#northern irish lit

[mapsontheweb]

Meaning of the stems of the words for "rainbow" in the languages of Europe.

by u/nickanc 

'Rainbow' is typically a compound word in most European languages. Generally, speaking, a part of the word comes from words meaning bow, belt, ring, circle or arc in their respective languages or ancestor languages. The other one varies and is the main concern of this work.

Some incomplete notes on the meanings and the etymologies I gathered while making the map:

'sky god' + 'arc/bow':

Arabic from Quzah, a pre-islamic deity of weather

Maltese from Maltese alla 'god', from Allah, the islamic deity,

Karelian from Ukko, Finnic sky god

Lithuanian from Vaiva, goddess of Baltic mythology

Armenian is uncertain, supposed to derive ultimately from PIE *dyew- 'shine'

from PS *dǫga "bow". they all are not compounds, except maybe for Russian

'rain/flow'+'bow/arc':

Germanic ones but faroese from PG *regnaburô 'rainbow' obvious compound, *burô comes from PIE *bhewgh-

Faroese æla means shower (as in weather), formerly "flow quickly", from PG *ēlaz "eel"

Finnish from Proto-Finnic *satadak "fall, rain"

Irish and Scot Gaelic are compound words in their very language, there are many other interesting Irish words.

'arc of the old lady' and 'circus bibit', 'arcus bibit'. In some ancient folklore tales, that appear in various IE families, various weather phenomena are especially linked with magical or religious figures that assume the form of old ladies. In Italian and Romanian folklore there are the 'giorni della vecchia'/'zilele babelor' that are the days 29th-31st of March, when the cold is expected to return. In Romania an old lady is Baba Dochia that brings forth the spring and various other Babele populate the Romanian folklore; in the Gallo-italic folklore of Italy there is a folklore fog spirit named Borda that is an old lady personifying the fog, Gaelic mythology has its weather old lady Cailleach, the Indian summer is called in German Altweibersommer lit. 'old women's summer'. The rainbow is no exception: Plautus in the Curculio hints at a folktale of an old lady that drinks "like" the rainbow does or maybe is the rainbow itself, hence also other etymologies for rainbow related to expressions like "circus bibit", "arcus bibit", "arcus imbibens" etc.that give etymologies in various languages. Venetian arcombé and Ladin ergabuan come from arcus imbibiens (source), whereas Romanian curcubeu likely from curvus bibit and Neapolitan arcovevere from arcus bibit. Note that expressions containing the rainbow and the old lady or the act of drinking exist in many languages in this map and their dialects, just they are not the common word for rainbow. For example, in Moldovan there is brîul babei that means 'rainbow' (source), Slovenia has the dialectal word pijâvka 'rainbow' from PS *piti 'to drink', while in Spain and Portugal dialectal expressions that are cognates of the Galician one are apparently common, in Czech there is an idiom pije jak duha that means 'drink like a rainbow', i.e. being a drunkard. Ultimately all what I found points to a 1952 article of Gerhard Rohlfs, Romanischer Volksglaube um die Vetula, which however I was not able to find. EDIT: The Hungarian word is linked to the image of drinking the rainbow too, see below.

'thunder'+'arc' or 'arc'+'thunder':

Estonian is apparently cognate with Livonian pit'kiz kor(?) 'rainbow', lit. 'thunder bow', according to this source, though this comment offers more insight on the origin of the word.

Italian arcobaleno where baleno means flash, thunder, apparently from balena, 'whale', due to a popular habit to make many phenomena zoomorphic or anthropomorphic (the map I posted for fog in northern Italy presents a similar case with she-wolves). Alternatively, there is an article supposedly connecting the words of the 4. with arcobaleno: they suggest that, at some stages of the languages and the sociocultural development, the old lady was an old lady of the sea, thus a whale and their witness would be Galician vella 'old lady' which - according to that article - is a word that could mean also whale. The article is aimed ultimately to strengthen the Paleolithic Continuity Theory, so probably there is little to no scientific consensus on it, though at least I hope their examples are not as disputed as their conclusions.

color: teal. from word meaning "rain":

Polish from(?) OCS тѫча 'rain' and cognate with Russian ту́ча 'rain cloud'

Northern Sami related with Northern Sami arvedálki 'rainy weather'

Basque: 'horn of the sky' or 'sky god's horn', from Basque Urtzi

'arc'+figure of Christian religious figure (Saint John, Saint Martin, Saint Mark, Noah, the Virgin). The choice of the figure seems related to the days of these saints (St. Martin is during the Indian summer, related to 4.), though I have not that much experience on the topic to ascertain that. Noah is clearly linked with rain.

color: green. literally 'arc'+'holy woods', from Proto-Celtic *nemētom, cognate to Latin nemus 'wood' from PIE *nem- 'give, take' source, apparently suggesting a sacred role for the rainbow in Celtic traditions.

Curiosity, not sure if or how it is related to 9. and the other words conveying a sacred meaning for rainbow: in southern Italy, the rainbow was superstitiously considered the cause of jaundice, as màlë du uàrchë is jaundice (source]

#maps #words #nickanc #rainbow #europe

[brian-in-finance]

The actress Caitríona Balfe, center, taking her seat at the table. Photo: Rich Gilligan

T ENTERTAINING WITH

In Belfast, a Celebration of Art, Community and Pizza

In October, on the second floor of a former spinning mill in east Belfast, the visual artist and author Oliver Jeffers, 46, hosted a candlelit dinner for a group of Irish and Northern Irish artists and friends. The Portview Trade Centre, as the building is called, stopped producing textiles in the 1970s and is now home to 54 artists’ studios and creative businesses, including Jeffers’s, and his neighbors made up a large portion of the guests and the organizers. The occasion was a personal one — the launch of his 20th book, “Begin Again” — but he also wanted to celebrate his wider creative community. Accordingly, the evening combined tributes to both Belfast, where the artist has a home in the Holywood area, and Brooklyn, where he lived until recently and still has a studio.

VIDEO 📹 The author and illustrator Oliver Jeffers invited friends to toast his new book at a dinner in a former textile mill.

Jeffers is perhaps best known for his philosophical, understated children’s books, including “The Book Eating Boy” (2006) and “The Heart and the Bottle” (2010). And true to his style, “Begin Again” is curious, warm and quietly profound. “Not for kids, but not not for kids,” Jeffers says, the book is a vibrantly illustrated exploration of the climate crisis that attempts to lay out a hopeful future for humanity. “It offers an idea of slowing down, of using what’s near us — of starting over,” says Jeffers, “with the realization that we cannot do anything until we start to act with a sense of unity, to tell ourselves new stories that are defined by what we want.”

Jeffers, center (in tan jacket), sat beside the film director Lisa Barros Da’Sa, at left. Photo: Rich Gilligan (and Caitríona Balfe, at right… BIF)

Pearson Morris, the head chef of the Belfast restaurant Noble, pan-fried wild halibut in a makeshift kitchen set up not far from the table. Photo: Rich Gilligan

While guests gathered for drinks, the sun could be seen setting over the city; on the north side of the building, hills rolled down toward the sea. The food too — a collaboration between the local bistro Noble, known for its unpretentious ingredient-led dishes, and Flout, an American-style pizzeria on the ground floor of Portview — was unmistakably rooted in Belfast. Despite a limited power supply and a lack of running water in the room, dishes were assembled and cooked in situ using three portable pizza ovens and a small stove. The table was lit with clusters of white candles and, after the sun finally went down, said Jeffers, it glowed with “the warmth of a hearth at home.”

The dinner table stood at the center of the 10,000-square-foot room. Photo: Rich Gilligan

The attendees: Jeffers celebrated with his wife and business manager, Suzanne Jeffers, and a group of Irish and Northern Irish artists, including the actress Caitríona Balfe, 44; the portrait artist Colin Davidson, 55; the electronic musician and composer David Holmes, 54; the husband-and-wife film director duo Glenn Leyburn, 54, and Lisa Barros Da’Sa, 49; and the writers Glenn Patterson, 61, and Jan Carson, 43. “Everybody at this dinner,” said Jeffers, “was interested in the power of narrative, the impact of what they do and how it makes other people feel.”

The table: Guests sat at two long tables — pushed together to create a more intimate arrangement — in the middle of the otherwise nearly empty 10,000-square-foot room. The events stylist Rachel Worthington McQueen, 30, sourced an Irish linen tablecloth in the same navy hue as the book cover’s background. Mismatched dishes in traditional Blue Willow patterns (originally bought from secondhand websites for Worthington McQueen’s wedding two years ago) held squat candles, and food was served on simple white plates brought over from Noble. Seasonal blooms — including deep burgundy dahlias and pale pink spray roses — echoed the rich palette of the book and were provided by the local, sustainable flower farm Sow Grateful. Each display was tied with bright pink twine, sourced by Suzanne Jeffers to match the exact Pantone color (number 812U) of the book’s title.

New Haven-style mussels pizza by Peter Thompson, the founder of the pizzeria Flout, was served alongside Noble’s halibut. Photo: Rich Gilligan

The food: To start, Noble’s co-founder and head chef, Pearson Morris, 34, served crab and lobster from nearby Bangor Bay dressed with homemade mayonnaise and his Bloody Mary tomatoes (heritage tomatoes steeped overnight in a mix of vodka, celery and Tabasco sauce) on Flout’s blackened focaccia. “I bake things so you think they’re burned — that’s flavor for me,” said the pizzeria’s founder, Peter Thompson, 45. Next was a take on the classic New Haven-style clam pie made with steamed Galway Bay mussels, alongside which Morris served pan-fried wild halibut with a fish head sauce. Then came Flout’s Detroit-style pepperoni pizza and a salad featuring locally grown baby gem lettuces. Dessert was Noble’s chocolate delice — jaconde sponge cake topped with salted caramel, dark chocolate parfait and a chocolate mirror glaze — accompanied by a salted caramel ice cream with Flout’s sourdough chocolate cookies tumbled through.

The drinks: Noble’s front-of-house manager and co-founder, Saul McConnell, 38, oversaw the drinks, which ranged from a vibrant Blanc de Meunier champagne for arriving guests to an amber passito-style Liastos wine from Lyrarakis, Crete, for the dessert course. The Boundary Brewing Company, Belfast’s first tap room and one of Jeffers’s neighbors in the building, provided an alternative aperitif: a full-bodied English bitter called A Certain Romance, a favorite of Jeffers’s studio team.

Jeffers illustrated the evening’s menus. Photo: Rich Gilligan

Noble’s chocolate delice, a jaconde sponge cake with salted caramel and a chocolate mirror glaze. Photo: Rich Gilligan

The conversation: Many artists talked shop, swapping notes on the production problems they encounter in their respective industries, and conversation also turned to global events. “There’s always been a comparison between the conflict in Northern Ireland and the conflict in Israel-Palestine,” said Jeffers. “We talked about the divisive rhetoric that’s going on right now.”

The music: Jeffers enlisted the Irish producer and D.J. Marion Hawkes, who runs the record store Sound Advice in Portview, to create a playlist, which ranged from classic folk to contemporary electronic tracks.

The recipe for Noble’s mayonnaise: It’s hard to beat fresh, homemade mayonnaise, says Morris, and it’s a quick, thoughtful addition to a dinner at home. But despite its few ingredients, it’s deceptively difficult to make. He recommends starting with equal parts white wine vinegar and egg yolk (approximately 2 teaspoons of vinegar to two yolks), which prevents the eggs from splitting as you very gradually beat in 250 ml of oil, then season with 5 grams of sugar and 5 grams of salt. Morris likes to use extra-virgin rapeseed oil for its neutral flavor, and an electric mixer for ease.

The New York Times Style Magazine

Remember… there’s always been a comparison between the conflict in Northern Ireland and the conflict in Israel-Palestine. We talked about the divisive rhetoric that’s going on right now. — Oliver Jeffers

Anon: Thanks… didn’t see your message until 10 minutes after posting. 🙁

#Tait rhymes with hat #Good times #Oliver Jeffers #Begin Again #2023 #The New York Times #Style Magazine #8 December 2023 #Thanks castlemaine123 #My screenrecording

[fatehbaz]

So 26 February 2023, Grist re-publishes a piece originally from InvestigateWest, after InvestigateWest got their hands on some sensitive emails/documents revealing that the EPA rather than fairly supervising mining companies “they’re supposed to regulate” has instead assisted the companies “by attacking researchers and smearing peer-reviewed science.” (Surprising nobody; Montana is a resource extraction colony.) The piece is titled “Newly revealed records show how the EPA sided with polluters in a small Montana mining town.”

So I’m like “oh, is this gonna be about the natural gas boom near Sidney on the North Dakota border right alongside the Bakken oil fields, an operation so big and extensive that it artificially lights up the night sky over the open prairies of the northern Great Plains in a way that, from a satellite view, makes the least densely populated and remote corner of the contiguous United States glow brightly as if it were a massive city or as if the entire region were on fire? Or is this gonna be about coal mining in the remote southeastern corner of the state in the badlands and shortgrass prairie near Crow and Cheyenne reservations, where coal companies in the Yellowstone River watershed traditionally have extracted millions from near the Powder River and Black Hills?”

But nope, it’s about Butte.

“Small Montana mining town.”

This city is still among top 5 or top 10 most culturally and economically significant cities in the state. “Significant city” would be more apt than “small town.” But beyond that.

This is the place known as “Butte, America.”

Butte was the epicenter, the home base, the foundation of the Gilded Age copper boom that electrified the world and lit the streetlights and parlors of turn-of-the-century London and New York.

All that copper wiring, that’s from Butte, or from the industries that Butte’s barons established. This was the city where mining magnates ran the Anaconda Copper Mining Company which spear-headerd the pillaging of Latin America (referenced in the “open veins of Latin America”). Anaconda established the century-long tradition of Canadian and US mining companies destroying lives and landscapes in the Andes.

By 1899, Butte was one of the most significant US cities between the Mississippi River and the Sierra Nevada. This was the home of the Copper Kings.

The Anaconda company, in 1919, completed construction on a smelter smokestack 585 feet high, which remains the tallest surviving brick structure on the planet.

The wealth of Butte in the Edwardian era is unfathomable. They had a rollercoaster. In a single year, merely just those local mines along the edge of the city could produce $23 million ($700 million today). And that doesn’t include all of the wealth stolen from Latin America or other mines in the western US.

Montana was a state that pioneered the “corporations are people” stuff. Its very statehood itself, the christening of Montana, was a gift to the Copper Kings. Every important state office was practically purchased, owned by those mining barons.

This is also why Montana was the site of some of the earliest and most important labor struggles. Because the entire state of Montana was functionally a copper mining company town. Among notable events: the 1914 Butte labor riots, the 1917 brutal assassination of Frank Little, and the 1920 “Anaconda Road Massacre” in which company guards shot and killed 17 fleeing people.

This is why, depending on who you ask, Butte is either A Company Town or A Union Town.

Butte claims to be the home of the “largest population of Irish-Americans per capita of any US city.” This may or may not be true, but this Irish influence evident in the local popularity of pasties. In the Edwardian era, Butte was also the site of an important Chinatown neighborhood and a large Chinese community.

Locally, Butte is famous/infamous for being the site of the Berkeley Pit. Or “The Pit.” The remaining scar of an open-pit copper mine. It’s one mile long, half-mile wide, almost 2,000 feet deep, filled with 900 feet of acidic water laden with cadmium, sulfuric acid, and arsenic.

Just sitting there. In the city.

“Oh, well, of course, back in the Gilded Age, in the 1890s, US businesses got a little out of control, and boom-town communities weren’t really thinking long-term, and they also didn’t know all The Science, so they allowed for the creation of, like, giant toxic death-pits in their residential areas,”

Nope. They built that open-pit mine in 1955 and operated it until 1982.

Anyway, that’s kind of what the 2023 investigative report is about. There is a newer mine (copper and molybdenum) currently open and operating in the city, right next to The Pit.

And the current mine is owned by the richest man in the state of Montana, Dennis Washington. And the EPA is like, “Don’t worry. The mine in the city is fine, it’s all good.” Because that’s what US government land management agencies do: File due diligence paperwork for land-owners while others get poisoned.

The largest open pit copper mine (by extracted volume) on the planet, and the second-deepest open-pit mine of any kind on the planet, is at Chuquicamata in the Atacama region of Chile. This mine was the property of the Anaconda company.

The towering smokestack. The Pit on the edge of town. The gaping wound at Chuquicamata. The legacy of the Copper Kings lives on with the continued theft and poisoning of those in both Montana and the Andes.

#landscape #mining #imperial

[lunavenefica]

⛤HISTORY OF SAMHAIN/HALLOWEEN⛤

This custom has its origins in the pagan Celtic peoples of Ireland, Britain and northern France. 

Since they believed that life is born from death, they used the end of autumn to mark the beginning of their new year, the period when nature dies, because its death, according to their belief, represents the time of darkness, decay and death. 

On that day, the fire on the home hearths was extinguished and darkness reigned everywhere.

On the last evening of the autumn harvest, nature changes, and the sunny and warm summer gives way to the dark and cold winter, and the fertile land becomes barren. 

The Celts believed that night to be magical and apparently attached great importance to it.

In modern times, Samhain is usually celebrated from October 31 to November 1 to welcome in the harvest and usher in "the dark half of the year".

Celebrants believe that the barriers between the physical world and the spirit world are broken during Samhain, allowing for greater interaction between humans and the inhabitants of the Other World.

As this holiday was really popular, many religions, as Christianity, turned away from its true meaning. 

⛤ANCIENT SAMHAIN⛤

The ancient Celts marked Samhain as the most significant of the four quarterly fire festivals, which take place at the midpoint between the autumn equinox and the winter solstice. 

During this time of year, hearth fires in family homes were allowed to burn during harvest.

At the end of the gathering work, the celebrants joined the druid priests to light a community fire using a wheel that would cause friction and sparks. 

The wheel was considered a representation of the sun and used in conjunction with prayers. Cattle were sacrificed and participants brought a flame from the communal bonfire to their home to rekindle the hearth.

Early texts present Samhain as an obligatory three-day and three-night celebration in which the community was to perform to local kings or chieftains. 

Failure to attend is believed to result in punishment from the gods, usually illness or death.

There was also a military aspect to Samhain in Ireland, with festive thrones prepared for soldier commanders. 

Anyone who committed a crime or used their weapons during the celebration faced a death sentence.

Some documents mention six days of drinking excess alcohol, typically mead or beer, along with gluttonous feasts.

⛤SAMHAIN IN THE MIDDLE AGES⛤

As the Middle Ages progressed, so did the celebrations of the fire festivals. 

Bonfires known as Samghnagans, which were Samhain's more personal fires near the farms, became a tradition, presumably to protect families from fairies and witches.

Carved turnips called jack-o-lanterns began to appear, attached by strings to sticks and set with charcoal. Later the Irish tradition passed to pumpkins.

In Wales, men threw firewood at each other in violent games and lit fireworks.

⛤WICCA AND SAMHAIN⛤

A broad revival of Samhain resembling its traditional pagan form began in the 1980s with the growing popularity of Wicca.

The Samhain Wicca celebration takes many forms, from traditional fire ceremonies to celebrations that embrace many aspects of modern Halloween, as well as activities related to honoring nature or ancestors.

Wiccans view Samhain as the passing of the year and incorporate common Wiccan traditions into the celebration.

In the Druid tradition, Samhain celebrates the dead with a festival on October 31 and usually features a bonfire and communion with the dead. 

American pagans often hold music and dance celebrations called Witches' Balls near Samhain.

Pagans who embrace Celtic traditions with the intent of faithfully reintroducing them into modern paganism are called Celtic reconstructors.

In this tradition, Samhain is called Oiche Shamhna and celebrates the mating between the gods Tuatha de Danann Dagda and the river Unis. 

Celtic reconstructors celebrate by placing juniper decorations around their homes and creating an altar for the dead where a feast is held in honor of the deceased.

Samhain is the dark Moon - the time of death, letting go, completion, binding of free ends, retreat and regeneration.

Samhain is a time when the veil between worlds is thin which makes the next 12 days super powerful when it comes to intuition, psychic impressions, dreams, prophecy, mysticism and spirituality.

It's a great time to relax by a fire or light a few candles and listen to your inner self.It's also a great time to use astrology, tarot cards, runes, dreams and more to mirror the truth.

The depths are calling us.

We are asked to truly feel our emotions, dance with our shadows, face our fears and obsessions, and face the places in our life where we manipulate or control or allow others to manipulate and control us.

⛤HALLOWEEN IN ORTHODOXY⛤

When these people accepted Christianity, the holiday of All Saints was established, which was celebrated on November 1 precisely to eradicate this occult custom.

On the night before this holiday, an all-night vigil was held. 

However, under the pressure of globalization and Western influence, as well as the influence of different religions and cults, the night before the Christian holiday became the night of witches, witchcraft, summoning evil spirits and demons.

The word "Halloween" comes from the expression "All-Hallows-Evening", which means "the evening before the church holiday of All Saints".

In Orthodoxy, Saint Luke, the creator of one of the Gospels, is celebrated on October 31. 

It is believed that this doctor and patron of artists painted the first icons of Jesus Christ, the Virgin Mary and the apostles Peter and Paul.

The tradition of celebrating Halloween was brought to North America by Irish immigrants in the 19th century. 

Witchfully Yours, 

⛤Isidora⛤

#samhain #all hallows eve #magick #kitchen witch #witchcraft #witch aesthetic #witchblr #witches #witchy things #history of witchcraft #witchyvibes #witchcore #wicca #wiccablr #green wicca #celtic wicca #kitchen wicca #wiccan #pagan #paganism #spirituality #spiritualawakening #meditation #spiritualgrowth #spiritual #spiritual journey #magic #grimoire #notes #studies

[theirishwolfhound]

AHoGiSoG- Chapter 2: Bruises and Bitemarks

Summary: With the day continuing on, Crow catches up on his schedule and finally opens up to his friends mostly. Long post ahead so settle in and enjoy!

Content Warnings (MDNI): pining masked as envy, homoerotic sparring but they're almost fully clothed, brief mention of needles Word Count: 16,758

Their mission was simple, a normal recon: get in, understand the landscape, and find their target before making a plan of attack. It was simple enough. They would be departing more than likely the next day. Price needed to remain at base just to make sure everything there ran smoothly. Gaz and Wolfhound would work together to scout the landscape, the latter would devise the best plan while the later found the vital points of land to work with. Soap and Ghost would be there as the countermeasures, just in case things were to go haywire or if someone got injured. They would be outfitted with two, small two-person tents and anything else they would need to manage until they got what they needed out of the mission.

They would be dropped off near Mount Konzhakovskiy Kamen in the more southern part of the Northern Ural. Then, they would have to make their way to Mount Telpos-Iz, closer towards the Nether-Polar Ural. Their lead had only spoken of the Eastern side of the Northern range so they would have to search the span of the area until they found what they were looking for. While it would help keep them from being detected and give them the best knowledge of the land, their mission could take at least fifteen days with their current conditions. Given their estimated timeframe, they were hoping that they would not have to hike the whole path. 

To say that Crow was happy to go camping on a recon was an understatement—he loved the idea of the plan—though seemed to be the only one enthused about camping. That was just the ranger in him after all, he’d never be able to get rid of that part of him, but this is what made him a vital part of the mission. He knew much more about wilderness survival than the other operatives in that room, that was his specialty: surviving. His change of demeanor did not go unnoticed either, as the other men could practically see him buzz with faint excitement at the prospect of this mission. They knew that he would do the mission alone if he could, but even for him it was a bit taxing to do it alone. While it wasn’t his first mission with the Task Force, it was at least up his alley.

Johnny was a bit relieved that his friend seemed to be doing a bit better and seemed genuinely enthused about this mission. It would have been a first for him after all, while Crow never complained but his eyes never lit up in the same way they did now. He glanced towards Ghost, Kyle, and Price- all three of them seemingly relieved as well- then spoke happily. 

“It’ll be a skoosh, we’ve got Irish here ta’ guide us.” He smiled at Crow and gave the man a nod before laughing. 

“Grand,” Crow chuckled softly and shook his head playfully. “Means it’ll b’ on meh if it winds up a haymes.”

“Nae danger, ya’ cannae make a mess unless ya’ try too hard.” Johnny reassured him. 

The Irishman huffed out a soft laugh. “Is been donkey’s years since I was a guide.”

“I’m sure you’ll do just fine.” Gaz chuckled then shrugged, just barely understanding what the two men had said. “And if not… Well, then that’s just how it works innit? Nothing goes to plan here, everything is bonkers.”

Crow crossed his arms over his chest and laughed softly before finally nodding in agreement so that the meeting could finish up. He sat back in his seat then focused on the screen that Price stood in front of, a faint smile remaining on his lips throughout the rest of the briefing. He kept his hands on his lap, holding them similarly to how he held Simon’s—to how he held Malakai’s—the simple thought of that caused his mind to drift faintly. It was nice, sure, but it was definitely something he wanted to keep between the both of them. Crow’s gaze remained unfocused, distant, until he felt a faint tap on his boot from under the table, which made him glance over to the man across from him. 

Johnny had paid close attention to the Irishman during the meeting, he was worried for him after the interaction that morning so when he noticed his eyes grow a bit glassy he intervened. He watched Crow for a moment, his gaze kind and smile sweet, only to nod with relief when the other man nudged his foot back. The Scotsman’s smile never faltered as he turned back towards the projection of the map on the screen.

17:36

The meeting would go for about two hours, the team discussing their plan of action until they finally felt comfortable with it. A little too comfortable as Crow nearly fell asleep with his head on the back of his chair and arms over his chest, but he knew what his job was so no one woke him from his brief rest. Once they were finished, they left, continuing on with their afternoon. They had thirty minutes before the rest of the soldiers and the recruits would be finished with their scheduled activities. 

The Irishman knew he needed to go get something to eat, so he suggested an early tea break for the five of them just so that he wouldn’t have to eat alone, to which they agreed. Price and Gaz led the way, happily chatting with one another while Ghost and Soap walked behind them, the latter chiming in to the conversation in front of him. Crow walked a few paces behind the four, observing just how close they were with one another. He used to watch them with envy when he first joined, missing the closeness he shared with Malakai and their old team, but now he watched them with fondness. They were the closest people he had to family now, and he was grateful for them, though he still had moments where he felt like he didn’t belong. It was nothing they did, in fact they had always made sure he was involved even if he had originally been less than approachable, it was just his own thoughts. 

However, as he watched them, he noticed that Soap and Ghost turned their heads slightly to look back to him. He made brief eye contact with both of them before the Scottish man beckoned him to join them. For a second Crow did not know what to do, but he couldn’t help but smile and quicken his pace to walk between the two, lightly nudging the both of them.

“Shouldnae fall too far behind, freckles, dinnae want ‘hose eyes ta’ look lost wee cuilean’s,” Soap teased, clapping Wolfhound on the back gently once he had caught up. 

“Oh eff off,” The redhead laughed softly and lightly slugged the man in the arm, who took notice of the faint red coloring now adorning the Irishman’s ears. “I’m nae a coileán, ya’ fool.”

“Bounded ova’ like one,” The Scotsman rebutted. 

“Oi, be nice,” Price scolded sarcastically from the front as they walked, chuckling slightly as he listened to their bantering. While he could not understand the two at times, he could only tell that they were playfully antagonizing one another. “Both of you.”

“Aye, Scot, stop actin’ the maggot,” Crow quipped and gave the younger sergeant a taunting smile. 

The two Celts playfully narrowed their eyes at one another before laughing with one another, as if they were two merry schoolyard children. Soap knew how to brighten Crow’s mood just by initiating a conversation that only he could really understand. He loved watching the way the Irishman’s eyes squinted when he laughed, and the way that his dimples formed on both cheeks. Johnny then glanced over to Simon, who had faint amusement in his eyes as the two of them laughed and bickered. He could tell the lieutenant had a faint smile on his face from the way his mask shifted. 

They were cohesive, a bonded unit in the Scotsman’s eyes, and forming an unshakable bond with Crow, while being a tedious task, was slowly becoming a reality. 

The five of them soon arrived at the mess hall, Ghost heading over to claim their table while the rest of them went to gather whatever they wished to have for evening tea. Price would return with a coffee and biscuits, Gaz with an orange and water, and Soap with a quick snack and water as well. It would take a few minutes for Crow to return, carrying a sandwich on a plate and a cup in his other hand, which he set in front of Simon before he had the chance to get up. The man had made him some tea as it had been a part of their compromise, though it did catch him off guard for a few seconds. As Crow sat down to start eating, Ghost let out an amused huff and pulled his balaclava up slightly like he had done at breakfast. He brought the cup up to his nose and took a few inhales before sighing and blowing on the tea so that he could take a sip.

Slowly, Ghost nodded and took a moment to relax, listening into the light chatter of Soap’s voice blending with Gaz’s as they joked to one another playfully. “Thank you.” There was a pause, then, while continuing to not look at Crow, he spoke again. “You’re feelin’ a wee bit better?”

“Aye… a wee bit, t’anks to ya…” The freckled man said sheepishly. 

“No need for thanks, red,” Ghost said before sipping from his cup once again, closing his eyes thoughtfully before speaking soft enough for only Crow to hear, though the others did not seem to pay much mind to their conversation. “If you ever need to talk about anything, you know you can come to us.” 

“Ah.. Aye, I know… speakin’ ‘bout what ails me is… difficult… is why I acted out earlier,” The Irishman replied before eating a little bit more. He hummed a little then spoke up once again. “...but I've been ‘ere fer ‘alf a year now… I trust the lot of ya’... so.. Maybe I will some time soon.” 

“That’s good to hear, Wolfhound,” Ghost chuckled, now turning to listen in on the conversation that was being held between the other men. 

Crow too would tune into their conversation, only to realize that they were sharing laughs about previous missions they all had been on or encounters they had had. John shared a memory from when he was still a Lieutenant back around 2009 where he had to deal with rowdy recruits, while Kyle joked about a relationship he had back in secondary school that wound up being more trouble than it was worth. On Johnny’s turn, he continued the trend of lightheartedness and began to boast happily about a memory from a football game back in secondary school. 

“Right! So, it was a pretty shitty sunny day, we were tied and it had beena hell of a game already, got really dicey in some parts,” He mused using his hands to gesture a bit as he spoke happily, his voice beaming with pride. “Now I dinnea ken wha’ ye’ know about football, but this game was a bloody chess match. We played a buncha fancy school boys, wee bastards they were, gave us a tough time…”

The Irishman chuckled softly, watching the Scotsman speak and tell his tale, though he stopped listening fully. Rather, he focused on the way his voice sounded, enjoying the joy in his friend’s voice. It was warm and smooth, like scotch and nothing like the British men’s. Ghost’s stood out from Gaz’s and Price’s deep smooth ones, if he had to describe it he would be compared to a cinnamon whiskey. Yet all of them had pleasant voices, he could listen to both Johnny and Simon talk all day if they wanted to… which he knew Johnny would do given the chance. Mans just loved to talk, and the little lad just loved to listen.

Before he knew it Soap’s story was over, but he continued to stare unfocused with a faint reddish hue rising to his freckled face as he hummed softly. It took Kyle snapping his fingers in front of Crow’s face to finally drag him back down to Earth. “Cad?”

“Zonin’ out there, lad? Or are you just takin’ the piss, eh?” The older sergeant teased. 

“Jus’ thinkin’,” Crow replied. “Hearin’ Johnny talk ‘bout football reminded me o’ a time when I was a scout back home.” He hummed softly. 

“Well now ye’ got ta’ talk about it,” Soap chuckled.

The Irishman shrugs, only to nod and laugh quietly. “I used ta’ teach kids how ta’ play kickball at te’ summer camp I worked at as a scout, b’fore I was a ranger… one spring when te’ pond still had ice, some lass kicked te’ ball onta the ice an’ I had ta’ fetch it.” 

“I can only imagine that didn’t go well,” Price chuckled softly. 

“It did not,” He snickered, lightly rubbing the bridge of his nose. “I crawled ta’ te’ middle of t’pond and get te’ ball… at te’ time I had ta’ weigh fifty-four kilos, so obviously te’ ice cracks under me. I wasn’ scared of fallin’ in, I was afraid of t’ese kiddos laughin’ at me,” Crow laughed. “Then… I had te’ brigh’ idea ta’ stand up fully… in te’ middle of te’ pond… so, eh, I fell in te’ ice cold water.”

“Did ye’ have to swim back to the bank?” Soap asked as he laughed, picturing a much younger Wolfhound’s predicament of retrieving the kickball. The other three chuckled, enthused by the show of humility, watching Crow’s face go from a more neutral expression to a more embarrassed one, his cheeks gaining more color to them.

“Nah, I climbed back onta the ice, I couldn’ swim in neck deep water,” He mused before shaking his head shamefully. “Crawled back on my belly ta’ shore.”

“And how did those kids react?” Ghost asked, a smirk showing on his exposed lips as he brought his cup up to his mouth. 

“Some were worried, te’ others laughed t’eir arses off. My scout master t’ought I was a, uh, dosser… but te’ kids had my back for t’at at least. Told te’ ‘hole truth tey did… at my expense… but I was awake fer te’ rest of te’ day.”

The other men chuckled, though Soap’s was more like a laugh that drew a bit of attention from the soldiers that walked into the mess hall. It was lively, enjoyable even, enjoyable enough for Crow to finish eating so that they could continue talking. He wondered what it would have been like if he was in a much better mental space than he currently was. Would they have all been closer? He definitely knew that he would have been happier to be well knitted amongst the group rather than being the only one stitched in with elastic strings, seeing that he had the higher chance of stretching away from the rest of the group given one string breaking. But that was a thought for later, something he would add to the list of things he wanted to tell them, and something he’d bring up in his next therapy session. For now they would share more stories, except Ghost who only chimed in to back a few of the stories Soap told about the missions they’ve been on, but that didn’t disrupt the flow. 

19:04

The rest of their break was spent together until Price and Gaz had to dismiss themselves to handle paperwork, leaving the other three men to find something to do until dinner. Normally Crow would have just gone back to his room and painted, but he knew he needed to make up the hours he spent napping. He took his dishes to the drop off then went to sit back down with Simon and Johnny, though now he was across from the both of them. He listened as they spoke—well, he listened to Soap talk anyways—and tried to figure out what he could do until dinner time. He could go train—hell, even go for a walk—but he wasn’t sure if the other two had plans. The Irishman watched them, only to lightly tap on the table in front of the other two. 

“If ya’ two fellas aren’t busy… would ya’ want ta’ join me at ta’ gym?” He asked while cocking his head curiously. 

“Sure! I dinnae s’why not,” Soap mused while standing up to take his snack plate and Ghost’s teacup to the dish drop off. 

Once The Scotsman came back, the other two would stand up and the three of them would head out of the mess to go walk towards the gym. Soap made sure to keep Crow between himself and Ghost as they walked, happily chatting away as the other two listened to him speak. It was blissful in its own way, like it was the right thing to have happen. Though as Wolfhound walked with them, he began to finally notice what he had been walking behind for the past six or so months. Soap spoke with more passion and affection when it came to stories about himself and Ghost. Crow noticed it when Soap was simply talking around Ghost, as well as the subtle way the two drifted closer when walking next to one another. He saw the way that Johnny looked at Simon: the way his eyes lit up and maintained contact no matter where they were. 

He blinked a little then furrowed his brows in slight thought. Was it love, admiration, or both? It was hard to tell, but he wouldn’t be surprised if it was some sort of affection. From the stories he’d heard, the two were practically a package deal when it came to missions so they had plenty of time to form that kind of bond— hell even Price and Gaz were a duo. The way Johnny looked at Simon reminded him of how Malakai looked at him: a gentle fondness, or at least something close to it. He had overheard that the British man was more mellow than he was before the Scotsman joined 141, and Crow figured—now that he watched them closer than he had before—that it was Soap's doing. That’s when it dawned on him, or at least caused him to think a bit harder about what was going on between the two duos.  

‘It would explain their late night meetings… if they were even work related in the first place,’ The Irishman thought to himself with a chuckle and a suspicious look crossing into his curious expression before he lightly nudged the Scottish man. 

“...am bheil thu maille ri Simon?” He asked once he had his attention. What little Scottish Gaelic he knew was due to him having nothing better to do in a Ranger’s tower, and it always seemed to take Johnny off guard so that was a plus. 

“Dè? Carson a tha thu a’ faighneachd??” The Scotsman asked in reply. Hell, his voice even went up in pitch, his eyes widening slightly as a faint flush of color rose to his cheeks. 

“O’Neil, MacTavish…English for fucks sake.” Ghost said with a faintly amused, but mostly annoyed, huff.

“Sickner fer you,” The youngest replied, he didn’t need a proper answer from either of them, the look and way Soap’s voice sounded gave it so cleanly away. He had sounded the same when his old captain had clocked him for dating Malakai, but he never thought he’d get the chance to pull it on another man. Crow took a few long strides to walk in front of the two, turning quickly on his heel to lock eyes with Soap while moving backwards. He raised his brows teasingly then smiled a bit, nodding with faint approval. They were both good men and deserved someone just as good for one another, but now he also had something to tease the Scot with. He was glad to finally have something over both of the men now: even if they weren’t dating they were most definitely fucking. “Deagh roghainn.”

With that he flashed a cocky smile and turned away once again to head into the gym, leaving Johnny flabbergasted and Simon confused as to what was said. Though one look over to the Scottish sergeant and he could tell that he was embarrassed by the Irishman’s words. It was quite entertaining, and he knew Johnny would tell him what was said later. After a few moments the two would enter the gym as well, and make their way to join their red-haired friend who sat on the ground to begin stretching. 

Soap said nothing, only giving Wolfhound a playful yet pointed glare. He was really only upset about being taken off guard like that. He could tell that the younger was entertained by it, and he knew he couldn’t let the Irsishman have the upper hand over him. It was a fun little challenge to the Scot—a playful rivalry of wit—but for now they had to warm up for training. Ghost would focus solely on stretching, not paying any mind to his companions, while Soap’s gray-blue eyes occasionally drifted over to the Irishman. Watching him bend and stretch with ease, it was a bit odd how nimble he was but he had to make up for his smaller stature somehow. He then realized that he was staring, and Simon had noticed, but how could he speak when Crow— while a bit easier to read than Simon— never let much of his personal life slip out, save for a few stories here and there, so he had no clue where to start. 

“So… Wolfhound, what’s yer plan here? Need a spotter or so?” 

“Bold of ye’ ta’ assume I lift t'at much,” Crow replied playfully, his attention briefly shifting over to Johnny. “I run, an’ do more yoga t'an anythin’.” 

“Is that so, lad? No sparrin’ either?” Soap asked. 

“Not as often, no. Te’ other boys like harder sparrin’... I prefer light… don’t like t’many bruises on me t’be honest… an’ I try not ta’ get put inna position where I could get hit in te’ face..” 

He had to admit, while he never saw Crow as too much of a roughhousing type of man, it was still interesting to hear that he went for a lighter practice for that reason. His thoughts briefly went to when Crow had first joined: when the task force had tested him in a fight, he nearly kicked their asses up until Simon struck him in the face. Then again, it was a real fight, not practice, there was a difference— but by God did the lad know how to use a knife. Johnny hummed in thought, only to turn and lightly pop Simon on the shoulder to actively drag him into the conversation, even though it nearly earned him a swat upside the head from the Englishman. “What if we go first, yeah? Then wind down with a sesh with ya?” 

“Kssh,” Crow's exaggerated inhale was quick to be followed by a playful eye roll. “Fine… but I’m gonna do other t’ings before sparrin’ ya’.”

He didn’t need much convincing. Though he already knew that he might lose any match with them. He was quick sure, but he hated hand-to-hand combat due to himself being thrown and bruised many times before. It was basically exposure therapy—something he and his therapist joked about—and was easy to handle when you trusted the people you were working on it with. That and he really needed to find more people to work out with, rather than doing so alone, at night, when he couldn't sleep.  

Though despite trusting Simon and Johnny, Crow still hated being overpowered most times. It was a fact that lingered in his mind for years and years, even when he play fought with Malakai. Cisgendered men had a slight advantage over him, and he hated that he ended up liking it. He and his passed lover had managed to find a way around the discomfort by adding a sort of reward system to their sessions: turning them into more intimate moments with Crow’s lead. While his therapist would be proud of him for going out of his comfort zone, he did not want to risk the chance of acting out on instincts that he and Malakai instilled. He couldn’t back out of this, not without giving a reason, but he couldn’t admit that he had basically pavolved himself into getting turned on by sparring to avoid having panic attacks. However, he pushed those thoughts away into the deeper parts of his brain, and then moved to sit on the bench as he watched the other two stretch out and get ready for their sparring match. 

Crow’s eyes danced over the way that their muscles flexed and moved with them, though he stopped himself and merely rubbed the bridge of his nose. Gender envy—at least that's what he thought it was—was a bitch-and-a-half to deal with considering most of the men around him had a body he wanted. By the time he looked back up at them, Simon had removed his jacket and remained in a shirt and pants while Johnny remained in his joggers. He wasn’t surprised by Ghost’s tattoo sleeve or any of the scars that littered either of their bodies, just as he wasn’t surprised that either of them held attraction to one another. Both of them were attractive men—to be fair the other operators were also just as attractive—it only made sense… at least in his mind it made sense. He would have made a move if he were either one of them, who wouldn’t.  

When the two men got up to head towards the mats, the smaller man moved to head over to one of the treadmills within viewing distance. He would start his own exercise as the other two exchanged quips and jokes while beginning to circle one another. All was mostly quiet in the gym despite the comments that the older two exchanged and soon Crow would turn his attention to his own work out. Lightly jogging to the sounds of Soap’s taunts towards Ghost and his own thoughts about this predicament he’s agreed to put himself in. Pining for men who were out of his league, like an ant that wanted to be with a group of stars to form a constellation, while still mourning his passed lover, as if unrequited passion would help his emotional state.

Occasionally, the Irishman would glance over towards the two, watching Simon grapple Johnny and pin him to the mat. With the slight confirmation of their relationship, or situationship, Crow now noticed the sensual nature of how their hands ran over one another. He could almost remember the feeling of similar loving hands on his own person, holding him firmly but lovingly… He had to shake the thought out of his head before his mind wandered more, a faint flush of color rising to his cheeks as he began to run a bit faster on the treads to distract himself before ideas ran rampant in his mind. He wasn’t sure what he was supposed to think or do. He had spoken to Malakai before about death, since they were soldiers bound to die old or at war, and what to do if one of them had passed before the other. Both agreed that they would have wanted the other to move on, but the thought of that was hard enough to process when he was alive. How could he do it now? 

He felt guilty for lusting after other men, but he couldn’t really help it. Whether it be the fact that he had to give himself his testosterone shot later that night and his body knew that, or that he hadn’t had any form of intimacy in over a year by that point. It wouldn’t have been that long had he and Malakai gone on their last mission together alone, but with a full team of people who were trained to listen to every little sound in their environment, it made it hard to share time in a tent. Maybe it was the grief toying with his emotions, making him want—making him lust—for that touch again.

He stumbled slightly as he lost focus, sucking in a breath as he reacted quickly. His hands quickly gripped the bars on the side of the equipment, as he hopped up and placed his feet on the sides of the belt. He managed to not get thrown off the treadmill and quickly looked around to see if anyone else had noticed. Luckily for his ego no one had. Crow’s ears burned with embarrassment as he turned the speed back down to a fast walk. He did not want to risk slipping and being launched off the treadmill. It happened once; it was not fun, especially since he nearly took out his bad knee. He took his hands off the railing once he was back on the moving belt and then rubbed his neck slightly as he sighed. He wondered if his friends were happy together like he had been a year ago. He glanced back at the two, listening to Johnny’s laugh as he tried to wrestle Simon to the ground but fail as he got flipped and thrown into the mat. They definitely seemed happy and he was happy for them. It was nice to see and he was almost jealous of them—almost angry—but he knew that it was mostly the desire to have what he used to have.

Crow’s lips twitched into a faint grimace as he saw the way their eyes met and held a passionate emotion. He knew it was love and he couldn’t help but think selfishly to himself. Why couldn’t he have that still? Why couldn’t he still be happy? 

It was an odd thought, he did not blame Simon or Johnny whatsoever, but it did make him question his beliefs. He knew the Lord worked in mysterious ways, but why did he have to suffer from the actions of other men? These thoughts were normal, at least that's what his therapist said. Selfish, you’re being selfish, you dumb hormonal bastard. Crow told himself as he redirected his gaze away from his friends, not wanting to show his distraught as it was no one else’s fault but his own. His emotions were conflicting and it confused him greatly, unsure if he should feel jealous over the two of them or excited that he was finally going to have hands on him once again. He needed to talk to his therapist about his flowering emotions since they had been budding for a while and he had only just acknowledged them, and about potentially getting a medication prescribed for his sleeping problems now that Simon was involved. However, it would have to wait until after the mission. For now he put a pin in it, shook his head as if to shake the stress away, then picked up his walk to start jogging, then light running, once again. The younger sergeant managed to finally zone out, his thoughts going quiet to his relief, enough to not realize that he let the men spar for longer than they all had expected. Though by now they both sported new bruises and faint aches from their training.

Simon had pinned Johnny to the mat, the blade of his arm just barely pressed into his throat as his other hand kept the Scot’s wrists above his head. Both of his legs kept the younger man’s lower half to the mat, practically straddling him. They stared at one another briefly, both a bit breathless from their session— though that didn’t stop Soap from smirking up to Ghost, who in turn narrowed his eyes in a playful manner. He pushed himself off of the sergeant then stood up to walk off the mat, watching Wolfhound run on the treadmill. Eyeing the shorter man’s legs then trailed up to his back, only to turn and look at Johnny with raised brows as if teasing him for staring earlier. The Englishman would then walk off the mat towards where their stuff had been set down.   

“Oi, freckles, you’re up!” Ghost called as he plopped down onto their bench, finally breaking the redhead’s trance so that he could turn off the machine and hop off. It took a few seconds for him to come to a halt as he slowed the pace down until he came to a stop and all the while the lieutenant did not take his eyes off of him. He watched as the Irishman stalked silently over towards the water fountain to take deep sips, then back towards the mat where he left Soap laid out to catch his breath. 

Johnny panted happily as he looked up to the smaller man when he slipped his shoes off to walk over to him—only to take Crow’s hand when he offered to help him onto his feet. He sprung onto his feet with the help and dusted himself off playfully, smiling widely to the younger man. “Light sparrin’, aye?”

“Aye, full speed but less power… no face hits, m’mouth guard is in my office.” Crow confirmed. He, unlike the other two, remained in his long sleeve shirt and camo pants since he felt more comfortable in them— and because he was worried how he’d react if either of them touched his bare skin.

“Right, if I hit ya too hard, hit back,” Soap warned playfully, flashing his signature smile to the other man—though seemed a bit taken aback when he only got a smirk from Crow, who’s pupils shifted to make it seem like he was either a dog on guard or a fox sizing up a larger animal. Frankly, both ways sent a faint shiver up the Scot’s spine and he couldn’t explain why but he merely laughed with excitement. “Ghost, ref us, yeah?”

“Scared, Johnny? Lad’s pint-sized,” Simon teased while sitting back a bit on the bench to watch the two a bit more closely at Soap’s request. 

“Of Crow? No.” The Scotsman laughed, causing the other sergeant’s brow to raise slightly— sure Johnny wasn’t afraid, this was a game to him, but he wanted the other to watch. 

All of the negative thoughts that he had earlier slowly pushing their way back into the forefront of his mind; the fear, the jealousy, the anger, the desire. His lips curved a little more before he forced a frown and he furrowed his brows, scanning over Johnny as the taller man smiled back to him. His eyes trailed over the Scot’s bare chest and stomach, watching as a few beads of sweat ran down his skin. God he’s such a bear, what I wouldn't give to— He quickly shook his head and returned his gaze to the other’s face, a faint rush of blood scorching through his body and to his pale face. He pulled his hands up and took a few steps back to let the other know that he was ready to begin whenever. While Soap noticed the change of demeanor, he did not want a repeat of that morning to happen, so he decided to not press the matter and mimicked Wolfhound’s pose— shifting his weight from leg to leg. 

They watched one another for a brief moment, then shared a nod to initiate their match. Crow would begin to circle Johnny, his gaze locked onto the Scottish man with a rather wild look in his eyes. It was a bit unnerving, but it made the fight almost better. Almost immediately, the Scotsman would move in close to throw a quick jab with his fists, his arms and hands moving to try and fake the Irishman out. Though Crow was quick to duck under the man’s arms and gently jabbed him in the side, his strikes were quick and precise before he quickly backed away to put a bit of space between himself and Johnny—who took his place right back in Crow’s space. He is a nuisance on the field and in training, the younger thought with a chuckle. Simon has a lot to deal with outside of work.

When he managed to finally step away from the other man for a little bit of space, Crow felt John’s hands grab his wrists, pulling him down slightly and back in with a short huff of a laugh. The Irishman was quick to wrap his hand around the other man’s head after breaking his grip, lightly grabbing a fist-full of his mohawk to pull his head down enough to hook his arm under his jaw with a fluid motion— while the Scotsman’s arms wrapped around the smaller man, one under his arm and the other over his other shoulder. Soap spun slightly, pulling Wolfhound along with him, to unravel the grapple that he had been placed in and to pull the other man to his side while sliding one arm around his waist. Crow felt his feet leave the ground as Johnny lifted him onto his side and spun him forward, their chests flush with one another as he quickly moved his hand to try and wrap back around the older’s neck— shivering as he felt John’s other hand slide around his upper back. It was hard for Crow to try and find a grip around his friend, his legs flailing slightly as he tried to contort himself enough to wrap it around Johnny’s neck, all the while Johnny practically held Crow in a sideways hug, listening to the Irishman grunting and cursing under his breath. 

Johnny could only laugh and soon took a knee so that he could press the middle of Crow’s back into his other leg and pushed down slightly, immediately earning a sharp grunt as the smaller man’s body stretched to alleviate the faint discomfort. He took advantage of Crow’s arched back to hook his arms under him in a better grip only to lose it as the other pushed up with one foot to roll his chest back into his. Crow slinked one of his arms over John’s shoulder and held himself up with his free hand and foot, his eyes closing briefly when he felt a hand on the back of his neck and waist. With a low groan, both due to the touch and the fact that the other sergeant’s thigh was now pressing into his ribs, Crow pulled Johnny down then rolled more, his chest now on the man’s thigh so that he could plant both feet back on the ground and push upwards with his back to make the other stand back up. Despite John’s hand on the back of his neck— which the same arm was also holding Crow’s shoulder in a lock— and his other arm keeping him in a close hold, Crow squatted down to grab the man’s ankle. 

Though this motion gave the taller man the opportunity to finally slide both arms under the smaller’s arms and interlock his hands behind his neck, forcing him to let go of his leg to balance on his hands and knees while his head was pressed inward towards his own chest. He grunted at the feeling of Soap’s chest pressing to his upper back, a faint flush of warmth rising to his face, before he pushed his body up with his arms. As Wolfhound moved Soap loosened his head lock and laughed as he felt him wrap one of his legs around his own, only for the other one to join. The moment he had been lifted off the ground, Crow knew he was going to lose the match, since he knew that John would never let him get off the ground once he was back down— but to feel an arm wrap around his neck to prevent him from continuing his attempt at a grapple really solidified his loss. 

He groaned a little louder and tried to pry the arm from around his neck only to pause for a moment, breathing heavily as the other remained bent at the waist to keep him in a headlock. They stayed like that for a few seconds before Crow finally submitted and tapped John’s leg, unraveling his legs from the other and taking a deep breath as his neck was released. The redheaded man turned to look up at the other, giving him a faint glare that was only met with a smirk. 

“Bha thu airidh air sin.” The Scotsman teased, causing Crow’s ears and face to burn with faint embarrassment. Crow liked that a little too much to admit, but he was quick to hop back onto his feet, fixing his hair before turning back to John— who was still smirking.

“Again.”

The longer they sparred, the more they learned a little something about one another: Crow learned that Johnny annoyingly wanted to throw him off guard, and Johnny learned that Crow was very foxy. It was almost like a dance between the two of them, the pair always close together due to the older’s persistence—which got rather overwhelming in a good way to the red-haired man after the first match. He felt his breathing hitch slightly and he knew he was going to need an out soon before he did something stupid, but he wasn’t going to let the other win easily. With a quick thought, Crow closed the distance fully between them, their bodies flush with one another, and wrapped one of his legs around the back of Johnny’s to try and yank it out from under him despite a familiar little rush of heat beginning to seep into his blood. 

It was a good attempt, considering the Scot wavered on his feet, but it wasn’t enough and opened himself up for a shot at a takedown. Johnny was quick to seize the opportunity, quickly reaching down to grab the leg that supported most of Crow’s weight and yanked it out from under him. The quick counter took the Irishman by surprise and he let out a yelp as he was tossed backwards onto the mat, though before he could recover he felt the other man’s foot press lightly into his stomach. His gaze was quick to shift up to meet the other’s and he grimaced at Johnny’s smug smile— as erotic this position would have been, he was going to wipe that damned smile off his face. He slid his hands around the other’s leg, hooking one around the back of his ankle while the blade of his other arm drove into the man’s shin just below the knee. With a calming breath, he flexed his core and rotated his hold, pushing the blade of his arm through Johnny’s leg as if it wasn’t there. For an added kick, Crow kicked one of his legs up to wrap around the thigh of the leg that was pinning him, hooking his heel into the other’s hip. In one fluid motion, the Irishman sent Johnny into the ground, using his own momentum to spring up to his feet, ready for any retaliation that followed. He stared down at Soap, who now lay flat on his back breathing heavily as he tried to regain the air that had been knocked out of his lungs—a look of surprise on his face. 

Johnny was never going to hear the end of this from either Simon or Crow, but he should have kept his guard up and he knew that because Crow was a slippery little bastard. He lifted his head up to look at the red-haired man, eyes drifting over Wolfhound’s face then and to his scarred lips that tugged into a faint smile, then grunted as he laid back fully once again. The Scotsman glanced over to Ghost’s position, he could tell by the way his eyes gleamed that the Lieutenant was amused at his take down— but in all honesty it was worth it, as Crow’s determined gaze and pleased smile made a faint warmth spread through his chest. He wasn’t afraid to admit when he found people attractive and Crow was one of them, but it was mostly due to his attitude rather than his looks— he was cute, and Johnny liked his men quiet as they had the most interesting personalities when alone, but he wasn’t sure if the younger wanted to hear that. Crow never took compliments well, seeing that he normally told whoever gave him one to: “Feck off, stop being sappy.”

The Irishman gave Johnny a few more moments before finally offering him a hand up off the ground, helping the Scottish man off the ground once their hands locked with one another's. Once Johnny was off the ground, Crow lightly patted his shoulder and gave him a faint smile. "Sorry, mohawk... didn't want ta' lose twice t'day." He chuckled softly. 

"Dinnae apologize, red, it was fun." He laughed and lightly patted the other's shoulder. "I think I need ta' rest before going at it again wit' ya'... my leg still feels a bit weird." 

"Winded, MacTavish?" Simon asked, his rough voice holding a teasing nature— only for him to grunt as he stood up so he could approach the younger men. "Good form, O'Neil, the only problem is that you got yourself in that position in the first place." He scolded lightly, which caused the Irishman to groan and wave him off slightly. 

"Aye, ya' try ta' take out a brick wall ov'a Scottish bastard when yer m'size." Crow sassed slightly, his hand patting Johnny's upper back when the Scot headed towards the bench. "B'sides I was too close ta' him fer it ta' work." 

"Too close or too unsure?" The lieutenant asked, quirking a brow as he stepped fully onto the mat and over to the sergeant— closing the distance to be as close as the sergeants had been. "With more confidence you'd be able to do it." He said before quickly using his foot to sweep one of Crow's ankles out from under him, then moved in to fully send him to the ground with a hard shove. 

The Irishman was taken aback, a short grunt of surprise slipping past his lips as his balance was almost immediately yanked from him— though now he felt how Johnny, who now laughed, felt as he himself was winded the moment his back hit the mat. He blinked then quickly sprung to his feet, narrowing his eyes at Ghost in bewilderment, a twinge of red coloring his cheeks. "Oi! I wasn' ready!" 

"Hostiles won't wait for you to be ready, freckles." The older man countered. 

Crow stared at Simon, his expression going from shock to faint annoyance before he rolled his eyes and brought his hands up. He couldn't risk getting caught off guard again, even though part of him knew it wouldn't really matter. Ghost has more combat experience, and he's more of a nuisance than Soap, Crow grumbled softly to himself and crouched slightly as the lieutenant began to stalk around him. It was rather clear to the Irishman that he was not sparring a friend, like he was with the Scotsman, rather he was training with his lieutenant, Ghost not Simon. This was not a light sparring match, judging by how hard he had been sent into the ground, it was more like a test and he could only assume he was actually going to get hit.

Was it more nerve-wracking to spar Ghost than Soap? Absolutely, one had easily readable facial ques while one fucking stared into your soul— which was rather disconcerting and made it hard for Crow to focus for more reasons than one. He shuffled on his feet and kept his attention on the larger man's movements trying to not to look him in the eyes. Unlike the previous match, where it was more close and involved, this one was cautious and calculated. 

While he never sought a match out willingly, he only sparred when he had to or when it was for a demonstration, he could see why he should start doing so more often— specifically with the masked man since he was far less predictable for him than the Scot. The two continued to move slowly, until finally Ghost quickly stepped in and took a swing at Wolfhound. He brought his arm up to block the hit, which stung a bit, and reared back to strike the man in the ribs. 

The lieutenant would take a quick step to the side and quickly grab the sergeant's arm with both hands to twist it into an awkward position behind his back, which made the smaller man groan slightly as his body turned to avoid any harm done to his shoulder. He then spun Crow more to work on driving him into the mat below, forcing his knees to buckle and his body to drop. He let out an audible growl of annoyance as he was pressed down into the mat with Ghost's weight on him. While it wasn't the worst position he's been in, it was the more humbling one, and he did not want to be in it any longer than he needed to. The Irishman’s upper torso and head were forced down into the mat— which his head was less so since the older man did not wish to apply too much pressure on his upper jaw— as Ghost pressed against his back, leaning over him just enough to keep him from squirming too much. 

"Come on, red, how would you get out of this on the field?" Ghost asked him with a faint mocking tone, and pressed his arm further into his back— earning a low groan from the smaller man as he bent in a little more to relieve the pressure on his back. 

“Is fuath liom tú. Is fuath liom é sin. Is dick tú.” He hissed back and used the one hand that he had free to pat the mat. "I wouldn't even be in t'is position on ta' field." 

Watching him surrender, Ghost let go and pulled off of him— letting him lay on the mat for a few seconds before grabbing the back of his shirt to pull him off the ground. "You don't know that for sure, Crow." He warned lightly, watching the other squirm a bit before he set him down on his feet. 

"I will make sure," The Irishman huffed while pulling his shirt down to tuck it back into the waistband of his pants, only to turn and lightly smack the taller man in the shoulder. “Bawlbag.”

The lieutenant narrowed his gaze slightly at the taunt then took a few steps towards the sergeant, who would step away to keep a bit of distance between them— the man’s hazel eyes following the other as he worked on staying away from Simon. Crow glanced over to the other man, his gaze holding a more taunting expression as he did his best to avoid being put into another grapple. He crouched slightly and watched Ghost intently, waiting for his next move before letting out a low huff. The moment the taller man moved in to strike he would duck under his arm and then pulled his fist back to strike him in the sternum, earning a low grunt from Ghost. He slid past him to get behind the older man and turned to face him once again— only he turned his body in time to feel the other’s hand on the back of his head. 

He reached up to push the other’s hand off while his head was forced downwards, though was soon surprised by Ghost dropping his level to spring forward and wrap his arms around his waist. The lieutenant slid his arms down slightly, now holding closer to Crow’s thighs, while remaining on his knees not even seeming to mind that the Irishman wrapped one of his arms around his neck while his other one went between their bodies to try and dislodge the hold. With a fluid motion, Ghost lifted them both up and hooked his right leg around the back of Crow’s left and pulled back while his front pushed forward— sending the both of them to the ground, with the smaller man’s back being pressed onto the mat. He kept the sergeant pinned to the mat with his weight and hold while the other briefly struggled and used his two most free limbs, his right arm and leg, to try and free himself.

Crow paused for a moment, eyes widened as he finally felt a faint fuzziness he hadn’t in a while, which for a moment he enjoyed. The rush of adrenaline and endorphins took him a bit by surprise, though he was quick to spring back in action and pressed himself up against Simon to fight back. It was a sudden burst of strength that nearly took the British lieutenant by surprise, and had he not originally stabilized himself after pinning the sergeant he would have been thrown off balance. Low grunts and almost guttural growls sounded from the redheaded man, earning a confused glance from Johnny as he stood up and walked onto the mat to see what was happening. The Irishman’s struggle continued until he finally cocked his head slightly and sank his teeth into the Englishman’s right upper shoulder blade— the stimuli from the previous matches finally catching up to him. It was a hard and firm bite, one that was used to pinch the taller’s skin and shirt that was worn and hold him still. His action earned a faint grunt of pained confusion before Ghost shifted his weight off Wolfhound enough to grab near his lower jaw and roughly press his head into the mat. They both stared at one another, Crow’s eyes filled with what he could only describe as a glare while Simon’s held some sort of bewilderment— though he soon narrowed his gaze and raised his brows, giving the younger’s jaw a firm squeeze. 

No one said anything, not even Soap who watched Ghost hold Wolfhound down as if he was correcting a dog for biting. Hell he even curled his lips like one, which stunned the two older men. They were both still until the youngest’s foot caught the lieutenant’s waist to try and kick him off— which was an awkward and straining angle for him to put his leg in. His teeth remained bared in a snarl despite the hand that pressed into the soft space between his jaws, a low growl like sound reverberating from his chest as he worked on kicking the larger man off. While it  was often that he held up to his codename when it came to the rest of the 141, but mostly when it involved him being calm and gentle— he never really acted like this before, not even on the field, and it made the two wonder just where this part of him had been hiding.

Ghost grunted as Wolfhound’s heel dug into his waist more but did not relent, he was going to wait until the other got him off or gave in again. He felt the man strain more under him, though he wasn’t expecting to see that Crow’s glare had grown glassy. As if he were not fully there. It threw him off for a moment, relaxing his hold a bit— though the lax grip on his jaw allowed for Crow to quickly bite down on his hand and press his heel further up, now into Simon’s abdomen. 

“Oi!” The lieutenant hissed, yanking his hand back before sitting up slightly to grab the sergeant's ankle to pull his heel away from his stomach. He yanked his leg up and forced his body back down so that he could stop the younger’s struggling. “I don’t know how you were trained before you came here— but we don’t fuckin' bite during training, you’re not in any danger enough to take off my damn skin.” 

Crow stared at Ghost for a few moments, his breathing harsh from his struggle before he tried to pull on his legs, one of which was still pinned under the larger man and the other held off the ground. The way he was scolded seemed to bring him back to reality for a few moments, his snarl turning into a faint smirk while heat rushed to his face. He let out a nervous laugh, and then cleared his throat a bit. “Ah… If I had brains I’d be dangerous, tas on me— sorry leifteanant.” He said a bit breathlessly. “I… uh, spaced out, tas all… forgot where I was.”  

Simon reached down and flicked Crow in the forehead, earning a sharp whine, before tossing his leg to the side and standing up. They both watched as the Irishman rolled to the side and pushed himself up from the ground to stand up and look at them sheepishly. 

“Jaysus, Wolfhound— dinnae take ya’ fer a biter.” Soap mused. While his comment earned a side eye from Ghost, it did seem to make the Irishman's ears burn with faint color. 

“Definitely left a bruise for sure.” The Englishman huffed and rotated his right shoulder to try and ease the dull ache in his arm. 

“I'm sorry.” Crow reiterated, he was — mostly—sincere and briefly looked up to give Simon an apologetic glance. The way his eyes softened mixed with the way that his brows raised with worry made his pout look like a guilty puppy. Whether he did this out of genuine regret or to get off with just a faint scolding neither of the other two knew.

“Right… well.” The older sighed and moved to pinch his brow a bit, turning his head away from Crow briefly— he couldn’t even look at Soap when he gave him the puppy eyes, Crow’s were somehow more effective. “...don't do it again.” He huffed— going with the idea that the Irishman did only act out of stupidity. While Ghost did not understand the reason for being bitten, he could only assume he’d find out eventually. “Else you'll lose some of your damn teeth, hound.” 

“Aye. Aye, I understand.” Crow replied with a huffy chuckle and rubbed his arms lightly. “...sorry, sir.” 

“Dinnae worry about Ghost, freckles.” Soap reassured, walking over to the two so that he could wrap an arm around Crow’s shoulder. “He's been through worse than a bite.” 

The cheeky smile that Johnny gave earned a groan from Simon, though the two shared a chuckle— all the while, Crow looked between them, knowing exactly what he meant. His embarrassment slowly melted away as the two reassured him, somewhat at least as they were now laughing about it, but he still seemed flustered. He definitely owed Simon an answer, but that was a conversation for later— he did not have the mental spoons to give those answers yet. He flinched slightly when the Englishman raised his hand, though grunted as he only gave his forehead a light smack with his palm. ‘Probably payback, or a warning,’ Crow thought. Subconsciously he leaned into the Scotsman and sighed a little, finding a faint comfort in the company of them both. He barely pulled away when he felt Soap's hand tighten on his shoulder, snuggly holding him to his side. 

“I t'ink I need a smoke.” Crow sighed softly and laughed a little bit. “...we still ‘ave almost a whole hour b'fore dinner an’ I don't wanna go back without one...” 

“We can join if ya’ want, freckles.” Soap offered with a smile, only for Crow to nod a little bit.

“...aye, it would be nice… we can swing by my office fer my smokes.” He then lightly pulled himself out of Johnny’s arm, giving him a brief pat on the shoulder before heading to the edge of the mat to slip his shoes on. The Scotsman would walk over to the Englishman, lifting the sleeve of his shirt to inspect the bite mark on his shoulder, wincing slightly at the bright red mark. He looked to Simon, raising his brows before whistling and walking away to pull his shirt on— tossing the taller man his jacket in the process. He knew that there was going to be a nasty bruise there just because of how red the original mark was, but now he knew what he could tease Crow with if he taunted him after this. The two of them made their way off the mat and slipped into their trainers, sharing a brief look between one another. 

Soap turned his gaze to Wolfhound, who waited patiently for the two of them only to turn and lead the way out of the gym towards his office. It was an awkwardly quiet walk, as the Irishman kept his distance until the other two caught up when they made the brief stop at his office. They watched him walk in to grab a lighter and a pack of his cigarettes before exiting the room and locking it once again so that they could head out towards the nearest smoking area. 

20:02

This time their walk wasn’t as awkward, seeing as the three walked together and actually made some small conversation. It wouldn’t take long before they reached one of the few areas away from the base’s entrance, the three of them sitting on one of the benches. By then the sun had already sank into the horizon and the air was a bit crisp, but it was still a pleasant evening. Johnny sat in the middle of the other two, watching as Crow opened his pack of smokes to offer him and Simon one. 

“Didn’t think you smoked Sovereigns, Crow.” Simon mused as he took one from the pack. “Thought you for a vape guy.” 

“I like m’air tarred or clean, not fruity— t’ank you.” The Irishman replied holding his lighter to the paper so that he could light it, then passed the lighter to Soap and Ghost. 

With that they shared a brief laugh and went silent, enjoying the night air while they smoked. It was genuinely enjoyable, the occasional scuffle of Crow’s shoes or a faint mumble from Johnny would break up the silence just enough to keep it from turning sour, and just what they needed. None of them would speak until their cigarettes were almost fully smoked. 

“So… Irish.” Soap started turning his head to look at the smaller man with a playful smile. 

“Oh no.” Crow sighed with a soft chuckle. 

“If ya’ had to pick a sport… what would it be?”

The younger man hummed a little then tapped the filter of his cigarette to his lips, having to think relatively hard about what he would pick over the other. “...uh… televised sport wise… rugby...” He replied.

“Rugby, eh? Why that one an’ not football?” Johnny asked. 

“...’ave ya’ seen te’ boys t’at play rugby?” Crow replied— he remembered Malakai's only reason to watch the sport was to watch the men as well, he himself also did not understand what the game was about. “Mmm… fine.”

The two laughed, while the Irishman’s ears and cheeks reddened slightly. He felt a little more comfortable making jokes like that now that he knew the other two were at least bisexual, or some other form of queer. It was nice to know he wasn't the only, mostly, gay man in the 141, though he knew there was a chance that some of the other soldiers were as well. Crow took a drag out of his cigarette before puffing the smoke out of his nose, thinking before laughing softly. 

“I ‘aven't watched a game inna while t'ough.” He shrugged, leaning back to press his shoulders into the backrest of the bench. “So maybe t'ey aren't as fine as t'ey used ta’ be… straight men blessed wit fat fuckin’ asses… unfair to all te’ gay lads, but at least te lassies get ta’ ‘ave em.” 

His bluntness managed to get an audible laugh from Ghost, well more like an amused snort, while sending Soap into a howling laugh. 

“Where did that come from, O'Neil?” The Englishman asked as he shook his head slightly, chuckling softly as the Scotsman's laugh died down to a snicker.

“What else are ya’ holding back from us, freckles?” Soap asked. 

“Ah, te’ closet, obviously.” Wolfhound answered first then rolled his eyes a bit, earning another brief chuckle. “A lot, uhm, actually… but… I'll tell ya’ a bit. Like how I used ta’ be a real rager at te’ pubs back when I was on t’Watchdogs.”

“Yer old squad, yeah?” The Scotsman asked and to which Crow nodded, taking a much longer drag of his cigarette to finish it off. He held the smoke in his lungs as he leaned forward to snuff out the cherry and think for a moment. 

As he finally exhaled through his nose he coughed a little laugh and turned to the other two giving them a look of amusement then shook his head as he stood up. “Teres a lot… tat I want ta’ tell you boys… I’m.. just worried is all.” He admitted with a small smile. 

“Worried? Of what?” 

“Reactions.”

The answer was a little confusing, too vague to make any real guesses as to what he was talking about, but they did not press, at least not now. To them Crow was just a more personal kind of man, someone who liked to be alone or quiet since today was the most he had spoken— at least about non-work related topics— in the past week. But Crow knew it was a good sign of healing and trust that he could finally show. 

Simon and John would take a few more moments to finish their own cigarettes before finally deciding to press the matter. 

“Are… ya’ worried about a negative reaction to the things you want to tell us?” The Englishman would ask, sitting back on the bench with his arms crossed over his chest. 

“Only on some.” The Irishman replied and moved to stand up from the bench to stretch his legs. 

“Go on, tell us one thing, red.” John mused, looking at Crow with a smile. “Dinnae have ta’ be a big thing… just a thing, y’know?” 

Crow looked at John, his eyes moving from the other’s smile to his eyes then over to Simon before he sighed a little. He gave a small nod then ran his tongue along his teeth while he thought. It was a hard decision, his mind having gone blank the moment he agreed to give out one detail about himself. He really didn't have much to choose from… either a few things that he isn't bothered by or a lot of things he hated telling people. 

With a shrug he laughed a little then turned to face them with a small smile. “Here, t'is one is'a good one.” He mused. “...I'm covered in tattoos.” 

“Well ya’ cannae just keep ‘em hidden after sayin’ that.” Soap said teasingly while Ghost raised a brow, then with a motion of his hand ushered Wolfhound to continue. “Else I’ll say yer bluffin’.” 

Crow scoffed, rolled his eyes, then pulled his shirt out of his pants before pulling it over his head— opening his arms as if to say ‘see’ then laughed a little as he noticed Soap’s shocked expression. “I like gettin’ ink. Feels amazin’.” The smaller man said as he walked forward to them, letting the two look over his nearly fully covered torso and arms, only to turn and show them the expansive back piece he had. The flora and fauna seemed relatively specific to the man. Deer, butterflies, centipedes, wolves, and birds… carnations, marigolds, ivy, and trees… they just somehow suited him. John eagerly reached forward, grabbing one of Crow’s wrists to look at one of the symmetrical, forest half sleeves— turning his arm to examine it before looking back to the other tattoos. 

“Jaysus… I’m jealous.” He laughed and lightly poked the smaller man in the gut. “I needta get more ink..”

“I recommend my artist… lass tells me ta’ draw an idea then runs wit it.” Crow chuckled then gestured to his chest piece. “This one hurt te’ most… tattooed ova’ my nips and some scars… don’t recommend that.” He laughed, though his words caused the Scottish to look back to his chest curiously, he was so focused on the other Celt’s reaction he didn’t notice the way the Brit’s eyes examined his left arm. On each upper arm, just below his shoulders, were more contained tattoos— on his right arm was a wolf and two crows, or ravens, in a mountain covered crescent moon, while his left had a masked feminine head with snakes for hair in a crescent moon of pomegranates. 

He wasn’t stupid when it came to tattoos, Simon had his own tattoos with meanings special to him, and for Crow to have so many without any of them having meaning— it was highly unlikely they had no meaning, but he’d heard stories that it was for empowerment and survival. The Scot raised his eyes to the Irish sergeant’s then over to his chest piece as he spoke about it, sure enough he could see what he meant. The symmetrical centipede tattoos followed the curve of his pectorals, large enough for the legs and body to span close to his sternum and down his ribs. Just under the tattoos were faint, but thick, scarring and it confused them. It was not often people just had incisions like that and were still able to join the military, since transplants could impact their ability to perform.

But then it sort of clicked, causing the sergeant to look back up to Crow’s face with a little bit of questioning, while the lieutenant seemed to not be surprised. Simon had seen Crow’s medical and personal file, he just knew better than to out someone. It would have been like someone yanking off his mask without his consent— he might not have cared but it definitely wasn’t kosher. But Crow was unbothered, he did not mind his body and was rather proud of it, he was just more comfortable in less revealing clothes. They just would have never seen the scars had he not mentioned them. 

“So you’re—” Soap started. 

“Oh yeh, told ya’ I had a lotta secrets.” Crow chuckled, moving to pull his shirt back on then shook his hair out a little. 

“...neva would’ve known.” John mused while the Irishman laughed.

“Aye, well ya’ just don’t go tellin’ people ye’ weren’t, uh, born in te’ body you want… I needed ta’ make sure te’ rest ov’ya weren’t gonna freak out.” He said then waved his hands a bit dismissively. “But… in te’ time I’ve been ‘ere… you lads an’ te’ rest ov’ 141 proved trustworthy.” 

It was a fair reasoning, and they couldn’t argue with that. He had the right to be cautious, times were not so kind even in the year 2022, but they couldn’t deny that it looked like the admission lifted a faint weight from his shoulders— and to hear that he had trust in them and the team made the wait feel a bit worth it. John looked over to Simon for a few moments then nodded, glancing back to Crow with a smile. “Thanks fer tellin’ us, freckles.” 

“It was gonna be found out one day.” Crow shrugged and tucked his shirt back into his pants. “Rather it b’on my own terms t’an any ot’er option..” 

The Scot nodded then smiled teasingly, his eyes flicking down to the faint outline of the man’s packer, opening his mouth to ask a question before the Irishman held up a finger and pointed at him in warning. 

“Don’t ask, I know ta’t look.” He replied and rolled his eyes, only to laugh and shake his head. “It isn’ real, don’t ask t’at to any trans person yeh? It’s not nice.” 

“Yes, sergeant.” John replied playfully while Simon merely shook his head and chuckled. 

“Glad you got that off your chest, yeah.” Ghost said then shrugged a little. “Along with other things.”

Wolfhound slowly turned his head to look at the man in slight disbelief then swiped his tongue over his teeth as he tried to keep himself from even looking amused by the joke, compared to Soap who laughed. “Yep.” He said as dryly as he could, but couldn’t help but laugh slightly while he smiled. How could he not be amused by that— why didn’t he think of that. 

“Shut up. God. Stupid joke.” The smaller man said, finally beginning to chuckle softly, rolling his eyes. The Englishman could only chuckle softly and watch as the Irishman fought his amusement. He took a few more moments, trying to compose himself before gesturing to the building. “Let’s go eat, I’m sick of yer shite.”

20:56

That went a lot better than Crow ever thought it would, he honestly thought it would have been more awkward than that— but here he was walking alongside his friends towards the mess hall, nothing had changed like he thought it would. To say he was relieved was an understatement, it felt like the majority of the weight he had been carrying had finally been lifted. His steps felt lighter and he didn’t feel like his mind was clouded in a fog as much anymore. To know that almost every person he confided in about himself found nothing wrong with him was relieving— though he felt a bit childish keeping things locked down for as long as he did. He put trust in these men nearly half a year ago, and he just now trusted them enough to start coming out of his shell. But he was fairly certain that they did not blame him, and he knew that if he told his whole truth there would be even more understanding as to why he never opened up. Additionally, there hadn’t really been a good time to speak about himself, since he was mostly silent when he first joined their ranks due to his personal problems and the missions going on. There was so much happening between all of the commotion with other minor missions and threats that he decided to wait until some time had passed. 

In reality, he just made no effort to be openly friendly up until early April, around his third month in the group, but shit happens almost every day for this group so it was just a longer process than he originally thought. Seeing how Laswell had requested Ghost’s time around two weeks ago to assist in the assassination of the Quds Force General, Ghorbrani. Shit just happens. Yet, here they were, acting like they had been friends before and he wouldn’t want it any other way. 

The walk to the cafeteria was relatively quick, the three of them arriving alongside some of the other soldiers, only to head to their normal table and sit down. Crow relaxed back in his seat for a few minutes, watching as Johnny and Simon went to go grab their dinner, making a plan on how to explain about what happened earlier— wanting to apologize for his outburst, since he shouldn’t have snapped on his team the way he did. He continued to stare off in thought until he felt a hand brush his shoulder, a comforting pat drawing his attention to the person behind him. Though when he turned no one was there, until he heard a snort from his other side. 

Kyle snickered softly as Crow finally turned to look at him, watching as the younger man glared playfully at him. “Gotta keep those eyes open, O’Neil, don’t want you gettin’ hurt on our mission.” The man teased while the younger scoffed. 

“Garrick, don’t be rude.” Crow laughed, slugging the other in the shoulder playfully before rolling his eyes and laughing softly with the other sergeant. Though slowly, his laugh died down to a quiet chuckle. It… finally felt right, something felt right and Crow just couldn’t really place a finger on it. It felt similar to a warm welcome, the one he had originally pushed away when he had first joined. It was vastly different from how he felt when he was comfortable with his therapist, it was more… genuine. Acceptance, maybe. All he knew was that he had a revelation— that these men, the ones he could trust his life with, could also be trusted with himself. Sure it took half a year, and a few extra online therapy sessions, but maybe he could just start trying to let the others finally, especially now that he’s having the odd thought about them every once in a while. 

“You okay, Crowley?” Kyle asked gently, a small smile on his face. 

He hadn’t noticed that he had zoned out, until Gaz got his attention. 

“T’at’s a new name, hmhm..” He teased while shaking his head slightly before lightly slugging the other in the arm. “Yeh, I’m fine… jus’ tryin’ to t’ink about what I need ta tell you lads.”  

To say that dinner was a rather new experience for all of them was an understatement, Wolfhound was quite the character under the front he presented normally. He had brought up what happened that morning, apologizing to his friends for taking out his emotions on them before telling them a little bit on what had happened before he had transferred to the Task Force. The news was received about as well as Simon had taken it— though Johnny and Kyle seemed a little concerned with the news about Crow’s deceased lover, mostly for their friend’s mental state. Price on the other hand was mostly thankful that Crow promised to get better at taking care of himself for any future mission’s sake, and for his own sake. Yet telling Kyle that he was transgender went swimmingly, with the older man going ‘Oh, I could’ve guessed.’ which earned a blank stare from the youngest. Though now, Crow felt… better. 

Better was the only way he could describe it, as it wasn’t much different than how things had been before, but at least it wasn’t worse. Originally he had been scared of some sort of backlash, though when he had told Price, before joining up with the Task Force, about his identity he was told that there would be no problems with who he was. His therapist was right, the man was normally right, and months of online counseling had helped him get to this point. He really owed that man some sort of gift for putting up with him. Though it could have been so much worse, and he knew that, though here he was… enjoying his time with his team— his friends— as they ate dinner and spoke on other things. It was like there was a brief lapse in his grief, allowing him to smile a bit more than he would normally. He felt warm and giddy but it could only last so long as he began to reminisce. He hadn’t noticed just how much he needed this, how he needed friends to be himself around.  

He grew quiet, his eyes flicking down to the table as he let the voices around him become nothing but white noise while his thoughts began to play memories of his previous team. It was this sort of down time that he missed with the Watchdogs. Where he and Malakai would always enjoy the time they spent with their team, cuddling up to one another as the other three bickered and joked during dinner. Like when Collie, their medic, threatened Rottweiler, their fresh sergeant, to not pull any shrapnel from whatever wounds he was bound to get because he had glued googly eyes to the things in her room when she was out. Or when Malinois, their corporal, forgot he had unscrewed the lid to the salt shaker and completely ruined his food that night— though he still ate it with the most disgusted face Wolfhound had ever seen on a man.

A hand on his shoulder brought him back to the present and he looked to his friends who had quieted down when he began to stare off. He gently placed one of his hands over the one on his shoulder, looking to his right only to meet Johnny’s somewhat worried gaze. Crow gave the man’s hand a squeeze then smiled a little, his hand lingering on the top of Soap’s to finally return the affection that had always been given to him.  

“I’m okay.” He breathed out and sighed softly. “I’m jus’... rememberin’ my old team… old times. You lads remind me of ‘em…” Crow smiled then lightly looked between his comrades and friends before nodding slowly. “..Malakai would’ve loved you all… ‘bout as much as I do.” His voice was soft and he hadn’t even noticed that he was close to tears at the moment, though the smile on his face was the most genuine one the group had ever seen. Most of his smiles had been little, and brief, but this one was one that allowed the small gap between his front teeth to show— one that tugged on his face enough for the slight indents of his dimples to be seen, one that slightly hurt and caused a dull ache in his plated jaw. He sighed happily then let go of Soap’s hand, shaking his head slightly before lightly laughing, rubbing his eyes slightly. 

“That’s pretty gay, red.” Gaz’s teasing reply only caused Wolfhound to laugh a little more, thankful for the lift in the conversation.

“So am I.” He mused, earning a laugh from his friends, sitting back in his chair with a happy sigh. “When we get, eh, te time… we should go to a pub… I owe ye lads a pint or two alongside some stories. Jus’ fer putin’ up wit me.”

21:45

By the end of the meal, the men were winding down with cups of tea— or in Crow’s sake a cup of bitter juice— and casually conversing with one another. They were winding down for the night, some of the other soldiers having already gotten up to go to their bunks or to the common room while the operators remained at their table. Their conversation was light and enjoyable, a perfect way to end the day especially after all of the revelations and mixed emotions from earlier. Though now Crow was intently watching the way the other men interacted with one another, trying to see if his earlier suspicions were correct. Low and behold he picked out the subtle hints of how the two duos interacted with one another— then saw how they mingled with the other duo. The way they looked at one another, the way they smiled… it would have been obvious beforehand had he actually spent the time to put thought into it rather than thinking they were all just friends. 

Late night meetings my ass, they’re so fucking. The ginger thought to himself and let out a chuckle when the others laughed at something Johnny said. No doubt about it, given all the flirting and teasing over the coms… He let his eyes linger on the four of them then shifted in his chair a bit so that he could lean on the table lightly. A slowly pooling warmth made his legs close and adjust the way he sat so that he could try and focus on the conversation, though the longer he took in their features the more he realized that he was acting like a bitch in heat. He bit his inner cheek and bounced his leg slightly as he closed his eyes. A Scottish bear, a pretty otter, a daddy of a captain and a mysterious hot mess. Lovely crowd, truly. Crow shifted in his chair, only making his situation a bit worse with the rubbing of his boxers, before slowly standing up shaking his head before downing the rest of his cranberry juice. 

The sudden movement drew the four men’s eyes, only for them to meet his when he looked between the four. “Gotta go shower, an giv’ m’self a needle ta’ te’ thigh.” He said while patting his hands to the very top of his thighs, giving them a small smile. “I’ll see ya’ lads fer breakfast, yeh?”

“Aye, get some rest, bud.” Gaz said, smiling back to Wolfhound.

“Goodnight lad,” Price added while Ghost merely nodded.

“Cadal gu math, chuilean.” Soap’s teasing comment got a playful glare from Wolfhound, the man merely making an exaggerated face of disapproval. With a huff he slid his empty cup to the Scot before turning to walk out of the mess hall towards his room. He did not know how long he had until Ghost came to his room that night, but he figured he had enough time to shower and give himself the rest of his upkeep… maybe a bit more if he was so inclined. His normally calm pace turned brisk as he made his way to his room, pulling out his keys to unlock the door and shut it behind him once he was inside. He didn’t bother locking it since he was expecting someone and simply decided to shower with his bathroom locked instead. 

He stripped himself of his clothes after that door was secured and set his packer off to the side, he wouldn’t be wearing it for the mission just for the fact of practicality. He didn’t want to have it fall from its spot in his underwear— it was quite the hassle on the field when it happened, and if this mission was going to take more than a week it just wasn’t worth it. The ginger man turned on his shower and let the water warm up, as he went to the mirror to inspect himself. He felt cheesy, checking himself out as he showed off to no one but himself, but it made him wonder if one day he’d be able to do so for someone else again. Once he was done he reached over to his cabinet to pull out a sterile needle and his bottle of testosterone, setting it on the counter for him to use after he’s cleaned up. 

Crow hummed a little to himself then pressed his hips into the ledge of the counter, lightly biting the bottom of his lip as he let his thoughts run wild. He had felt so many conflicting emotions that day, too many emotions, but that didn’t stop his own body from acting out. He sighed softly to himself and opened one of his bathroom drawers to pull out his stroker, finally heading to hop in the shower for a needed release alongside a well deserved cleaning. 

All in all his shower did not last terribly long, no longer than ten minutes since he still needed to administer his medication as well as do his nightly prayer. He would clean his toy out then let it air dry as he toweled himself off, smiling faintly to himself as he enjoyed the foggy headspace he was in. He picked up his comb to run it through his hair and brushed his teeth before finally removing the needle from the packaging to load it up with the correct amount of testosterone needed. He used to be terrified of this process, though now he was able to do it with ease, as if he were just putting a straw into a juice box. It was over and done within seconds, and once he placed a bandaid over his application spot he tossed the used needle into a sharps bin for later disposal at the medics. 

He looked himself over in the mirror once again, sighing softly as he wrapped his arms around his torso in a hug, closing his eyes to imagine it were someone else holding him— the warmth from his shower only helped by keeping his skin warm. With a sigh he slowly let his arms fall to his side and he gazed at himself once again. 

“C’mon lad, he wouldna’ wan ta’ see us like t’is, y’know… stop bein’ a fanny…” He said plainly to himself, watching his own lips move before he huffed and pointed at his reflection. “Docter Hall would tell us we need ta’ lis’en. Kai wants us ta’ be happy— so why can nay be happy? Man up. We cried in fronta Ghost fer fecks sake, yelled at our lads. We cannot be doin’ all t’at.” 

He sighed, staring at himself for a few more seconds before dropping his hands to the counter and leaning on it, staring down into the sink. “We’re too hard on ourself… It ain’t fair… ta’ us… ta’ anyone..” He breathed out while pushing himself away from the counter to exit the bathroom, once he unlocked the door, and pulled some clean boxers on. “Damn… post wank emotions, feck off.”

Once he was at least in his underwear did he finally search for his rosary, lovingly touching the beads as he held them in his hands. Kneeling at his bedside as he did every night and morning, he began his prayer. Speaking the mantra he had been conditioned to say since he was little, though now at his own choice to do so. 

22:37

His nightly routine nearly took a whole hour, but he was so focused that he didn’t even notice how long it had been. The only thing that finally got his attention from his prayer was a sharp knock at his door, which earned a faint curse as he glanced at the door. “It’s open, Ghost.” He didn’t need to ask who was outside his door, there was really only one person he had been expecting and only one person who had a reason to be knocking that late at night. 

Almost immediately the door opened rather quietly— Crow never got used to how such a big man could move so silently— and the behemoth of a man entered. He’s yet to have anyone step foot in his room before, normally making whoever was coming to get him stay outside the door until he came out, but now he had someone standing in his only personal safe space. Crow stood up from his kneeling position to sit on the edge of his bed and looked to Simon, crossing his legs over one another. 

“Y’only wear that to sleep?” The man at the door asked, cocking a brow and crossing his arms over his chest as he looked at the mostly unclothed man.

Wolfhound looked down at himself then back to Ghost. “Aye? Only in m’room t’ough… Do y’wear all’o yer clothes ta’ bed? Freaky if y’do.” He replied with a chuckle, gesturing to the chair at the small desk on the other side of his room. “Chair is ove’tere… yer welcome to it.”

“Call me a freak then,” Simon replied as he went over to the desk. “But commando is worse.” 

As the Englishman spun the chair around to face the bed he turned the lamp on, glancing over to the Irishman who chuckled softly. “I’m na’gonna sleep like t’at eva’.” He said as he pushed himself further back on his bed, not bothering to turn off the overhead light since Simon had begun to walk towards the lightswitch. Though the lieutenant would take the time to observe the young man’s room. It was neat and clean: boots near the door, dirty clothes in a small basket, while books and papers were stacked properly on the desk. Small canvases of painted landscapes and many maps lined the walls to keep them from being too barren.

 “I’ve books fer ye’ if ye’ want ta’, uh, read…”

“I’ll be okay, Crow… just lay down an’ get some rest.” Simon said in reply with a faint chuckle as he flicked the lights off and returned to the chair to sit down, sitting silently as Crow crawled under his covers to get comfortable. The calming golden glow of his lamp filled what would have been darkness, making the room feel warm and slightly more comforting. 

“...thank you, Simon.”

“... just close your eyes, O’Neil.”

The Irishman would lay back on his bed with a soft chuckle, the way Simon had spoken was soft and genuine, making his heart flutter in a way he hadn’t expected it to. He was glad that the both of them were not directly next to one another, he felt stupid for smiling shyly like a damn schoolboy. Crow pulled his covers a little closer to himself, staring up at the gentle, warm light that illuminated the other half of his room— and casted Simon's shadow onto the wall next to him. He sighed softly and then laid his arms over the top of his blankets, hugging his chest briefly. It was quiet for a little bit, as Crow was actively trying to sleep and actively failing at doing so. Soon the silence became too much, and he sighed softly then opened his mouth to speak.

"...Simon... What if t’is doesn't work? What if I'm doomed ta’ jus’... lay awake forever?... jus’ wasting yer time..?"

“You aren’t… I promise” Simon spoke quietly, his voice soft and gentle as he kept his eyes fixed forward at nothing in particular. “...and if it doesn’t work, then we’ll try something else.” He added after a moment of silence. “We’re a team after all, remember?”

"...aye.. I remember.." Crow said while finally glancing over to the man who had seen him crying earlier that day, one he had sparred with and made tea for. It felt odd, having another person in his room again especially after he lost his fiancé in a previous mission.

But oddly enough... It felt right too.

The room would be silent for a few minutes, only the sound of soft breathing being heard as well as the occasional shuffling of either of them moving slightly. Then Crow's voice would cut in gently once again.

"...before... I lost my lover... he and I used to lie awake at night... and talk about what we wanted with our future..." He said with a sad chuckle. "... we bought a house in Middlesbrough... little family home closer to the countryside.."

Crow sighed softly bringing his hands to his head, laughing softly as he did so. "I wanted horses... and him? ...chickens... he wanted chickens."

"...it’s okay to miss him, Crow." He spoke softly as Crow began to reminisce to him about their dreams with their late fiancé, about what their life could have been had the mission not gone wrong.  Simon turned his head to Crow when he felt the younger man’s eyes on him, his gaze holding no judgment towards the operator. His words, while reassuring, sparked a faint pang in the sergeant’s chest.

"...I can’t even begin to imagine the amount of pain that you still feel." Simon continued to speak, his tone shifting into one that was more soothing and comforting. He understood what it was like to lose loved ones, but really only a familial sense— but he had an idea on how much it hurt due to the slight edge in Crow’s voice.

"...I saw it happen, y’know?" Crow said softly, blinking slowly as he took in a breath. "...I know as a soldier... we're supposed to expect te’ death of our friends and comrades.. but.. I...I wasn't prepared t’hold him in my arms... not prepared ta’ have his blood on my legs..." He mumbled, letting his arms go lax above his head, only to slowly turn onto his side— facing away from Simon to stare at the wall when their eyes briefly met.

"...he got shot in te’ head... on a recon that wasn't ‘sposed to have hostile insurgents in te’ area... our intel lied or... missed somet’ing and it cost me m’lover... my whole life… and I can't help but wish that it was me, sometimes. I wish I was te’ one who got shot so t’at I didn't have ta’ live with te’ grief and guilt t’at I feel everyday... and m’therapist says it's common... says survivor's guilt is something t’at most soldiers experience at least once..." Crow said while lightly moving to pull his pillow to his chest for faint comfort.

Simon shifted in his chair and looked at the back of Crow’s head with a gentle expression, one that was meant to convey that he understood and sympathized, even if the Irishman couldn’t see it. "It's normal to feel this way." The lieutenant spoke with a nod, and it was very true— grief and guilt were normal feelings to have after experiencing something traumatic or tragic. It was common amongst the ranks especially when one forms bonds with fellow soldiers, only to lose that soldier. Sometimes he felt it too, it just came with the territory— just as the fear of losing people came with it— but he tried to not show it.

"But you need to be kind to yourself… you’ve gotta take care of yourself." He continued, voice soft yet a bit firmer. "He wouldn't want you to be so hard on yourself."

"...you can't blame yourself, either." Simon spoke slowly, turning his own gaze towards the walls once again. "For something that wasn't your fault."

Crow squeezed his pillow softly and he closed his eyes for a moment, taking in a deep breath to keep his emotions in check— he could not cry in front of this man again, he had to do it in front of someone else before Simon ever saw tears in his eyes again. He then rolled over to face Simon, sighing softly. "I know... I'm workin' on it... swear it.." He paused for a few seconds then flicked his eyes to the lamp on his desk. "...can I hold yer hand again?" 

The question got his attention, Simon’s eyes drifting over to Crow then would let out a faint chuckle and tilt his head slightly. He slowly rolled the chair towards the bed and leaned forward slightly to make it easier for Crow to take his hand again, much to the Irishman’s surprise.

"...yes." The man spoke while the other thought he could hear a smile. 

Crow remained on his side, curling up slightly as he gently took Simon’s hand in his own— their calloused palms brushing against one another as their fingers interlocked in a somewhat firm hold. One determined to make sure the other got comfort, and the other desperate to feel the touch of another. The Irishman stared at their hands, while the Englishman passively watched his face. 

After a good while, Simon noticed the way that Crow’s eyes fluttered shut and lazily opened, as well as the slight changes in the man’s breathing. It seemed that he was finally getting closer to sleeping. His hand tightened around Crow’s, the man squeezing gently and offering him a safe comfort that he hadn’t had all that much of recently. And in reply, Crow gently pulled their hands closer to his chest, as his head lulled further into the dip of his pillow. The room was silent for a few beats, and Simon would notice a difference, an improvement as Crow’s grip slowly released his now numbing hand.

“…that’s it, pup…” The lieutenant spoke quietly, watching as Crow slowly began to drift off into sleep. Simon squeezed his hand one last time before releasing his grip once Crow’s body finally went limp in relaxation, slowly adjusting his chair back again to relax. Once he was certain that the younger man was asleep, he stood up and silently moved the chair back to the desk so that he could turn off the light and head to the door. 

“...Goodnight, Crow…” Simon whispered, his voice just loud enough that it would only be heard by Crow had he been awake. It was quiet— a perfect quiet for this night, as the only sounds now were the faint and steady sounds of Crow’s deep breathing and the ticking of the nearby clock hanging beside the door.

23:51

#call of duty oc #cod oc #kyle gaz garrick #poly!141 #john price #john soap mactavish #simon ghost riley #price cod #price x oc #gaz cod #gaz x oc #soap cod #soap x oc #ghost cod #ghost x oc #cod mw2 #cod fanfic #fanfic #long reads #call of duty x oc #poly 141 x oc #trans writers #cod x male oc #modern warefare ii

[blackswaneuroparedux]

At last, After our home attain'd, we turn'd, and lo! With festal fires the hills were lit! Thine eve Saint John, had come once more, and for thy sake As though but yesterday thy crown were worn, Amid their ruinous realm uncomforted The Irish people triumph'd. Gloomy lay The intermediate space; - thence brightlier burn'd The circling fires beyond it. 'Lo!' Said I, Man's life as view'd by Ireland's sons; a vale With many a pitfall throng'd, and shade, and briar, Yet overblown by angel-haunted airs, And by the Light Eternal girdled round.

Aubrey Thomas de Vere, The Sisters (1861)

June 24th is St John's Day.

Saint John's Eve, starting at sunset on 23 June, is the eve of celebration before the Feast Day of Saint John the Baptist. The Gospel of Luke (Luke 1:26–37, 56–57) states that John was born six months before Jesus; therefore, the feast of John the Baptist was fixed on 24 June, six months before Christmas according to the old Roman calculation. This feast day is one of the very few saints' days which commemorates the anniversary of the birth, rather than the death, of the saint being honoured. The Feast of Saint John closely coincides with the June solstice, also referred to as Midsummer in the Northern Hemisphere. The Christian holy day is fixed at 24 June; but in most countries festivities are mostly held the night before, on Saint John's Eve. This holiday is celebrated in many places.

In England and Ireland there is a tradition to jump over a bonfire holding hands with your lover. Your love will last all year. Save the ash from your fire. It will protect crops from lightening storms.

Across many parts of Europe they celebrate St. John’s day with bonfires.

In France, the "Fête de la Saint-Jean" (feast of St John), traditionally celebrated with bonfires (le feu de la Saint-Jean) that are reminiscent of Midsummer's pagan rituals, is a Catholic festivity in celebration of Saint John the Baptist. It takes place on June 24, on Midsummer day (St John's day). Nowadays it is seldom celebrated. In certain French towns, a tall bonfire is built by the inhabitants in order to be lit on St John's Day. In the Vosges region and in the Southern part of Meurthe-et-Moselle, this huge bonfire is named "chavande".

In Norway, as elsewhere in Scandinavian countries, this event is celebrated with a communal bonfire. The event is also known as Jonsok, meaning ‘wake of Saint John’.

#de vere #quote #poem #st john's day #feast of st john #summer solstice #christian #pagan #ritual #tradition #custom #heritage #europe #culture

[omg-im-such-a-masochist]

Good Boys Go To Hell

Summary: Blame whatever this is on @letsgivethisonemoreshot 😌

Word Count: 875 words

Pairings: Nick Jackson x Reader

Warnings: +18

UNEDITED (this took over me and I couldn’t stop it)

Tag: @theworldofotps , @writtingrose , @aerynscrichton , @daddyhausen , @damnnhausen , @starwithaheart , @unoficialy-married-to-ace-austin , @sophiewolfheart-blog , @sultryfandoms , @new-zealand-chic , @crowleysqueenofhell , @thealliasylum , @cuzimacomedian , @thebestintheworld , @josiewrites , @seeingstarks , @irish-newzealand-idian-dutch

He was the safe bet. Innocent looking face, no curse words, church boy, hard working man, well-behaved, soothing voice, easy on the eyes…the perfect example of what a safe husband material looks like.

That’s why you chose him, because unlike his brother, Nick was predictable.

Unlike Matt - with his devious smirks, playful eyes and bedroom skills that would make you unable to walk for a week - Nick was soft, caring, gentle and loving.

Exactly what you needed in order to forget Matt and what he did to you. What his body and words could do to you.

You needed someone who played safe, someone unsurprising and steady. You needed the soft cornflower blue orbs to make you forget about the fiery chocolate ones.

Nick spent two months on the road. For two long months the only thing you could do was wait for him. Your hectic schedules rarely met and you ended up talking through text or quick phone calls that lasted less than five minutes. Now, as you smoothed the sides of your white dress you can’t help but laugh at the fact that the first time you’ll see your fiancé in eight weeks is when he’s about to become your husband.

The soft sunset light made the dark wooden doors of the church appear ethereal somehow. Your soon-to-be husband stared at you as you began to walk on the red aisle runner. There was something different about Nick, not only the full, thick beard he grew it out made him somehow appear more serious and manlier than the soft, boyish version of his clean shaven face but he also seemed more dangerous. Something about the look on his face and eyes were slightly shifted into something aggressive and predatory-like.

Perhaps you were seeing things…maybe all those months apart made you see Nick under a new light. At least that’s what you tried to convince yourself of…until you finally walked inside the small Sheldon Chalet in Alaska.

The northern lights and its shades of green lit up the sky, inside the chalet the lights were dim and dull. The night was particularly cold and the wind howled outside, making an uneasy feeling install itself inside of you. “Nick?” You called, while turning around to find your husband sitting on the foot of the bed with his gaze fixed on you.

Anxiety crept up your being at how intense he was staring at you. His hands slowly began to untie the light blue tie around his neck, “Come here, angel”.

Something in his voice made you feel unsure about approaching him for the first time in your relationship.

Your voice was soft as you asked “Are you ok?” Without moving an inch. Nick placed the tie on top of the mattress and began to undo the small buttons of his white dress shirt “I said come.here” His eyes instantly became a deeper shade of blue, completely losing their light and innocence “Don’t make me repeat myself again”.

Goosebumps rose on your skin as you walked towards him and subconsciously knelt down at his feet, eliciting a grunt of approval from the man in front of you “So perfect”.

His expert fingers quickly undid the neat bun at the nape of your neck and soon he began massaging your scalp, easing the soreness from the updo and countless bobby pins.

“You have no idea, do you?” He grinned “Did he ever tell you that everything he did to you he learned from me?”

“I don’t understand-“

“The punishments, plays, techniques, kinks…all that shit he learned from me. But of course you didn’t know that! How could you?”

The sudden tug on your scalp made a small gasp escape your lips. A sharp, burning pain crossed your scalp and somehow found its way down your body until it settled between your legs as a throbbing need for something else.

“No” He tsked his tongue “Soft Nick could never do such a thing, right? Too much of a good boy to make you cum. Too innocent to make you beg and too naive to treat you like a cheap slut”.

“Nicky, I-“

“Shhh, shut up!” He grabbed your cheeks and turned your face to the side so he could whisper in your ear “Shut.the.fuck.up. I didn’t tell you to speak”. Nick pulled back and turned your face back to its original position so you could face him again.

“You wanted the good, christian, innocent, soft boy to make love to you on your honeymoon?” He pouted in mockery “The shy little boy who can’t even say ‘pussy’ without blushing?” A small hint of innocence covered Nick’s eyes before pure mischief took over them “Aww, too bad he’s far gone now” He chuckled “You’re stuck with me, angel. You’re stuck with the real man” Nick closed the distance between you until his lips brushed yours with every word “The man who will make Matt look like an amateur boy who doesn’t know which hole he’s supposed to stick his dick in”.

A soft moan of anticipation left your lips as Nick’s free hand closed around your neck “You’re at the real Nick’s mercy now, my angel. And I promise you won’t regret choosing the good boy”.

#nick jackson imagine #nick jackson x reader #nick jackson fanfiction #nick jackson #young bucks imagine #masochist writes

[suncrysthyper]

Mytho-History: St. Patrick and the Light of Christ

I meant to do this sooner. I was planning to do some quick research to make sure I was on the right page.

And then I came across the Confession of St. Patrick. And it manages to be even more impressive than I thought.

Mytho-historically, he is said to have banished the serpents from Ireland. And this is one of the weirdest moments where the sacred meets the mundane, and people think that serpent means snake,

because, there are no snakes on Ireland. An isolated northern island not having snakes it not unusual, but if we are going to take the mytho-historical belief, then serpent means Dragon. Which is even more incredible.

But, St. Patrick was a very real historical figure, a Romano-British, whom was kidnapped by the Irish and kept as a slave. Normally as a shepherd. When he was young, he didn't believe in God, but his ordeal gave him faith. Faith enough to convert the pagans through it's shear sincerity.

He then returned to Ireland.

And we delve back into Mytho-history. Not Dragons, but balls of steel.

There was a tradition that the High King of Ireland would light a beacon, and that beacons would be lit up and down the coast afterwards.

This happened to be Easter, and St. Patrick lit his beacon - first.

The High King sent chariots to capture him, not before a being told by his Druids that if the fire was not put out, he would become the new king.

Well, St. Patrick converted the messengers. Some people have trouble believing this, but St. Patrick had the ability to convert the pagans simply be being near them. And this is something you see from every story about St. Patrick. He impressed the High King so much that he was allowed to preach and convert.

St. Patrick also repeated makes the sun and analogy for God, the Father or Son.

#suncryst hyperborea #st. patrick

[unknownworlds4]

Halloween: A Holiday Rooted in Tradition

Halloween is by far one of the most popular holidays celebrated in the United States. It's marked by dressing in costumes, trick-or-treating, haunted attractions, pumpkin carving, many other fun activities that range from scary to whimsical. But what is Halloween? Where did it originate? Why do we celebrate it the way we do? The origins of Halloween date back many thousands of years.

The celebration of Halloween, or All Hallow's Eve, dates back thousands of years to the ancient Gaelic festival of Samhain (pronounced Sow-in). The Celtic people, who inhabited the Isle of Ireland, Great Britain, and Northern France, celebrated the new year on November 1, which marked the end of the harvest season and the beginning of winter. The Celts believed that on this day, the boundary between the worlds of the living and the dead was thinnest, which allowed spirits to cross over into our world and allowed divination to become easier. To commemorate the event, the Celtic people would build large bonfires, and the bones of animals kept for slaughter were thrown into the flames as a sacrifice. People would wear costumes or carve masks out of gourds, such as turnips, in order to trick the spirits into believing that they were ghosts as well.

The practice of carving vegetables also originated in Ireland. According to Gaelic mythology, there was a man named Stingy Jack, who had a reputation for being a drunkard and a cheat. One night while drinking at a pub, he encountered the devil himself and Jack offered to share a drink with him. Afterwards, Jack admitted he had no money and convinced the Devil to turn himself into a coin in order to pay. The devil did so, and Jack placed the coin into his pocket along with a silver crucifix, which prevented the devil from changing forms. Jack promised to let him go so long as the Devil left Jack alone for one year. Once one year was up, Jack tricked the Devil again by asking him to climb a tree from a piece of fruit and carved a cross into the bark, so the Devil couldn't climb down. Jack let him go on the condition that he wouldn't claim Jacks soul once he died. Jack eventually died and he wasn't allowed into Heaven and, keeping to his word, the Devil wouldn't let him enter Hell. So, Jack was cursed to wonder the Earth for eternity, with nothing but a lit coal inside a hollowed-out Turnip to light his way. He was called 'Jack of the Lantern' or Jack O'Lantern. The Ancient Irish would carve out turnips and other vegetables with scary faces to frighten away wandering, evil spirits. Irish immigrants arriving in North America began to use pumpkins because they were easier to carve.

By 43 A.D., the Roman Empire conquered the vast majority of Celtic territory, where they would rule for over 400 years. The Romans introduced two holidays of Roman origin and combined them with Celtic celebrations. The first was Feralia, which was a day in late October meant to celebrate the dead. The second was a festival that honored Pomona, the Goddess of trees and fruit, which occurred in November. The symbol of Pomona is the apple. Some believe that this is where the tradition of apple bobbing came from.

On May 13, 609 A.D., Pope Boniface IV dedicated the Pantheon of Rome in honor of all Christian Martyrs, establishing the feast of All Martyrs Day. It's believed the church sought to supplant the Roman festival of Lemuria, a festival in which malevolent spirits were exercise from homes, with a Christian holiday. Pope Gregory III expanded this festival to include all Saints as well and moved the celebration to November 1, as the Church sought to replace the Celtic traditions of Samhain with a church sanctioned holiday. The day was called All-hollowmas (from Middle English 'Alholowmesse' meaning 'All Saints' Day') and thus the day before began to be called All Hollow's Eve. In 1000 A.D., the Church established November 2 as All Soul's Day, a day to remember the dead. All three became the festival of AllHollowtide.

During the celebration of All Saints Day and All Souls Day, poor people in England and Ireland would go from door to door of the wealthy and ask for small cakes called Soul Cakes in exchange for a prayer for the givers deceased family members. Children soon took up this practice. They would sing songs or perform small acts in exchange for small gifts of food, ale, or money.

In the 19th century, millions of Irish immigrated to the United States. They brought with them, the Catholic faith and the celebrations of Halloween. These celebrations were limited, as the United States was a majority Protestant country. However, the immigrants celebrated however they could, and a popular way was pulling pranks or 'tricks'. This usually amounted to nothing more than pulling the wheels off wagons, placing livestock on barn roofs, uprooting vegetables from gardens, and tipping over outhouses. However, these 'pranks' got more violent round the 1930's, with acts of violence becoming commonplace. In theory, tricks could be prevented by giving small treats to the neighborhood children.

By the mid-20th century, Halloween became a community centered holiday with haunted attractions, ghost stories, parties, and trick-or-treating becoming immensely popular. This leads us to the classic Halloween celebrations we know today. Today, Halloween is one of the most celebrated holidays in United States.

#history #spooky #halloween #happy halloweeeeeeen #happy halloween #scary stories #fall season

[garebearandnan]

Summer Starts Here

I always love the start of a new season. Today's release of S7 got me thinking back to Season 2. A re-write similar to the actual TV show.

Love Island S2 Premiere:

Beautiful scenes of Mallorca, Spain coastline appear on the screen as the host, Caroline Flack, announces: "The waiting is over. An unforgettable summer is about to begin. The search for love has never been easy. At one of the most stunning villas in the world, the Spanish summer sun won't be the only source of heat. We're filling it with some of the UK's hottest singles. Welcome to Paradise."

Programme's commentator, Iain Stirling: It's been a while, so here's a quick reminder of what our Islanders have signed up for. Long story short, they will spend an entire summer in a luxury villa in Mallorca coupling up and flirting. Oh, yeah, and the winning couple gets 50 grand. Newsflash - a lot of people applied. And our Islanders have all quarantined for two weeks so they can form their very own sanitised sex bubble. Anyway, talking of Islanders, it's about time we said hello to the class of 2019.

Clip 1: In a crane cab in Chatham, Kent. A good-looking bloke's phone beeps. He pulls it out of his pocket and reads, "Hey, Big Boy. Report to Love Island immediately." The hunky bloke, with spiky tousled hair on top and the sides buzzed, exited the cab. "Here you go, mate," he says in a low Cockney accent as he tosses his keys to another. He rips his plaid shirt off, revealing a ripped physique; lots and lots of muscles. With a swagger in his stride and a lopsided sexy grin, the short-bearded hottie walks away. At the bottom of the screen, the name of the blonde lad with gorgeous pacific blues appears. GARY

Clip 2: Conference room, London. With her dark brown hair in a high top bun, a modelesque beauty points to a presentation board. DING! She takes a moment to look at her phone. Smiling coyly, she removes her blazer to reveal a sultry yellow bikini top. "Bye, boys," she says, her voice tinged with a Geordie accent. They are stunned as they watch her sashay out of the conference room with a sexy hip-swinging walk. At the bottom of the screen, the deep cocoa-brown eyed beauty's name appears. HOPE

"Two down, eight to go," says the host.

Clip 3: Hospital Kitchen in Glasgow, Scotland. A charming baker with a smattering of cute freckles and short, thick dreads with a faded undercut is rolling out bread. His gorgeous honey-coloured eyes lit up as he answered his phone. He pumps his arm in the air. "Yah!" he shouts. The baker rips off his apron and hands it to another baker. "Here man, you can finish them, lad," he says with a Glaswegian accent. He dashes off enthusiastically and gives a cheeky wink at the viewers. The name of the attractive lad flashed over the screen. BOBBY

Clip 4: Law library, Oxford. A very attractive student, wearing a white shirt and black short skirt and resting against a bookcase, is reading a book. Her phone rings and beeps. She begins to read the text. "Pack your bags, gorgeous." The deep chocolate brown-eyed beauty shakes her toasted almond-coloured balayage hair loose from its bun and rips off her white blouse, revealing a sultry black lace bra. As several patrons gasp, she flashes a sensual smirk to the camera. Her black-rimmed spectacles and engine red lipstick only add to her sexy librarian look. At the bottom of the screen, her name appears.  MARISOL

Clip 5: A food truck named 'Cocktails & Cronuts'. in the Waterfront Park in Belfast, Ireland. "How do you like your drink, sweetheart?" says a handsome, sun-kissed man with wild wavey auburn hair over the counter to a pretty female, in a melodic northern Irish accent. Just as he turns on the smoothie blender, his phone buzzes. His bottle green-coloured eyes brightened as he read the text. After exiting the food truck, he downs the customer's drink, as she shakes her head in displeasure with an outstretched hand. The name of the bearded heartthrob flashes at the bottom of the screen. ROCCO

Clip 6: In a county field in St. Albans, Hertfordshire. A petite young woman, with ginger hair, is dismounting from a horse. She glances off into space with a dreamy expression on her lovely freckled face. DING! After checking her phone, her beautiful nordic blue-coloured eyes twinkle as she smiles. She rips open her shirt, revealing an alluring blue lace camisole on her fair-skinned slender figure. She removes her black equestrian cap and tosses it aside. The pretty ginger lass flung her hair back as she smiled mischievously. Her name appears on the screen. HANNAH

Host: "But their luck is about to change."

Clip 7: Romford Library, Essex. The camera pans to the inside. The epitome of a tall, dark, and handsome man is wandering through the book aisles. DING! The brown-haired librarian reads the text on his phone. "Hello handsome. Are you ready for a summer of love?" He barely makes any facial changes in his expression as he slowly undoes his tie and rips open his white shirt, giving the viewers a peek at his washboard abs. As he walks away, his mysterious amber brown-coloured eyes smoulder. At the bottom of the screen, the name of the hottie flashes. NOAH

Clip 6: Science Lab, Cambridge University. A young woman is looking through a large telescope. DING! She pulls out her phone from her pocket. There was a playful glint in her beautiful aqua-greens as she bit her lips. The stunning brunette removes her lab coat, revealing a sexy white leather corset to the viewers. She leaves a yellow post-it note on the telescope, with a 👄 and it reads, 'See y'all in six weeks' She gives a dazzling smile to a couple of students as she walks down the corridor, pulling her luggage. The name of the beautiful brunette appears on the screen. GRACE

Clip 9: Golf Course, Birmingham. "Fore!" shouts a tall, dark, good-looking guy with tidy cornrows swinging a golf club, his voice a deep Brummie accent. His phone pings and he reads the text. The way he seductively takes off his polo shirt, revealing an exceptionally muscular physique that nearly shimmers in the sunlight, is almost hypnotic. He hands the caddy his iron. As he goes off the green, the handsome athlete flexes his arm muscles and roguishly chews his bottom lip at the camera. The well-sculpted six-pack golfer's name flashes at the bottom of the screen. IBRAHIM

Clip 10: London Beauty Salon. An alluring pale beauty is applying makeup to an older woman. DING! She picks up her phone with her black stiletto nails. She reads her text. "Are you ready to meet some boys?" Her black lips smirk into a confident smile as her olive green-coloured eyes, with heavy mascara and eyeliner, brighten. "I wonder whether they can handle me?" she exclaims, her voice sultry and silky with a distinct Australian accent. The bewitching cream blonde, with pink ombre tips and a shaved left side, rips off her long dark dress to reveal a sexy black bikini and pale skin covered in intricate tattoos. A red lipstick stain appears on the customer's bemused face as the Aussie makeup artist walks away. LOTTIE

"Paradise is waiting." The host says as a montage of ten new hot islanders plays on the screen. "Get ready for the hottest summer yet!"

THE LOVE ISLAND THEME TUNE PLAYS.

As the montage of the villa plays, Iain Stirling, announces: It's time to enter the villa and meet the boys. Get ready for your ultimate summer romance! The search for true love is never easy. But for you, that's about to change. We've got a beautiful villa with all the luxury extras... And we're filling it with ten of the hottest and most eligible singles on the planet... But in this game of love, there's one golden rule: To make it to the final, and be in with a chance of winning the grand prize... Are you ready to flirt, fight, and find love? It's time for your ultimate summer romance.

Just a little side note: The Love Island theme tune, bumpers, and stings were written by composer/producers Andrei Basirov and Toby Jarvis. They're part of 'A-Mnemonic', a London-based creative agency which specialises in creating original music and audio branding. A bumper is the little bit of music you hear just before and after an ad-break. Stings are snippets of incidental music that appear within the show itself.

#loveislandgame #litg #loveisland #litg season 2 #litg s2 #litgs2

[moodywyrm]

irish lit sounds too cool omg

oh it's so fucking cool man I've literally been waiting a Year to take this class with this professor, he's one of my favorite professors ever!!! it's specifically like ,,,, contemporary Irish women's lit, and it's sooo fucking cool, I also now know a lot about the northern Irish troubles now which is very cool (very sad and very depressing but still interesting). we just read a book about a man who had a half-siren daughter and he's dealing with that at the same time as marching season in Belfast and it was so good!! I love this class!!

#whore-4-thor #moodythoughts #book stuff

[selkieniamh]

Follow the Firefish Home

Where: Oak & Ivory cafe in Hapjeong When: 9:45 PM

Niamh was sleepy. Standing before the espresso machine, she threw back her head, yawned without restraint, and shook her red hair. 

The Oak & Ivory cafe was closed and empty, and the Americano Niamh was brewing was for her. She’d been working since seven that morning, and it was well past nine in the evening. It had been her suggestion to close. She didn’t mind the long hours, the grueling, repetitive slog of customer service. It allowed her to get her mind off things she’d rather not think about, lest she spiral into a weepy-eyed depression that had her bedridden for the next week. 

Today was special, though. Niamh had a friend coming to see her. Perhaps acquaintance was the more apt descriptor for what she was to Nuying, but the redhead was so lonely and desperate for company that she didn’t pay the distinction mind. Shamelessly, she thought of the young veterinarian as her friend. They had met at the animal clinic where Nuying worked, cutely named Paws. Niamh was a frequent patron even though she had no pets of her own. By virtue of her power to converse with sea creatures and a dash of self-sadism, she frequently found herself in the aquarium aisles of various Seoul pet stores, glancing into tanks in wide-eyed horror, tears running down her freckled cheeks. She’d buy the most miserable and ill-looking green chromis and damselfish (sometimes ten at a time) and take them to the vet. Most of them had parasites. They told her so.

Nuying was originally from China and Niamh, Ireland. They spoke to each other in Korean. Niamh’s Korean was fairly good and getting better by the day, but she nonetheless feared being misunderstood. As she diluted the robust espresso with hot water, Niamh practiced the Korean phrases she’d overheard customers use that day under her breath, endeavoring to eradicate all traces of her mellifluous Northern Irish drawl from the words. 

The bell rang above the door just as Niamh was stifling another yawn. The cafe met Nuying with the smell of coffee beans and a faded smile. It was a cozy but open-concept place with maple wood tables and green velvet chairs, hanging philodendrons and grape ivory. Line art portraits of couples sharing a cuppa or leaning in for a kiss. 

“Hello,” said Niamh with a splutter of mirth, spinning on the toe of her Keds to face her new friend. A smile lit up her face. “Good evening! I’m happy you came.”

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 🌊 — @yyinger​​

#i: nuying #t: follow the firefish home

[violetcancerian]

hi friend! i wasn't able to find any wip intros but i saw you were coming up with winter songs for your characters! are you able to share any with us? - howlingbreeze xx

Hello @howlingbreeze !! Aahhh I might have to update the WIP intro I have for Tales of Tirinth, which is my fantasy trilogy inspired by Irish mythology and Norse sagas and Beowulf, it's been on the drawing board for a bit with the rewriting and editing!

I made this little song while warping my loom LOL 😂 but I imagined it being sung after the events of the third book in the winter. With Finnr, Arne, and Liath going to cut a log for their hearth back home with their kids, Magnar, Diarmaid, and Solvej, as well as with the trio's parent figures' grand kids.

After all the adventures and trials over the years, Finnr, Arne, and Liath can finally rest.

So like, picture snow covered woods, and the crunch of snow, and kids helping push a sled with a large log on it, and all of them singing this song:

Father Winter, Northern Wind 

Spare the sun and spare my kin, 

A joyous hunt for darkened nights, 

Hear our words, hear our cries! 

The hearth is lit, the tree's been cut, 

Hunter and huntress, aid our songs. 

Sprig of holly, red of blood,

Boar of plenty, fill our bellies! 

Mead of poets, fill our mugs! 

Father Winter, Northern Wind 

Spare the sun and spare my kin, 

Darkened days and darkened nights, 

Hear our words, hear our cries! 

Something finally cheerful that can be sung over the long winter months, in Aeswic or Bebhionn depending on where they'll be!

#hobbit talks #andy rambles #writblr #writeblr #wip: tales of tirinth #hobbit answers #howlingbreeze

[monstrousproductions]

petition please for one of the silly accents in season 3 to be northern irish because the ‘this is monstrous agonies so it is’ from the outtakes had me CACKLING OUT LOUD IN THE STREET (because…yeah i do sound like that 😭)

lmfaooo I don't think the world is ready for me actually trying to do a serious Norn Iron accent lol I mean, if there was a letter that was pulling on a bunch of NI in-jokes and references or something, or playing with a kind of Belfast Gothic idea..... that would be lit 😍

#monstrous askbox

[lex-2002]

Saint Patrick's Day, or the Feast of Saint Patrick (Irish: Lá Fhéile Pádraig, lit. 'the Day of the Festival of Patrick'), is a religious and cultural holiday held on 17 March, the traditional death date of Saint Patrick (c. 385 – c. 461), the foremost patron saint of Ireland.

Saint Patrick's Day was made an official Christian feast day in the early 17th century and is observed by the Catholic Church, the Anglican Communion (especially the Church of Ireland), the Eastern Orthodox Church, and the Lutheran Church. The day commemorates Saint Patrick and the arrival of Christianity in Ireland, and, by extension, celebrates the heritage and culture of the Irish in general. Celebrations generally involve public parades and festivals, céilithe, and the wearing of green attire or shamrocks. Christians who belong to liturgical denominations also attend church services and historically the Lenten restrictions on eating and drinking alcohol were lifted for the day, which has encouraged and propagated the holiday's tradition of alcohol consumption.

Saint Patrick's Day is a public holiday in the Republic of Ireland, Northern Ireland, the Canadian province of Newfoundland and Labrador (for provincial government employees), and the British Overseas Territory of Montserrat. It is also widely celebrated in the United Kingdom, Canada, United States, Argentina, Australia, South Africa, and New Zealand, especially amongst Irish diaspora. Saint Patrick's Day is celebrated in more countries than any other national festival. Modern celebrations have been greatly influenced by those of the Irish diaspora, particularly those that developed in North America. However, there has been criticism of Saint Patrick's Day celebrations for having become too commercialised and for fostering negative stereotypes of the Irish people.

#google #Google Doodle #saint patricks day #2023 #irish holiday

[brookstonalmanac]

Events 4.15 (before 1940)

769 – The Lateran Council ends by condemning the Council of Hieria and anathematizing its iconoclastic rulings. 1071 – Bari, the last Byzantine possession in southern Italy, is surrendered to Robert Guiscard. 1450 – Battle of Formigny: Toward the end of the Hundred Years' War, the French attack and nearly annihilate English forces, ending English domination in Northern France. 1632 – Battle of Rain: Swedes under Gustavus Adolphus defeat the Holy Roman Empire during the Thirty Years' War. 1642 – Irish Confederate Wars: A Confederate Irish militia is routed in the Battle of Kilrush when it attempts to halt the progress of a Royalist Army. 1715 – The Pocotaligo Massacre triggers the start of the Yamasee War in colonial South Carolina. 1736 – Foundation of the short-lived Kingdom of Corsica. 1738 – Serse, an Italian opera by George Frideric Handel, receives its premiere performance in London, England. 1755 – Samuel Johnson's A Dictionary of the English Language is published in London. 1817 – Thomas Hopkins Gallaudet and Laurent Clerc found the American School for the Deaf (then called the Connecticut Asylum for the Education and Instruction of Deaf and Dumb Persons), the first American school for deaf students, in Hartford, Connecticut. 1861 – President Abraham Lincoln calls for 75,000 volunteers to quell the insurrection that soon became the American Civil War. 1865 – President Abraham Lincoln dies after being shot the previous evening by actor John Wilkes Booth. Three hours later, Vice President Andrew Johnson is sworn in as president. 1892 – The General Electric Company is formed. 1896 – Closing ceremony of the Games of the I Olympiad in Athens, Greece. 1900 – Philippine–American War: Filipino guerrillas launch a surprise attack on U.S. infantry and begin a four-day siege of Catubig, Philippines. 1912 – The British passenger liner RMS Titanic sinks in the North Atlantic at 2:20 a.m., two hours and forty minutes after hitting an iceberg. Only 710 of 2,224 passengers and crew on board survive. 1920 – Two security guards are murdered during a robbery in South Braintree, Massachusetts. Anarchists Sacco and Vanzetti would be convicted of and executed for the crime, amid much controversy. 1922 – U.S. Senator John B. Kendrick of Wyoming introduces a resolution calling for an investigation of a secret land deal, which leads to the discovery of the Teapot Dome scandal. 1923 – Insulin becomes generally available for use by people with diabetes. 1923 – Racially motivated Nihon Shōgakkō fire lit by a serial arsonist kills 10 children in Sacramento, California. 1936 – First day of the Arab revolt in Mandatory Palestine.

#Events