#If everything goes smoothly I plan to post the remaining two chapters on the next Sundays

[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 Irishman 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 older was entertained by it, and he knew he couldn’t let the Irishman 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 red-haired 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 older 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 younger’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 older 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 men. They were both still until the sergeant’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 Irishman 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

[rohad93]

A Knight Affair: Chapter 11 - To Ashes

For two days, the guards tore the palace and all the surrounding area apart searching for the queen’s assassin. No stone was left unturned, no possible witness left unquestioned, but because so many of the guards had been away and the servants didn’t venture to the third floor without reason, no one had seen or heard anything.

After two full days of searching, the knight captain finally called it off, declaring they had escaped and further searching would only leave the remaining royals vulnerable, to which the men agreed.  

Word spread quickly that the queen had been assassinated by an unknown assailant and the people of the empire could only guess and wonder who had killed their lovely and wise queen?

A queen who had been conscripting men to fight in the still trudging on rebellion. 

A fact that had seemed to vanish from the memories of the people as the news of the murder spread across the land from the empire proper to the sprawlling territories it had brought under its heel. Towns and villages all across the empire kept their heads bowed as they carried on with their days 

The empire was in mourning, from peasants and servants to the remaining members of the royal family. To lose their monarch while still fighting the rebellion raging in the east was a hard blow to take.

The night the search had been called off, Yellow dismissed them for the rest of the night and made her way quickly to Blue’s quarters and slipped silently inside. 

The soon to be queen was sitting at her writing desk with her back to the knight.  A single candle at her side illuminating whatever she was working on as her quill scratched at the paper under her fingers. She was dressed in her sleep wear, probably heading to bed soon.

Yellow waited quietly for the scratching to stop before she spoke.

“What are you working on?” She asked quietly. Blue jolted, turning to look at the knight over her shoulder. Her shoulders dropped, relaxing as cerulean eyes landed on the knight’s armored form.

“Just some final preparations for the coronation." She sighed, setting the quill back in the pot before turning to face her completely.

"How goes the goose chase?" She cocked a brow in amusement.

"It has been long enough that I finally called off the search." She pulled off her helmet with a relieved sigh. “Is everything ready for tomorrow?” She cast the other woman a meaningful look.

“Yes. We shall send her off at noon.” Blue sighed, thinking about the large pyre that had been built in the field just outside the palace over the last day. 

"And Rosaline?" She asked as she worked to take off her armor,putting it away before climbing onto the bed and plopping face first into the goose down mattress. 

Blue had taken full advantage of the situation announcing to the guards and servants that due to her mother's violent death and that the perpetrator had not been caught, the knight captain would be staying close. 

She had the knight moved into the room next to hers, one that had been empty for many years and unbeknownst to most had a secret passageway that connected the two, hidden behind matching paintings of the northern shore.

A turn of events that suited Yellow fine. 

"She's alright… still coming to terms with what's happened." She toyed with the blue diamond pendant hanging from her neck. 

A nervous habit that Yellow picked up on right away, even from her place laying almost completely face down in the pillows. 

"Did something happen today?" She pushed herself up on one elbow to better look at her.

Blues lips pressed into a thin line, gaze drifting off to the side. 

"Azurine…" Yellow prompted softly.

"We had a… disagreement this afternoon… voices may have been raised." She finally admitted, turning to look away from the knight 

"You fought." Yellow corrected bluntly, resting her face in her palm, elbow holding up her tired head.

"Yes…" the soon to be be queen huffed, still refusing to meet the knight's gaze.

"What were you arguing about?" 

"The rebellion. I informed her of my plans to pull the troops from the southern border and send them to the east and finally bring this to an end. She did not agree." Blue reached up to pinch the bridge of her nose in frustration. “She wants all the bloodshed to stop immediately. She wouldn’t listen to reason.” 

“For once I may agree with her.” Yellow hummed, making Blue turn to her.

“You think we should just let Aarde go? After all that’s been sacrificed to keep it?” She asked in disbelief. 

“That’s not what I said.” Yellow held up a hand. “I understand that we can’t just pull back now, but everyone is tired of the constant death.” 

“I don’t relish the idea of yet more fighting, but what else can be done?” 

“You could grant them autonomy. They would be beholden to the empire and pay taxes but would in truth be sovereign.” Yellow suggested. Blue hummed, tapping her chin thoughtfully.

“That would be the most widely acceptable solution… How did you get so smart, love?” She asked with a grin.

“Believe it or not, before I would meet you there, I spent my time in the library reading.” She snarked making Blue laugh.

“My apologies. Perhaps I should make you the head scholar rather than knight captain?” She suggested blowing out the candle and casting them both in near complete darkness. A sliver of moonlight was slipping between the curtains, casting just enough light once her eyes had adjusted that Blue could make her way across the room.   

The bed shifted as Blue climbed in beside her, practically forcing Yellow onto her side to better snuggle against her, forcing the knights arms to encircle her. 

A faint chuckle and warm breath against her face let her know that the knight captain had no objections. 

Blue’s hands slipped up the back of the knight’s tunic, fingers running over the raised scars that covered her skin. She felt Yellow shiver as he cool rands skimmed over the warm skin of her back.

It pained her still, knowing how she had suffered, for them. She traced each of the fifteen long scars. She would never forget that day nor the pained look on Yellow’s face after every strike. It would be seared into her memory always. 

“I’ll never let anyone hurt you like this again…” Came her quiet promise in the dark.

She could feel more than see those amber eyes trained on her in the darkness of the bedroom. 

“It wasn’t your fault.” A calloused hand reached up to find her cheek even in the dark.

Blue took hold of it and turned her face to press full lips to every pad of those scarred and hardened fingers.

“Yes, it was.” She mumbled between lavishing affection on the knight. “I should have taken action before, when she began to become unstable. Before any of this happened. I could have saved you and Pink and our people so much suffering.” 

“Azurine…” The bed shifted and the sliver of moonlight was now splashed across Yellow’s face, letting Blue look into those shining amber eyes. “All you would have done was get yourself killed.” She hissed.

“I…” She started and Yellow’s grip around her tightened, pulling her flush against the knight. 

“No. We both know that’s what would have happened.” Her voice was a deep rumble in her throat, a mix of suppressed anger and something Blue couldn’t put a name too. 

The reflection of glittering moonlight in her narrowed eyes gave Blue pause.    

”I promise you, I would gladly take another lashing if it meant keeping you with me.” Her voice was low and guttural in Blue’s ear.

The soon to be queen’s breath hitched as a tide of emotion welled up in her chest, threatening to overflow. 

“Aurelia…” Was all she managed for several long moments. “I love you.” She finally breathed, burying her face into Yellow’s neck. Long fingers tugged her even closer if possible and lips pressed firmly against the top of her head.

“And I you.” She mumbled.

~ ~ ~ 

The morning leading up to the old queen’s final farewell was a bright and sunny one outside, but dark and dreary in the confines of the palace. 

Blue was already sitting at the long dining table when Pink finally came down. 

“Good morning, Rosaline.” She greeted with a small smile. The princess looked tired, not that Blue could blame her. It had been a hard two days, Especially for Pink. 

“Morning” She nodded sitting in her spot next to Blue. She didn’t seem eager to talk this morning, no doubt a multitude of things weighing on her mind today.

“I talked with Yellow last night, about our… disagreement from yesterday and she agreed with you.” That seemed to perk up the girl.

“She did?” She turned to look at her. 

“Partially, but yes. She agreed that more bloodshed was not the answer, so I decided that I won’t be sending more troops to the eastern border. I’m going to send an envoy to the rebellion’s leaders to work out a new solution that I think will benefit us all.” She explained as there food was set in front of them. 

“That’s great.” Pink smiled, but it wasn’t as enthused as it might have been were today any other day. Blue didn’t have to guess at what was bothering her but she had no idea how to ask. 

“I hope you are both well this morning?” They both looked up as Yellow entered the dining hall in full armor, helmet held beneath her arm.

  “Good morning, captain.” Blue smiled at the knight as she stopped a few feet from the table and bowed. “Your Majesty, Your Highness.” 

“Captain…” Blue smiled brightly. Pink couldn’t help but roll her eyes, glad there weren’t really any servants about and wondered how they had managed to keep their secret for five years with the way Blue always lit up when the knight captain appeared. 

“Hi, Yellow.” She turned back to the knight captain. “Where have you been?” 

“Checking on all the guard posts, I want to make sure that everything goes smoothly today.” She turned to the girl.

“Right…” Pink nodded, turning her eyes to her lap. Yellow shared a look with Blue before kneeling down to be face to face with the princess.

“Pink” She said quietly, drawing those pale rose colored eyes to her. “I know that you must still feel… uncertain about what happened, but I am proud of you.” She said. Pink’s eyes popped open.

“Proud?” She repeated in disbelief. The knight nodded. “But I…” She began only for Yellow to shake her head.

“You protected yourself.” She insisted. “If you hadn’t acted you would be dead, with your sister and I not far behind.” She assured. Pink looked away from the intense amber stare to look at her scar covered hands in her lap.  

“I…know that everything is for the better now that she’s…” She stopped herself from saying it. “I still feel bad about it.” She mumbled, looking back up at the knight sadly.

“You will, for a time.” She gave a slow nod. “I will never forget the first time I had to kill. I hated it, as I hate it still, but it was necessary if I wanted to live.” She patted the girl’s knee. 

“In that vein…” She dug into her left boot and pulled out a sheathed stiletto dagger and held it out to Pink.

 The sheath was black with gold fittings and had roses carved into both it’s high polished wooden sides. The hilt was twisted black iron with spiraling thorned, vines etched into the metal. The pommel and crossguard both were golden and polished to a mirror’s shine.

Pink blinked at the weapon owlishly for a long moment before looking up at Yellow, the question unspoken.

“I’m afraid I can’t return the other one to you, for obvious reasons, but I assumed you wouldn’t want it back regardless. So, I took the liberty of acquiring this for you, so you could protect yourself if you need.” She explained, still holding out the dagger. 

Pink reached up slowly, hand hovering over the hilt. 

Yellow said nothing, just held it out patiently. 

Finally the blotchy scarred hand grasped the hilt, taking it from the knight.

“I… don’t know, Yellow…” 

“I do.” She stood back up and looked down at the unsure princess. “You’re capable and what happened was awful, but you shouldn't let it cripple you. You are stronger than that, Rosaline.” The knight’s tone did not brook for argument. It usually didn’t. 

Pink’s grip tightened on the dagger as she held it close to her body and nodded.

“Thank you, Yellow.”

The knight nodded and happened to glance at Blue who was smiling adoringly back at her. Her face flushed as she looked elsewhere, trying to avoid the saccharine look being directed at her.  

Blue knew she must be awfully transparent at the moment but he couldn’t help it. The showing of affection between her sister and the gruff knight filled the would be queen with an intense feeling of joy and peace she hadn’t felt in some time.

Pink glanced between her smiling sister and the flushed knight and couldn’t help but chuckle.

~

At nearly noon the noble families and the representatives from the northern, western and southern territories began to arrive, gathering around the pyre that had been built in the middle of the field. 

The once queen’s body had already been laid upon it that morning, guards standing watch should anyone get any ideas they would be quickly dissuaded.  

The black veil over Blue’s head kept her face shrouded in shadow, hidden from everyone as she and Pink made their way by foot through the field, Yellow followed only a few steps behind with two other guards, each carried a torch. Most of the gathered nobility assuming it was to hide her tears, but the reality was it was to hide the fact that there were no tears.

She and Pink had cried, cried long and hard, mourning their mother. 

The mother they had lost long ago but not realized until the stranger with her face lay dead in the courtyard in a pool of blood and shattered crimson glass. 

Their mother was dead long before she had ever died.

Pink had been quiet the majority of the morning. Blue supposed that was to be expected all things considered. Her mood had been a little brighter after the talk she and Yellow had this morning in the dining hall though. 

She was still keeping an eye on her, she knew Yellow was as well. 

At noon exactly the head cleric moved to the front, a bright spot in the crowd in his high collared white and gold robes and tall cone shaped hat. He began to give a long mournful speech, expounding the many great deeds and virtus of the late queen, whipping many of the assembled into frenzied fits of tears and wailing.  

Blue remained rigid, hands clasped at her waist and eyes dry. She had no grief to give for the corpse laid out in front of her. All her pain had been laid bare already, now she was numb, the rawness already fading. 

The girl at her side was not of the same mind. 

Pink’s shoulders were shaking with her barely controlled sobs. It was moments such as these that reminded her that Pink was still just a girl. One that only until recently had lived a relatively sheltered life, unaware of how terrible things could be. 

How bloody.

She would be no different if it hadn’t been for Yellow, exposing her to the harsh realities of life that existed beyond the palace walls.  

Gently she took hold of Pink’s shoulders and pulled her back against her. Pink let herself be pulled into the cloaked embrace, letting herself sink into the comforting shadows, shielding her from the many eyes all around them. Blue’s arms wrapped securely around her had always protected her, her and the knight she knew was always close at hand. 

Yellow watched the two from beneath the visor of her helmet and sighed silently, wishing there was more she could do for the two of them at the moment, but she had to maintain her distance, and they understood that. 

Finally, the cleric, red faced, with tears running down his own cheeks finished his impassioned speech and turned to look at the knight captain. 

Yellow nodded and she and the two guards at her side stepped away from the two mourning royals toward the pyre. 

The torches were dipped into the bundles of straw, quickly catching in a burst of fire.

Flames licked across the large logs and bundles of straw sandwiched between them, blazing to life. 

The wood groaned and shifted as the fire ate at it.

Blue held Pink tighter against her as the flames caught the long white gown draped atop the wood, the silk material going up in the blink of an eye and soon the old queens form was obscured by the ever higher rising flames.  

After a while, many began to wander away, back towards the palace till only the two royals and the guards remained, watching the flames slowly eat away at the pyre. 

It was nearly dark, the sun only just dipping behind the horizon, lighting the sky brilliant shades of yellow, pink, red and orange when the flames finally began to fade, leaving only smoldering embers and ashes.

“Azurine…” Yellow’s quiet voice at her side finally breathed life back into Blue. She turned to look into those worried amber eyes and nodded to the unspoken question. 

With a gentle tug she pulled Pink along with her as they turned and began the walk back toward the palace, the setting sun at their backs.

The thirty year reign of Queen Winea Diamond was over.

[multiply014]

Accomplice (2/?)

Again, Happy ShinAi Day, everyone!

This isn’t really ShinAi, but I wrote this chapter to Accomplice to start off the prompt posts for my 31 Days of CoAi project! If you haven’t seen my meta post yet:

I will be posting very short fics daily from 4/2 to 4/30! (tag: x prompt fills)

If you’re interested in my ramblings about the CoAi fics I’ve written, I’ll be talking about them one at a time daily from 4/1 to 5/1! (tag: x fic posts)

And, finally, on 5/1, I will be posting One Chilly Morning, which is the third chapter to One Rainy Afternoon, to end my 31 Days of CoAi project… 

This month will be a ride, for sure! As much as I’ve expressed how incredibly painful preparing this project for me is, it has been loads of fun for me to express my love for CoAi, and in such a grandiose manner too!

I think I consider this project my love letter to CoAi. I’m a sucker for the romantic, sorry, haha!

I hope everyone enjoys it, too, to the very end!

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31 Days of CoAi Prompt Fill 1 of 31

Accomplice

Fandom (Pairing): DCMK (CoAi) (KaiShi) Title: Accomplice Summary (Word Count): AU where there is no APTX, and the partner became the accomplice. (2493+?) Links: Also on AO3 and FF. Part 1 is also on Tumblr (tag: x dcmk accomplice)

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“This is the fifth time you hit me, detective!”

As what’s becoming usual between the two of them, Kudo Shinichi ignores Kid’s complaints as he chases Kid across a maze of hallways and stairways, this time in the TV station building where Kid nicked the showpiece during live broadcast.

The way this Kid is much more talkative tells Shinichi the thief he’s been chasing for the past heists is Thief Kid. Only Thief Kid.

And that pisses Shinichi off more than he’d like. Is Thief Kid thinking he can just pull off whatever he wants against him without the assistance he’s particularly proud of?

Shinichi can’t deny Thief Kid did manage to escape last time. And the other time. And that other time, too. But that’s in the past. The present is much more important because in the present he’s been leading Thief Kid into a dead end and he’s been wonderful in cooperating so far.

Yes, a dead end that does not include rooftops, nor windows and, even, vents.

All this while kicking various office property at Thief Kid that he swears is necessary for him to be able to lead Kid into his setup. Yes, all necessary. He can’t help that he has just that good aim since he’s just that good at soccer, and that Thief Kid can’t dodge completely right?

As Thief Kid leaps to the right after Shinichi kicks a trash can to his left, smoothly going into the room Shinichi has been steering him into since the chase began, he shouts, “Will you stop being so violent if I answer one question of yours?”

Shinichi enters the room in a beat, and excited as he is with his plans falling into place, he doesn’t even think before he asks, “You’re alone this time?”

In the middle of the room, Thief Kid is stunned into silence for more than a second, and Shinichi feels seeing the expression is so gratifying... until Thief Kid laughs. As much as Shinichi wanted to remain unaffected, the corners of his mouth turn down, uncontrollably, to an unmistakable grimace.

They stay like that for a short moment, Shinichi blocking the only exit to the room and Thief Kid cackling while holding his sides, in full of view of the unamused detective in front of him.

Thief Kid, after laughing for a good while, wheezes, “...That’s it? That’s the question?”

Shinichi’s scowl grows deeper in reply.

Thief Kid, as chatty as he’s proven to be these past heists and as shameless as Shinichi had always assumed him to be, continues, “Are you trying to pick me up? Or are you trying to pick me up?! Oh, another misguided youth, you wouldn’t be able to handle me! To be honest, the safer option is to fancy the good ol’ me in front of you! Oh, but then, dear, why so violent! You must be gentle when courting! That must be why you’re still single, detective...”

Not even bothering to focus on whatever nonsense Thief Kid has been spouting, Shinichi backs up a few steps to end up just outside the doorway, and proceeds to kick the bin nearby in a perfect trajectory to Thief Kid’s incessantly babbling mouth.

Thief Kid deftly sidesteps to avoid the projectile, all the while dramatically intoning, “Whoa, whoa, detective, keep that up and you’ll chase me away! I’m not an M, really, I’m actually pretty vanilla! I prefer the traditional way of courting—”

With a snappy kick to the top of the bin that had fallen off, Shinichi manages to hit him right on his arm this time, and Thief Kid yelps, “—Ouch!”

“Hey! Ok, ok, I’m alone today! Tch!”

Seemingly soured by another arm injury, Thief Kid throws a familiar canister hard on the spot on the floor between the two of them almost petulantly—but Shinichi is prepared. He quickly wears the mask he had Hakase make and rushes Thief Kid.

He’s just four—no, three big steps away from Thief Kid, and then he feels a prick right smack in the middle of his forehead. He feels his senses fade, and the foot he had raised in an effort to take an even larger stride to handcuff Thief Kid lands on the floor without strength, and he falls, face down.

“This is going to cost me big...” is what Shin hears over the hissing of the cloudy white gas from the canister, which is evidently not the sleep gas he had been preparing for.

The last thing he hears is a big sigh before everything cuts to black, and it frustrates Shinichi that he knows exactly why this feels like déjà vu.

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When the next Kid heist comes around, Shinichi’s face is set to such a grim expression that even Nakamori-keibu is apprehensive about going near him, much less ask him why.

Shinichi doesn’t notice the dark aura arising from him though. He’s mentally going through his plans and their preparations, watching the clock as the seconds tick closer and closer to the announced time.

Still, whatever his plans and how intricate they may be, Shinichi certainly didn’t expect that before the heist has even started, he’ll find himself blacking out already.

And out cold he is, with a handful of seconds to spare before the clock rang out the time.

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As soon as Shinichi regained consciousness, his resentment overrode his survival instincts and, without even taking note of his state and his surroundings, he immediately forces out the words, “Is this a thing, you rendering me unconscious?”

“Hit him again and I’ll make sure you won’t be able to move a single limb for a week,” is what he hears before he can even regain his focus.

It’s that flat voice, familiar in its tone, at the same time unfamiliar due to the high, decidedly feminine, pitch it now has, that responded to him.

It’s him—or her, Escape Kid. Shinichi feels a bit of pride, being able to force both Kids to act against him.

But then again, he can’t exactly gloat right now since there’s a dangerous intent emanating, not so much dripping killing intent, but enough menace to know Escape Kid fully intends to go through his threats.

And he can’t even lift his head nor open his eyes yet to see just where he’s been dragged off to.

Quite possibly, and correctly, expecting him to stay silent in his disorientation, Escape Kid continues, “I trust you’re smart enough to understand with just one warning, detective. Because I only warn once.”

Shinichi hears a rustle of clothes and shuffling of feet, and he deduces that Escape Kid is about to leave. Escape Kid stops a moment though, and Shinichi hears them say, “And. Not that he’d need me to outwit idiots… but he’s not alone. So since you aren’t any help, stop messing with us. Else—”

“—You’ll knock me out at every heist. How very imaginative of you, and how very unlike a criminal,” Shinichi croaks, with as much ridicule as he can, cutting them off as he struggles to sit up, tied up as he is.

“So noble,” he continues, hoping it drips with as much sarcasm as he intended that to have. He can finally open his eyes a bit, the light flooding his sight, surprisingly, since he expected to be locked in a dark room, even when he’s managed to open them in just tiny slits.

“Clearly I’m the villain here, and it’s Kid, innocent Kid, who must be protected at all costs—” Shinichi stops suddenly when he manages to successfully lift his head and he finally sees his kidnapper: brunette—no, that’s not the right shade—locks, mostly hidden by a black cap, tied in a low ponytail, in a black bodysuit and tight-fitting black pants, with a plain tactical belt laden with pouches, boots securely tied, eyes that, though blocked by the cap, he can feel literally and figuratively looking down at him, a murderous looking smirk that chills his bones—

“Yes, yes, detective dear, I must be protected at all costs! I am the clearest, most precious, gem, the purest white pearl of the deep blue sea, the paragon of innocence! I’m just a kid after all!”

The room that had dropped several degrees in temperature returns to normal the moment Thief Kid started his boisterous entrance. Shinichi turns his head to see the familiar gaudy white outfit, cape swishing as if to emphasize his unending droll claims to virtue.

Upping the level of absurdity, Thief Kid, hands on his hips, goes on to say, “On the other hand… you! I was wondering where my persistent suitor was and I go and find him cheating with you!”

Escape Kid’s smirk had long gone from her face. Now a small amused smile has taken its place, as she says, “I knew he was your type. You would never have put up with him otherwise.”

“Hey! I missed you too, don’t be jealous now... After all," Thief Kid clears his throat, "I’m not alone, right?”

“… You..!”

“Heh, the queen has issued her decree! By her majesty’s orders, I can be injured no more!”

“… Calling you a birdbrain would insult the birds, really…”

“If her majesty would give me her hand, I would love to whisk her away from this dull and gloomy place, very unfitting of her personality as bright and sunny as—”

“Shut up. Let’s go, idiot.”

“Aye! By your leave, madame!”

Shinichi finds that he doesn’t have the words to describe what he’d just been audience to, except, maybe, a romcom skit starring a brazen flirt and an overprotective tsundere..?

Thief Kid’s voice blasts through his thoughts though, as he calls out, “Hey, I just saved you from the devil’s wrath; you owe me one, detective!’

Shinichi, having done nothing but lie down then sit in who knows how long, finds himself feeling incredibly tired already throughout the whole affair. Since he still can’t move his arms and legs, he can only reply, “I owe you. Really.”

In contrast to Shinichi’s I-might-as-well-be-lying-in-a-ditch-since-I-can’t-do-anything-like-this mood, Thief Kid is in high spirits, answering in an almost too-bright tone, “Was that your attempt at sarcasm? Anyway, yep, you do! You really wouldn’t want to know what she can and would do. See you! Someday, maybe, you can make it up to me and her royal highness. Until then, you’re in my debt!”

Shinichi feels this the most radiant he’s ever seen Thief Kid, even as he scrambles out the door, shouting after Escape Kid...

… Leaving him with a temporarily paralyzed body, bruised ego, confusion, and, if he’s being honest, keyed up anticipation over the next heist.

Except he’s not being honest, so he settles for annoyance and curses both Thief Kid and “her royal highness” under his breath.

I only warn once, your ass.

You owe me, your ass.

Meanwhile, two figures escape with the stolen scepter, unbothered and uninjured.

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Check out my 31 Days of CoAi series on AO3 for a better formatted information on my project!

[thorongil82]

Silver Rings for a Web of Love - Chapter 1

Summary: After having to deal with every little thing that could have gone wrong; the breaking of the Avengers in the Civil War, Rhodey's injuries, the coming of Thanos, The Infinity War, The Decimation, returning the fallen to the land of the living, and battling Secretary Ross and the United Nations over amending the Sokovia Accords, finally Tony Stark has earned time for a break. Finally the world seems to be peaceful enough for a wedding that he knows is long overdue. Finally, he can marry Pepper Potts and all the Avengers are invited. Though a certain Spiderling's life may not be quite the way he would like it to be. 

Yes, he may still be the masked hero of Queens that the majority of the public adores. Yes, he may be studying in NYU in engineering and chemistry. Yes, he may be sharing an apartment with his best friend, Ned Leeds. But, when it comes to a certain snarky, frizzy haired girl who'd been observing him since high school, things haven't gone quite as smoothly as his heart so desperately hopes it had. Maybe a couple of weeks away can change that …

Chapter: 1/?

Words: 3601

A/N: So, I kinda ended up having this idea while writing the next chapter for Every Waking Nightmare. And, because I was a little stagnant in working on that, I moved onto this to help keep some creative juices flowing. Just, some quick information: 

First, this is set both after Endgame and after Far From Home, though admittedly I don't know when FFH will be. But, as they still seem to be in high school there, this should definitely be afterwards. Secondly, even though it will have a lot of other characters and it is a Stark Wedding AU, this is much more a Spideychelle fic than anything else. Thirdly, this'll run in an AU where everyone returns after Endgame, regardless of if they were taken out by The Decimation or killed in the lead up to it. Characters that died before Infinity War, I'm still tossing up on. Fourthly, there may be some stuff later on that may require trigger warnings. If there are, I'll let you know beforehand. 

Finally, and I apologise for the long note to begin, I'm going to try something a bit new with this. My thought was to open each chapter with a quote relating to the theme, and a song/video that I listened to whilst writing the chapter out. Would be good to here your thoughts on it. Anyway, that's enough from me. Onwards!

As a quick note for the Tumblr readers, I’m posting this on both AO3 and Tumblr. Trying something new. As such, there may be slight edits to accompany the change, but otherwise things should stay the same. There’s a link on my blog to the AO3 version if you prefer that, because I still don’t know if the linking issue has been fixed yet or not. 

Chapter 1 - An Invitation Plus One

Song of the Chapter: Interstate Love Song - Stone Temple Pilots

"Immature love says: 'I love you because I need you.' Mature Love says: 'I need you because I love you."

~ Erich Fromm

It wasn't every day that Peter got to travel to the Avengers compound. Sure, Mr. Stark had been trying to get more in contact with him, to make him a much more integral part of the team, but his classes at NYU would, at times, get in the way. Plus he could never abandon his duties to the people of New York. When he had first turned down joining the Avengers, he had wanted to keep close to the ground. Build up his experience. Look out for the little guy. Still try to live the life a kid like he was should have been able to.

Of course, a big purple alien decided to throw a big wrench in that plan. Or, rather, a giant spaceship. And a large golden gauntlet.

He knew he didn't have to go and help. But he had to. What else was he supposed to do? There was a giant spaceship shaped like a spinning donut in the sky. He had to make sure that his classmates didn't get hurt. And, obviously, the best thing his mind could come up with was to leap out of a moving bus with just his mask on and swing away after a distraction from Ned – he'll thank whatever deity he needs to for the fact that Ned was as surprised as he was – to go and stop the invaders. So, he got to reunite with and fight alongside Iron Man, meet a couple of wizards and a levitating cloak, and fight against and with a group of aliens. It could have been a power team. Maybe it should have been. Dr. Strange had looked into the future. He saw the one way that we could win. The plan was set. They had Thanos beaten. Mr. Stark was so close to taking off the gauntlet. He himself was so close. But the other human, Starlord, he had to go and lose control. It didn't make sense at the time. Everyone nearly died. Thanos nearly killed Mr. Stark. Strange gave up his stone. And then half the universe just disappeared. One by one they faded away. And, damn his senses, he felt it coming before it happened. It had felt horrible. Every fibre of his being screaming and tearing away, with nothing that he could do. Actually fading away caused no pain. Maybe it was because of how panicky he had been once he figured out what his instincts were howling at him. However, he still felt a lot of pain when it took hold. The fading, that wasn't it. The others that were dusted said that it just didn't feel like anything. They deduced that it was his healing factor working overtime to try and keep himself together. It had been so much that it nearly killed him a second time when the remaining Avengers succeeded in defeating Thanos and bringing everyone back to life. Mr. Strange magically transported The Guardians and them both back to Earth from Titan. Everything was finally over. The Avengers were, for the most part, back together again, with some new recruits; aliens, wizards, two humans that have travelled through the stars, and a high school student.

After the conflict, the public had, for the most part, rallied behind the Rouge Avengers, and the long fight to rectify the Accords fairly could carefully begin. The Rouge Avengers were pardoned, against the urges of Secretary Ross, and the others were invited to officially join the group. Everyone except Spider-Man, because everyone; the Avengers, the Rouges, the new recruits, and the few outside the superhero cohort still intricately involved, agreed that it would be a very bad idea for the world to find out his secret identity while he was still just a kid. So it was that Peter unofficially became an Avenger, and still is. The world still doesn't know who lies underneath the red-and-blue spandex, or whatever other suit is required for the job. And as far as everyone else knows, Peter Parker goes to the Avengers compound as Tony Stark's part-time assistant. Which isn't exactly a lie – he does do a fair amount of inventing and engineering for Stark Industries, alongside helping with some upgrades for Avengers gear. And, as far as he's aware, that is why he is being driven through the gates and up the driveway of the compound right now.

“You good, kid?” comes the voice of Happy Hogan from the driver's seat. Despite the years, he hasn't changed a lot from what Peter has seen. He still travels everywhere in a suit and hasn't observably aged. However, from his conversations and reports, Peter has noticed how he seems to have softened a little.

“Yeah. Why do you ask?”

“You're just … oddly quiet,” he answers as the car pulls up to the front of the complex.

“I'm just thinking about stuff. Things I can do during spring break,” Peter explains, lying through his teeth for the second part.

“Ah huh ...” Happy nods. For what it's worth to Peter, it doesn't seem like he's noticed the lie he told. Though, Happy was never one to wear his emotions on his sleeve, unless it was either stress or anger.

“I'm not carrying your bag, kid,” Happy says as he turns around, breaking Peter out of his train of thought. Looking around, he could see the car had stopped a while ago.

“Oh, uh … yeah, right,” Peter stammers, his hand quickly snaking to rub the back of his neck. “Thanks, Happy.”

Happy gives him a nod as the spiderling grabs the backpack beside him and slings it over his shoulder before dashing out of the vehicle. Striding out and climbing up the stairway, Peter arrives inside the sparkling clean foyer.

“Hello, Peter,” greeted the soothing feminine voice of F.R.I.D.A.Y. from above.

“Hey, Friday.”

“You're here early.”

“Yeah, Mr. Stark asked me to come in today instead of tomorrow,” Peter replied as he began walking through the complex.

“The boss has been alerted of your arrival. He's on his way down.”

“Thanks, Fri.”

Peter Parker continued his walk through the complex, passing multiple suits and artefacts from previous battles that were no longer in use; such as the dilapidated remains of several Iron Man suits including the battered and scarred mask of the first nanotech suit, a few pieces of weaponry out of War Machine's arsenal, Captain America's strike suit, sketches and designs of suits for several of the Avengers, and a jet-black hooded outfit and mask with blood orange and golden outlines, metallic gauntlets and a sleek katana that no one had bothered to tell the young Parker who it belonged to. It was while his gaze lingered on the more menacing outfit that the nearby elevator opened up, from within which Tony Stark strode out.

“Ah, there you are, kid,” the playboy billionaire says with a smile as he walks out of the elevator, snapping Peter out of his trance.

“Hey, Mr. Stark.”

“You know you can call me Tony, right?” he questions as he puts an arm round the young Parker and leads him into the elevator.

“Yeah,” Peter admits, shifting his weight from side to side as the elevator doors slide shut in front of them. “Force of habit.”

“Well, at least you were raised polite. School going alright? I've still got pull at MIT if you want to change-”

“It's fine, Mr. Sta- I mean, Tony,” the young adult catches himself, shaking his head slightly at his mistake. “No problems.”

“You sure?” Tony asks as he shifts his gaze down to his assistant.

“Yep. Work's all finished. Had an exam today. I'm pretty sure it went alright. Just got one more tomorrow and then-”

“Spring break, right?”

Peter nods.

“Ah, spring break, such fond memories … Lots of parties, plenty of girls …”

“Really?”

“Well I assume so,” Tony says with a shrug. “I was rich and a ladies man, but I also drank like a sailor. My memory isn't what it once was.”

“But you're one of the smartest people in the world!”

“Nah, everyone's starting to catch up,” Tony says, waving his hand as if to dismiss Peter's previous statement. “And a couple seem to be passing me by already – yourself included.”

“I wouldn't say that,” Peter chuckles embarrassingly, his hand snaking round his neck once again.

“So, you got any plans?”

“Uh, no … not really,” Peter replies as the elevator doors open, the billionaire and the spiderling walking through the shiny corridor towards Mr. Stark's personal laboratory.

“Really? Nothing? A good guy like you?”

Peter shakes his head.

“No parties? No girls? No heavy drinking?”

“No sir,” Peter answers, getting a grimace from the cocky philanthropist.

“That formality probably has something to do with it,” Tony mutters as they enter his lab.

Peter's face lights up as the room bursts into light, illuminating all the equipment, prototypes, particles, shiny metal and machinery thrown all over the place. He dashes over to the large pearl-white workbench in the centre of the room, his feet sliding along the polished floor as he comes to a stop. As soon as his hands press down on the work surface, the top dilutes to a dark cobalt-blue before sparking to life, an electric-blue hologram projecting upwards from the surface and shifting to form a large intricate design that appeared to be blueprints for a new type of Iron Man suit.

“So, what are we working on today, Mr- uh … Tony?” the young Parker inquires as his eyes dance with the light of the projection, remembering to catch himself on the name.

“First things first,” Tony interjects, sauntering slowly to the bench and waving a hand through the air, swiping the design back down into the table. He then reaches into his suit pocket and pulls out an envelope, handing it to Peter. “This is for you.”

Peter takes the envelope with an inquisitive look and opens it, pulling out a small folded page with a flowery pattern adorning the border. Unfolding it, he begins to read the words:

Mr. Peter Parker

You are cordially invited by

Tony Stark and Pepper Potts

to celebrate their union in holy matrimony. 

“W-Wait,” Peter exclaims, his eyes going wide. “This is for your wedding!”

“That's right,” Tony bluntly answers, shrugging his suit jacket off his shoulders before tossing it through the air, a coat hanger descending from the ceiling and catching it somewhat roughly before elevating back up into the roof.

“Bu- Wha- Why am I-” Peter stammers, his mind and mouth both currently being completely unable to form a simple sentence. His disbelieving laugh dies as he looks up at the smirking face of his mentor. “Th-This can't be right.”

“And why's that?”

“Well, I mean, why would I be invited?”

“Hmm, let's see here … Uh, you're part of the team, you help me out in here plenty of times, I have a certain amount of care for you that goes well beyond what most people could even dream of ...” Mr. Stark lists off, counting off each point on his fingers.

“That can't be … Is that true?”

“Don't interrupt me, I wasn't finished,” Tony says, holding up a hand. “Now, where was I?”

“The Care Bear Protocol,” F.R.I.D.A.Y. answers from above.

“Wait, Care Bear Protocol?!” Peter exclaims, eyes shooting towards Tony Stark.

“Unimportant details,” he responds, waving away the young Parker's many unspoken questions both figuratively and literally as one of his hands sails through the air in front of him.

“Oh god,” Peter groans, a hand flying up to hide his shame as his face quickly heats up in embarrassment.

“You're smart, respectable, polite,” Tony continues listing, as if the previous interruption hadn't happened, “Everyone on the team loves having you around, you brighten everyone's day, you're a hero to the people and you're probably the best out of all of us. So, yes, you're invited.”

Peter hesitantly looks back at the invitation, taking in the information.

“So, this is why you wanted me here today?”

“Yep. Pepper and I are leaving tomorrow after we finish up with some meetings.”

“The wedding's in a fortnight, though,” Peter observes, reading from the invitation and looking up with a puzzled expression.

“We could do with a break beforehand,” Tony explains, crossing his arms over the reactor in his chest. “Won't really have too much time for a honeymoon afterwards, so might as well get it over with beforehand with the team.”

Peter goes to open his mouth, but is cut off as Mr. Stark adds, “And yes, that includes you.”

“Cool! But … I've got an exam tomorrow. I can't just leave tomorrow.”

“Check the envelope.”

Peter takes another look inside the envelope and pulls out two plane tickets, boarding passes and small cards similar to the ID scanners that everyone uses in the newly re-bought and re-furnished Stark Tower. Looking at the plane tickets, Peter noted the departure time for 0800 hours on Saturday; the day after tomorrow.

“You're not the only one who can't get there straight away,” Tony explains. “Some are still getting there mid-week. I'd already checked in with NYU about when your exams were and planned around it.”

“Um … Mr. Stark?” Peter says, looking back up at his mentor.

“That name's not going to go away, is it?” Tony sighs, causing Peter's eyes to widen at his comment.

“Uh … probably not,” Peter answers guiltily.

“Don't worry, kid,” Tony says with a smile, bringing a smile to his student. “What is it?”

“Why are there two of all these?”

“Oh, well that's because everyone can bring someone along, and you've been put down for a 'plus one',” Mr. Stark clarifies.

“But I don't think I'll be able to bring anyone.”

“Really? No one?”

“Well, May's going to be away in Hawaii for another wedding, and Ned's going on a holiday with his family and his girlfriend.”

“What about that girl you hang around?”

“Michelle? No! Nonononono!” Peter frantically utters, vehemently shaking his head. “That would not be a good idea.”

“Why not?” Tony asks, eyebrows raising up in surprise. “I thought you guys were pretty close.”

“We are- were. It's … uh … It's not great …”

“What happened? You always use to spew your guts about every little thing about her. It got pretty annoying.”

“Um … you remember what happened in Europe?” Tony nods. “Well … we were kinda supposed to go on a date …”

“Wait, you were supposed to go on a date, or you were kinda going on a date?”

“We were going on a date … kinda.”

Tony sighs and shakes his head, but motions for the kid to continue.

“Well … we were going to be going to a carnival, but I was running a little late. On the way, one of Beck's goons tricked me and I ended up fighting Beck. By the time I had him webbed up, I was super late and she was so frustrated at me. She just screamed and shouted at me at the hotel and then didn't speak to me for the next three months.”

“Did you tell her why you missed it?” Tony asks. Peter drops his gaze to the floor and shakes his head, sinking into a nearby chair. Tony sighs and goes up to the youth, clapping a hand down on his fallen shoulder. “Well, that would have been a start. It could've helped her understand-”

“No! No, I … I can't tell her,” Peter states, his hands fumbling in the air in front of him. “I-I … I just can't.”

“Kid, all relationships are built on trust-”

“You don't understand: I can't tell her because she doesn't know I'm Spider-Man!” Peter declares, looking up at Tony Stark. “I … I never told her.”

“Why wouldn't you tell her?”

“I didn't want her to be hurt. I-If more people keep finding out who I am, then they'll be in danger. Vulture threatened to hurt everyone and Mysterio used his knowledge to distract me and lure me away.”

“We can take care of-”

“It's not the same. The Avengers can take care of each other. May, Ned, MJ … I-If someone like that comes after them …”

“It's alright, kid. Nothing's going to happen to them,” Tony assures as he crouches down in front of Peter, rubbing the younger man's legs as his eyes seem to stare off into space. His breathing quickens and becomes shorter as the panic starts to set in. “Hey, look at me. Peter.”

Peter slowly lifts his head to look at his mentor's eyes.

“Follow my breathing, okay?”

The young adult nods and follows as Tony starts with a normal paced breath, waiting for Peter's to drop down and meet it before carefully slowing it down until the young Parker had calmed down.

“All good, kid?”

Peter swallows and nods in response.

“Do you want my advice?”

Peter nods again.

“Okay. If you want to fix things between the two of you, my suggestion is that you tell her.”

“But I-”

“Don't interrupt,” Mr. Stark says abruptly, causing Peter to shut his mouth. “Do you still like her?”

“It's … It's complicated.”

“Kid, it's a yes or no question.”

“Well … Yes,” Peter admits, running a hand through his short curls. “But, it's not that easy.”

“Sure it is,” Stark responds with a shrug. “Three simple words: I am Spider-Man. Nice and short. Just like when I announced myself.”

“No, it's not,” Peter disputes. “I can't. I can't bring her into this world. If … If someone finds out, and she gets hurt … I just can't loose her again. I wouldn't be able to live with myself if she's hurt because of me.”

“You realise you're saying this to a guy who's about to get married, right?”

“I-I didn't mean-”

“Look, kid,” Tony interjects, clearing his throat, “I know how you feel. It took me years to work up the courage to ask Pepper to marry me. And even then, it kept getting put off because of all these people that think they're powerful enough to rule the world. Or the galaxy. Or … whatever. Point is, in that time I realised something. It wouldn't matter how she felt about me, or whether we were together or not. So long as I cared about her, she would be in danger. People kept targeting her to get to me. Didn't matter what stage our relationship was in. So, if I was the one that was keeping her in danger, then I would do whatever it takes to make sure she's safe.”

“Also,” he continues as Peter opens his mouth, “if you want to be happy in life, then your better off being with the people you love. It'll hurt you to keep them at a distance, and it can hurt them too if they don't know why you're pushing them away.”

“So, what should I do?”

“Try to patch things up. I'm assuming you guys are at least in a civil acquaintanceship?”

“Yeah, I guess,” Peter answers glumly. “There are times were it seems friendly, and times where it still seems like she hates my guts. Then again, she is pretty dry and standoff-ish to everyone anyway, so that might just be her being who she is.”

“Then ask her to come. Tell her you're Spider-Man and bring her along.”

“Just like that? Hi, just thought I'd let you know I'm Spider-Man. Do you want to come to a wedding? I can't do that!”

“Fine, pick your moment. But I still want you to invite her.”

“And how do I explain that we'll be staying with The Avengers?”

“Why wouldn't The Avengers be there?”

“It's not that. It's just … what perfectly normal reason would there be for me to be there?”

“Well, if she-”

“One that doesn't involve me telling her I'm Spider-Man,” Peter cuts off Tony Stark, resulting in a glare from his mentor.

“Eh, we'll get there when we get there.”

“That's not really the kind of answer I was looking for.”

“Well, you keep wanting to make it difficult.”

“This is not going to go well,” Peter groans and drops his head into his hands before running them through his hair.

Tony sighs and stands up, walking over to the bench. He taps a couple of times on the surface, causing the bench-top to flash blue, before pinching the air and dragging upwards, springing up the holographic blueprints from earlier.

“How about we have a look at this?” Tony suggests as he folds his arms over his chest, getting Peter to look back up at him. “It'll help get your mind off your troubles, and get your head in gear for your exams tomorrow.”

Peter pushes himself out of his chair and stands next to Mr. Stark.

“Sure, but … um … I already planned to go to May's afterwards for dinner. I said I'd be there by 7.”

“What time is it now, Fri?” Tony asks, his eyes focusing on the designs.

“2:13,” the AI answers from above.

“Ah, we've got plenty of time,” Mr. Stark says, unfolding one of his arms and resting it on Peter's shoulder. “Hell, we'll probably have this all finished well before then.”

His arms shoot out to the holograms and brush a couple of designs aside before focusing in on the reactor and energy couplets and bringing his hands out wide, zooming into the design.

“How about we focus here first?”

A/N: So, there we go. First one out of the way. A shorter chapter than what I typically write, but probably about right for an introduction. Things may get longer. 

I'd like to hear your thoughts on the chapter. Suggestions, criticisms, ideas, all of that is welcome. In particular, I don't necessarily have a complete idea for events that they will all do before the wedding, so if there's anything in particular you want to see, whether it be an event, a face-off, or a particular relationship development event, please feel free to let me know and I'll see what I can do.

The next chapter will be uploaded as it's written. So, until then, adios.

[theticklishpear]

(A table of contents is available. This series will remain open for additional posts and the table of contents up-to-date as new posts are added.)

Part Eight: Hello, Idea, It’s Been A While

Writing never goes as smoothly as planned. Most times, an idea gets set aside until something triggers us to write on it again. It could be that the main project you were working on stops coming as smoothly so you decide to take a break from it. Or maybe you’re working on something else when the idea arrives and you’re not willing to split your focus. Perhaps you just don’t feel ready to tackle it when it comes to you. It’s a common predicament for writers: deciding whether to chase a new idea or put it aside. It’s inevitable! And to be honest, having a stash of ideas for the days the metaphorical well runs dry can be a life saver, but getting back into an idea after that initial wave of inspiration sometimes causes us even more problems than tackling two stories at once.

The lives of ideas:

Ideas experience a couple of stages of life. You have the ones that struck you and you set aside immediately (for all kinds of reasons); you have the slightly used idea where you may have written out some connected ideas, themes, characters, plot points, world details, or maybe even a couple of paragraphs of story on it; then you have the well-worn ideas that you had ages ago, that just fizzled out at some point, but there are a couple of chapters and a whole notebook of worldbuilding stashed away somewhere.

All three have the potential to either be a huge pain to blindly feel your way into it or it’s going to be the easiest thing in the world. Either you’re going to be able to take that new idea and whatever notes you had on it when it first occurred to you and those notes will inspire you all over again, or you’ll find that the idea isn’t nearly as vivid or intriguing as it used to be. If you’re still interested in writing on the idea (and it’s okay if you’re not!), you can do a couple of things to get yourself back into the right mindset.

Go back to the beginning:

Strip the idea all the way down to its bare bones. Set everything you had on it aside except for the very core thought. You might think that building off what you had before will give you a starting point: “Look at all this work that’s already completed for me? I don’t have to work as hard because this is all done.” That’s true, and for some people--and ideas that haven’t been sitting for very long--that works really well. Sometimes, though, all of that can cloud you. That old work came from someone who no longer exists. You’ve grown, your ideas have grown, and your ability as a writer and creator has grown. Pulling the idea out of all that packing and simply starting again can be exactly what you need, a releasing of extra weight, if you will. It might be that you’ll even be able to tie some of those older things back into what you work on from scratch, but maybe the idea goes an entirely different route. You don’t want to force it into a shape it’s no longer willing to be.

Build past old bones:

This may seem like a strange suggestion after I just advocated for starting completely afresh, but different strokes for different folks, right? Ideas come with potential, and if you built on that potential at all, you can certainly use that to continue building it up. Reread what you have; think about the story from before and whether or not your perspective has changed. Is that still the same story you want to tell with this idea, or is there something new you want to talk about? Find some detail in what you have that makes you think, or a phrase in the story that you really like, or a character whose personality and interactions are great. Write up some stream-of-consciousness-type paragraphs where you talk to yourself about those details and what you love about them, why you love them, how it felt to be writing with them, and where they could go. Knowing where you came from can help you sink back into the right mindset for the story. Don’t feel like you have to reuse everything you had from before, but maybe there are elements you can pull out and rebuild from. Use those little details like pillars to build the new story around.

Create a breaking point:

This is specifically for those well-worn ideas you’ve been working on forever and never seem to really get through: insert a metaphorical line break between the old and the new. Maybe what you write with it now will be the same, but it’s more likely that it won’t be. It’s very discouraging to come back to work on something and the tone isn’t the same, your word choices are a little bit different, and the characters have a slightly different feel to them. It all comes back to time and experience. Editing is a thing, and if that means you need to re-edit and fix up half a book just so you can actually get this beloved thing complete, then that’s the way it is. Don’t give up on those old projects if you still have a passion for the story. Understand that things will be stylistically different, agree to fix that later, put in a reminder to your future editing self where to start, and rekindle that adoration you have for this piece.

Write, or don’t:

Either you’ll remember what the idea meant to you, or you will have moved on. It’s okay to decide the idea is no longer something you want to pursue, but give it a fighting chance for a while first. Seek out art and videos and stories relevant to the idea, see if you can find some fun twist you can put on what you originally had. Reinventing the idea, tweaking it, adding a new element, and just playing around with language in new and different ways can inject an old idea with new inspiration to spur you forward. In the end, either the idea will reinflate with a little attention, or it won’t. Either you will want to write on it again and you will chase and chase and try and experiment, or you won’t. It’s up to you and how much you want to write that story.

Next up: What to definitely write down out of that idea!

[sparda3g]

Kingdom Chapter 555 Review

If you were hoping for Heki’s greatness to happen in this chapter, well I’m afraid I got some bad news. While it didn’t skip the magnitude of the Mountain Tribe War, thankfully, it instead focused on the Right Wing and the development on their next set of plan. Although I was eager to witness the epic battle with the former, this does serve a grand purpose to create the sensation that Qin is entering the state of do or die.

Undoubtedly, Yotanwa, Heki and their army are in the worst situation than any others, though it is not to say that others aren’t in any good position. If anything, the only one that is in safe position, if you can even call it that, is oddly enough Kanki Army. Since all they have to do is to observe Gyou and wait for any activity, they don’t have to engage any combat unless enemy strikes them first. It’s kind of funny since they’re the one that would love to fight because of how dirty they are.

They do watch the surroundings from afar and pick up a trace of Zhao’s pattern as of late. Maron notes that Zhao has ceased their attack in all 4 directions, which would mean that they are only playing the waiting game. When you have the upper hand in regards of supplies, there’s no need to get your hands dirty until they submit or weakened severely. It’s cheap, but it works into their favor. The citizens in Gyou are in the comfy zone, believing the war is their win. Basically, Zhao is feeling good and Qin, well, they are about to be dead men walking.

I forgot the possibility of Yotanwa calling Kanki for reinforcements, but Kanki shut it down quickly because the messenger will no doubt be killed along the way. I wonder if this would mean a possible chance for that to happen, but they have to lower the count first. Maron was portraying like a sarcastic guy, stating the fate of Kanki Army relies on more food and supplies if Qin wins somehow. Then he got serious and requests Kanki with a promise.

I don’t know what to think of this moment because of how Kanki tends to be shady every time his moment comes. In this case, Maron wants his promise for when the day comes when they only have one day of supplies, they will abandon their post and withdraw immediately. It isn’t noble of Kanki to agree to abandon no matter what, but then again, this is him we’re talking about. I don’t know if he is insinuating that the day won’t come to that point because he either believes in Ousen and others got this or he got something else in mind. I feel this moment is very significant.

At least the next page becomes light-hearted with a funny scene. My first impression was that Bihei was screaming because he sees the reinforcements heading towards them or something. Supposedly, that’s his taunt to draw them there, but no effect. Well, first of all, who in the world would be scare of him? Second, he’s so damn far away, what makes him think they would hear him, let alone care. Lastly, that’s the saddest taunt I have seen yet. Good work, Bihei.

The centerpiece is the floor plan back at the Right Wing HQ. I laughed at Ouhon stopping Ten from “trying” to take charge of the plan, even though she only stated that they are in danger and nothing more. What’s even funnier, he stopped her and then begin talking about how they are in tough spot, only to act in charge by more or less orders the men there to work on certain areas. It’s perfectly fine if Ouhon does the talking!

Ouhon’s plan is to use the next three days to push through and win the Right Wing entirely. Even though they have about 5 days to survive with limited supplies, he wants to use the last two remaining days to defeat Riboku and then, head towards Gyou to regroup with Kanki. I don’t know if he is basing off from Yotanwa’s situation of three days to go scenario or it’s largely a coincidence, but if everything goes smoothly, Zhao would get obliterated. What a wishful thinking.

I do like the consistency of Shin’s reaction towards the thought of stealing supplies from Zhao’s citizens once Ouhon and everyone else start heading towards Gyou. Even when they’re at the enemy’s territory, he hates the thought of stealing and worst of all, killing them for their own personal gain. The floor room was about to go Deep South when Shin asks a legitimate question of what if they don’t surrender their supplies. It was interrupted by a wise old man Gunei, the deputy of Akou Army. It does leave you thinking if Ouhon is cold enough to kill normal citizens for their need.

It’s a good thing Gunei is in there to keep in check; even Banyou is astounded by him. Imagine: an old man looks up to an old man. Out of all directions, the Right Wing does sound like the most exciting area to follow; follow by Yotanwa with the sudden death trial. It’s mainly because the Right Wing has multiple boss levels in their hands; leaving plenty of great potentials of exciting combat. Righty for the win!

The idea is to use a day to take out a General and his army. By the third day, they will go all out on the last two Generals. It’s not a bad idea; so long they have the capability to hold the line from other army to assist, the plan could work out well. Granted, if the General is too powerful for one to handle, it’s a moot point, but that’s probably why Shin and Ouhon will be taking care of the first one. It’s risky because that would leave Akou Army alone to hold the fleet, but if he can really handle them fine, then why not I suppose.

It’s kind of funny that they all thought that Gaku’ei is the weakest one, so they will target him first. I think it’s no surprise that he is overshadowed, let alone not displayed as an impressive guy in compare. Unless he can shoot beams from his helmet, he is an easy target. We got the plan all set, so unless Left Wing is next to tell their story, we are ready for one hell of a day.

Before doing so, Gunei stops Banyou to congratulate him. He admires him for he has raised a fine future Great General that is Ouhon. It was said that raising an Ou Family member is no easy task, but he made it through; that’s worth of a praising. I’m quite intrigued that Hara is doing a serviceable job to make Banyou likeable and respectable. I mean he wasn’t really awful, just a hard ass. So I am pleased to see more of this. That said it does raise a death flag for Gunei; in fact, the Akou Army itself. Hara doesn’t even try to hide it when we are reintroduced to the one and only Riboku.

He calls for Bananji to meet with him during the time of battle. It’s actually sad when you think about it, because nothing would change if Bananji were to leave the post for a moment. That’s how bad Qin is in. Too bad for Zhao, because it’s the day when they will start charging when they least expected. Well, I would love to say that with arrogance, but no, Riboku learned the pattern and expose their plan accurately. This guy is just hacking life now.

So while the hope for Qin to have any fighting chance is slowly diminishing, Riboku calls Bananji to share a secret knowledge that exposes Akou Army’s weakness. So yeah, the death flag for Akou has shot through the Heaven’s sky now. I get the feeling that the weakness has to do with Akou and his rashly behavior like going head-on without a second glance, so my bet is Riboku will twist that and create a huge negative turn for Akou. Would that mean Akou will die on this day? Highly likely. Man, being associated anything with “akou” seems bad luck in this series.

This was an interesting buildup chapter for the next 3 days to be all or nothing attempt. It’s a shame that we were in something really intense, only to be bait and switch with other scenarios. At least, we are well informed of their plan, so no need to stall time; it’s time for action. Kanki leaves questionable feelings to think over. The Right Wing leaves a lot of potentials for intense moments waiting to happen. The artwork is pretty solid. The ending gives a bad feeling that Qin may never catch a break with this hack, I mean Riboku. Well, good luck.