in blistering frustration from the heat, desperate to cool off via a dip in the pool, you would run into Mr. Alexander Arnold himself–just as exasperated and perspiring as you. Some would call that a coincidence; you would call it fate…and who were you to question fate? Of course, you had no idea that an innocent chat and cheeky night swim would lead to you being pushed up against the white walls of Trent’s room. But it was difficult to complain with his tongue dragging down the length of your neck. 

“I don’t think you know how long I’ve wanted to do this.” It was breathed out between teasing neck bites. You sigh at his words, instinctively jerking your hips up to relieve some of the building tension in your core. You nearly moan when you feel his bulge pressed against your throbbing clit, the feeling forcing you to through your head back. You only relished in the blissful feeling for a moment–an ounce of sense somehow making itself known amid all the lustful feelings. 

“Trent, wait.” He immediately halted, lifting his head so he could meet your eyes. A cocktail of confusion and worry was etched clearly on his face. You pecked his lips softly, hoping it would be enough to quietly reassure him he did nothing wrong. His expression softened–just slightly. 

“You alright?” He rasped, thick brows knitted and low on his creased forehead. 

“Yeah, I just–” You pushed out a breath and closed your eyes as you desperately searched for words that wouldn’t taint the mood the two of you had perfectly curated. 

Your virginal status wasn’t something you constantly thought about, as it wasn’t necessarily a status you were maintaining for any significant purpose. You simply considered the current dating scene a cesspool, plagued by red-pill incels that viewed women as fleshlights as opposed to rounded human beings. Though you understood the concept of virginity to be a socially constructed one, you still maintained it, refusing to reward disgusting and objectifying behavior. 

However, this did not mean you were prudish in any way.  

You were well acquainted with your vibrator and your fingers. This, coupled with your love for filthy erotica novels served as a perfect substitute for any man and left you quite satisfied for many years. It was very rare for you to be in a position like this one, though. You dated; you even fooled around with those you dated, but it would stop and end before that next, penetrative step. You credited this to the nagging voice in your head who loved reminding you of all the Andrew Tate-esq content tainting all your socials. 

The voice was nowhere to be found at this moment. 

“I’ve never had sex.” You rushed out, immediately feeling your face burn as you witnessed Trent’s eyes widen. He lowered you until your feet touched the cool tile and took a half step away from you. 

“Oh, I am sorry. I didn’t mean-” Trent’s stare was trained on his feet, left hand positioned on the back of his neck. “We can stop and like talk if you want?” You took that half-step towards him and placed an inviting hand on his cheek. 

“I don’t want to talk, Trent.” Your voice is hoarse and low. 

He looked up, one thick brow raised, “What do you want?” Your stomach flipped, mouth drying as you attempted to muster just enough confidence to say exactly what you wanted. Your eyes traveled from his eyes to the prominent bulge covered by his wet briefs. Your fingertips tingled with the urge to touch the clothed mound, wondering how delicious it would feel inside of you. 

“I want you.” You pressed another fleeting kiss to his lips, hands reaching between the two of you to palm him lightly. He groaned, resting his forehead against yours as his eyes fluttered shut. 

“Are you sure? I don’t want you to feel pressured-” You silenced him by slipping your hand into his briefs, taking his heavy cock in your hand. You gripped it, jerking up its length languidly, inciting the prettiest moan to slip past the barrier of Trent’s parted lips. The sound goes straight to your pussy. 

“I’m sure, Trent. Please fuck me.” 

You were swept off your toes in an instant; your mouth, immediately smothered by Trent’s in a feverish kiss. It wasn’t long before he was tossing you onto the bed, the mattress feeling cool on your damp skin. Trent hovered over you,  one arm above his head, supporting his weight, as the other rested near your right leg. You felt a calloused hand smooth up your calf, sensually dragging against the length of it and then up to your thigh. He repeated this action, pairing it with opened-mouth kisses along the underside of your jaw. 

“I want you to be–” He pressed a kiss to the skin of your jaw, “as comfortable–” then another on the corner of your mouth, “as possible, okay?” You nodded eagerly, ready for him to continue whatever sorcery he was conducting on you with his licks and caresses. You could feel how wet you were already–you were throbbing, clit pulsating to an aching beat. 

“Okay, just please touch me.” He sniffed out a chuckle. Trent signaled for you to bend your knees as his fingers hooked around the material of the bottom of your bikini. His eyes never left yours, ridding you of the article of clothing, only shifting his gaze when you’re completely bare and visible to him. He licked his lips. 

“Can I taste you?” He flicked a quick glance at you. You wordlessly state your consent with another eager nod. You push your thighs further apart as he moves his face until it is leveled with where you craved him most. His face is visible thanks to the moon’s bluish light, making the devilish smirk playing at his lips evident. He paused for a brief moment, nose nearly resting on your mound as he blew a warm gust of air on your clit before taking it into his mouth in a suctioned kiss. His name left your lips in a sigh. Your hands go to find the back of his head, pushing him even closer to you. He was ravenous in his assault; hungrily, sloppily, lapping at your cunt; occasionally slipping a tongue inside of you; even moaning against you as if it was he  who was receiving the pleasure. Your thighs were shaking; skin, burning–not from the weather but from the magic that proved to be Trent Alexander-Arnold’s tongue. 

“You taste so fucking good.” He praised, replacing his tongue with two fingers, slyly slipping them inside of you. “You feel so good wrapped tight around my fingers.” He cooed, “I can’t wait to feel you wrapped around my cock.” You mewl at his words, thighs trembling as he continued to finger you. “You okay? Baby, talk to me; tell me how you feel or I’ll stop.”  Trent threatened. His tone makes your eyes flutter open in obedience.

“I feel good,” You gasped, “you’re making me feel so good, baby.” 

“I know, baby.” Cooed Trent, moving so he was leveled with your face. He increased his pace, his palm hitting your clit each time he stroked his fingers inside of you. “Are you going to be my good girl and come on my fingers?” You nearly explode, his words immediately triggering an array of goosebumps to decorate your skin. You let out an almost sinful, guttural sound that Trent swallows by covering your mouth with his own.“Hmm,” He continued, not easing up in the slightest. “Are you going to give it to me, Y/N?” You only half heard his inquiry, ears ringing from the warmth engulfing the entirety of your shaking body. Your vision faded to black as your orgasm ripped through you like an unforgiving tidal wave. You attempted to regain a slither of composure as he withdrew his dripping fingers. Your vision was hazy, but through the vaseline-like blur, you see Trent dip his beautifully soiled fingers into his mouth. 

With a wink, he asked, “You alright?” Again, all you can do is nod, disoriented from the mind-emptying orgasm he had just induced.  “Good, ‘cause I’m not done with you yet.”  He stood from the bed and crossed the room to the opened luggage position just below the sill of a large window. Still sporting his visibly tighter briefs, he rummaged through his belongings, occasionally tossing a shirt or a sock off to the side. You rose to rest on your forearms just as he turned to face you again. Between his fingers, a bright foiled square. 

You cocked a brow at him, “Do you always keep a pack of rubbers in your luggage?” You half-teased, already hearing the familiar warning murmurs of that nagging voice. 

“This was the same luggage I used for my trip to L.A.” He said sheepishly, placing a knee on the mattress. It sunk under his weight. 

“So you were whoring it up in Cali?” You quipped. 

“Unsuccessfully,” He laughed, “that box was unopened.” You quickly scanned his face for any trace of deceit. You came up short. Eased, you reached for the band of his briefs, tugging at it, expressing your desire for its removal. Trent obliged, placing the condom package between his teeth as he freed himself of the restrictive article. His cock sprung out, hitting the area just past his belly button in the most intimidating way. He fisted himself, making a move to open the package of the condom before abruptly stopping. He placed the package beside your head, slotting himself between your thighs, his cock still heavy in his palm. He dragged his oozing tip along your clit. You jerked your hip up at the contact, instantly wrapping your legs around his waist. He continued to do this, until your arousal,  mixed with his precum, coated the head of his cock. 

“Trent, please.” You whined, completely over his tantalizing actions.

“I know, I know.” The fullback purred, reaching beside you to retrieve the condom. He tore the foil swiftly before sliding down his length. He aligned himself with your entrance. You could feel the smooth slickness of the rubber, teasing your hole. “Do me a favour, yea?” He asked, extending your torture and making you huff out in frustration.

“What.” You whine, growing more and more frustrated by each passing second. The steady throb between your thighs had grown to a palpating rhythm–painfully aching and utterly distracting. You were more than ready. 

“Touch yourself for me.” The request had you confused and frozen, not fully grasping his intentions. He repeated himself, this time with an authoritative tone that has you instantly finding your swollen nub. You rubbed tight, pressured circles over the area, little whimpers leaving your lips as you did. You soon feel a pinch then an uncomfortable burn between your legs—like you had bent to touch your toes without stretching. You gasped loudly, eyes clenching shut at the foreign feeling. Trent stops, immediately.

“Do you want me to stop?” He asked, already moving to withdraw himself from your walls. You shook your head no. Noticeably unconvinced, he asked one more time. You offered the same response, but this time it was verbal, spoken firmly. “Okay-shit-okay. Relax for me and keep touching yourself.” He instructed and you immediately obliged, fingers moving against your clit again. He pressed another kiss to your lips, lowly moaning into your mouth as he slowly buried the rest of himself inside of you,  until you could feel your hand against his lower stomach. That burn was still very much present, but it was subdued by the movement of your fingers.

“Still doing okay, baby? He whispered; lips, still hovering over yours; hips, stilled. It came out almost strangled–like having you wrapped around him was too much in some way. 

“Yes,” You whimpered, already growing used to his length. Your hips flicked up to meet his, the movement making both of you sigh. 

“God, you feel incredible.” Trent hitched your thighs further up his waist, “That’s my good girl.” His strokes were rhythmic, deep. With each one, the pitching-burning feeling diminished. Soon, he had increased his pace and you were raising your hips to meet every single one of his thrusts. “You’re taking me so well like you were meant to be around my cock.” He peppered light kisses along your collarbone between his praises. You could hardly feel your thighs, they were shaking so violently. You were still rubbing at your clit, that now familiar warmth slowly creeping up the length of your body. 

“Oh fuck, Trent.” You breathed out, fingers faltering slightly. 

“I can feel you clenching around me; you’re so close.” He rested his damp forehead against yours. His breath was labored as he shifted his hip upwards, deepening his thrusts. “Are you going to be a good girl for me again, hmm? You gonna cum around my cock the way you came around my fingers?” You could hear the wetness between your thighs, you could feel it traveling down your inner thigh and onto the sheets below you. Your eyes fluttered shut, lips tucked tightly between your teeth as you chased your second orgasm with bucking hips. 

“Look at me, Y/N.” Demanded, Trent, accompanying the instruction with a slightly harsher thrust. “I want you to looking me when you cum.” He rested one of your quivering legs over his shoulder, the new angle teasing a moan out of the both of you. By the team you reach your second orgasm, you’re almost convulsing around him, babbling a slew of praises. You felt his hips falter, and then a twitch inside of you as Trent emptied himself inside the condom, incoherently babbling something about just how good you did for him. He collapsed on top of you, making no effort to pull out. Once both of your breathing had slowed to an appropriate rhythm, he lifted his head until he was face-to-face with you. 

“You alright?” A cheeky smile played on his lips. 

“I’m alright.” You said earnestly, head still buzzing from the orgasm. 

“No regrets?” He asked after placing a kiss to your cheek and then the tip of your nose.

You smiled, “Absolutely, no regrets.”

author's final thots:

This is how I felt editing this. I'm sure I still missed a few things. For the sake of my sanity, ignore it.

[judes-hoe]

cuddles with trent after you come home from work to find him crying

Had the perfect idea for this don’t get mad at me😔

You came home from work and see that Trent’s already back from training. You call out for him but get get no answer which makes you furrow your eyebrows. You check the living room and his game room and he’s not in those places. So you go to your shared bedroom and find him there head in the pillow and his body softly shaking from his sobs. Concern rushes over your body and you go lay next to him on the bed. He looks your opposite way and you know he’s wiping his tears. He looks at you with puffy eyes and a fake smile saying a soft ‘hi baby’. You give him a look that says ‘cut the shit we’re talking about this’ cause normally Trent’s likes to keep to himself and never share his emotions with you. He knows he has to tell you cause you’ll be sad too, he looks at you his eyes tearing up a little. He quietly says “klopps leaving at the end of the season” he fully breaks down again. A piece of you broke. You and Trent have been dating a little before he got called up to the senior team for Liverpool. Klopp say you and Trent almost like kids if his own, he’s seen how you and Trent are together. You stay strong for Trent and let him cuddle into your side and cry his eyes out. You just take care of him and let him do what he needs and he just cries to you and talks to you about it and you just comfort him. But when he falls asleep you silently cry to yourself.

Wanted to make this longer and go on to say how Trent’s sad klopp will never meet his first kid but you surprise him saying your pregnant but even though the baby won’t be in time for klopp to meet they still invite him over one day and klopp figures out that the baby’s middle name is his first name cause he had such a big impact on Trent’s life and Trent wants klopp to know that🥹…

Please request🫶🏻 inbox is open always even if it’s just to chat😁

[forabeatofadrum]

aap noot mies (10/14)

Notes: I love that people were surprised by the Weschel thing. I’ve been on this train since 2012. Yes, as always, it isn’t a maanorchidee challenge fic without a nod towards Little Numbers.

AO3 | S&C

–

PLEASED - 10 points

Wes and Rachel spend most of the evening closed off from the others, which would’ve been fine if it hadn’t been for Santana barging in. Now, Blaine likes Santana, but she is a bit intimidating. He thought he had to fear Rachel, but Santana has no problem taking over from Rachel when it comes to the ‘well-meaning and overly curious friend’ for the evening.

Although Santana already approves of Blaine. He knows that already. Kurt also seems pleased when he realises Blaine and Santana get along well.

It’s almost a shame that Santana has to meet up with her girlfriend in town.

Almost.

Now that Rachel and Wes only have eyes for each other, Kurt and Blaine can hang out without their friends hovering over them. The two of them sit on the sofa and they watch Wes and Rachel whisper and laugh while they do the dishes.

“She’s glowing,” Kurt says as he raises his glass towards Rachel, “It’s been a while since someone made her smile like that. After my brother died, she became fully focused on her career. Too focused, maybe.”

“Too?”

Kurt nods.

“I appreciate her ambition,” he quickly says, “But she had no life outside of showbusiness anymore. She stopped going out to save her voice. She even claimed that Finn dying was good so that she could channel that into her performance. I know she didn’t mean it like that and that she was grieving, but saying that him dying was in any way good was… questionable. She’s just too committed to the job.”

Blaine hums in agreement.

“I get what you mean. The same can be said about Wes.”

Sort of. Kurt doesn’t know that Wes doesn’t leave the alien community since he doesn’t want to get attached to anyone. Well, too late for that now.

“Wes isn’t the most romantic person, so it is nice to see this side of him.”

“Are you a romantic person?”

Blaine’s eyes widen and a shocked smile appears on his face. Kurt also keeps looking at him, but Blaine can sense that he’s nervous. In his own way. Not like Trent. Blaine doesn’t see an orange colour, but he sees that Kurt is working hard on maintaining eye contact and his grip around his glass has tightened.

So Blaine’s smile widens, in order to comfort Kurt.

“I’d like to think that I am.”

Kurt’s look changes. He’s less tense now. Instead he seems confident.

“Yeah, Blaine?” he asks, “Do you think anyone is a, as the Dutch say, a piece?”

That does take Blaine out of the potentially flirty mood.

“A piece?” he asks, not hiding his confusion.

Kurt’s confident smile falters.

“Isn’t that the thing they say in the Netherlands? When someone’s hot, you say they’re een stuk. A piece.”

It falls into place for Blaine and he lets out a laugh. Even Wes and Rachel lose sight of each other to stare at him.

“I mean, yeah,” Blaine says laughingly, “They do say that, and yes, stuk can be translated to piece. Een stuk taart is a piece of cake, but this sounds wrong.”

“Don’t blame me!” Kurt says. He’s a bit red in the face. “I looked it up online. This website about flirty language apparently needs to fact check its information.”

Blaine wants to explain some more, but then his mind catches up with what Kurt just admitted.

Wait a minute.

“… You were looking up how to flirt in Dutch?” Blaine asks, bamboozled.

And Kurt turns even redder.

[utilitycaster]

Wizard Breakdown Tracker, Episode 138

I think it is easy to forget that literally every episode that aired in the year of Our Common Era, 2021, has taken place over the span of *Spurt voice* eleven days. Well. It has. And, indeed, the last seven episodes have covered roughly two days.

The reason this is only about wizard NPCs is because they serve as a sort of audience surrogate in that they are nerds who don't go outside, vs. D&D PCs who see more shit in two to eleven days than most people would see in a lifetime; case in point, Essek's current state of shock. This is also making it very hard to check in with the other wizards. But also this is not about accuracy, even though I am usually right about everything. This is about...honestly I'm not sure, other than wizards.

What I'm trying to say is:

Caleb Widogast is a PC, not an NPC, and is not included in these strange statistics*.

Currently sidelined: Pumat Sol, Oremid Hass, Ludinus Da'leth, Astrid Beck, E_dwulf Grieve

Obligatory self-indulgent Vess Derogna song parody: Tomb....takers, killed you in your room, they’ll end the world soon but hey/you cult wizard, lost in a blizzard, whatever you’ve done, well, murdered, you’ll stay

Trent Ikithon: I am 100% serious that while I have made Narrative Sense In Actual Play Media in the rock on which I will cast my Temple of the Gods, if the final boss is Trent riding on Uk'otoa...I won't be mad. Like does it seem tonally off? Yes; Critical Role is not humorless high fantasy by any means** but they are not actively trying to seem like something that should be airbrushed on a van, usually. But will it be pretty awesome? Yeah.

Trent on the other hand is pretty fucking mad, presumably, because Caleb continues to leave him on read and also picked up a little something called Mind Blank, which is actually useful and not in fact No Thoughts Head Empty. With that said I don't think it's increased; I think we're just at a steady simmer.

Conclusion: 7/10.

Essek Thelyss: Okay I am a dabbler in both cosmic horror and mathematics; I enjoy many elements of both but am an expert in neither. But if I may drop the jokes for a second, how incredible is it that in this alien setting of a city that is an unwitting and unwilling amalgam of consciousnesses, with all the trappings of classic cosmic horror, two people decided to take a scientific risk with things seen as forbidden or foreign by their respective cultures...and won.

I don't know what will befall Essek and he's clearly still having a pretty rough time of it, even though unlike Caduceus I don't think he was brought to the brink of profanity again, yet; but no matter what happens at least he'll have the nat 20 of instant long rest. No matter what happens...he was right about dunamancy. Fucking ironic how much potential the dynasty is wasting, really.

With that said he does have a red eye now even though all he (and, to be fair, Fjord, Veth, and Caduceus as well) did was fight off an eldritch abomination without rolling what must have been like a 20 Wisdom save DC. Like, he (and Fjord, Veth, and Caduceus) do not deserve this. You think this man has a positive wisdom score? In this economy? (actually, he might, I say, looking at Caleb 'Wisdom Ostensibly 16' Widogast).

Conclusion: keeping him at 8/10. It's funny because he is fully on an emotional roller coaster but it's averaging out to about an 8/10 each time; it's just that he's constantly beset by horrors beyond imagination and really terrible rolls but also incredible validation of his beliefs that had so long been ignored. The man's mental state is basically a sine wave, which interestingly enough is itself influencing his mental state.***

Yussa Errenis: The Prodigal Most Interesting Man in Exandria returneth! Wensforth, play Freedom! 836 PD. You know, he should probably feel a little bit of shame, because he should know better, but also he probably does not. Anyway please enjoy the lines I had for Yussa while he was trapped in Cognouza that I did not ultimately use:

aha no don’t get your consciousness sucked into an ancient city you’re so sexy

Here am I floating in an ancient and terrible world-devouring city/far out in the planes/Threshold crests are blue and there’s nothing I can do

Making bad choices and joining the voices it’s...YUSSA ERRENIS

Conclusion: I'm going to say 6/10 but rapidly decreasing. Also Wensforth has had several days to clean the tower...maybe he just won't tell Yussa? He probably will though.

Allura Vyesoren: she's going to facepalm so long that Kima starts timing it, isn't she. She's going to get a series of messages like "hey so the Mighty Nein seem to be doing well! they freed me from the city which sucked me in like some spicy ramen when I did an astral projection...also something happened in my tower?" She's going to just stare out the window for a long moment. She is going to ask herself, much as I have many a time, what the fuck is in the water in Wildemount.

Conclusion: 3/10. Hey, at least she got some news on the Mighty Nein and the city!

Known Gem Wizard Hotsauce Lutefisk: consider: after over 35 years, give or take, in your own perception of time, trapped in a gem, you finally come across some people. Consider that one of them apparently can't resist a big shiny wizard trap. Now consider that this guy went into your +1 Demiplane of Wizard Murdering AND got his mind fully schlorped by Aeorians and yet you are still, inconceivably, stuck in this fucking gem. This is where he draws the line? At a teensy little bodily possession? What the fuck dude.

Conclusion: I'm pretty sure he's already a few large handfuls of iron filings short of a component pouch (which is to say, full up on the batshit) already but this cannot be helping.

*this will be the first but probably not the last cosmic horror and/or math joke because I actually forgot to make cat jokes last night, so thoroughly did the Nein demolish Cree. Speaking of Cree's fate...call that a Furrier Transform.

**high fantasy is a complicated distinction and the wikipedia page includes Discworld which does not seem right to me; it also includes the Belgariad, a series for which I have great fondness having inhaled the first three books while sick in bed as a fourteen year old and having reread several times, but which is explicitly written by a guy who was like what if I made something as formulaic as possible but also literally everyone is either super sarcastic or a huge moron but anyway imo High Fantasy is actually frequently fucking hilarious and a sign of the skill of the creator(s) is whether it's hilarious by accident or on purpose.

***something something Heisenberg uncertainty principle. I had a joke here but it got very convoluted and that is actually not a pun although if you understand why it could be a pun, good work.

[drunktuesdays]

Please consider: Matt Jackson as a noir femme fatale, sitting in the PI's office, fluttering his lashes and saying he has no idea why these men might be after him, or where the rare sculpture, or his (late) husband's will might be, but you will help me, won't you Mr Cassidy, he'd be so grateful... He may or may not be wearing a little pillbox hat with a black veil. (And O.C. maybe just started this agency or is covering while his boss is out of town, and has no idea what to do, because he recognises Cliché Femme Fatale, and this is not like his usual divorces and background checks,but also, what kind of detective would turn down the chance to be Sam Spade? And Matt is being as Much as he can, because he also knows how this works, and if you're going to a detective for help under mysterious, dubious circumstances, you absolutely should do your best Brigid O'Shaughnessy.)

okay i'm fully losing it. this is the best thing i've ever gotten in my inbox. i'm SO happy to think about Chuck and Trent's Best Friends Detective Agency, and dummy lil oc showing up one day and just answering their phones unasked. half the time he takes phone messages with the wrong numbers or doesn't ask their names. but chuck and trent would NEVER fire him......also the cases they take are basically scooby doo level.

absolutely screaming my little face off to think about oc alone in the office, making coffee (badly) or whatever, and then matt SWEEPING IN. ABSOLUTELY CORRECT he has a pillbox hat with a veil and black lace gloves up to his elbows and PROBABLY a slit in his skirt that he crosses his legs under constantly. WE'VE LOST OUR MINDS ANON BUT WHO GIVES A SHIT!!!!!!!!!! Matt fake cries into a tissue about his missing husband (who he killed) and how people are snooping around the mansion (where he killed his husband) and would the fine detectives be willing to help Matt find his husband (that he actually killed)? OC has not noticed matt flashing legs nor does he seem to care that matt appears to be the world's worst liar. "uhhhhhhhhh," he says. "i forget what they charge, but like.....probably...."

"oh money is no object," MattWidow assures him, dabbing his dry eyes with the tissue. "not for the safe return of my dear husband....."

"uh huh," oc says.

[emwritesfootball]

Hotel Encounter | Joe Gomez

Ok your writing has made me fall in love/lust with Joe Gomez soooo if you're still accepting, I'd love to put in a request inspired by a recent crazy dream?👀 Seducing him during a v steamy random encounter in a hotel sauna after finding yourself staying at same hotel as LFC on pre-season. Some absolute filth please 🤭 Thanks for everything you write for us!!!x

Word Count: 997

Warnings: unprotected sex (don’t fuck strangers without protection, y’all!), blowjob, etc.

- - -

You couldn’t believe it when you saw him traipsing in the hotel lobby as you were checking in. You could have sworn that you’d seen Joe Gomez, but you just figured your eyes were playing tricks on you so you dismissed it until you saw Trent and Virgil working out on your way to your room.

When you got on the lift, you ran into Hendo. He gave you a polite smile and nod, making small talk before he got off on the floor right below yours. You were too stunned to ask for a picture or autograph, not really caring to either because you didn’t want to look desperate and you felt like you were a little too old to be asking for autographs and pictures with footballers.

You went out to the pool, wanting to catch as much of the sun as you could while the weather was nice. Popping your headphones in, you cracked open the book you’d been wanting to start, letting the sun warm you as the world went on around you. Some of the other Liverpool players came and went, paying you no mind as they splashed about in the pool. You caught Joe’s eye once or twice when a shout made you look up, a little flutter in your stomach each time he smiled at you. He left the pool shortly after and you were tempted to follow him, but something held you back. A little voice told you that your time with him would come - you just had to be patient.

The next morning, you were up early, wanting to get started on your day before you got busy. You sat in the sauna, taking a moment to relax as you ran through your ‘to-do list’ when the door opened, disrupting your peace. You were about to make a snide, snarky comment to whomever was interrupting your zen but Joe’s voice came through the steam.

“Sorry. I can leave if you’d like.”

“No, you’re fine,” you replied, opening your eyes and giving him a smile. “Although, if I’m honest, I’d probably have been more upset if it was anyone but you.”

Joe chuckled and the sound went straight to your clit. “Yeah?” You nodded. “What makes me so special?”

“I’d answer that, but I don’t wanna risk sounding like a crazed fan.”

“The difference is that if you answered, you’d be a hot, crazed fan - and I’m more than okay with those.” Joe shot you a grin and you giggled.

You weren’t sure where your shot of confidence came from, but you stood up and locked the sauna door, turning to face him. “I’d rather just show you how sexy I find you so I don’t have to tell you.”

Joe sat back, spreading his legs and linking his arms behind his head. You could see his towel tenting as his erection grew and you dropped your towel before sauntering over to him. Joe’s eyes scanned your body, taking in your breasts and your curves as he tried to figure out where he wanted to put his hands and mouth first.

“You’re so sexy,” you whispered, dropping to your knees and reaching for the knot on his towel. Joe poured some more water on the coals in the sauna, the steam filling the room as you leaned down and put your mouth on his cock.

“Oh, fuck,” he groaned, his fingers wrapping around the back of your neck as you took him down your throat. You gagged on his length, your hand pumping what you couldn’t fit in your mouth as you sucked him off. “That’s it, baby - just like that.” His hips bucked, the tip of his dick hitting the back of your throat. Your jaw ached, your eyes welling with tears as you gave him a sloppy blowjob. You could tell he was about to cum, but Joe held back, pulling you off his cock. “As much as I wanna cum down your throat, I’d rather be inside you,” he grunted, helping you up.

You straddled him, sinking down onto him inch by inch at an agonizingly slow pace. He stretched you out in the best way, his girthy cock hitting differently than any man you’d had recently. You whimpered, burying your face in the crook of your neck when he was fully inside you. You started to ride him slowly until neither of you could handle it and Joe’s hands went to your hips so he could set the pace.

Joe slapped your ass, the pain mixing with the pleasure. He growled absolute filth in your ear, promising to make you cum so many times you forget your own name - among other things. Your orgasm built low in your belly at his words, your nails digging into his shoulders.

“Oh, God! Please! Jo-” You begged, his name cut off as your orgasm raced through you. You could feel Joe cum inside you moments later. You held each other as you came down from your highs, the humidity in the sauna making your sweat cling to your bodies. You were certain the sauna smelled like sex now, the thought making you horny all over again.

“When do you check out?” Joe asked, finding his voice a few minutes later.

“Tomorrow,” you replied, still on top of him. “Why?”

“My room number is 217. Come find me later tonight. I’m not done with you yet.”

Your body hummed in anticipation, coming alive again at the thought of meeting him in his hotel room that night. “Good, because I was just getting started.” Someone knocked on the door of the sauna, bringing the two of you out of your own little world. “That’s my cue,” you murmured, climbing off him.

You gave him one last look as you wrapped your towel around your body and opened the door, acutely aware of the fact that his cumd was dripping down your inner thigh as you walked back to your room.

[finiteuniverse13]

home is people, not a place 2/?

Part 1

Summary: Clay gets attacked on base. DEVGRU finds an issue in that.

TW: Blood mention, physical assault, canon typical violence

Tag: @rebelwrites @chibsytelford @bravo-four-seal-team @velvetcardiganbucky @supervalcsi @abby-splace @itsonautopilot @thegirlwhoisalwayswriting @pinkrockstar19 @softi92 @mrsmarvelous1995 @jayhalsteadfan-2417

Lisa is pissed. She has every right to be. Clay had been attacked in the Bravo cages.

She’d watched the kid go from a strap who couldn’t stay in his own lane to an operator who could lead Bravo – and Tier One, for that matter – into the future. And then he’d been attacked in his team’s cages, in his own cage. Blackburn was still at the hospital – he’d found the kid in a pool of his own blood; Lisa wouldn’t blame him if it took an apocalypse to separate him from the kid – making sure that the kid got appropriate care.

She pushed open the door to Bravo’s briefing room, not that it actually had any members of Bravo in it. Alpha, Charlie and Delta were all there, waiting on her brief on the situation. Echo would have been there, if not for them being halfway through their first deployment as a team. There had been hesitation about deploying Echo – the loss of the last Echo line-up still sat heavily in the Tier’s mind.

The three team’s Master Chiefs and 2ICs had sat in Bravo’s usual chairs. Full Metal and Derek sat in Jason and Ray’s chairs, respectively. Beau and his second in command had taken Sonny and Trent’s, while TJ was sat in Brock’s. Delta Two had distinctively chosen not to sit in Clay’s seat, instead sitting in a chair usually used for either Cerberus or a support staff member, depending on the op.

(It was very funny to watch Brock and Clay push a wheely chair with Cerberus on it between the two of them, and they’d pretty much mastered the art of doing it in the last few months. Cerb had found that if he allowed it to happen, he’d get belly rubs and treats, so he was unbothered about it)

The other seats had a random assignment, seemingly first-come-first-serve. The ones unlucky enough to have not found seats stood tensely, arms crossed and grumbling under their breath to each other.

Nobody sat in Clay’s seat.

All 18 operators looked up when she walked in, attention snapping to the person with the most information. As she walked in, her gaze caught on the table space in front of Clay’s chair. Clay had left his book on the table. It’s about as thick as a brick, and Sonny would probably take a glance at it and tell Clay it was as dry as one. The embossed cover didn’t read English, and Lisa had a feeling that there would be very few, if any, people in the room able to read any part of the book.

She stood at the front and pushed her emotions down. These operators were here for information, not emotion.

“At 0145 this morning, 4 Green Team members entered Bravo’s Cage room. At 0157, they left, and returned to the Green Team barracks. 0204, Lieutenant Commander Blackburn entered the Bravo cages. He dialled 911 and was assisted by Alpha Four-”

She cuts herself off for a few seconds, as various operators slapped Jordan on the back, mumbled thanks spreading through the room as they reassured themselves that one of their own had helped their kid.

“Assisted by Alpha Four at 0207. Ambulance arrived at 0215. The Green Team members were apprehended by Alpha and Delta at 0248.”

She pauses again as a ripple of thanks goes through to room, Alpha and Delta thanking their Master Chiefs and each other and Charlie thanking both teams.

“Petty Officer Spenser was admitted to hospital at 0224, and was assessed as having a concussion, a broken nose and 5 bruised ribs.”

Alpha, Charlie and Delta’s medics all take note of this. They’re probably going to be on Clay’s ass for the next few months about this, right behind Trent.

“Bravo arrived at the Hospital at 0243. They are all with him. Hayes has asked that he is included in any appropriate punishments.”

Full Metal snorts. “Bet he didn’t word it like that”

A series of chuckles and grins echoes around the room. He did not word it like that. There was much more swearing, and much, much less formal language. He’d implied murder no less than 5 times.

Lisa allowed a smile to pass through the stony calm façade she had up.

“Command has delegated these appropriate punishments to be carried out within DEVGRU and have stressed the importance of leaving an impression on future graduates. This cannot be a recuring event.”

TJ pipes up first, almost before she’d finished talking. “I say we let Metal work his magic, make sure nobody finds them.”

This gets mixed responses, but Lisa isn’t surprised when none are wholly negative. They all had a younger brother in the form of Clay, and they had all trained for years in the art of killing their enemies as swiftly and efficiently as possible, and these candidates fell wholly and completely under the title of ‘Enemy’.

Metal gives a faux hopeful look to Lisa, and Lisa can tell that he’s not entirely dismissed the possibility, even as he does a terrible job at pretending to still consider it an option that Lisa could authorize. Lisa plays into the joke – god knows that Tier One needs some light in this disastrous day – and gives him the look mostly used for when Bravo (usually Sonny) suggests a stupid idea that shouldn’t had even crossed their minds. Blackburn jokingly referred to it as her “bad dog” look, and it worked for its purpose, making the operators put their tails between their legs. A few faces form smiles, and a few look to be wavering on the edge of smiling.

“No murder, and no death.”

This gets her grumbles, and not all of them are joking. Clay had gotten all of them out of sticky situations. Every operator in Tier One had a handful story where Clay had needed to be briefed on their op, and all of them had at least one where he’d taking calls at 2am to translate over a connection that he could barely hear English through. He’d never berated them for waking him up, and had often taken time to teach various operators key phrases, if he knew they were deploying somewhere where he knew the language.

Beau goes next, possibly the most level-headed of the Master Chiefs – both in the room and not. “Advanced SERE?”

Now this, Lisa can work with. Something about her posture must change, a twitch in her face, because the room suddenly erupts in sound. Charlie Two, Delta Five and Alpha Three all are in close enough range to clap Beau on the back, and they do so in quick succession.

“Gentlemen.” She raises her voice to be heard by the room. There’s nothing gentle about the looks on their faces.

“I’ll leave you to figure something out. Report to me with a plan of action.” And with that, she gives them a single nod and begins to leave. Her turned back does not block out the whispers of violence, but it does hide the vicious smile that’s stretched itself out along her face.

Nobody would even think about hurting their kid. Ever again.

+

As Clay blearily opened his eyes, he realised that he’d succumbed to pain-med-induced sleep. A few hours had probably passed since then, based on the fact that sunlight was now filling the room. Sonny was sat on his right side, gaze focused on the room’s TV screen, which was showing a play-by-play of a football game. The volume was cranked down, and even as Clay becomes more aware; he can only hear every other word.

“Son?” The word passes his lips without him meaning it to. Sonny’s head snaps over to Clay, so fast that Clay fears he may have given himself whiplash.

“Hey Bam Bam, how ya doin?” The toothpick moves hypnotically. Stop looking at the toothpick. Stop it. Stop it. Sonny’s casual expression is betrayed by the slight waver in his voice, a sliver of raw emotion that Sonny couldn’t fully supress. Clay gives him a strained smile in lieu of answering and reaches his hand out. Sonny catches the hand before it moves very far, holding it in a tight grip.

Sonny’s thumb absently runs across Clay’s unblemished because he hadn’t even been able to fight back knuckles, and his spare hand turns off the TV, leaving them in silence.

“Kid.” Clay’s eyes widen slightly, and he almost pulls his hand out of Sonny’s grip at the softly spoken word. He tries to get in the apology, the explanation, before Sonny can tell him that Jason is punishing him for being unaware.

“I should have being paying attention. I know I should have been paying attention, I was just so tired.” I’m sorry I’m so sorry don’t kick me out please

Sonny freezes. What?

“Clay. Stop. Stop-” he has to cut himself off before he says something that includes those really touchy-feely-emotions he’s feeling. Thankfully, Clay doesn’t take the pause as an opportunity to continue. “Stop trying to defend yourself. None of us blame you, Blondie. You were on base. You should have been protected. We won’t fail you again.” Sonny gives him facts, because he knows that if he tries to do anything else he’ll make it worse.

“Son?” Clay recalls a voice calling through the dark, through the black water he was floating in, a voice he’d recognised; “Did Blackburn find me? He- he had blood on his hands”

For a moment, Sonny curses Clay’s blessings as a sniper. He’d always been able to notice the little things, the things none of them would notice. “Yeah, he was checking that none of us were sleeping in the cages.”

Clay nods, and then his brows furrow. He breaks eye contact with Sonny and frowns in the genal direction of his feet. His face makes what Sonny calls his ‘Brainiac’ Face, and Sonny can only assume that he’s thinking about what happened with Blackburn, not rationalizing with himself that the beating was somehow his fault.

“Son, can I talk to him?” Sonny doesn’t want to think about whatever that conversation is going to be, so he nods and begins to gather his stuff. His cap is hanging precariously from one on the bed’s corners, his phone on the bedside table. He stands and ruffles Clay’s head, laughing despite the stink-eye he gets for it. Clay doesn’t mind it, and he has the feeling the next few weeks, if not months, are going to be filled with various forms of physical contact to reassure his teammates that he was still with them.

And now he’d asked Sonny to get Blackburn. God what do you even say to the guy who had found you beaten? ‘Hey Boss, I’m sure that what you saw was horrifying, but I’m alright now?’ God help him. Sonny hadn’t given him a weird look, so he’d probably been expecting Clay to ask at some point.

Clay’s train of thought is interrupted when a soft knock sounds on the door. There’s a second of pause before the door opens. Clay can’t think of a time when Blackburn’s looked worse. There are dark circles under his eyes, and a vaguely haunted look in his eyes. His eyes have a red tinge, and Clay can’t tell if that’s from sleep deprivation, or something else. His hands are rubbed red and raw, and Clay can tell that Blackburn had taken extra care to get every fleck of blood off his hands. He’s in a jacket that looks too big for him, and Clay suspects that Trent had a hand in that. Since the injured person – Clay – wasn’t someone he could immediately care for, Trent had gone for the next best thing, a shaken Blackburn. Under the jacket, he’s still in his fatigues, and by the time he’s finished the assessment of Blackburn’s top half, he’d moved close and sat down, hiding everything below his waist from Clay’s view.

Blackburn reaches out, putting a palm on Clay’s forearm, Clay’s hand mirrors it on Blackburn’s arm, and tension bleeds from Blackburn’s figure. His shoulders slump slightly, and he leans forward.

“How are you feeling?”

Clay considers lying, considers saying that he’s not in any pain, considers easing Blackburn’s mind. He decides against it. Blackburn had found him in a pool of blood, it’s the least he can do to tell him the truth. “My ribs hurt. But I’m, I’m glad you’re here. I’m glad you were there.”

Clay is the sometimes literally bleeding heart of Bravo, levelling out Sonny’s emotional constipation, and the admission is the balm of some of the burns on Eric’s soul. Eric leaned forwards, shuffling closer to the bed, trying to hide the blood on his knees. He hadn’t been home to change, a call to his wife at 8am had told her that he wasn’t going to be home for a while. She, like the amazing wife she was, had been understanding, and then grumbled at him to let her sleep. They’d both laughed and exchanged ‘I love you’s before his wife ended the call. Clay didn’t need the stress of knowing that Eric had knelt in his blood. Nobody needs that.

“Gave me quite a scare, gave all of us quite a scare.” Eric doesn’t tell him that he’d spent the last half hour scrubbing his hands raw, that Jason had needed to strong-arm him into the waiting room, that Trent had given him one look and offered up his jacket, that he’d had his head in his hands until Sonny had come into the room and told him that Clay wanted to talk to him. Doesn’t tell him that he’d stood outside for nearly a minute before he’d knocked, that he’d needed to barrel in before he lost the nerve to speak to his operator. He usually prides himself on staying calm, on being collected, but Clay had been attacked in one of the few places on earth that he could honestly and without reservation call home. That scared Eric. If he couldn’t keep his operators safe on base, where would they be safe?

“Davis is talking to command about adding locks to the cage room doors, make sure this doesn’t happen again.” If she wasn’t already talking to command about it, she would be soon.

Clay nods. He shifts and grimaces in pain.

“Do you want me to get a nurse?” It’s a safe question, one that doesn’t involve the emotions in the room.

Clay ignores the lifeline. “I’m alright as I am. Did you get the guys?”

Eric nods. Breaking the news to Bravo had been the highlight of his morning. “Command is letting DEVGRU work out how to punish them.”

Clay grins. “I bet Metal is having fun with that.”

It’s Eric’s turn to smile, and a soft chuckle makes its way out. “Davis is under strict orders to not accept a plan that involves murder. I’m sure Alpha’s disagreeing with that.”

Alpha was most likely to deploy with Bravo, and all were in line with their Master Chief’s ‘Bury-first-questions-second’ policy when it came to Clay. Eric had a feeling it wouldn’t take much convincing to get Delta and Echo behind the plan, and that Charlie would only argue on principle.

Tier One was a brotherhood that didn’t take kindly to injury, as the world would learn.

+

Echo One – Zack Greer – a newly promoted Delta Two, wasn’t a very outgoing man. One and Twos were meant to both complement and contrast each other, a precarious balancing act honed over years of living out of each other’s pockets. TJ had needed a level head, so his Two was calm in the face of crisis.

Echo Two, on the other hand. A Floridian man, Elliot Howe, promoted from Charlie Three, who was under strict orders to never drink unsupervised with Sonny Quinn, lest they empty a bar and then burn said bar to the ground. He’d chaffed under Beau’s tight ship, so when the opportunity to move to form Echo had arisen, he was hard pushed to say no.

Together with Echo Three (Alpha Three), Echo Four (Delta Six) and two Green Team graduates as their Five and Six, they’d created a tight brotherhood.

Echo Five, Dan Wilder, a multilingual K9 handler, had initially been lost at DEVGRU, not quite fitting in. He’d reached out to the youngest operator – Bravo Six – in order to get some advice. What he didn’t know at the time is that their languages had overlap. Together with Clay and Ares – his K9 – he’d been able to find someone to practice with.

Echo had long since lost count of how many times Clay had come into their cage room, with a well-loved book, offering it to Dan with a brief explanation of how it would interest him. The book was never in English, and neither was the explanation. For all they knew, Clay could have spent the last few months giving Dan anything from Harry Potter to The Anarchist’s Cookbook (he’d actually only given Dan one of those, and Dan was under strict instructions not to tell them which, and Dan had been recommending others back).

Sonny, on the days when they were hanging out after work, sometimes tagged along to these exchanges. He’d joked about a book club, and Echo Two had picked up on the joke immediately, and since then the pair had resigned themselves to the nickname.

Between Clay’s frequent interactions with Dan and the fact that all of DEVGRU was deadly protective of Clay, it was no surprise that when Echo had heard the news, they hadn’t been happy. Command had fought a battle with Echo to keep them deployed, and Echo had nearly won. Dan had been on many rants, talking to empty space in Pashto – Four only caught a few words, and those were all along the lines of murder and death. Ares was giving out a low, constant growl. Both of the DEVGRU K9s were as protective as their owners, it seemed.

The door to their dorms slammed open and Zack marched in. Echo looks up in sync, and if it weren’t so serious, Zack would be amused by how much his men look like Meerkats. “Got word from Virginia.” This sets his men on edge, Howe half-steps forward, and his shoulders visibly tense up. “They found the green team rookies. We’ve been asked to approve the plan of their punishment before it gets sent to be approved by command.” Malicious smiles break out among the barracks.

They may be 7000 miles away, but they wouldn’t let anybody off the hook because of it.

[violet-t-9]

My take on why Caleb doesn’t trust Essek

I’ve seen a lot of discussion about “why doesn’t Caleb trust Essek” and here is just my two cents (spoilers, written after the new episode 131 talks machina). This will be very, very long, so beware. 

Before I start, this post is not meant to be against Essek and he is actually one of my top favourite characters. I wanted to get my thoughts out because I saw many people take Essek’s side and I want to consider Caleb’s perspective.

Also, the quotes are not EXACTLY accurate, but please bear with me. NOTHING I say reflects anything other than my own, biased interpretation of the events, so take it with a grain of salt. 

While it has been a long time in real life for us, in game time the peace talk was not that long ago. Liam has mentioned both as Caleb and in talks that Caleb had been very paranoid about Essek for a long time, thinking he was working them for his own agenda and could be Dynasty’s traitor. However, it is also confirmed that Caleb started to actually trust Essek because “the other shoe never dropped” and consider him a true friend - right before (“like two days later”) being the first one to discover (through Frumpkin) that he had been right about Essek since day one.

Imagine what that would do to Caleb, to finally letting himself trust just to get betrayed right away and to have his paranoia proven correct all along. Of course he still doesn’t trust Essek now, of course he is hurt. After the peace talks, Essek didn’t even seem to regret what he had done (he straight up said “I can’t say I regret what I have done”, also said seeing Adeen in chains was “freeing”). The first time he showed a genuine change was in episode 124, even then, Caleb failed to read his intentions with a nat 1 insight check, so he could not actually confirm that Essek was telling the truth (he was just given the “hard to read”) so basically he had no way of knowing if Essek was lying.

When Caleb thinks back on their past interactions, he would have to think about how everything Essek had said could be a lie, and that would taint any good memories they had. Even if we, as viewers, know that Essek was probably sincere most of the time, Caleb doesn’t know that. 

Essek had been lying to the party since they first met, he got close to M9 precisely because he wanted to use them to cover his beacon heist, to make sure that they “did not get too close to the truth”. He steered the party in the directions he wanted them to go in, like actively directing them to focus on Obann. And Essek was GOOD at what he did. M9 told him a lot of secrets - that they suspected a mole and that there are two beacons in the empire, etc. Essek succeeded in his objective and got a lot of information he wouldn’t have gotten otherwise because of his deception. Yes, he started to care for them somewhere along the line. At some point, he found himself actually wanting to be friends with M9, but that is a separate issue. He kept them in the dark, lied to their faces, betrayed their trust before they even met regardless. Now obviously he was in a very difficult position and probably felt like he could not tell them the truth (how would he tell them, anyways?), but it doesn’t change the fact that he used them for his goals and succeeded. 

Now Caleb and Essek had a mutually manipulative political-game-like dance going on when they first met, but that was more or less on equal footing and they probably both knew what each other was doing (they were both pretty obvious). Caleb also used his training to “keep [Essek] on the rails”, but that imo kind of pales in comparison to Essek using M9 to cover up his entire heist. Essek did help them a lot, but he did those things for favours, at least at first. He never cashed them (except the one vial Caleb gave him) but he didn’t have to - the favours worked, M9 decided not to expose him because he went out of his way to help them. Even after discovering the truth (that he was the catalyst of a war between two nations, one of which is 3 party members’ homeland), the M9 did not try to fight him or report him to literally ANYONE which would have gotten him killed. Caleb even gave Essek the hope that there IS a path to redemption when Essek didn’t believe in it. So yeah if I were Essek I would too be very grateful to M9. If I were Caleb I would probably never trust Essek ever again. 

Essek is shown to be completely uninterested in the Eyes of Nine but it was a valid concern. He did commit high treason for knowledge, it’s really not that much of a stretch that he’d be tempted by the city (exhibit A: Caleb himself, exhibit B: poor, poor Yussa). Good for him that he is not tempted, but Caleb’s suspicion was not uncalled for.

The thing is, M9 do trust Essek still. They told him literally everything about the TT and the city. Caleb even showed Essek the eye. It just makes me uncomfortable every time people say that M9 are “bad friends” for leaving Essek alone, or that Caleb is “mean” to Essek for not trusting him (by the way, the line about “that won’t help with the inside” was meant by Liam as “commiseration, not condemnation” if you didn’t know) but look, M9 doesn’t revolve around Essek? They have a lot of things to deal with and Essek was not on their top priority. They don’t have a responsibility to “fix” Essek’s morality issues (tbf, they still kinda did kick start that process). And hey, it’s great that Essek has obviously been doing pretty well for himself in terms of personal growth without the M9, and he could have reached out to them if he really wanted to. Remembering to use slots to message and check in with people is never M9′s strong suite.

Caleb also really didn’t endanger Essek more than Essek himself did. Caleb did used dunamancy in the empire (not resonant echo that he specifically learned from Essek, but something he reverse engineered by himself), but Trent would never have figured it out if Essek didn’t voluntarily work with Trent and the Assembly in the first place. Also, Caleb did apologize for endangering Essek (like he was supposed to, Essek deserved that apology).

So yeah, imo Caleb is right to not fully trusting Essek right now, for reasons I have mentioned above. However, Caleb clearly still cares about Essek, from the “just breathe” moment, the worry he felt, how he emphasized on the amulet. A lack of trust does not mean he just doesn’t care. Caleb was also very adamant about trusting Essek (“one person we can trust is better than three we cannot”) over his old friends (and obviously Trent). So again, I don’t really see him saying “we trust you more than my old teacher” as an issue - it’s just a statement, which is true, they do trust him more than Trent even if Trent may come with more power and numbers.

Yeah, Essek is very remorseful now, but they’ve seen this side of Essek for exactly two episodes (124 and 131), so I am not really surprised that they don’t just immediately go back to full trust mode with Essek. It will take some time, some bonding, but I’m sure the trust can be re-established. 

Just want to make it clear, I’m NOT saying Caleb is perfect. Caleb is a very flawed character (e.g. a hypocrite in terms of the eye tattoos) and I can see why some would see his interactions with Essek as problematic (but really, it’s from both sides). However, I do believe that some people twist Caleb’s words to Essek a lot and interpret them to be more vicious, manipulative and colder than he intends them to be/than they actually are because they dislike Caleb, or like Essek a lot, or for many other reasons. This post is about Caleb’s perspective so I’m not going to list all of his own flaws. I just think that in many posts I’ve seen people take Essek’s side and blame Caleb or the M9 and seem to forget that Essek did betray the M9 and “did a lot of shitty things” like Matt said. So this is just an alternative perspective for those people to consider.

Feel free to disagree, like I said these are only my opinions. That said, I’m really looking forward to the next episodes. I feel like they can establish how Essek may fit in the M9 now and maybe start some great trust-building. I cannot wait to see Essek’s interactions with M9 and I think the next few episodes will be very important for the character dynamics. 

[cadaceus]

C2E141

One last time, y’all. This campaign and these characters have meant so much to me, and this seven hour finale was definitely an emotional rollercoaster. (Yes, I shed actual tears at one point, which rarely happens to me with media. But this is a special occasion.) These liveblogs are nearly as long as the episode itself, so grab a snack! With that being said, here are my very last liveblogs for Campaign 2 of Critical Role. As always, major spoilers below, so beware. 

- Veth taking a level in Wizard, god I am really gonna cry ten minutes into this thing...  😭

- We got our first “stay with us” to Essek, I am emo...

- I was fully not expecting to say goodbye to Frumpkin, but now I’m on the verge of tears... farewell dear fey friend (Marisha saying “that wasn’t supposed to be what broke me” me too me too)

- “You’re a good person.” “I could be.” “You are.”

- “I think you’re a good person” I never thought that I’d hear Beau say that about Essek and this genuinely might be what breaks me... she thinks he’s a good person.... redemption is possible.... maybe love is real....

- If I end up crying over wizards, look away

- Jester lifting up Fjord’s arm to snuggle beneath it made me say “awww” out loud  🥺

- VETH GOING FOR A DIP IN THE POND, I AM GENUINELY SO PROUD OF HER

- “Aahhh!! It’s me! Your wife!” I am going to miss Jester’s sending so much

- Okay that accent bit was so funny, I am going to miss all of them so much

- REAL MOLLY IS BACK REAL MOLLY IS BACK REAL MOLLY IS BACK

- Oh but he doesn’t remember them... and Yasha is trying so hard to help him remember, it’s so so sweet 

- Something about the way he said “Tealeaf’s nice” made me tear up... I was neutral on Mollymauk early campaign because I went into things knowing that he passed away, but this whole conversation with the Mighty Nein is So Much. Also “Kingsley Tealeaf” 

- “Everyone should have a brother” as someone with three of them, I vouch for this  🥺

- a) I love Marion Lavorre (and Jester ofc!) so very much and b) I can’t believe that Jester’s parent trap actually worked??

- “I do not think Exandria is ready for how you’re going to change it” got to me... and it’s also so true. jester has already changed the world just by being kind.

- Good bye Marion... I love and will miss you so much! (And many thanks to Laura and Matt for creating an agoraphic single mother who raised a wonderful child <3)

- Beau and Jester teasing Marion for having a complicated relationship with Babenon reminds me of Caleb saying he has a complicated relationship with Essek...

- LEAVE CALEB ALON E FUOIKJLKGKNL 

- THIS IS ....... SO MUCH WORSE THAN I THOUGHT IT WOULD BE.

- Caleb’s biggest trauma(s) coming back to haunt him, I am genuinely going to cry I’m not ready for this I’m not okay

- Beau saying to Jester “Thanks, cutie” I love themmmmm

- INITIATIVE AAGJASKHDKJ AAAAAHHHH

- Essek’s Gravity Sinkhole did nothing? uhhhhh Mr Stark...

- EADWULF???? HELLO?????

- Essek using his entire turn to save Caleb last battle 🤝 Caleb using his entire turn to save Essek this battle

- ASTRID???? I TRUSTED YOU??? WE ALL TRUSTED YOU????

- Another Counterspell chain sdfdghjkdl wizards !!!

- “It’s just business” is literally the Neutral Evil line, it always gives me chills when any character says it

- This hurts more after Liam confirming on Twitter that Astrid/Caleb/Eadwulf were all three a romantic item... please stop hurting Caleb, you loved him  😭

- THE FJORD VS EADWULF SWORD FIGHT IS SO CINEMATIC I LOVE IT HERE ACTUALLY

- Essek taking every opportunity to pull Caleb to safety makes me so emotional...  😭

- “You’re not the first student I’ve had to put down” I am burning with my anger for you, old man 

- THE DISPEL WORKED LET’S GO CALEB.....

- Remember when Matt said that Essek doesn’t openly show concern/emotion? And now he’s saying “I’m scared” in front of his closest friends and his worst enemies.... growth my love.....

- BEAU AND VETH LETS GO CHAOS CREW LETS MF GO BABEYYYY!!!

- FJORD COUNTERSPELLING THE DIMENSION DOOR..... and Matt having him describe it.... is this taking the place of a “HDYWTDT” *eyes emoji*

- CALEB GOING DOWN NO, THANK GOD FOR THAT DEATH WARD

- Veth’s illusion of Caleb’s parents flanking Caleb in the flames.... that got me too, Liam

- “Stay down.” yeah, okay, that was sexy

- ASTRID BEING THE ONE TO ACTIVATE THE COLLAR IS LITERALLY POETIC JUSTICE... Trent being beaten by the student who stuck with him longest I love this so much, she deserved that moment honestly

- Break Time, AKA Emma Makes Her Weekly Mug Brownie Interlude

- Sometimes I feel like “death is too good for you” is a copout, but in this case it fits so well, I want this mf’s reputation destroyed and the entire operation exposed and overthrown let’s goooo

- “I loved you both so much”.... Astrid and Eadwulf walking away.... oh, Blumendrei... I know this is not the end of your story. What’s past is prologue, loves

- The Empire Siblings are gonna burn down the whole system because it’s the system that enables individual corruption... I am so fulfilled by this, god i love them

- “I love you too” OH MY GOD I LOVE THEM SO MUCH, FJORESTER ARE THE CUTEST FOR REAL

- Jester and Essek’s friendship still means so much to me btw just in case anyone wanted a check-in

- Veth giving the flask to Kingsley!! Good for her, good for her!

- OH Blumenduo are back already! I truly thought that was going to be their last appearance of the Campaign, why is this taking me more by surprise than Trent’s appearance

- “[Caleb] notes how similar Eadwulf and Fjord are” this is Widofjord adjacent... this episode we have gotten Widomauk-adjacent, Widojest-adjacent, and Widofjord-adjacent (and Blumentrio ofc), now come through Shadowgast and we can get a full Bingo on the “Bisexual Maelstrom” card

- Speaking of relationships, I am lowkey into the Fjord/Jester/Kingsley dynamic LOL no one look at me I’m in hiding

- I’M NOT READY TO SAY GOODBYE TO VETH AND CAD 😭 It makes sense and the fact that they have their families back is beautiful but also consider this: I’m sad and I will miss them 

- The goodbyes to Caduceus..... I am going to cry aren’t I?

- “If he’s anything like his mom, you won’t see him until it’s too late” Okay that made me giggle, I love Veth and I love Luc and I love their little family

- IS ESSEK LEAVING TOO? THAT’S GONNA BE WHAT BREAKS ME ISN’T IT

- If Essek leaves and we never see him again, getting a triple whammy of goodbyes I will be so incredibly sad, I cannot do this  😭

- If anyone is interested, no I am not doing well

- I was lowkey ready to get an Essek’s feelings for Caleb confirmation tonight, I guess it makes sense that we didn’t but I hope that this is not the last time we see Essek... I want to write another emo post about him and about how much he means to me but I will refrain

- CALEB BEING A TEACHER IS THE ENDGAME I WANT FOR HIM PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE

- Wow, I really was not ready to see Caduceus and Essek go for some reason... I really wanted this Campaign to end on the image of the Mighty Nein together as all nine of them... I’m feeling so numb right now having to say goodbye  😭

- Oh, we’re in the epilogue now!

- When Fjord said “[the sea] is my favorite place to be” I genuinely felt that on a spiritual level... the ocean is home, it truly is and always will be for me as well

- “I CAST MODIFY MEMORY” FJORD LMAOOOOOOO

- Okay, that Widobrave ending is what made me shed tears for the first time this episode... not to be Personal but my biological brother graduates High School tomorrow, and for some reason this conversation just reminded me so much of me and him and now I’m emotional

- NOT THE SYPHILIS BANDITS DSYUHDFJKLSFJ;DS OKAY I NEEDED THAT LAUGH

- “I’d like to hear about your friend” Kingsley aww

- Beau giving Kingsley her first diary to help him realize who they all are is actually so perfectly fitting, I love that!

- “The other eight and I, yes” Caleb counting all nine of them again  😭

- CALEB BEING OFFERED AN ASSEMBLY SEAT WTF AAAHHH

- Oh shit, Astrid took the Assembly seat... I’m not sure how I feel about this, I feel so bad for her for having to stay in the system that abused her for so long and I would have loved to see her burn the whole thing down, but I hope that she at least has a sense of contentment with this title

- “I go where you go, baby” Beauyasha.... my darling loves....

- Beau’s dad??? But also Beau being the one with power over her father is so Good, I’m glad that she got justice on that front as well!

- This talk with Artagan... “I didn’t want you to be a god. I wanted you to be my friend.” and in the process my love you created divinity... maybe divinity is the friends we made along the way

- OH SHIT WE ARE GETTING ALL THE VANDRAN LORE TONIGHT I’M READY LET’S GO LET’S GO

- VANDRAN AND AVANTIKA WERE AN ITEM???

- Wait crack theory: Sabian was a half elf right? Could he be the son of Vandren and Avantika? Or is that too much of a stretch? 

- Vandran going with them!!! Also I feel like that moment between Fjord and Vandran was lowkey a tease to a post-campain Uk’otoa one shot and I am ready for it already 

- THIS BEAUYASHA MOMENT... “i’ve never known anyone as deeply as i know you” & “explore every bit of you in multiple ways ;)” & “your past doesn’t scare me, it only makes you beautiful” .... this is so much they are so much i love them so much

- “I will have you and then some” Beauyasha   😭

- I’m torn between “oh my god there’s still half an hour left?” and “how is there only half an hour left??”

- “You will let this Skyspear live at least?” oh my god so Yasha killed the last Skyspear then? Oof...

- YASHA GIVING ZUALA(’S GRAVE) THE BOOK OF FLOWERS, OH DEAR HEART

- And Beau’s talk to Zuala about being the luckiest woman alive and sacrifice.... 😭  

- PLANTING FLOWERS AT ZUALA’S GRAVE... “NO BETTER GRAVE MARKER” THIS IS MAKING ME SO EMOTIONAL, I KNOW I’VE SAID THIS A LOT THIS EPISODE BUT THIS TRULY IS SO BEAUTIFUL

- So... I may or may not be crying again

- Shadowgast with a steel chair??

- Caleb’s plan for saving his parents... it’s clear he has thought of this so much, oh my darling love  😭

- Caleb burning down his chance to change his past is so symbolic and something he really needed to do, it does make me emotional though

- The other book was him writing to his parents?? Oh bby boy  😭  

- While I would have loved for Caleb to open his own magic school (especially with Essek, or the Mighty Nein, or someone else as well), I am so pleased that he stays with Veth and that their friendship continues for the rest of their life because again: they mean so so much to me, and in a way they remind me of me and my biological brother (which I never realized before this episode) and yeah. They just make me Emo

- Also. Caleb being a professor was my Number One Endgame Hope for him and the fact that it came true is just so surreal in the best way possible. I’m so used to being robbed of happy endings. The fact that the Mighty Nein all got theirs makes me incredibly happy. A story does not have to be sad to be impactful. Happy stories and happy endings, especially during a time period of tumultuous real life circumstances, have just as much value and meaning and they always will. Caleb is teaching the next generation magic, and he is teaching them to be Good, and he is nurturing them, and that just means so much

- MATT CRYING IS GONNA GET TO ME

- “Let’s do it again” Please, let’s.

- Okay, everyone. I made it all seven hours in one piece with surprisingly minimal tears (though who knows, this might all sink in tomorrow.) I already wrote my thoughts earlier today about how much the Mighty Nein mean to me and how much this show and these characters have kept me holding on during quarantine and today... I’m still not ready to let them go, but I know that I can always revisit to say hello and to say thank you for changing me. Until then though... I love you all more than you could ever know. And for the last time of Campaign 2... is it Thursday yet?

Good night 💗

[professorthaddeus]

Out of Sight

This is a companion piece to @io-kj-cr‘s heartbreaking fic, Decisions, an AU of 2x128 where Caleb gives himself up to Trent. Would highly recommend checking it out!

also on ao3

—————————— 

They let him go. 

The chips were down, they were out of options with enemies at the door, Mama and Yeza and little Luc were not going to be trapped in a building with Icky-thong, and in that moment of weakness, they let him go.

“Cad, what do you see?” Fjord, grim. Caduceus is standing at the one window in the room, chosen for his keen ability to read people to keep an eye on the exchange.

The exchange. They’re selling Caleb back to the grossest person in the Empire, to his literal lifelong tormentor, and they’re just sitting here like it’s nothing. 

“They’re not hurting him. They’re just talking.” Caduceus’ voice rumbles in a steady cadence, ever the rock in the rapids. But Jester sees how his knuckles are clenched white around his staff. 

“Is he… how does he look?”

Veth, piping up from the floor, clutching Caleb’s spellbooks to her chest. Yeza’s holding her, Luc sitting uncharacteristically still by their side. He’s got a book in his hands as well. Jester’s heart thuds painfully when she recognizes the title as a collection of Zemnian fairy tales.

“He’s standing tall.”

Of course he is. They’ve all seen Caleb file away his fears and stitch himself together in the moments that really count. They’ve also seen him shake apart immediately afterwards.

This time, none of them are going to be there to help him pick up the pieces.

“This doesn’t sit well with me,” Yasha says quietly, fingers twitching toward her swords.

“Yeah, no shit.” Beau, pacing, coiled like she’s ready to pounce. “This was such a bad plan. I say we go ahead and attack them now. They’re busy with Caleb, so we could absolutely ambush them in a pincer move, or—“

“They’re gone.”

“What do you mean, gone?” Beau rushes to the window, where Caduceus is stepping aside. He leans back against the wall, looking lost in a way Jester hasn’t seen since his first time on the sea.

“I mean he and his friends stepped into a portal and disappeared.”

Beau’s jaw tightens. “They’re not his friends.”

“I don’t know,” Fjord murmurs, though Jester knows he would definitely be fuming as well if Beau wasn’t so close to the edge right now. “They did warn us they were coming.” He holds up his hands when Beau shoots him a withering look. “It could be a good thing. They might help us get him back.”

“With or without their help, I wasn’t kidding when I said our next step was going to be a jailbreak,” she mutters.

“Agreed.”

Veth lets out a shaky breath. “And he’ll be okay until then. He just has to hold on for one night, and we’ll go get him. He’s the smartest, most capable of us all; he’ll be fine.”

“Yeah, he’s way more powerful than them,” Jester adds, automatic. Something twists in her chest.

“Sure, except he doesn’t even have his fucking spellbooks.”

For once, Veth flinches instead of snapping a retort back at Beau.

“You keep these safe for me until I return, ja?”

“I don’t like this, Cay. There has to be another way.” There’s a tremor in Veth’s hands as she takes the books.

“There isn’t, and we are running out of time. Besides, he won’t kill me. He… ah, he has said many times already he simply wishes to talk.”

Jester winces. It’s going to be a long time before she forgets the haunted look that appeared in Caleb’s eyes every time Trent’s voice slithered into his ear today.

“Be good for your mother and father,” Caleb’s saying, ruffling Luc’s hair. 

He straightens to look at the rest of them, meeting their eyes one by one. Jester can almost hear him counting in his head. 

A wall slams down over his expression as he squares his shoulders.

“I am so sorry about all this.” He continues before any of them can protest. “Thank you all.”

Jester tries not to think it sounds like a goodbye.

She shoves the image of Caleb’s pale, determined face out of her head, swallowing the building lump in her throat. The last thing she needs—the last thing Mama needs—is for her to break down right now. 

“Well,” she hedges into the silence, “he’s got like, a really good memory, you guys. Maybe he doesn’t need them. Maybe he remembers all his spells.”

“I don’t—“ Beau starts, before taking a deep breath. Yasha’s hand is slipping into hers. She softens her tone. “I don’t think that’s how it works, Jes.”

“Oh.”

“Jester, I’m so sorry.” Mama speaks up from where she’s been sitting anxiously beside her. There’s so much regret in her face. “Your friend, he—”

“No, no, Mama, no.” She’s been so strong today, and Jester’s so, so proud of her for facing her fears, but she never should have been forced to do it. “This isn’t your fault at all. We brought them to you.”

Technically, she brought them here. Caleb can blame himself all he wants, but Jester’s the one who put a target on Nicodranas in that letter to Astrid all those months ago and the one who dropped Mama’s name into a conversation with an enemy guard just a few hours ago.

“Who… are they?”

“They’re, um.” Her voice wavers. She swallows again. “They’re bad people. Really, really bad people.”

“Oh, my Sapphire,” Mama hums, and it’s kind of crazy how those three words can sound like music from her lips. She reaches up to cup Jester’s cheek. “You and your friends are some of the most amazing people I’ve met. “And you,” she brushes her thumb gently across her skin, “are more creative than anyone in the world. You’ll find a way.”

Mama presses a kiss to the top of her head and then takes her hands. They’re smooth, warm. Jester looks down. Red and blue, just like when she was little, except now her hands can’t be fully covered by Mama’s. She’s grown up and stepped out of Mama’s arms and the sanctuary of their Chateau. Just like she always dreamed and plotted with Artie. It’s all she can do not to cry.

“Yeah. Yeah, you’re right,” she manages, tries for a watery smile.

“Jester,” Yasha ventures gingerly. “Can’t you talk to him?”

She shakes her head, blinking away the blurriness. “Not until tomorrow. I don’t have the energy left to cast a spell.” 

Caduceus clears his throat. “Good.” The rest of them look to him, startled. “Now there’s nothing to do but get some sleep so we’ll be ready for tomorrow. Mr. Wensforth, can you help us set something up for the night?”

The poor goblin looks up from where he’s been wringing his hands in the corner. Jester doesn’t blame him. 

Man, Yussa’s gonna be super pissed when he wakes up to find so many people in his tower.

She can’t imagine how she’s supposed to fall asleep, but Caduceus makes her drink some tea, and eventually she feels the tension of the day seep into her bones. Before it claims her consciousness, she brings the symbol of the Traveler to her chest.

“Artie, look out for him, okay?”

——— 

In the morning, Beau and Caduceus wake her and the others, careful not to disturb Mama, Yeza, or Luc.

Jester tucks the blanket around Mama a little more securely before heading out.

They all cluster together in a smaller room off of one of the tower’s winding stairwells. Caduceus starts passing around breakfast, but she declines, sitting in the middle of the floor instead and prepping a familiar spell. 

Fjord gives her an encouraging nod, holding ten fingers up at the ready. 

She focuses on the image of her friend, on the furrow in his brow as he wields magic like a weapon, on the way his eyes crinkle when he offers one of his soft, rare smiles. She fires up Sending.

“Caleb! Are you alright? Where are you? Are you hurt? Are you in Rexxentrum? I’m sorry, I had to wait until today to Send to reach you but we’re—”

Fjord’s nudging her, signaling the end of the spell. Jester blows a strand of hair out of her face, tapping her fingers against her knee.

She waits five seconds, ten, a minute. No response.

She bites her lip. “You guys—”

Beau’s there already, tugging her into a hug as Fjord gives her shoulder a reassuring squeeze. Veth lets out a muffled noise of frustration.

“He could just not be in a place where he can talk freely right now, we don’t know,” Caduceus says evenly.

“Maybe I should try Astrid?”

Beau shifts, but she doesn’t let go. “I dunno, man, I don’t trust her.”

“She loves Caleb,” Veth says, but again, none of her usual ferocity is there.

“Yeah, maybe.” Beau’s face darkens. “And now she has him back.”

Her words hang heavy in the air.

Jester shakes herself. “Look, fuck it, I’m just going to do it.” She takes a deep breath.

“Astrid,” she chirps. “Is Caleb with you? Tell him to talk to me when he can. Oh also, if any of you hurt him, we’re totally gonna find you and make sure you never—”

“That’s it, Jester.”

“You should send another one. Let her hear the end of your threat,” Yasha says, and Jester swears she can hear thunder roll beneath the mild suggestion.

Fjord cracks something resembling a smile. “As entertaining as that would be, I think—“

Jester shushes them as Astrid’s voice comes back. 

Good morning, Jester. Bren is well and unharmed. He is here with us and under no restraints or compulsion. He is home now.

Jester growls. 

“What did she say?”

“That Caleb’s okay and like, he’s home, or some total bullshit. She’s wrong, obviously.” She has to be. Jester ignores the building pressure in her chest, flicks her wrist to cast again.

“Please, tell me something, tell me anything, tell me you’re fine, or dead, but please, we need to hear from you, we need to plan our next moves and we can get you out of there as long as you just—” Fjord squeezes her hand. Stupid, stupid spell with stupid word limits.

Nothing on the other end anyway. Her eyes sting, and this time, Jester doesn’t try to stop the sob in her throat.

“I’ll keep messaging you, please Caleb, we’re scared and worried, please tell us where you are, we can fix this, we can get you back!”

Finally, finally, Caleb speaks.

I am well, Jester; returning was my decision, and I am unharmed.

He sounds so tired.

I need you all to stay away. Stay safe. I am sorry.

Silence once more.

Jester’s messages have reached across thousands of miles, over oceans and barren wastelands and enemy lines. This is the first time she’s felt the yawning distance the magic has to travel.

She swipes at her eyes, glaring through her tears. 

She knows what he’s doing. It’s what he’s always done, protect and shield and give and give and give like it’s all he’s good for. But she’s also seen him start to unfurl, seen him laugh more and trust more and take one careful step after another out of the shadows of his past. He knows he’s part of their family. They just need to help him remember what that means.

“He said something,” Veth guesses.

“Something awful and self-sacrificing?” Beau mutters. 

“Yeah.” 

Jester pushes back her sleeves, and she can feel a breeze drift into the chamber, the rustle of a green cloak at her side.

“It doesn’t matter. We’re going to get him, now.”

[bluenet13]

A Bloody Mess

Written for @badthingshappenbingo

Fandom: SEAL Team.

Characters: Sonny Quinn, Lisa Davis, Clay Spenser, Stella Baxter.

Prompt: Bloodstained Clothes.

Summary:  Lisa and Clay are always a phone call away. Especially when his relationship is on the rocks again and Sonny ends up in the middle of a fight after trying to drown his sorrows at a bar.

Links: ff.net - AO3

When Lisa's phone rang, her first thought was Sonny. But then she remembered the night before, how her application to join Echo Team had been denied, and the conversation that had followed. Her heart aching as she realized that Sonny wouldn't be calling her anymore, at least for things not related to national security.

Letting it ring, Lisa figured if it was important enough they would call again. She wasn't really in the mood to deal with anyone and it was her day off.

After a few minutes of silence, Lisa sighed, thinking that it was probably a spam call or one of the Bravo boys taking the hint that she wasn't available. But, not three minutes later, the phone rang again so Lisa ran to the kitchen counter where she had left it charging.

Instinctually, Lisa almost grabbed her work bag at the same time as she finally decided to pick the call, but ended up just frowning, hand falling to her side, as she saw the name pop up on her screen. It wasn't the base that's for sure.

"Hi, Stella," Lisa greeted the woman on the other end of the line, grateful that this was just a phone call so she didn't have to fake a smile, along with her cheerful tone. "Is everything okay? Clay alright?" She couldn't help but ask.

"Hi, Lisa… Yeah, Clay's okay. Well, most of him anyways," a nervous laugh escaped Stella and Lisa's frown deepened. "But, it's Sonny, I'm calling about…"

Taking in a deep breath, Lisa drew her hand down her face, because of course it had to be Sonny.

"Have you seen him?" Stella asked nervously as Lisa failed to say anything to her previous comment.

"Not since yesterday," Lisa explained, "when I left Ray's house, the boys were still there, and I don't know what happened afterwards. We haven't spoken since."

"Umm, okay, okay," Stella sounded nervous, and Lisa desperately needed to know what had happened, but she also knew she needed to get some distance from Sonny, regardless of how much it hurt. "Well, thanks anyways. Let us know if you hear from him."

"Wait, Stella," Lisa practically shouted. But then fell quiet. Things with Sonny were complicated, as complicated as they had ever been, but she couldn't just turn off her feelings for him. Sonny had her heart, and deep down she knew whatever happened, she would never be able to stop caring about him. "What happened? What's wrong?"

Stella didn't answer right away, instead Lisa could hear shuffling and whispering, or more like hissing, coming from the other side.

"Davis," another voice said after a few minutes. Clay. Of course he was there.

"Spencer," Lisa muttered, not surprised that whatever trouble Sonny was in, Clay was involved too. "What's going on?"

"I'm sorry to call you, I know this might not be what you wanted," Clay said, sounding genuinely apologetic. "I was about to head to Sonny's apartment but Stella suggested we check in with you first."

"Okay," Lisa said simply. Not really surprised that Clay already seemed to know what had happened between her and Sonny the day before. But as much was obvious from his tone. "Clay, what happened?"

"Um, well…"

"Clay! Get on it with it," Lisa hissed.

"Okay, okay, sorry. It's just… Sonny called me last night, like an hour after the rest of us left Ray's house. He didn't sound okay and there were too many voices around for him to be at home, so I asked where he was. He was at a bar. Not one we had been to before. I could hear shouting too. But anyhow, I met him there. And there might have been a fight at some point after that…" Clay's voice cut abruptly, and more angry whispering could be heard on the line.

"Give me the phone, you're taking too long," Stella chided, before she obviously took the phone from Clay. "Sorry, Lisa. The point is Clay went to meet Sonny at the bar, and they ended up in a fight." Stella was trying to sound casual, but her voice was too tight to sound fully natural, and it only told Lisa that she didn't yet know the specifics of said fight. "Afterwards Clay tried to get Sonny to come to the apartment with him, but he refused. They just got an Uber together instead and Clay asked the driver to drop Sonny off first. So we know he made it home, but now we can reach him."

"I've been trying to talk to him all morning, but he's not picking up," Clay resumed the explanation, practically giving Lisa whiplash from all the jumping between the two. "We just thought maybe you had heard from him. But you haven't. So I will just go to his apartment. Thanks and, again, sorry for calling."

"Clay, I'll go."

"You sure?"

"Yeah, I live closer to him anyways."

"Okay," Clay agreed easily, his tone betraying that he didn't believe for one second that was the only reason why Lisa wanted to be the one to check up on Sonny.

"Keep us posted, please," Stella added, to which Lisa promised to call back when she knew more, before ending the call.

Sighing, Lisa closed her eyes for a second as she tried to tamper down her emotions. God knows she was really making an effort to respect the rules and get away from Sonny on a personal level, but he just kept reeling her in. She couldn't really say she minded, but Bravo was already under the microscope, and they couldn't further jeopardize all their careers.

But, Sonny was in trouble, so none of that was important now. So, grabbing her purse and keys, Lisa wasted no time in going to his aid, because regardless of the status of their relationship, she would always move heaven and earth to save him; and whether that be from Tangos in foreign lands, or from his own self-destructive tendencies at home, didn't really matter.

-x-x-x-

Not fifteen minutes later, having broken more than a few speed limits in the process, Lisa reached Sonny's apartment and the first thing she noticed was the door being unlocked. Getting closer, Lisa tentatively pushed it open and stepped inside. Feeling a small amount of relief when she found the living room seemingly undisturbed. But her worry returning as soon as she realized Sonny was nowhere in sight.

"Sonny?" Lisa asked, walking further into the familiar apartment.

Getting no answer, Lisa went to Sonny's room but found the bed not slept in, which she was sure of because Sonny was not the type to make his bed before first getting breakfast, and the kitchen had been similarly unused. "Sonny?" She called again, louder this time. But she met only silence.

Moving to Sonny's bathroom Lisa found it empty too and her worry began to increase as she realized that so far she hadn't seen his keys or wallet either. For a brief moment she wondered if maybe Sonny had contacted another member of the team, like Trent since he was the medic. But all further questions flew out of her mind as soon as she noticed the first droplets of blood on the living room floor. Following the path, Lisa reached the last place she had not searched yet.

"Sonny?" Lisa asked again, as she got close to the guest bathroom. The door was slightly ajar but the sight didn't look inviting at all. Lisa couldn't really explain why, until she saw what looked suspiciously like a bloody handprint on the otherwise white wood.

Her mind in overdrive, Lisa pushed the door open and gasped as soon as she saw Sonny collapsed on the bathroom floor, blood soaking the tile and pooling under him. His clothes were so bloody that Lisa wondered how she hadn't seen a blood trail as soon as she came into the apartment, or maybe she had, and her mind had just tried to protect her by blocking the sight until it just couldn't do it anymore.

"Hey, Sonny, wake up," Lisa said as soon as she was kneeling next to him, doing her best to avoid all the blood on the floor. But Sonny didn't answer or even stir.

Running back to Sonny's room, Lisa grabbed the medkit that he kept in his bathroom before she again kneeled next to him. Slowly, she lifted Sonny's hand from where it was pressed to his side, quickly having noticed this was the bloodiest spot on his shirt, and instantly cursed when she noticed the very obvious stab wound.

"Damn it, Sonny," she said to herself. "And damn you, Clay." Because how could he not have realized this would need stitches and probably antibiotics too, just to be safe.

Trying to be careful but effective, Lisa grabbed gauze and pushed down on the gushing wound, attempting to halt the flow of blood, because seeing how much of it was currently on the floor and on Sonny's jeans and shirt, Lisa knew he couldn't afford to lose any more of it.

Lisa's movements must have been careful enough because Sonny didn't wake through it all, but as soon as she began packing the wound, he began to stir and grunt. His eyes flying open as soon as Lisa pushed the gauze further in.

"Stay there, don't move," Lisa said through gritted teeth as soon as Sonny tried to move away. She hated to cause Sonny pain, of the physical kind at least, because she knew the day before she had caused him a lot of emotional ache. But she knew enough of first aid, from her own training and also Trent, to recognize she needed to pack the wound to stop further hemorrhaging.

"Lisa?" Sonny asked, eyes now at half-mast, his breathing coming in small puffs of air, except when he gasped every time Lisa pushed more gauze into the wound. "What are you doing here?"

"I should be asking you that question, Sonny," Lisa argued, barely able to suppress her anger, "you should be in a hospital!"

"No need, I took care of it," Sonny explained, a sad imitation of a grin on his face.

"Does this look taken care of?" Lisa hissed, lifting a bloody towel to show Sonny how not taken care of this really was. "You're lucky you didn't bleed out! Of all the stupid things… I swear I will kill you myself if you ever pull a stunt like this again." Lisa continued to rant, even as she never stopped working, finishing packing the wound before taping the gauze in place and moving to check the rest of Sonny.

"Okay, maybe not taken care of," Sonny admitted softly, letting out a nervous chuckle. "But, don't be mad," he whined, looking up at Lisa as his eyes began to flutter shut. "I don't like it when you're mad with me."

"Don't you dare pass out on me, Sonny Quinn," Lisa threatened, "and if you don't want me to be mad, then stop doing stupid shit like this!"

"I'm sorry," Sonny said with a pained exhale, "didn't mean to get into the fight, just wanted a drink…"

"Didn't you have enough drinks at Ray's?" Lisa asked incredulously, even as she knew she was the reason he needed more.

At that, Sonny just shrugged, letting his eyes finally close.

"Sonny!" Lisa shouted, shaking him awake, and gently slapping his cheeks.

Opening his eyes, Sonny tried to focus on Lisa, throwing her his best apologetic look, but his eyes began to flutter again. "Sorry, tired," he mumbled.

"Come on, please Sonny you got to stay awake," Lisa begged.

Finally convinced that the worst of the wounds was treated for now, and Sonny wouldn't bleed out in front of her, Lisa took her phone out of her pocket and searched her favorites list for Trent's number. But a weak hand on her arm stopped her so she looked down.

"What are you doing?" Sonny asked weakly.

"What do you think I'm doing? I'm calling Trent, then I'm calling 9-1-1," Lisa snapped.

"No, don't call Trent. I'm okay. And, the team can't know about this." Sonny explained weekly, using his remaining strength to try to lift himself from the floor, but he only made it a few inches before he collapsed again, ending up slumped in between the sink and wall.

"Sonny how do you expect to hide this?" Lisa asked, gesturing to his body.

"And this," a voice said from the door, and both Sonny and Lisa turned to find Stella pointing at Clay's black eye, and split lip.

"How can we help?" Clay said at the same time as Stella spoke, his key to Sonny's apartment still held tightly on his hand.

"I think you already helped enough," Lisa quipped, looking at Clay with accusatory eyes.

"I, um…" Clay ran his hand through his hair, wincing when he got too far down and bumped the bruise on his eye. The explanation of what had happened was something for Sonny to share with Lisa, so with nothing to say, Clay just ignored her and moved forward, kneeling on Sonny's other side and beginning to pack and wrap a smaller wound.

"It's not his fault," Sonny said.

"The hell it's not!" Lisa all but shouted, "why is it you two always end up in trouble together?"

Clay and Sonny shared a brief look at the question, both shrugging because they didn't have a good answer.

"Clay was only helping," Sonny explained, his voice barely above a whisper. "I got into a fight at this bar, and even I have self-preservation enough to know I wouldn't get far against seven. They were blocking the exit so I hid in the bathroom and called Clay."

"And you just showed up, just like that?" Lisa couldn't help but ask.

"Yes," Stella said simply.

"Of course," Clay said at the same time, his tone basically asking how could he not.

"So, yeah, Clay showed up and I was still locked inside the bathroom," Sonny stopped as he began to stumble on his words, "he tried to get the men to back down and leave us alone. Apologized for whatever had happened. But then I heard a crash and Clay grunting. I got out, and well, a fight broke out. And one of them must have had a knife." He ended the explanation with a hopeless shrug.

"I'm sorry I couldn't stop this from happening," Clay said sincerely, looking at Lisa, "but this is the first time I'm hearing anything about knives. My guys were all fists," he explains, pointing to his black eye.

"A lot of fists apparently," Stella added, stepping close to Clay, and lifting his shirt to show various hand-shaped bruises on his abdomen.

Uncomfortable with the attention, Clay pushed his shirt back down and continued working on Sonny's injuries. Now gently prodding the bruising on his friend's stomach, trying to determine if they should also be worried about internal injuries or broken ribs.

"Lisa, did you already call Trent or should I?" Stella asked with a wince, needing to feel useful but also feeling sympathetic towards her boyfriend and his best friend, because Trent wouldn't be a happy man when he set his eyes on them.

"No Trent," Sonny said again.

"Come on, Sonny. Even you must be smart enough to know we can hide this from the team. They will find out eventually," Clay retorted.

"Bravo is already in hot water. Can't make it worse," Sonny tried to argue.

"Okay, we can figure out what to do about the team later, but I'm calling 9-1-1 now," Lisa said, stopping any further discussion and already beginning to dial.

"Can you just put in some stitches? I don't care if the scar is pretty," Sonny begged.

"Maybe last night, but now you also need a transfusion and antibiotics. Too bad you didn't think it important enough to ask for help when this happened," Lisa pointed out.

Grunting, Sonny let his head fall into his chest, knowing that he wasn't winning this argument.

"I'll go make the call. Stella, keep an eye on these two and make sure they don't make any more dumb choices," Lisa said, even as she sent a grateful look Clay's way. Because even with Stella back in the picture, Clay had dropped everything and got himself into a fight just to help Sonny. And Lisa was sincerely thankful knowing that Clay would always be the one standing alongside her on Sonny's self-destructive corner.

Stella just nodded but said nothing, and as Lisa walked out, she had the decency to silently wonder if maybe she should have asked the other woman to call instead. Stella was looking a little green, and her stomach must have been queasy at the sight and smell of all the blood. Another reminder that this world she had chosen was really different to hers, but showing this time she was fully committed to making it work because her love for Clay was greater than her fears.

"Ambulance should be here soon," Lisa said as soon as she stepped back into the room, instantly going back to the floor and sitting next to Sonny. And, against her better judgment, intertwining their fingers together.

"Thank you," Sonny whispered, squeezing her hand weakly.

"Anytime, Sonny, anytime," Lisa promised. And even if the previous day had again shaken their dreams and thrown new hurdles their way, Lisa was certain those words would always be nothing but the truth.

A knock on the door broke the moment, as everyone moved back into action. Stella going to open the door for the paramedics, and Clay moving to Sonny's room to grab his go bag and some clean clothes so he could later change out of the bloodstained ones, while Lisa stayed right by Sonny's side.

With the two stab wounds already packed and their patient stable enough, the paramedics made quick work of loading Sonny into a stretcher and wheeling him down to the waiting ambulance. Lisa, Clay and Stella following close behind.

As they reached the parking lot, Clay and Stella stood to the side while Sonny was moved into the ambulance, Lisa jumping in after him, her posture and scowl daring the paramedics to object. Both Clay and Stella ready to get in her car and follow them to the hospital.

Just before the double doors to the ambulance closed, Lisa looked back at Clay and mouthed a silent thank you. Because as it turned out she wasn't the only one ready to move heaven and earth to keep Sonny safe.

Silently, Clay nodded nonchalantly, moving closer to Stella and drawing her to him. Holding his girlfriend's hand, Clay nodded again, a smile on his face. His eyes telling Lisa all that his words weren't. There was a lot to figure out and Lisa still needed to learn the specifics of what had happened at the bar and to remind Sonny that he needed to take better care of himself, not only for them, but also for his unborn child. But at that moment, Lisa truly believed that in the end everything would be okay. All the proof she needed was standing right in front of her, because just a year ago Clay and Stella seemed impossible, but here they were. And someday in the future, Sonny and Lisa would be too.

[alidravana]

FanFic Friday - 6/4/2021

Here's a short drabble for the picture prompt by @rebelwrites​ for this week.  It’s not really complete, so I will only be posting it on tumblr for now.  

Fandom: SEAL Team (TV)

Pairing: Trent Sawyer/Clay Spencer

Rating: T

Warnings: Reference to a flashback,

If you are interested to read my other Trent/Clay fics, here is the link to my works on A03.  

Thanks and happy Friday!

"Well, there goes our exfil," Brock said sourly, as they all sat and watched as their escape burned to a crisp in a huge ball of fire.

Trent shook his head in dismay.  He would have thought that the four of them, fully trained Navy SEALs, would be able to beat an online MMO campaign with ease, but this was the fourth time they had attempted this level and had their escape blown up.

"I thought you said this game was easy?" Sonny said, tossing his controller in disgust.  Trent could hear the clunk as it hit something hard from the headset.  Probably not a good sign.  

"Let's call it quits for tonight, I gotta get some sleep," Trent suggested, putting down his own controller but much gentler than Sonny did.  Brock and Sonny echoed their agreement, with a bit of teasing about who he planned on sleeping with but surprisingly Clay didn't respond, which was odd for him.

Glancing down at his partner, who had chosen to sit at the other end of the couch so as not to jostle Trent once they got playing, Clay was still staring at the screen.  As Trent took a closer look, he noticed that Clay was sitting upright, his back as straight as it could be and he was as stiff as a board. Shuffling closer to Clay on the couch, Trent could see the slight shake in Clay's left hand as he clasped his left leg. 

Trent was able to quickly put two and two together.  He hadn't thought about it too much at the time, but the sound effects for the game were incredibly well done, and obviously, a little too close to the sounds of an actual car bomb.  

"Clay, babe.  We are at our apartment, you are safe, everyone is safe." Trent started off with, reminding Clay where they were.  He wanted nothing more than to hug his partner, but knew contact was not a good idea right now. "Can you please tell me five things that you can see?" Trent asked, relieved to see Clay glance briefly at him.

"You...the television, my controller...the blanket and the coffee table," Clay slowly recounted, looking around where he was sitting.

"Okay, four things that you can touch?" Trent asked, wanting to ground his partner and dial back his anxiety.

"The blanket," Clay ran his hand over the soft material, having pulled it from the back of the couch earlier in the night.  "The couch...my pants….and you?" Clay said, reaching out to grab Trent's closest hand.  

Trent smiled, there was his partner returning, he thought as he spotted the little smirk on Clay's face as he reached for him.  "Do you want to do the rest or are you good?" Trent asked, squeezing his partner's hand gently.  

"I think I'm good," Clay said after a few moments of silence, making the move to lean into Trent's embrace.  "But I think I'm going to take a rain check on doing that level again."  He was really surprised that it had affected him that much, but in the comfort and safety of their apartment, the familiar sounds of what happened in Manila were startling, to say the least.

Trent nodded in agreement as he ran his fingers through Clay's curls.  "Well, from the sounds of the clunk that Sonny's controller made, I don't think anyone will be playing that game for a while," Trent commented with a smile.

[cantpickonefandoms]

Gwent Week: Day 2: Song

You're on the phone with your girlfriend

Gwen stood, waiting patiently at the bus shelter for the bus to come. As Gwen was waiting, she suddenly heard talking behind her, she looked behind to see Trent coming up the street, Gwen felt her stomach flip, as it always did whenever she saw Trent. Trent was talking his cellphone and, from what Gwen could see, he was having an argument with the other person, or least, that’s what Gwen guessed was going on, based off the frustration on Trent’s face, he also appeared to talking quickly, and he was gesturing wildly with his free hand. Gwen watched Trent up until he suddenly pulled his phone away from his ear and stuffed it in his pocket. Gwen then realized she had been staring and quickly turned away, she hoped Trent hadn’t noticed. She felt Trent stop and stand next to her, Gwen turned her head so she could look at him, he was frowning, clearly the argument he had put Trent in a bad mood. “Um, hi Trent.” Gwen said carefully, she wasn’t sure if Trent would want to talk, Trent quickly turned his head to look at her, it was almost as if this was first time he had noticed her that morning. “Oh, hey Gwen.” Trent said, offering her a small smile. Gwen chewed her bottom lip nervously, was it her place to ask about the argument? She wasn’t particularly close with Trent, sure, Gwen had been crushing on him since the ninth grade, but they had only talked on a handful of occasions. Nevertheless, Gwen allowed her curiosity to win her over. “So, it kind of looked like you were arguing with someone...”  

She's upset, she's going off about something that you said

“Huh?” Trent looked at her with confusion. Gwen cringed, she was starting to regret asking. “It looked like you were arguing with someone over the phone.” Gwen elaborated. “Oh.” Trent said, he turned his head down so he was looking his shoes. “Yeah, it was Heather. I made a joke that she didn’t appreciate, and she blew up on me.” “Hmm.” Gwen said, restraining from expressing her actual opinion on Heather. Heather, in Gwen’s opinion, was Satan’s love child, she was the evil queen of Gwen’s high school, she relished in making other people’s lives miserable, she was also Trent’s girlfriend. How Trent, one of nicest people in Gwen’s school, ended up dating the she-devil was beyond Gwen. She had a few theories, like maybe Heather gave Trent a love potion, or threatened to kill Trent’s entire family, or something else along those lines. However Heather managed to convince Trent to start dating her, one thing was certain, Heather had Trent wrapped around her finger, and it irked the hell out of Gwen.  

'Cause she doesn't get your humor like I do.

Despite Gwen really hating that Trent was dating Heather, she had no intention of sabotaging their relationship, Gwen wasn’t that petty. “Well, don’t worry about it. I’m sure once Heather has cooled down, she’ll talk to you and apologize.” “You think so?” Trent asked, looking at Gwen curiously. “Yeah, Heather’s just being a-” Gwen stopped herself, the words ‘drama queen’ were on the tip of her tongue. “...She’s just being a bit sensitive; she’ll get over it.” “Hmm.” Trent thought for a moment. “You know, you’re right, Gwen. Thanks.” Trent shot her a big smile, and Gwen couldn’t help but smile back. “No problem.”

I'm in the room, it's a typical Tuesday night.

I'm listenin' to the kind of music she doesn't like

And she'll never know your story like I do

Gwen was walking home from school, heading past the park, when she spotted a familiar figure sitting at a picnic bench with ear buds in his ears, connected to a phone. Gwen made her way over to wear Trent was sitting, she made eye contact with him, so Trent took his ear buds out and waved. “Hey!” “Hey.” Gwen greeted. “You’re in a better mood than you were this morning.” Gwen observed. “Huh? Oh, yeah, I am.” Trent said. “So, Heather talked to you?” Gwen asked, Trent nodded. Gwen wasn’t quite sure what to say, she supposed she could have said ‘I’m glad’ but that would have been a half lie, she was happy that Trent was happy, but she wasn’t happy that Heather was still with Trent. So, instead she pointed at Trent’s phone. “What’re you listening to?” “Oh, She Will Be Loved.” “Ooh, nice!” Gwen said. “You like this song?” Trent asked, sounding surprised. “Uh, yeah! It’s great!” “Oh, I guess I’m just surprised because Heather really doesn’t like this song.” “Oh...” Gwen said. They suddenly fell into an awkward silence. Damn it, why did we have to go back to talking about Heather? Gwen wondered. “Well, I’m glad I know someone who likes the same song as me.” Trent said suddenly. “Yeah, that is a good thing.” Gwen said. “Do you want to...” Trent allowed his voice to trail off, and he offered his second ear bud to Gwen, Gwen’s eyes widened as she understood what Trent was offering. “Uh, sure.” Gwen restrained herself from sounding too excited, Trent wasn’t single, he was just being friendly. Despite that, as Gwen was sitting next to Trent, while She Will Be Loved played through their shared ear buds, Gwen allowed herself to enjoy this moment with Trent.

But she wears short skirts, I wear T-shirts

She's cheer captain and I'm on the bleachers

Gwen sat on the cold, metal bench, overlooking the football field where the school’s football team was going up against one of the neighbouring schools’ football teams. But Gwen wasn’t really watching the game, she looking over at the cheer squad, clapping and cheering when she saw Zoey pull off a perfect flip or cartwheel. “Hi, Gwen.” Gwen turned to see Trent standing next to her. “Hi.” Gwen said. “Do you mind if I...?” Trent gestured to the empty seat next to her. “Yeah sure, go right ahead.” Gwen said happily. Trent sat down next to her. “So, what’re you doing here? This doesn’t really seem like your thing.” Trent pointed out. Gwen turned to him. “I’m here to check out the hot guys in their uniforms.” She said with a straight face. Trent’s eyes widened in shock. “Seriously?” He asked. “Yup.” Gwen said. Trent’s eyes widened even more. Gwen decided she should put Trent out of his misery. She laughed. “I’m kidding. You’re right, I don’t care about this.” Gwen gestured to the football game. “I’m here for this.” Gwen gestured in the genral direction of the cheer squad. “I’m here to support Zoey. Usually this would be Mike’s job, but he’s out of town, so I’m here in his place.” Gwen explained. “Ah, that makes sense.” Trent said with a grin. He let out a sigh of relief. “Don’t do that, you had me worried for a second there.” “Oh really?” Gwen asked in amusement. “Yes really!” “So, what’re you doing here?” Gwen asked. “Oh, I’m here for Heather.” Trent said. “Oh, of course.” Gwen said. Idiot. For a minute, Gwen had forgotten that Trent had a girlfriend.

Dreamin' 'bout the day when you wake up and find

That what you're looking for has been here the whole time

Since Gwen was going to meet up with Zoey after the game, and Trent was going to meet with Heather, Trent suggested that they should go to wait outside the changing room together. Gwen had agreed, and they made their way there together, talking the whole way. They continued taking while they were outside the changing room, until they were interrupted. “Ahem.” Gwen froze soon as she heard that, she knew exactly who it was without turning around, but she did anyway. Sure enough, it was Heather. For a moment Heather didn’t say anything, she flicked her eyes between Gwen and Trent a couple of times before she plastered on the fakest smile Gwen had ever seen, then she made her way over to Trent. “Hey babe.” Heather said in a sickeningly sweet tone that made Gwen want to rip her own ears off. Then Heather proceeded to kiss Trent fully on the mouth, and Gwen had a sudden urge to go find a fork and gauge her own eyes out with it. Gwen was just thinking to herself that Heather was kissing Trent for way longer than was necessary when Gwen felt someone tap her shoulder. She turned around and came face to face with her best friend. “Zoey.” Gwen said with relief, Gwen was so happy she had an excuse to leave. “Uh, you said wanted to check out that new restaurant after the game, right?” Gwen asked, thinking quickly. Zoey blinked in confusion. “Did I say that?” Zoey asked. “Yes, you did.” Gwen said, subtly flicking her eyes toward Trent and Heather. Please get me out of here. Gwen really hoped Zoey would get the message. Zoey’s eyes flicked to Trent and Heather, then back to Gwen, then her eyes widened with understanding. “Oh yeah, I did say that. Thanks for reminding me.” Zoey said. Thank you. “Alright, then let's get going.” Gwen said, grabbing Zoey’s as she started to head towards the exit of the field. “Uh, bye Gwen.” Gwen heard Trent say, and Gwen turned around, she was surprised that Trent had noticed. Gwen made eye contact with him, and it seemed like Trent was trying to convey something to her with his eyes, was he sad that Gwen was leaving? It could have easily been confusion as well, mor maybe it was nothing. “Bye.” Gwen said, and with that, she turned around and left with Zoey.

If you could see that I'm the one who understands you

Been here all along, so why can't you see

You belong with me You belong with me

The End

[sukunas-play-thing]

Making Dabi taking my strap is all fine n dandy. But how about when Dabi cathes a pervert from the plf tryna watch his girl take a shower? For ex the dude goes to take a piss in the house bathroom and reader is unsuspecting. Like he hears someone coming panics and hides in this large closet inside the bathroom. Reader walka in he peeks through and watches her strip and getting in shower then later Dabi walks in to being his girl somethn and he notices the door oddly ajar. What would happen?

This^ is the type of scenarios I LIVE for.

I wanna write this into a scenario but first,

Dabi. Like any other man whose got a girl imo. Wouldn't share. Dabi is possessive as fuck he doesn't care if his boss, or even the damn President wanted a piece of her ass. Dabi will straight burn a fucker to the ground. Without first taunting them, humiliating them and dangling her in front if them telling them they ain't got a Dick big enough to please her, but him

Dabi definitely doesn't carry THAT vibe most people would assume he's still the same aloof cocky crude asshole they've seen him be, but when it comes to his girl shit changes. She sees sides to him that he thought he repressed long ago. He's even told her his real name. And why he can't cry. The man is whipped but he doesn't show it often.

As for this little scenario piece. Here's some good fucking food with Dabi being possessive and protective. We gonna name this ahole Trent because I suck at coming up with names for randos.

Warning : unwanted Voyeurism, slight NSFW. Creeps being depraved. And Dabi protection time

¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥

He finished playing games after a long day of meetings and filing paperwork to return to Redestro. Stretching his back he bid one of the housemates good night before mumbling he had to take a piss.

Walking into the bathroom he didn't bother closing the door while he relieved himself ,looking over at a nearby table seeing a set of women's panties and a tank top, he never bothered to think someone was about to use the shower until he heard a giggle coming fast behind him. Cursing himself and ran into the clothes closet on the opposite side of the wall and closing the door to a small gap.

Before Hearing someone come inside shortly after and closing the door. Peeking out, he noticed the women. And knew she was with one of the new members that recently took over the MLA.

"Shit." He said through gritted teeth. That's Dabi's girl.

Mentally cursing himself.

----------

After kissing her goodbye he watched as her figure disappeared to take a much needed shower, as he began getting comfortable and ready for bed. He realized her towel meekly sitting against a chair, Dabi Groaned, rubbing his face in annoyance. She always forgets her damn towel. Grabbing the material from the chair he briskly walked out of their shared bedroom to hand her the item.

---------

Trent knew this was wrong. He couldn't help the mere curiosity of watching a women undress, he couldn't help the growing tent in his pants as more skin was revealed to his unaccompanied prying eyes. He let out the quietest groan he could muster as he saw her perky nipples Harden at the sudden coldness. God she was beautiful, seeing her this up close in personal since the day he met them all, once covered in blood and tired. Now clean and happy with a fresh hot meal in her stomach. He inwardly cursed himself for being this way. He's seen Dabi. He's seen this mans Quirk and knows what it can do. So why is he still watching this girl? While she unknowingly stood bare before him looking herself over in the mirror. Before finally stepping inside the shower. But not before seeing her full frontal as she pulled the curtain back. He let out a breath he didn't realize he held in. As he went to open the door to leave maybe he heard the bathroom door opening again. Cursing himself yet again, he quickly dove back inside the closet before almost knocking over the basket.

But this noise did not go unnoticed by Dabi himself. Who stopped dead in his tracks. He looked around the bathroom, the only sound being the shower itself emanating off the walls. If he wasn't so cautious Dabi wouldn't of noticed the closet door ajar. His eyes narrowed before making his presence known to girl girlfriend.

"Doll face." She muttered "Yes Baby?." He let himself fully inside before closing the door behind him, she pulled the curtains back beaming at him. "Hey what's up?." He merely hung the towel on the rack beside the shower before watching her expression fall in embarrassment.

He would've scolded her. But something felt off, something in the back of his head is screaming for him to check the bathroom fully. And thankful she forgotten the item. Had she not and Dabi hadn't of came in-

"Want to join me?. " her sultry voice broke him from his trance. Before Blue eyes landed on her (eye color) orbs. She looks so mesmerizing, with the way her hair clung to her face, the steam rolling off from behind. He damn near gave in. Until he saw something move from the corner of his eye.

"Hurry and take your shower love." Is all he said before sitting down on the toilet.

Feeling off by his behavior she would've pressed for an answer, as to what was wrong until finally pulling the curtains back.

Dabi walked towards the closet, Trent held his breath, feeling a deep, unsettling weight crash over his form. 'Shit, shit, shit, shit.'

Watching Dabi approach the closet the man wanted nothing more but to run as fast away as possible. At one point he thought Dabi seen him, before he saw him push the door closed fully. He let out another breath. Maybe he can get away with this unscathed..

---

The shower was finally shut off. Trent opened his eyes listening intently to her voice and her and Dabi made small talk. "Go change in the bedroom Doll, I'll be in there in a minute." He heard a small 'ok' and the door closing again. For the longest time he heard nothing and thought the coast was clear. The door swung open and before he knew it, was yanked and thrown to the ground so violently the man yelped in pain. Back and chest burning from the amount of air that was knocked from him.

Before the deep, heavy and suffocating fear returned and his eyes shot open to reveal bright angry cerulean eyes boring into his own. Tears welled and before he knew was thrashing his arms trying to get his assailant off if him. Dabi sneered, lifting the man by his shirt with both hands before slamming him down against the ground. A warning to tell him his efforts of getting out of this alive. Were futile.

Saying Dabi was angry would be an understatement. He was irate. And thirsty for blood at this point.

'Th'hell you think you're doing you little shit." He seethed. Dabi's hands already heating up from the mere intensity of his anger. "Please sir. I-i I'm so sorry. I didn't know!." Dabi scoffs. Grabbing the man by his head and picked him up and slammed him against the wall face first. Ears ringing and dizzy from the impact. Dabi was definitely more stronger than he first let on to believe.

"Fucking pervert. Getting off on watching my girl like some sick fuck.?" Trent was scared. He couldn't even form words. He felt ashamed in his actions. Terrified on what was to Come.

"Cmere." Dabi yanked the man by his shirt yet again. Dragging him off. "Where'you taking me.?" He dared ask. Dabi let out a sinister chuckle. "Were taking. A walk."

_-------------

And now the fucker is a some trash burnt piece of human on a sidewalk.

🥳

[chicgeekgirl89]

Mercy is Out of Your Reach: Chapter 1

Fandom: SEAL Team

Characters: Sonny Quinn, Clay Spenser, Lisa Davis, Jason Hayes, and the rest of the team

Summary: Sonny Quinn isn't sick. And he's definitely not too sick to escape the cell he and Clay are trapped in. At least, not yet. Contains Clay whump, Sonny whump, a little torture, and a bit of Savis. Shoutout to @bluenet13 for helping with the title! 

                                         XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Sonny Quinn absolutely, positively did not have a cold. Colds were for sissies and kids, not Tier One Operators. What he had was allergies. Or at least that’s what he told Jason when he arrived at the base, coughing and hacking. Because the hell he was being left behind when his brothers were taking off for a mission halfway across the world. He was not staying out of the action for a little cough and runny nose.

“Could you please cough literally anywhere else?” Clay griped, wrinkling his nose as Sonny covered his mouth with his elbow and hacked away.

“You should have stayed home,” Brock grunted.

“Let me look at you.” Trent pulled out a penlight and Sonny swatted him away with a frown. “Get that thing outta my face.”

“I thought you said you were fine,” Jason said, cracking open one eye from in his hammock.

“I am. It’s allergies.”

“To what? Behaving yourself?” Ray asked with a snicker.

Sonny kicked at him. “It’s ragweed. And pollen.”

“Right. Sure it is,” Full Metal grunted.

Sonny stood up and glared at all of them. “If ya’ll are going to be assholes I’m just going to take my charming personality to another part of this transport.”

“Good.”

“Go.”

“Yes please.”

Sonny shot them all a final scowl before trundling himself off to the back of the plane. He honestly felt a little bit like garbage; his head was full, he couldn’t breathe through his nose, and his lungs felt tight. He settled himself against a crate, letting his head drop back as he tried to take a deep breath.

The op was taking them to Morocco to gather intel for Mandy and possibly get to blow things up depending on the results. It wasn’t a Gucci mission by any means, but it was lower risk than some of the other ones they’d been on lately and that was probably good because he was already exhausted and they hadn’t even started yet.

“What are you doing?” 

He cracked open an eye to find Lisa looking down at him. “Sleeping?”

“You should be home.”

“I’m fine,” he told her, even as he felt his breath catch again and tried to unsuccessfully stifle yet another cough.

“You’re sick.”

“Quinns don’t get sick,” he said automatically. 

“Stop saying that!” she snapped at him. “Just because that’s the line your father lived by, it doesn’t mean you have to do it too.”

“It’s not a line. It’s a fact,” he said, sniffing as some snot tried to trickle out of his nose.

“You’re an idiot.”

“You know you keep on saying that to me, it might just hurt my feelings,” he told her with a grin.

She walked away and returned moments later with a bottle of water and an orange packet, both of which she tossed into his lap. “Drink this.”

He wrinkled his nose. “It tastes like piss.”

“Drink it anyway. Might help.”

He grumbled but she just crossed her arms and stared at him so he dumped the powdered Vitamin C into the bottle and chugged it down. “Happy?” he asked when he was finished.

“You should let Trent check you out.”

“You know, last I knew I was a fully grown adult who could make his own damn choices.”

“And last I knew you were a stubborn ass idiot.”

“Agree to disagree then.”

“If you die, it is not on me.”

“Absolutely.”

She was obviously still mad at him as she stalked away, probably to go huff at Mandy about stupid men and their lack of care for themselves. But he was fine. He just needed a couple hours of shuteye and he’d be good to go again.

He didn’t exactly feel worse by the time they landed, but he definitely didn’t feel better either. He sniffed and snorted as they gathered up their gear and headed out for whatever abandoned warehouse/hotel/house they were setting up the TOC in today. 

“Ray and Metal are going high on overwatch,” Jason said as they briefed. “Clay and Sonny will be at the café. Brock, Trent and I will be in the truck. Remember this is surveillance only. As much as a it sucks,” he glanced at Eric who had the good grace not to roll his eyes at his trigger happy team, “do not engage for any reason.”

“Not even if they say something mean?” Sonny asked, then rasped out another cough.

“You’re really going to make me take Typhoid Mary over here on a stakeout?” Clay asked.

“You know, none of you are being very supportive of my decision to come and watch all your asses,” Sonny grumbled.

“All right that’s enough,” Blackburn said. “Everybody has their assignments. You roll out in twenty.”

Jason caught Sonny’s arm on the way out of the room. “You sure you’re good for this?” 

“Yeah Jase. I’m fine.”

“We can do the op without you. Trent can take your spot.”

“I told you I’m fine. Ya’ll need to stop mothering me.”

Jason nodded. “Don’t screw it up.”

“Have I ever?” Sonny grinned and pointed finger guns at him. “Don’t answer that.”

“Drink this,” Clay said later when they were in position. The two of them had taken a corner table in the cafe, backs to the wall so they could keep an eye out for trouble. Both of them were in civvies, caps pulled down low over their faces, backpacks resting on the floor to keep their cover as “American tourists.”

“Why do you all keep trying to make me drink stuff today?” Sonny grumbled, sniffing at the cup Clay had put in front of him.

“It’s tea. It’ll help your throat,” Clay said.

“My throat doesn’t need any help.”

“Sonny shut up and drink the damn tea,” Jason said over the comms.

He did as he was told, sipping the bitter brew and wishing it was coffee or a beer instead. Or better yet NyQuil. 

“Okay those are our guys,” Ray said, static crackling in the background. “Keep it cool and make sure you get that device right.”

Sonny shifted in his seat, angling so that the camera button on his shirt would pick up more of the room, while Clay adjusted the listening device masquerading as a pen, right on the edge of the table.

“Bravo Two we are in position,” Clay muttered.

“Read you loud and clear Bravo Six. Hold steady.”

They got about ten, good minutes before it all went to hell. One second Sonny was sitting with Clay the next he was on the floor, ears ringing and then completely blind as someone threw a bag over his head.

He struggled and kicked his feet, making contact with someone who yelled and the next thing he felt was extreme pain in his skull, likely from the butt of a rifle.

He lost time after that, coming in and out. He was being carried, or rather dragged, and whoever was doing it clearly didn’t care about his health and wellbeing. He was vaguely aware of being put into a vehicle with no idea how long the ride lasted. And when he finally came around for real he wished he’d stayed out, because there was a man spraying him with a hose.

He gasped and struggled to get into a seated position, wincing as he touched the knot on the back of his skull.

Something moved next to him. “You all right?” Clay asked, wiping water from his face. His lip was split and there was a lot of dirt on the front of his shirt.

Sonny nodded as he took a good look at their surroundings. Cement walls and floor. Barred door. No window. A prison cell. Shit.

The man who’d sprayed them growled something in a language Sonny didn’t understand and then walked away. “D’you get that?” he asked Clay.

“His equivalent of ‘Fucking Americans’ I think,” Clay said. “My Tamazight’s rough.”

“What the hell man?” Sonny asked. “Did you see anything?”

Clay shook his head, testing the strength of the bars on the door. “Nah it was all smoke and light and then they hit me in the head. You still got your comm?”

Sonny shook his head. “They must have searched us, knife in my boot’s gone. And that water took out the button cam if it wasn’t damaged already.”

His lungs constricted painfully and he coughed wetly into his hand. “All right listen,” Clay said coming to stand close to him, back to the hall in case anyone was watching. “You’re sick. You need to let me run point on this. I’ll get us out of here.”

Sonny glared at him. “I am perfectly capable of helping us escape this hellhole.”

“I know. I’m just saying let me take point. Let me take the heat.”

“I am not letting you take the heat for anything!”

With a rattling clang the cell door slid open and four men entered. Two of them pointed automatic weapons at their captives, while the other two shoved them out of the cell and down the hall.

“Let me handle it,” Clay muttered to him.

Sonny shot him a dirty look but didn’t have time to respond as they were pushed into a new room. Sonny immediately spotted a tub of water in the corner and several more men, all holding weapons. Double shit.

He and Clay were both forced onto their knees and Sonny felt the barrel of a rifle press into the back of his still aching skull. He gritted his teeth. This was the kind of thing SERE school was made for. But that didn’t mean it was going to be easy.

The man who stepped in front of them looked familiar and Sonny had to work to conceal his surprise. Farhad Mahmoudi wasn’t supposed to be in country. In fact all their intelligence said he was hundreds of miles away at his home in Iran. This whole scouting trip had been about checking into his network and planning his assassination upon arrival. And here he was, six weeks ahead of the supposed schedule. 

“I am so curious,” Farhad said, “as to why two Americans were sitting in a café in a part of town they certainly shouldn’t be visiting.” 

With his neatly trimmed beard, glasses, and Ramones t-shirt he didn’t look like your typical baddie, but Sonny had learned they took all shapes and sizes. It wasn’t fair. Scum of the earth shouldn’t be allowed to like the same things as regular folks.

His English was excellent, slightly accented, and Sonny seemed to remember that he’d schooled somewhere Western, maybe London or Oxford. “Well me and my buddy here, we’re just on a bit of a vacation,” Sonny said quickly, and could feel Clay’s glare without looking. He was the senior team member. If anybody was taking heat, it was him.

“A vacation? To this country? An interesting choice. Some might even say dangerous.” Farhad’s face said he wasn’t fooled.

“Well we like a little danger.” Sonny grinned at him. “Good for a man. Keeps him strong. Ladies love that.”

“I see. This is interesting because all of the American men I have met who look like you, act like you, they are not tourists.” He fixed Sonny with a look of steel. “They are American military.”

Something slammed into Sonny’s back and he choked as he fell face-first into the floor, already sore lungs clenching in his chest as he gasped for air. He heard Clay’s surprised grunt as he hit the floor beside him. 

“So which is it? Air Force? No.” Sonny felt a boot grind into his back, pinning him to the ground and he coughed painfully as his lungs were further constricted. “You are not pretty enough for the Air Force. That one is. But not you. Maybe Army?”

Sonny gasped for air as the boot moved and caught him the ribs, not hard enough to break anything, but enough to make a point. “No, not Army either. Too tough for the Army. Which leaves…” Farhad’s sneakers, black Converse, stopped directly in front of his face. “Navy. Are you Navy?”

“We’re just tourists,” Sonny ground out.

“Not regular Navy then. Regular Navy cracks under pressure. But you, you are trained for this. You are SEAL’s.”

Someone grabbed Sonny’s hair and dragged him painfully off the floor toward the tub in the corner of the room, Farhad’s voice following him as he went. “I hear SEAL’s like the water. Let’s see if this is true.”

Before Sonny could even think his head was shoved under the surface.

There were tricks to water torture. You had to turn off just enough to not really feel it, but stay with it enough to hold your breath. None of that took into account the fact that Sonny’s brush with death in a torpedo tube made water of any kind an instant panic situation. He felt his body start to thrash, tried to lift his head and gulped water instead, burning inside this throat until he thought he couldn’t take it anymore and then he was yanked from the tub, gasping, dripping, and shaking.

“Hmmm, you really can hold your breath quite a long time can’t you? Let’s see for how long.”

Sonny lost count of how many times he went under. Every time he came up he could hear Clay yelling something fierce and he could only hope that they weren’t doing anything nearly as terrible to his buddy. 

His lungs grew tired and it became harder and harder not to inhale water. He was close to blacking out and if that happened he was going to drown. Every ounce of adrenaline he had in him seemed to seep away as water came up his nose and down his throat. And then, mercifully, he was pulled out and dropped onto the floor, gasping and hacking away like a dying fish.

Someone pulled him to his feet and dragged him back to the cell. Clay was tossed in beside him and the door slammed shut. “Sonny!” Clay grabbed his arm and rolled him onto his side. “Sonny talk to me.”

Sonny’s chest felt like it was on fire so it took him a second to gasp out an answer. “I’m…okay,” he finally managed.

“God could you be any more stupid?” Clay asked, his voice shaky. “Next time let me take it.”

“What’d,” Sonny hacked, trying to clear mucus from his throat, “what’d you tell them?”

“Stuck with your story. We’re backpacking. Always wanted to see Morocco. Asked if they knew the best place to get some girls.”

Sonny tried to bark out a laugh but it came out as a cough instead. “Your storytelling is always something.” He managed to heave himself up and back against the wall so he could look at his friend. “They hurt you? You were yelling pretty loud.”

Clay shook his head. “Not really. Couple kicks here and there. I’m fine. I was yelling to try and get them to stop, not that they were listening. Farhad made it pretty clear they only need one of us. And I don’t think he’s particular about which one it is. He’s ready to pit us against each other, see who cracks first.”

Triple shit.

[aethelflaedladyofmercia]

What Might Have Been - 17

@goodomenscelebration - Theme Prompts

Continuing to post as many as possible in one evening!

If you missed a chapter, they are all available on AO3!

CW for briefly described but very bad injuries; and for creepy abandoned towns

For those who need a reminder: “Crowley” is our Crowley, while his “mirror image” is the Alternate Universe version. “Aziraphale” (or the “Guardian of Humanity”) is the Alternate Universe angel, while “Kasbeel” is ours, in disguise.

I apologize for that being confusing.

Holiday

“Tell me about the angel.”

Crowley’s mirror image slumped against the wall, looking blankly at the space between them.

It was the only thing he ever asked. He never spoke of his own Aziraphale.

At first, Crowley had thought it was a trick. He’d kept his responses vague, evasive. What do you want me to say? Smug bastard with white wings. The mirror image had simply nodded.

Over time, Crowley started telling stories from their past, short ones, ones he thought over carefully, to ensure they wouldn’t reveal too much.

He likes oysters, way too much. Just. Salty, briny disgusting oysters, and he’ll eat a dozen of them in one sitting. Slurps them, too.

He can’t stand Charles Dickens. No idea why. Might just be that his customers are always asking for him, but I think they met once.

He’s been trying to learn to pull a coin from someone’s ear for over a century. Still drops the damn thing half the time. Isn’t it only supposed to take ten thousand hours to learn a skill? He’s coming up on a hundred thousand hours I think, and he still can’t get the fingers right.

And then, somewhere along the way, he stopped even guarding himself that much.

“He helps people,” Crowley said, turning his leg, which was still stiff and sore from the last torture session. The floor around him was black with demonic blood. “Even…when it’s really not worth it, even when there’s something way more important going on. One time, we were at this little restaurant in Italy. I turn my back for a minute, and there he goes, off washing dishes. He hates doing that sort of stuff, you know, always leaves them in the sink until I take care of it. But the girl in the back had been sick, and he sent her home and took over the job himself. Didn’t even use miracles, by the way, and couldn’t figure out how the machine worked, so he did it all by hand.”

“What…” the mirror image asked. “What was the more important thing?”

“Oh, uh, I’d been planning to ask him something. Not important what. We picked up the conversation later, but, um, he really ruined my first attempt.”

--

A hundred and forty miles to London.

Alone, Kasbeel could fly the distance in just under five hours. He would be exhausted, but he’d had a lot of practice the last few years.

He was not alone.

A Roman legion could walk twenty miles a day, setting up camp every night and breaking it in the morning. They could have made it in a week. Harold Godwinson had crossed from Yorkshire to Sussex in a little more than that.

But Kasbeel wasn’t leading an army.

He was leading nearly three hundred tired, hungry humans, most of them young, through enemy territory. Where they could be spotted at any moment and taken from him.

He took a deep breath, and walked through the crowd.

“Patrick, how’s the leg? Healing well? Ollie, make sure you hold onto Jennifer’s hand. Mrs. Sherwood, that’s not too many children? Please let Mrs. Kumar know if you need help. Amiyah, why don’t you move up to the front where we can see you? Alex, please, stay with your group, I don’t want to ask you again.” He greeted as many as he could, clasping shoulders, grasping hands.

When he reached the front, Lyla was waiting. She’d arranged her hair to hide the Mark on her cheekbone, as many did if they could. He bit his tongue and didn’t say anything. It was her choice.

“Are we ready to go?” she asked, tilting her head towards the highway, cutting south towards London.

“I believe so.” He glanced at the sky, black, filled with stars once more. It was comforting, and frightening. What else would change? “Let’s get as far as we can before sunrise.”

--

Ishliah had never seen the world before the apocalypse. Just barracks and training until the day the war started, then fighting, and fighting and fighting.

What spread before her now was almost incomprehensible. Little short plants growing everywhere from the ground, a vibrant, impossible green. And the taller ones – the trees – reaching almost to the top of the wall, branches spreading thick with fruit. Little animals sat in the branches, singing, not as varied or interesting as the singing of angels, but music nonetheless.

All that, and the sky above, brilliant blue again – it was almost enough to bring tears to her eyes.

“Ishliah of the Seventh Battalion. Welcome to New Eden.”

She turned, and her heart stopped in her chest. That face – she knew him, would never forget it, though now he was in uniform, flaming sword in hand. But the pale curls – the round face – the blue-grey eyes…

“You…” she managed, weakly.

“That would be the confirmation I need.” He stepped closer, still smiling. “I am Aziraphale, Angel of the Eastern Gate, Principality of Earth and Guardian of Humanity. I believe you met someone claiming to be me, three years ago, according to your report.”

“That…it really was…you?” Her hands began to tremble, and she wondered if this was what fear felt like. She never felt it on the battlefield, but this was much, much worse.

Ishliah had lied in that report.

“No, it was not.” He patted her on the shoulder. “And I don’t believe many others understand what you truly witnessed. I don’t fully understand it myself, but I mean to. Now. You said this angel…” a screen appeared in his hand and he scrolled down, lips pursed as he read. “Here it is. He took you into a hidden room and tortured you for information? Is this true?”

“Yes?” She cleared her throat and tried again. “Yes. There was a great deal of pain and…he asked me questions…”

Something caught her eye down in the garden. A group of humans, being led to a smaller walled area not far away. The human in the lead was shouting, and they all seemed to be bound together on some sort of chain.

“Even here we have our troublemakers,” Aziraphale said, with something like regret. “Sometimes the children don’t grow obediently as we’d hoped, and sometimes the Retrieval teams make mistakes when identifying the Elect. Not often, but we have been very busy lately.” He nodded towards the smaller walled section. “The holding pen is their last chance. Gabriel will arrive in a week to deliver the final Judgement on them.”

“And…if they’re found wanting…?”

“They’re cast out, of course. Far from here. The Eastern Gate, you understand, is purely ceremonial.” He gestured to the outer wall beside them.

Ishliah glanced down to see, not quite directly below them, a single stone missing from the completely smooth face of the wall. It hardly looked large enough for even a young human to slip through. She checked the inside curve of the wall. No breaks there – the missing stone didn’t even reach all the way.

She looked up again to find the Guardian scrolling through her report with pursed lips. “Ishliah. I wonder if, perhaps, you weren’t completely honest in what you said?”

She clenched her jaw, the fear suddenly reaching a height she had never suspected. Was this why traitors deserted? She would do anything not to feel this way again…

But the Guardian merely smiled, stepping close, lowering his voice. “My dear. Do not worry. What you witnessed was…truly extraordinary, and of course you thought no one would believe you. But this is no longer an isolated incident. There have been…other reports, curious ones, and yours doesn’t quite line up. But if you tell me the truth now, all will be forgiven.”

Her eyes slid again to the holding pen. “All?”

He rested a hand on her back, turning her away, until she faced him and only him. “Now, Ishliah. Tell me about the angel.”

--

“Tell me about the angel.”

Crowley tried to sit up straighter. His leg had healed, but now there was some great gaping gash across his stomach, and the way his manacled arm hung kept stretching the wound.

“He’s a complete hedonist. Foods. Wines. He goes to the barber every month. His hair doesn’t grow, he’s never had a beard, and he never even changes his look. I have no idea why he does it, except to have someone wash his hair and buff his nails. But he always comes out smiling, like he’s found the secret to peace on earth.”

“Nh,” the mirror image said. Crowley looked up to find he had a hand pressed to the bleeding wound on his neck. But it hadn’t sounded like a noise of pain. “I…uh, yeah. I know the look.”

“He likes to spoil me, too, when he has a chance. Trying to cheer me up, I think. I don’t tell him when it works, though. I’ve got a reputation to maintain. One time in Rome, there was this place with oysters—”

“Stop.”

Crowley looked across the cell, but his mirror image might as well have lost interest, tugging himself towards the corner to sleep.

--

After three days of travel they reached Burton-upon-Trent.

The gang of wanderers divided into teams to explore, looking for supplies: food, medicine, clothing, shoes, anything that could be used as a weapon. Kasbeel and Lyla walked together with Squad A down the empty street, hot with the kind of blistering heat that only comes on a sunny day. Barricades were put up here and there, signs of the Marked painted on the walls, but no one came out to challenge them.

“I don’t like this,” Lyla muttered. “I don’t want to fight, but…where is everyone?”

All of the villages they’d passed had been abandoned. Apart from the angelic patrols, England was apparently empty.

Kasbeel shook his head. “The Sainsbury’s should be up ahead. Why don’t you…” he trailed off, looking at a few unbroken windows up the side of the street. “Why don’t you go on ahead? I have something to investigate here.”

Two hours later, Squad A emerged with four shopping trollies loaded with cans of soup, vegetables, powdered milk – everything they thought might still be edible after seven years. Lyla doubted it would last them more than a day or two.

No sooner had she stepped into the overly-bright day – she’d forgotten how painful the sun could be – then she heard a shriek, a high-pitched scream of a small child.

She spun, grabbing a can of food, ready to throw it at whatever angel, demon or human threatened her people –

The wanderers had gathered in the parking lot of the carwash across the street, and jets of water filled the air. She could still hear the children shrieking, but everyone else looked relaxed, calm, many of them smiling.

“What’s going on?” she demanded, prepared to push her way through the crowd, but they parted, pressing her forward until she saw the set up.

Four chairs, padded and high-backed, stood in a line across the parking lot. In each one, a child sat, dripping wet, while behind them the adults scrubbed and combed their hair, snipping with delicate scissors. They passed a hose up and down the line of chairs, rinsing the children off.

On one side, Alex had mastery of a single hose, waiting until a chair was free. “Next!” Ollie ran up, bouncing eagerly for his turn. Alex turned on the hose and drenched him, from head to toe, while the little boy shrieked, jumping up and down in the water. “Alright, you’re clean, go get your hair cut.”

On the other side, Kasbeel had set up a small table with two chairs. He sat on one side, and delicately rubbed at Mickey’s nails with an emery board, a pair of glasses she’d never seen before perched on his nose. “Ah, Lyla, you’re back. Join the queue, but be careful, many of the older customers are finding Alex’s methods a little intense.”

“What are you doing?” Lyla shoved at the table, causing little bottles of nail varnish to rattle. “You could have been helping us find food, and instead you’re – you’re wasting time!”

“I most certainly am not. Time is a precious commodity, you know, and ought never to be wasted.” He put down the emery board. “Do you want a color, Mickey? I think the pale pink would look wonderful.”

And Mickey – tough, stoic Mickey, veteran of five battles in the demonic army, Mark emblazoned on his brow for all to see – asked, “Can I try the gold? I like the way it shines.”

“Of course. A wonderful choice.”

“Look at me!” Lyla slammed her hand onto the table again. “What is wrong with you? We need to get everyone ready to move, we’re still weeks away from London. We don’t need—”

“My dear, you most certainly do need.” Kasbeel pulled off the glasses, brows snapping down. “Look at our people. They’ve been living in the mountains, in the dirt, covered in their own filth. It isn’t right.”

“So what? Who cares how we look? Humans lived like that for thousands of years. Our ancestors didn’t need to be pampered, they survived with the bare minimum—”

“Oh, no, who told you that?” Kasbeel shook a jar of nail varnish and began applying the first coat to Mickey’s nails. “I was there, and I can tell you. People bathed. People spent hours on their hair, and their eyebrows, and their nails, and elaborate henna tattoos, although I wasn’t able to find any supplies for that. It isn’t about wanting to look good, or to impress anyone. It’s about taking care of yourselves.” He blew a breath across Mickey’s nails, encouraging them to dry. “Being clean, being groomed, it makes humans feel human again.”

Lyla’s lip curled in disgust. But she looked back at the crowd, the smiling faces, the way the kids splashed in the puddles with bare feet, the way the adults laughed behind the stolen salon chairs, passing the hose back and forth. The teenagers all tugged at each other’s newly-short hair, running their fingers through it, marveling in how light it felt on a hot day.

She hadn’t seen her people like this. Hadn’t seen anyone like this. Not in so very long.

“Fine. If that’s what you want. And since we’re clearly going to spend the rest of the day here, I might as well look for a place to sleep. Something that’s actually necessary.”

She stormed up the street, past the shattered windows of the salons and nail parlors, past the Sainsbury’s again, and around the corner. She kept walking until the sounds of the crowd at the carwash were long gone, then just stood, quietly, in the street.

She wanted to scream, until the knot in her stomach was gone. But she wasn’t a kid anymore, and she couldn’t find the voice for it. So, she just stood there, in the street, fists clenched.

Until Kasbeel’s hand landed on her shoulder. “Would you like to talk about it, my dear?”

“Talk about what? I told you – I’m – I’m looking for a place for us to stay.”

“There were plenty of townhouses in the other direction, you know. And I’ve already sent a team to explore them. Unless you think a, er, door stripping establishment would make a better place to spend the night.”

“I don’t know,” she said. “I don’t know why I’m mad, I feel like I don’t have any control over my mind. I’m just – I have a million thoughts racing in my head and I can’t even slow down long enough to actually think any of them, I just know we have to keep moving.”

“You’re afraid,” he told her. “You’re stressed, and although I forget it sometimes, you are still very young. I shouldn’t ask so much of you.”

“I can handle it!”

“Yes, you can. You handle it very well, taking care of the others, taking care of your brother before that. But, you know,” his hand rested under her chin, lifting her gaze to meet his. “It’s perfectly alright to take care of yourself, too. Indulge a little. Let yourself be happy. They deserve it. You deserve it. And it will make you feel better.”

“I just…I’m not sure I can relax anymore. What if they come for us while we’re all standing around, or—”

“If they do, I will be ready. I promise. I have not let my guard down for an instant.” He wrapped his arms around her, pulled her close, rubbed her back like a child. “That fear you feel. You know if the angels come back, there’s nothing you can do, but you want to be ready anyway. Your mind is telling you to find a solution that doesn’t exist. I’m sorry. But there is something you can do, I think.”

“What’s that?”

“There are many of my former colleagues who believe that anything which makes humans happy is a sin. I believe it is always worth indulging, just a little, to show them how little you care.”

--

“Oh. And one other thing.” Gabriel wasn’t happy. He often wasn’t happy these days. Bringing about the end of the world, it seemed, was more complicated than anyone had expected.

Aziraphale kept his face carefully blank.

“We have reports of a gang of hundreds of humans moving south, but the scouts can’t seem to get near it. Vanishes every time they try. You wouldn’t happen to know anything about this, would you?”

“Yes. I’ve been following up on these rumors for some time. The circumstances appear to me, well, nearly incomprehensible.” He hesitated, but only for a second. “It would appear these humans are being led by a rogue angel, posing as a scout or a messenger.”

“Rogue? You mean a deserter?” A brief flash of anger in Gabriel’s eyes, but it quickly vanished, smoothed over by something calm and patient. “Well. At least my best agent is already on this. Glad you took the initiative. Now. Tell me about the angel.”

--

The mirror image didn’t say anything today. He wasn’t a mirror image, either. He’d angered the angels who had come in earlier, refusing to cry out as they hurt him. Shoftiel had left him as a serpent, coiled mutely on the ground, and then they’d turned to Crowley.

“I can tell you about the angel,” Crowley offered. His throat was still raw from the screaming. They hadn’t even asked any questions, simply given him back his wings and broken every bone in them. It hurt, worse than almost anything else in the last three years. He wondered if it would ever stop hurting.

The serpent lifted his head, then let it fall heavily.

“He…he…” Crowley closed his eyes. It was so hard to think of a story. Not just the pain. His mind longed to be blank. “He is so soft. Like a cloud, like a warm blanket, like a pile of feathers. And that’s all most people ever see of him. A fool and a pushover and a – a – a lazy pleasure seeker who likes his books and his chair and his food. It’s what he wants, though. He wants to be soft.”

He closed his eyes and tilted back his head, ignoring the way his wings felt like a thousand pieces of shattered glass.

Far away, an angel led a troop of humans down the motorway. He laughed as he walked, carrying one of the youngest on his back. In the week of travel, they’d grown dirty again, their nails had lost their color, their clothes become faded and stained. But they still smiled, still tossed their heads, running fingers through their hair. The young woman beside him had hers cropped almost completely off, exposing the Mark on her cheekbone.

Suddenly, the angel stopped walking, his eyes locked on the sky above. None of the others had heard or sensed anything, but he knew what was coming. Three hundred humans gathered close in the shelter of his wide white wings, and his eyes took on the color of steel.

“But then…when he needs it…when the things he cares for are threatened…he isn’t soft at all.”