#I MEANT THE SCOTTISH TRANSLATOR WHAT

[justsken]

Hi my name is Just Ken and I have short blonde hair that reaches my neck and barbie blue eyes like the distant ocean and a lot of people tell me I look like Chloe Dollpink (AN: if u don't know who they are get da hell out of here!). I'm not related to Ken Jennings but I wish I was because they're a major fucking hottie. I have pale skin. I'm also a Ken, and I date Barbie in Barbieland where I'm in the seventh grade (I'm 29). I'm a prep (in case you couldn't tell) and I wear mostly blue. I love Pac Sun and I buy all my clothes from there. For example today I was wearing a A blue button down and Swim trunks, Cool sunglasses and Flip flops. I was wearing Black eyeliner drawn like a tear. I was walking outside the beach. It was snowing and raining so there was no sun, which I was very happy about. A lot of goths stared at me. I put up my middle finger at them. "Hey Just Ken!" shouted a voice. I looked up. It was... Chuckles Gunbash!

i think we were both thinking of different translators JKNDFVKJDNFBD

[fideidefenswhore]

Yeah I like to see some quotes please. I can't really get my head round people believing in Mary's bona fides when the law didn't even exist in England. It's like Americans obsessing over a law only Canadians have. But I guess loyalty/sentiment/status quo was a big part of it.

Well, I don't think most noblewo/men were deeply well-versed in succession/inheritance laws of England and all their precedents, unless they'd happened to also study law...the assumption was probably that what was the law in most of Christendom was for England as well, understandably. But, then, that's not even a subject that seems to be well-understood in 21c historiography:

“[Henry VIII] now argued she would would be barred by illegitimacy. This contention puzzled continental contemporaries because elsewhere in western Europe those children born to couples who in good faith believed themselves validly married were treated as legitimate. Nevertheless, Henry was right. After a period of some uncertainty, by the late fourteenth century England had opted out of the bona fides principle. As Sir John Baker notes, 'succession problems were usually debated in legal terms and in accordance with the common law canons of inheritance.’ A successful challenge to his marriage would thus automatically bastardise Mary and leave Henry no direct heir… [although] Mary could have been legitimated by statute.” - JF Hadwin, Katherine of Aragon and the Veil, The Journal of Ecclesiastical History

... so that's, for the 16c, like I said, an understandable assumption. (Also, their source was probably Chapuys, who was familiar with both secular and church law, but espoused many misunderstandings of their precedents, too...so did Fisher, they're enumerated in another article by the same historian, titled Leviticus, Deuteronomy and Henry VIII, I will post those relevant quotes too, if they're of interest to you, asw).

Yeah, the bona fides element was... an interesting one, nevertheless...like, all the interrogations I mentioned, everyone says they've heard Mary was bona fides but won't really explain what it meant, they admit their ignorance on the subject, and won't name the source of where they've heard it (although, like I mentioned, they are willing to point fingers to deflect suspicion off themselves of their former friends in other regards), just assert that they all sort of mindlessly (lol) repeated what they'd heard, all, understandably, to maintain plausible deniability and get themselves out of the hot water they've landed themselves in.

For the Exeter conspiracy, I've posted one relevant in the past, I'll see what else I can scrounge up from my notes of excerpts.

It was, but I don't think courtier opportunism should be underestimated. Just one example, but I always remember that the Marquis of Exeter was one of the delegation of nobles HVIII sent to pressure CoA to relinquish her rights as Queen, tell Charles V to stop interfering in the matter, and one of the conspirators named by Chapuys in the Boleyn downfall. Granted, his wife had been one of Mary's supporters from very early on, so I think that element is there.

Elitism is probably an overestimated element, like while it's true the Boleyns were not born of royalty (neither were the Seymours, tho, so like...); I think what was going on beneath the surface was more intricate. Take Nicholas Carew, for example: originally, he'd been of the Boleyn faction, understandably, since they were cousins (he also, initially at least, seemed to favour a French alliance, so there's that). But I think what began as , well, the King needs a son, and if he's going to marry another wife, it might as well be a woman of my family as anyone else, to my benefit as much as anyone else...well, I think the shine came off this as matters unfolded. The thrust of their expectations were probably that AB was going to have as much, or less, influence as her predecessor with Henry, and her influence and power quickly outstripped those expectations. As the Boleyns gained power, wealth, and influence, and as men like Carew felt their own influence ebb in favour of say, George Boleyn (and I use him as an example, because by early 1536, it's evident many noblemen hated George, Lancelot de Carles' report of those events really crystallizes this)...well, resentment only grew, and their desire for the return of the status quo was thus kindled.

[countcvnt]

Experiment

Chapter One: Scrambled

[Poly!TF141/Fem!Reader]

Summary: Your memory is hazy, almost nonexistent, after being plucked out of a safe house and experimented on for months. When you're finally rescued you don't remember the people closest to you. Warnings: Canon Typical Violence (not much else this chapter), me using an english to scottish translator, not beta read Word Count: 3.3k A/N: Had this silly idea and turned it into a serious/angsty fic. I hope you all will like it as much as I do! Also, Reader has a call sign! It's Ace. If you prefer, you can read it here on AO3

Your eyes are heavy, your body burns, and you can't stop shaking. You aren't even sure of where you are. Your eyes are trained ahead of you, looking at what you assume is a two way mirror. A scientist is standing to the side of you messing with some needles and medicines. Your half lidded eyes cut towards him and you see a thick blue substance in a syringe.

“What's that?” You croak, voice hoarse.

“Hm?” The scientist doesn't even look at you, “curious now, are we?” He asks, pulling the syringe up and turning to you. He doesn't answer your question though, not in a way you would like. “We are about to figure out what this is.”

‘We’. Your stomach flips. He didn't even seem to know what it was. You accept your fate. You have from the very beginning. You don't know how long you've been part of this ‘program’, and to you, it didn't matter anymore. The only thing that matters is trying to get out alive. No one seemed to be coming for you. No one has in all of the days you've been hidden away. You didn't expect anyone to save you now. So, you had decided to save yourself. Figuring out how to do that was becoming difficult though.

You know that behind that two way mirror are a bunch of guards. You know they're heavily armed. You know, no matter what they have juiced you up with, you aren't beating a bunch of armed men. So, you sit idly. Letting them poke and prod and decide you are going to wait until the perfect opportunity shows itself. You just have to hold on until it does.

A loud alarm suddenly rings throughout the building and you cover your ears, flinching. The scientist seems more agitated than anything. He doesn't seem as bothered as you are, by any means.

“Guards!” He calls out, looking towards the large mirror. “Guards?” He questions.

He puts a finger up at you, asking for you to wait a minute. As if you have any other choice. A loud bang comes from outside the room and chills run up your spine. The guard walks towards the door and he peeks out. He quickly shuts and locks the door before returning back to you. He scurries over towards the metal stand beside your seat. He grabs the syringe and picks it up.

Something clicks in you. The alarms are still blaring and the guards seem to be gone to check it out. You watch as the syringe comes towards you, headed right for your neck. You move faster than you're used to, and grab the man’s hand and push him back. A lot harder than you had meant to. He slides back and hits the wall. The syringe does not leave his hand.

You rush towards the door. You wiggle the door knob and try to rip the door open. It doesn't budge. You turn your head back and see the scientist steadying himself. Fear kicks in.

“Help!” You scream, slamming your fists into the door. “Please, help me!”

“That was really stupid,” the man behind you says. “No one can hear you, no one is coming to save you. They haven't yet, have they?”

Tears prick your eyes. You turn back around and your back hits the door.

“Y'know, I'm going to be honest.” He stalks towards you. “I know they picked you because you're so… compliant. But really? I think that big guy with the mask would have been a better choice.”

That stings. “Who?”

“Which one?”

“Both.”

“You know I can't give out classified information. But if this works, I promise, you'll know everything. As for the other guy? I'm surprised you don't know who I'm talking about. But honestly, after all the brain scrambling you've had done to you, I understand how you don't remember him…”

You lose it. Something in you snaps. You lunge forward and grab the man. The both of you tussle briefly. Until you get him pinned. Your body slams into his and you hold him down. You raise your fist and bring it down, slamming it into his jaw. Screams, pleas fall from his lips. He's begging for you to quit. But you don't. You, at that moment, decide you are going to do that to every single person who has harmed you, who caused this.

The door behind you blows open, but you don't falter. Your fists continue to slam into the scientist’s face. Until you hear someone with a Scottish accent say your name. You freeze. You turn to find a man in the doorway, his eyes wide. You furrow your brows when he whispers your name again. You move to get up, without thinking about the man below you. You don't realize he's moving. His hand comes up and the needle is pressed into your neck. Whatever the liquid was is quickly administered into your bloodstream.

You hear your name again, louder this time, but you fall to the side, eyes too heavy to hold open. Your head slams into the now bloodied white tile and you're out.

So much for escaping. _____________________________________ You wake up to beeping. A sound you had grown accustomed to recently. You feel monitors hooked up to you, and an IV in your arm. You twitch ever so slightly, every muscle in your body contracting. And then it hits.

Anger.

Your eyes snap open. Your legs swing over the side of the bed. You rip every single monitor off of you, the IV flying across the room. The monitor begins to beep loudly and as you rush towards the door, exiting the isolated room, an alarm blares. You flinch momentarily, but do not let the sound stop you. You are looking for someone, anyone to give you a hint of what's going on. Nothing around you looks familiar. But from all the ‘brain scrambling’, that's normal. You're used to not knowing as much as you figure you used to.

A man in a bucket hat turns the corner, rushing towards what can only assume is you. You let out a low growl and begin to sprint. Your body slams into his and the both of you are sent sliding across the floor. You grab his vest and lower yourself to him, all of your weight holding him down. “Where the fuck am I?”

He's looking at you with confused eyes. He doesn't make any sudden movements. He immediately presents himself as a friend, not a threat. You squint and then see someone else coming around the corner.

“Price! Oh my-” the young man freezes. He says your name and your world is instantly rocked.

You haven't heard your name in god knows how long. The Scottish man had called out for you earlier, but before that? You really can't think of a time when someone had called you something other than some experiment number. “Who are you?” You hiss.

You feel the man under you tense up. He swallows hard and he says your name this time, slow and soft. He isn't showing any signs of wanting to throw you across the room or knock the shit out of you. You take it he isn't a threat and shift.

“You don't remember me?” The man in the ball cap asks, brows furrowed. “You don't remember us?”

Your heart jumps into your throat. You push yourself off of the man below you and you stand up. You brush yourself off and watch as he stands up. He radios someone to cut off the alarm and it's promptly stopped. You are thankful for that. You stand in the hall awkwardly and watch him and the other, younger man talk to each other with facial expressions.

“You're probably hungry,” the man in the bucket hat turns towards you, “how about we go get you some food?”

You aren't stupid, you know that also entails speaking with them about everything you just went through. Despite not wanting to talk, you nod. You are hungry and haven't had an actual meal in possibly months. The man reaches out to touch your lower back, to lead you to wherever he wants to go. You flinch away from him, everything in you tensing. You can tell it's a reflex. A habit. He's used to doing that. Your eyes scan him and you're searching your brain for everything, anything about him. But there's nothing.

“Sorry.” Is all he says. He leaves it at that. “Gaz,” he looks away from you and towards the other man. “Please go grab some food and meet us back at room 2B.”

“Yes, sir.”

The tension is palpable. You want to run. Fast. You can. You know you can. But something is keeping you tethered there. You follow a couple feet behind the man who had yet to introduce himself and keep thinking about ‘Gaz’. Your mind is reeling. You keep thinking about his name, his face, everything. You close your eyes tight and inhale sharply.

“Kyle.” It's all you say. It stops you dead in your tracks. Your eyes open and your breathing is heavy. “His name is Kyle.” Your breathing is suddenly ragged. You can't catch your breath and feel like everything is crumbling in on you. You fall to your knees and try to keep yourself from wailing. “I don't even know your name!” You whisper to keep yourself from sobbing. Your voice cracks.

“Price. John Price.” He drops in front of you. He reaches for your bicep. You don't flinch away this time. “Hey,” his voice is low, “look at me.” Your eyes cut up to him. “We're gonna help you through this. I promise.” You nod. You want to trust him. You need to. You feel like you can. You inhale slowly and Price helps you up. “We're going to go to room 2B, you're going to eat some breakfast, and we're going to ask you some questions.”

You nod and start following Price again. You make it to the room in silence and Price opens the door for you. You walk in and find four beige walls, a table, and four chairs. Nothing else. Until you look in the corner of the room and find a little camera. You lock onto it and squint.

“Why?” You point at it.

“Oh,” Price walks in and closes the door behind him, “it’s protocol. Security and all.”

“Fair enough.” You sit down at the table and look at the Price. “You gonna sit?”

Price holds onto his vest and leans against the table. “Not yet.”

You shrug. “Suit yourself.” Your stomach growls. You touch it through the thin white shirt you're wearing. “You think Gaz will be here soon?”

With that, a knock comes from the other side of the door. Two knocks, a pause, and another knock. Price opens the door and Gaz walks in. He has a tray filled with food and you are growing antsy. He sits across from you and slides the tray towards you. You try to not immediately dig in, but you can't help it. You grab a glazed donut first and begin to devour it.

“Oh,” you pause your munching, “thank you, Kyle.”

Gaz freezes. His eyes widen and he turns towards Price. It's your turn to freeze. You look up at him mid bite and blink. Gaz motions towards you and asks, “Did you tell her my name.”

“No.” Price shakes his head.

“You remembered?” Gaz seems ecstatic. “What else do you-”

“Nothing.” You snap. “I don't remember a damn thing.” You huff as you move onto the muffin on the tray. You unwrap it and begin to devour the sweet. “All I know,” You speak through bites, “is that I was locked up for God knows how long and they were experimenting on me-”

“Four months.” Gaz speaks quietly.

“Huh?” You question him. “How do you know?”

“We looked for you when you disappeared. It was four months ago when they got you. You really don’t remember anything?”

“Like I said,” You huff, “I just know they were juicing me up.” Before they can question you further, a light bulb goes off in your head. “Wait.” You squint at them, “The Scottish one. Where is he?”

They tense up. Gaz talks first, “You remember Soap?”

“Huh?” You cock your head. “Is that his name? He’s the one that found me. I assume he’s here. Or did he not…” You trail off.

“No, he’s here…” Price begins, “…We don’t want to overwhelm you.”

“Oh.” You shrug. “I guess that makes sense. How am I supposed to, uh, assimilate without being overwhelmed. I mean, why don’t we just rip that band aid off?”

“Trust me,” Price locks eyes with you, “we do not need to rip that band aid off right now.”

“Okay, okay,” You put your hands up. “Do you wanna ask your questions now?” _____________________________________ “This cannae be healthy,” Soap looks at Simon.

Simon shrugs, “Don’t care.” He’s watching the cameras closely.

“Thay aren't even in th' room yit! Ye'r peepin' an empty room!” Soap’s eyes move from the screen and back to Simon.

Simon’s eyes cut from the screen and to Soap, “Shut it. Price wants us to stay away from her for now. He didn’t say we couldn’t do this.”

As he says that, the door of the room opens. Price is visible first. And then, another figure walks in. You. Simon and Soap both tense. You look directly at the camera and point, asking why it’s there. You’re so clear. Soap’s heart jumps. Simon shifts.

“She remembers Gaz’s name.” Simon speaks through gritted teeth.

“A'm sure that's a targeted attack against ye, Ghost.” Soap is trying to find humor in this situation. He’s grasping for straws.

Simon is not enjoying it. “Shut the fuck up, Johnny.” Simon growls.

Soap focuses back on the screen and notices you aren’t even sure how long you’ve been gone. As Gaz gently tells you four months, Simon grumbles the amount of time at the same time.

“If Price doesn’t wanna overwhelm her, why the fuck is Gaz in there.” Simon is seething. “Why can’t we all be in there.”

Simon shuts his mouth as you say they had been juicing you up. He tenses. Soap does the same. They both need to know what it means. Simon feels like he’s going to combust. His eyes narrow once you mention Soap. Soap looks like he’s about to jump with joy, until he realizes you don’t actually remember him. Not past him saving you.

“Fuck this,” Simon pushes past Soap. “I'm going in there.”

“Hey! Price said-” Soap starts. He doesn't finish. “Fine-” he rushes out behind Simon. He guesses they're just going to bust into the room and Simon is going to make you remember. He isn't quite sure what Simon has planned really. But he decides he can't sit in the security room and just watch. He needs to see you.

So does Simon. _____________________________________ You reach for a fork for your eggs and lean back in your seat, plate in hand. You relax (as much as possible) and you look at Gaz and Price. You are studying them. Really digging into their features. You want to remember so badly. You have no reason to trust that they used to know you, a part of you is ready to attack in case they are lying. But most of you trusts them. How else would you remember Kyle’s name?

“Listen,” Price inhales sharply, “we want to help you, without overwhelming you. We need to know what you know.”

“Listen,” You mimic his tone, “I don’t know what you aren’t getting. I remember nothing, nada, zilch.”

“Okay,” Gaz interjects, “What’s your last memory?”

You're sent into deep thought. You place your hand on your chin and look off. “Well-” You begin, “I remember-”

The door of the room busts open. You tense, ready to pounce. Your palms hit the table and you stand up straight. The fork clangs against the ground. Two men walk into the room. The one who saved you and-

Words play in your head over and over again. ‘I think the big guy with the mask would have been a better choice.’ For a moment, your world is completely rocked. ‘I’m surprised you don’t know who I'm talking about.’ Your eyes lock with the large beast of a man. His eyes soften. Briefly. You swallow hard.

The entire room is silent. Until you open your mouth. “He wanted you…”

“What?” Soap is the first to question you.

“The scientist, the one doing the experiments on me-” You are tense again “-he didn’t want me.” Your head hurts. You place your hand on your forehead and groan. You are thinking too hard. Remembering too much.

“Hey,” Price motions for you to sit down, “it’s alright.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Ghost,” Price looks over his shoulder, “not right now.”

Ghost stiffens. He doesn’t say anything else. You sit down and inhale slowly. Your eyes move from the floor, past Price, and they hit Ghost. You feel something stir inside you. Like your emotions know more than your brain does. You want to scream. Every single man in that room seems to think so highly of you, and you don’t even remember them.

“I think I need to sleep.” Your voice is a whisper.

You don’t know the last time you got a good rest. You figure sleeping will help you. Price begins to grab for you, before freezing. You lean into him, letting him help you up. Price moves past the men and you tag along beside him.

“I’m going to show you where your room is. If you need anything, please let one of us know. But for now, we’ll leave you alone.” You are led down the hall and towards the barracks. It’s silent between the two of you, until you reach your room. “You have this room to yourself. I had some things rearranged, if it needs to be changed, and you aren’t comfortable alone, let me know.”

You nod at him. “Thank you. For everything. I’ll see you in the morning?”

“0600 sharp.” Price begins to leave.

“Wait,” You stop him. “You don’t happen to have my phone, do you?”

Price turns back to you. “No, that was not recovered. But, we can get you a new one. I’ll work on that while you rest.”

You nod. You head into your room and close the door behind you. You look around. There are two beds. You groan at the fact you can’t remember who used to be your bunk mate. You’re scraping through your brain, really searching for just an inkling of a memory. But… Nothing. Nothing at all comes to your mind.

Nothing about the four men convinced that you know them, anyway.

You lay down in bed and cover up. It’s not the most comfortable bed you’ve ever been in, but it is the most comfortable bed you’ve laid on in the last four months. Your head hits the pillows and you close your eyes. It takes longer than you’d like to go to sleep, but not as long as you expect it to take. You only hope you don’t dream of anything at all. You can’t be that lucky. _________________________________ “Price!” Simon shouts at the captain. His face contorted with anger and pain, and he is more glad than ever that they can’t see him through his balaclava. “What the fuck was that? We need to know-”

“No,” Price stops him immediately. “We do not need to stress her out further. We will figure this out eventually, on her time.” Price reassures his team. “You did not see the look in her eyes, the way she tackled me to the floor-”

“She what…?” Soap tenses.

Simon bristles instantly. He’s seething again. “What do you mean?”

“Ghost,” Gaz starts, “I know you want to know what happened. We all do.” He’s trying to get through to him. “But something is not right. The way she easily took Captain Price down- That wasn’t the Ace we know.”

“Of course!” Simon growls, “She was gone for four months, being poked and prodded-”

“Ghost,” Price interrupts, inhaling sharply, “she pinned me down and I could not get up. They did more than poke and prod at her. They-”

It clicks. “They were making soldiers… Enhanced soldiers.” Simon whispers. His face contorts again, this time with confusion, “Why did they pick her?” He remembers what you said. ‘He wanted you.��� Simon momentarily feels a pit in his stomach. “Ace couldn’t have been the only one… There’s no way they did this experiment on one person.”

“She was the only one at the underground compound.” Soap shifts. “Maybe she was the only success?”

Simon is stuck on why they picked you. It’s not like you weren’t capable. But you were never on the field fighting for your life. You were always on the sidelines, helping them get into the places, helping them get information. How had they spotted you and decided you were the best candidate? He knows that question is going to keep him up at night.

“Come on,” Price brings Simon back to reality. “We got a long day ahead of us tomorrow.”

[badgerbl00d]

one piece boys rescuing you pt. 2

☆ characters: sanji, kidd

☆ up next: waking up with the one piece boys

☆ summary: you end up in an awful situation where your life is put in serious danger. will they be able to save you in time?

☆ content: physical violence, slight SA implications, gory imagery (blood, wounds, injuries, etc.), mutual pining, angsty, happy ending, mdni

☆ a/n: i am the proud leader of the scottish!kidd agenda and like to imagine him using scottish slang and having a thick accent so this required some extensive research into scottish swear words lol. chebs (tits) is my favorite. enjoy!

part 1

Sanji:

Zoro nodded, wordlessly, resting against the doorframe. 

“Careful you don’t catch her in the crossfire.” 

Sanji said nothing. He opened the door and walked in, closing it behind him. 

For the first time in his life Zoro’s presence brought him a degree of comfort. He knew he could handle whatever awaited him by himself, but he would be a fool to deny that the swordsman was further guaranteeing your safe return home. 

He descended a small set of stairs into a dark, damp basement. The walls were lined with a sickly yellow mold and the smell of rot had sunken into the cracks of concrete, filling the room with the thick, metallic smell of drying blood. 

His stomach churned knowing that you were somewhere here.

A door lay slightly ajar at the end of the hallway, pale yellow light pouring out from it. 

He approached the door, pushing it open with his free hand. 

Merde. 

He was greeting with a sight that made his head spin in a way it never had before. He steeled himself, biting back the urge to vomit at the sight of what they had done to you. 

Five or six men, whose faces he didn’t care to look at, stood around the room surrounding you. 

The outer corners of the dirty cloth that had been wound around your mouth as a gag were soaked through with blood. Sanji felt heat climbing up his throat and settling into the space behind his eyes translating itself from mere anger to blind fury. 

Your hands were bound too tightly behind your back leaving your elbows bending at unnatural angles and your shoulders jutted forward as though they were being torn out from your skin. 

He began to undo his tie, watching from the corner of his eye as one of the men- the apparent leader- began loading his gun. His breath was shaky and uneven, the inhales and exhales never dealing with an equal amount of air. 

He never took his eyes from you as you doubled over and took small gasps of air. In the midst of his disbelief he made a mental note of each injury you seemed to have. Broken wrists, dislocated shoulders, broken ribs, cuts and bruises covering most of you- the most upsetting of which were the purpling fingerprints around your neck.

He would return every injury done to you tenfold. As he took another inhale from his cigarette he realized that you were losing blood from another wound to your side.  

The few-days-old injury to his left eye, bloodied and mushed, the broken finger on the hand wrapped around his gun, the dried trickle of blood pouring out of his left ear. 

Atta girl. He knew you wouldn’t have gone down with a fight. Sanji took a moment to glance at the others in the room, all bearing similar injuries, and couldn’t help the smirk that settled onto his face. 

One of them said something, perhaps a snarky remark meant to question his confidence, or an insult meant to diminish it. He wasn’t sure. Nothing other than you was registering in his blurring mind.

It was the sound of a faint drip, drip, drip that sealed their fate. 

As Sanji turned to see your tears hitting the floor his vision blacked. 

He felt the unfamiliar feeling of hot blood covering his hands- the very ones he’d sworn to never use in battle. 

The feeling of flesh tearing beneath his fingernails, his fingers grabbing whatever mass they could get their hands on and tearing. 

You turned your head toward the floor, trying to block out the sounds of gore and violence that echoing within the four damp walls that had held you prisoner for the past two days- not because it scared you, no. But because you did not want to face the pure satisfaction that the scene unfolding before you brought. It was too much to watch someone else carry out the revenge that was rightfully yours. 

You laid your forehead against the cold floor, sweat dripping from your forehead. God, you were exhausted. You let your body hand limp, allowing yourself to rest as best you could now that Sanji was here. 

You weren’t positive- the old digital clock that was on the desk in the corner seemed to not work properly- but by the time Sanji finally stopped, bending down to wipe the blood off of his hands onto the shirt of one of the men, you guessed that thirty six-ish minutes had passed. 

You held still as Sanji undid the restraints against your hands, letting yourself fully fall onto the floor. 

You sighed, savoring how good it felt to feel the cold, wet cement pressing against your shaking body. The floor, which for days you had been dangled over, teased with, now welcoming you onto it. 

A warm, sticky hand under your chin broke the pleasure. Sanji tilted your chin slightly upward to look at him. 

“Mon coeur,” he said, voice shaking.

“Sanj’,” you responded, closing your eyes and resting your head into his palm. 

“Can you sit up? I’ll carry you out.” 

“I can stand,” you said, more aggressively than intended. But you didn’t need to be treated like you were fragile. The fact that you were even alive was a testament to that. 

Sanji drew back, offering you only a silent hand in case you needed any assistance getting to your feet.

You struggled, taking deep breaths as you shakily made your way onto aching feet, feeling like a thousand nails were being screwed into your skin. 

Sanji tucked a hand under your armpit, resting it gently against your hips- your ribs were too cracked to risk applying any pressure to your sides. 

You winced, eyes shutting as you let the ebbing pain pass through you, placing one foot in front of the next. 

You made it to the door before you spoke.

“Let me have a smoke, will you?” 

You reached for the cigarette between his lips before he could answer and took a deep inhale, ignoring the hot white pain that seared through your chest as you did. 

One of your captors, the one who tied you up, was lying by the door. Eyes open and glazed over, mouth swelling like a dead fish left out in the hot sun. 

You bent down, enduring the pain sent by your body, a desperate attempt to make you stop moving. 

You pushed the lit cigarette into your captor’s open mouth, watching the ash burn his tongue.

You stood back up, leaning against Sanji. 

“Carry me?” 

He nodded, picking you up ever so gently, his hands providing you with a sense of security that you had spent the last several days losing any hope for. 

“One last thing, Sanj’,” you said. 

You closed your eyes, cementing this place into your brain. The stench of blood, now fresh and coppery. The humid air that stuck to your skin. 

Whispering, more to yourself than anyone, you uttered a final word.

“Rot in hell.”

Sanji carried you up the stairs and out the door. 

It was only when you saw the first hint of sunlight that you allowed yourself to fully indulge in the comfort of his presence. He was here, you were safe, he had you. 

Zoro was waiting for you with Chopper when you got outside. The sun felt both heavenly and hellish. It’s warmth proof that you were still alive- that blood flowed perhaps too freely through your bones. And it’s brightness, which so highly contrasted the mildewy lamplight of the room you were stuck in, a confirmation of what you’d gone through. But the harsh rays were suddenly replaced by cool shadow and you opened your eyes as Chopper did what immediate work was available for him to do. Sanji stood over you, the sunlight pouring over him from behind his head, a worried look on his face. 

You closed your eyes again, the tiredness of your body finally catching up with you. 

Zoro, who up until this point had said nothing, placed a hand on Sanji’s back. A gentle touch that offered a surprising sense of grounding. 

“Your hands,” he observed. Sanji looked down at them, caked in dried blood and small, stringy pieces of… skin, maybe? Flesh? He tried to recall but everything was a blur. 

Sanji shrugged, “Didn’t notice.” 

He looked at Zoro who gave him a curt nod and they both turned their attention back to you. 

A memory played out before you. 

I must be knocked out, you thought. It was crystal clear, so unlike a dream that you momentarily felt you might actually be reliving it. 

The white light of the fridge in the kitchen cast you in a glow as you rummaged through its contents. It was rare to have any leftovers with this crew. There was some fruit- none of which you liked. Milk, eggs, carrots, pork, nothing. Ingredients upon ingredients and you knew better than to start trying to cook. 

“Hungry?” 

You turned, startled to see Sanji lighting a cigarette in the doorway. 

“Yeah.. Not many options though.” 

Sanji came to stand beside you, beginning to do his own rummaging. He began grabbing several things, a head of cabbage, carrots, pork, butter, heavy cream… 

“Don’t tell me you’re gonna start cooking. It’s nearly three in the morning!” 

Sanji smiled at you, taking out the set of kitchen knives you’d gifted him just two months prior for Christmas (a gift that left his nose bleeding for nearly half an hour). 

“Ah. I couldn’t sleep. And besides, it is my job to feed you if you’re hungry.” 

You smiled and took a seat at the counter, watching him cook. Normally you might offer to help but you were far too hungry to allow your lack of expertise to ruin your own meal. 

He moved with such mesmerizing fluidity, the art was clearly a second nature to him and to watch it was captivating. The cutting of vegetables, the smell of cooking meat, the view of his forearms flexed as his hand gripped the handle of the knife, the tease of his happy trail when he lifted his arms to reach for something and his slightly small pajama shirt lifted. 

Sanji was enchanting- but so were you. 

Your head tilted to the side as you rested it on your hand, a small smile set on your lips. Your shirt was the exact opposite of his- too big on you- and was hanging off of your shoulder. Sanji did his best to not stare at your collarbone, and the line it painted that led up your pretty neck. 

“What’re you making anyway?” 

“Garbure,” he said, simmering a pot on the stove, “It’s a french soup. Sort of a cleaning-out-the-fridge thing. But it’s amazing when made well.”

You hummed, “Why couldn’t you sleep?”

“Honestly? I heard you in the kitchen and figured I’d make you something to eat.” 

“You’re an angel.” 

He looked up at you and the two of you smiled. A light jolt of electricity ran down your back. 

God, was he always this handsome?

“I think so?” 

“What?” 

“You… asked if I’m always this handsome- That was for me right?” 

“Oh- Fuck, I-I hadn’t meant to say it out loud!” Your cheeks darkened and you let out an embarrassed giggle.

“I’d ask if you’re always so beautiful but I know the answer is yes.” He ladled the soup intj a bowl and set it in front of you, serving one for himself as well. 

You leaned your head against his shoulder as you ate. 

“Mmmf- ‘S good!”

Your hand snaked through the opening between his bicep and chest to rest on his arm, giving it a light squeeze. 

“Thanks Sanj’.”

He smiled, and leaned his head against yours.

“You know, you’re the only one who calls me that. Makes me feel special.”

“You are. Who else can make ‘garbage’ this good?”

You added a french accent. 

“Garbure!” he corrected, laughing. 

“Right, right. That.” 

Maybe it was the soup or the feeling of Sanji’s hair against your forehead- both a warm and physical proof of how much you were cared for, but you couldn’t remember the last time you felt so full. 

The rest of the memory is blurry. 

You can recall the weight of sleep seeping into your body, more and more of your weight being shifted on to Sanji. 

The feeling of his hands under you, carrying you to bed. Or was that now- as he carried you into the Sunny’s infirmary? The last thing you remember- if this was even a memory anymore- is the feeling of a kiss being pressed upon your cheek. 

You woke up in one of Sunny's medical rooms with very little pain.

“I made sure you got the bed by the big window,” Sanji said from the chair he’d pulled up next to your bed, “You joked about it once.. That if you ever got hurt you’d want the room with it.” 

It looked like he’d spent the night. You were in new clothes but he wasn’t. Dark circles lined his eyes.

You smiled at him, “Thanks… For everything. I’d still be there if you hadn’t-”

Your eyes welled with tears and your lower lip was trembling, like your body recognized that within these four walls any emotions would be welcome.

Sanji placed his hand over yours and rubbed his thumb up and down your wrist. 

The tears flowed freely now, as you looked down at his hands. 

“Sanji…” 

He had started washing them but the moment Chopper told him you were stable he abandoned the project altogether. His hands were cleaner but browning bits of red gunk were drying in his nail beds. 

Your eyes were wide as you waited for him to say something, your breath shallowing.

He sighed. He didn’t want you to be reminded of anything that had to do with what you’d gone through.

“Yeah,” he said, at a loss for words. 

“I’m… sorry.” 

You weren’t sure what to say. But your heartbeat picked up as he squeezed your hand.

“Don’t be, mon ange, I’m sorry I wasn’t there sooner. We all are.” 

You laid your head back down, chewing your lip. 

“I’m glad it was you. That found me.” 

Sanji’s chest tightened. 

He’d come to terms with how he felt about you, a feeling both amplified and confirmed by the sound of your voice. His time spent around you affected him deeply beyond flirty remarks and nicknames. He was reduced to so very little in your presence, a nervous bundle of love sickness and desire. 

And you were glad he found you- that he rescued you. 

“So am I.” 

You turned to look at him. 

It didn’t really have to be said- it was there. 

In his hands dripping with filth and violence, and on your face teary-eyed and thankful. In the lingering touches and glances the two of you have been sharing for the year you’ve been a part of the Straw Hat crew. 

Neither of you had to say ‘I love you’. It was there. 

Sanji pressed a kiss to the back of your hand.

“I made soup,” he said smiling at you, “Garbage.” 

You nodded, lightly laughing. It hurt your ribs.

“I can warm some up for you, if you’d like?” He stood up, preparing to leave.

“No- Can you stay? Please,” you said. 

Sanji smiled, “Of course!” 

You scoot over on the bed making space for him, which he happily took. 

You laid your head onto his shoulder, and grabbed his hand. You felt him freeze up when you did, and laughed. 

“You just saved my life and saw me at my lowest- is holding my hand too much?” 

Sanji chuckled, “You’re right. How about this then?” 

He brought a hand underneath your chin and you locked eyes as a smile spread across his face. He dipped his head down and pressed a kiss to your lips. It was soft, and chaste. Perfect. You placed a hand against his neck to prevent him from pulling away and deepened the kiss, slipping your tongue past his lips. You felt a small moan escape him and smiled against him. When you finally pulled away a thin string of saliva connected your lips to his.

“Hot,” you said, giggling. 

Sanji’s pupils were blown wide and his cheeks pink. A few beads of sweat had gathered on his forehead and he tugged his tie loose. 

“You okay, Sanj?” 

“Yes! More than okay- I just, I wasn’t expecting that.”

You nodded, holding his hands. 

“Well, I would like to shower and… I take it you haven’t showered yet either.”

Sanji gulped, “Um, no. I haven’t.”

You smiled, admittedly proud of yourself for flustering him out of his flirty act. 

“Would you like to join me?”

Poor thing, he tried his hardest to maintain eye contact and keep up his civilized demeanor, but the steady trickle of blood that had started to pour out of his nose gave him away. 

“Yes!” he yelled, “Mon dieu, tentatrice de femme, yes, please. I would love to join you.”

You laughed, getting up out of bed. 

“Mind carrying me?”

“Of course, my love!”

You smiled, wrapping your arms around his neck as he picked you up, “It’s nice to have you back, perv.”

He blushed, “What can I say? An offer like that from a woman like you is enough to fix anyone up.” 

He pressed a kiss to your forehead, walking you out of the infirmary toward the showers. 

Kidd: 

You were going to kill him. If you got out of this alive you were going to kill your captain and tear his other arm off. You knew that, one way or another, this heist was going to go wrong. It was messily planned, Killer hadn’t been consulted, and Kidd was motivated primarily by anger and a bruised ego. 

You sighed, somewhat resigned to your fate, and leaned back against the wall, trying to ignore the barrel of a shotgun that was resting against your temple. 

“Mind backing up with that?” 

The pirate holding the weapon shot you a faux-sympathetic smile, “Sorry, baby, Captain’s orders.”

He trailed a finger down your back, causing you to struggle against the cuffs. He dropped his hand and laughed at your reaction. “You’re disgusting,” you spat at him. 

He nodded. “Yeah, and you’re stuck with me here. So better watch that mouth.” 

Your wrists ached, it had been a while since you last felt the weight of sea stone against your skin. It was worse than you remembered. You could feel every muscle in your arms straining above you from where the chain that linked the cuffs hung on a nail. The first time you were handcuffed, the marines had caught you stealing but you were only fifteen, not yet a pirate, and lucky enough to have ran into a notoriously easy going captain who let you off with a warning. Those handcuffs were metal, tight against your wrists but not physically draining- if anything, you were only riled up at the inconvenience of having your hands tied. Sea stone was different. A naturally occurring mineral found in the depths of the ocean weaponized against you and other power holders. When you first felt sea stone a few years after, tight and heavy around your wrists, the fatigue stuck with you the most. How humiliating it was to not only be powerless but to have the will to fight drained from your body. You’d only narrowly escaped and swore to never be rendered so powerless again. 

Yet here you were, silently praying that Kidd would walk in soon. This heist was a bad idea from the start but you’d only agreed because you had stupidly assumed that Kidd had acquired accurate information. Your anger had somewhat subsided as you approached your third hour in captivity, it was too tiring. Hopelessness had begun to spread. 

The entire heist was Kid’s idea in the first place. A poorly executed revenge plot that you and Killer had tried to discourage. 

“That’s them?” you asked, pointing to a group of pirates. 

“Aye… First year we spent in the New World those bawbags got a few good shots on us. Heat came out with a few broken bones and it took us around a month to get Victoria back up and runnin’.” 

“Ohh, I get it. They hurt your ego and you want to get back at them. That always ends well.” 

Kidd scoffed, rolling his eyes at you.

“No- it’s luck. They have the map we need… and a lot of treasure that I wouldn’t mind taking.” 

“See!? Ego. If this was just about necessity we’d take the map and leave. I’m telling you that this is a bad idea.”

He sighed, rubbing his temples. He’d had a nonstop headache since you joined the crew. 

“Alright! Alright. Jesus, woman! Killer won’t say yes either way so I need your cooperation. No gold, no treasure. We’ll just grab the map and be on our way.”

“And by we I’m assuming you mean me?” 

He flashed you a smile that made your chest tighten.

“Aye! And if you’re caught they wouldn’t hurt a bonnie lass like ya’ anyway.” 

“Oh, I’m sure. They seem like great people.” 

“Don’t start getting smart with me,” he said, pulling out a piece of paper. 

There was a diagram of a building on it, with a room in the back circled in red ink. 

A thick metal finger landed on it, “Here’s where the map is. This building is relatively unimportant to it so they assign their lower level lackeys to guard it. There’s two guards outside each door, four guards on this one. I’ll distract all except the four by pretending to steal some other shit. They’ll recognize me.”

“And I come in through this window I’m guessing?” 

A window at the end of the hall led right to the room you needed to access.

“Aye. You’ll be alright handling the four of ‘em. But you need to keep one conscious to show you where exactly the map is. Once you’ve got it- run. They’ve got a few devil fruit users in the crew and they’ll be at the scene fairly fast. From there we can bolt.” 

You thought about it. The plan seemed quite out of character. It was extremely unlike Kidd to avoid a fight even in circumstances like this. But maybe he had other reasons…

As though he read your mind he answered, “Look, if it was just me I'd kill every son of a bitch on that crew. But I don't want ya' getting hurt.” 

You sighed, “This is a terrible idea. Your information is twenty percent reliable, at most.” 

“If you follow my instructions and we stay near each other we’ll be fine.”

“Hm, so you’re scared I’ll get hurt, huh?”

You laughed, watching his brows furrow and his cheeks go pink.

“No! Kind of, it's just 'cause you’re weak and I don’t want to have to worry about ya'.” 

“You’re still mad about losing the arm wrestling match to me, huh?” 

He scowled, folding his arms across his chest- refusing to answer. 

“Alright, cry baby let’s go.” 

Kid’s information was wrong. The four guards were the devil fruit users. You’d managed to knock two of them out relying on haki alone, but the two left were stronger. If only you could isolate one of them. Your devil-fruit worked well in close distance one on one fights, but you were mentally unprepared for this fight and the two in front of you were logia-users. You were badly beat up and struggling to stay on the offensive. Your dodges were growing slower and slower, your attacks weaker and weaker. 

Fuck, you thought, trying to stay calm and think of your best course of action. You needed to get into the room they were guarding, if you could just create an opening that caught them off guard. 

You reached for the pocket knife you kept tucked in your boots- it was a dirty move but it would have to do. You faked an attack on one of the two conscious pirates, before quickly changing directions and throwing the knife directly at one of their unconscious crewmates. They both ran in the direction of the knife to defend their crewmate, giving you the perfect opportunity. You slipped past the pirate closest to the door, shutting it behind you and jamming the handle shut with a chair. You had ten seconds tops- a chair wasn’t going to come close to stopping a logia user. Luckily for you, they had made the mistake of assuming no one would get past them and left the map out in the open, on a table with a bunch of other papers. You swiped it, quickly rolling up a loose piece of paper to imitate the map. Right as you finished tucking it into your shirt you felt a hand wrap around your neck, your vision blurring. Damn it, you thought. 

You could faintly hear the voices of the two, ‘What should we do with her?’

‘She didn’t manage to take anything,’ they laughed. A small smile settled onto your face. 

‘She’s pretty, huh?’

You felt something heavy clamp down on your wrists. What little energy had evaporated, and you blacked out. 

You were starting to lose track of time. Three, maybe four hours had passed? You had no way of being sure other than the burning numbness that had spread throughout your body. Your arms were aching in a way you never thought possible, and you had been taken to a second location, you were sure of it. If you were in the same building as before, Kidd would have found you hours ago. But there was no doing anything now. The pirate watching you had kept his distance, aside from an occasional taunt or revolting brush of his fingers. He was now settling in the corner of the room, silently watching you, his gun’s aim never leaving you. You decided that staying quiet and avoiding eye contact was the best course of action, and beating his ass would only be a thought worth entertaining once you were out of the cuffs. 

“So how does a pretty lady like you end up in a situation like this?” 

He broke the silence, much to your disappointment.

You didn’t say anything.

He stood up, coming closer to you. Your stomach churned and you looked down. 

“I asked you a question,” he whispered, his breath hot against your ear. 

“Fuck. you.” 

You heard the crack of his fist against your jaw before you felt it. It was dizzying and left your mouth bloody and aching. You winced, running your tongue over your now split lip. 

“What’s your name?”

He tucked his gun into his pants. You braced yourself. This was going to be a long night. 

“Your name, baby, what is it?”

You spit the blood that was pooling in your mouth onto him. 

This time it was an uppercut to your stomach. You couldn’t even double-over in pain. The third hit was to the other side of your jaw. 

You stopped counting once they went over eight. You tried to think of something else, anything else.  Killer’s baked goods, Heat and Wire’s terrible joke collection, Kidd’s latest invention or screaming match with you. You’d seen them all only hours ago but your heart was aching. You missed them.

Your mind kept going back to a few weeks ago, replaying a memory you had been trying to forget. 

You were headed to the kitchen, you remember it was warm out- or was it raining? You went with raining. You took more time than usual to make your way up to the kitchen, meandering through the halls and tracing the old wood with your hands. The sound of hushed voices caught your attention, bringing you to a stop outside of your captain’s room.

“Why don’t you talk to her about it?” 

Kidd laughed loudly, more-so to make a point than anything. 

“And say what?  I know I’m an arse and not your type but I’m madly in love with ya’ please don’t kick my arse?” 

Killer chuckled, “That’s one way to do it. Or, you know, you could just be genuine and tell her the reasons why.” 

“‘Cause she’s a tough lass- and a bonnie one, at that, a bit too good for me, no?” he said. Your heartbeat was resonating up in your throat and your mouth ran dry- who were they talking about? Kidd had only ever taunted you for being one of the stronger members on board. Your heart contracted in your chest and a deeply unsettling sense of jealousy creeped its way into your system. You tried to shake it off- it’s not like you wanted your captain to be in love with you. You definitely weren’t in love with him. 

“… I dinnae Kil’,” you heard Kidd continue, “I might be a mean son of a bitch but I don’t think my heart could handle a rejection like that.” 

“You definitely couldn’t,” Killer agreed, laughing, “But I don’t think you’d get rejected. Worth a shot if you ask me.” 

Your brain tried focusing on other things, but you always came back to your captain. Hot-headed and irrational and eighty percent of the reason you were in this mess in the first place. He had you captivated. But it was enough. You felt yourself dancing the line between conscious and not and decided to savor these memories, these  snapshots of a life on the sea. You didn’t hear when Kidd finally came in, staining the walls with a spray of red blood as he tore through the man who had dared lay his hands on you. But when you noticed the lack of hits being thrown your way you looked up. 

Kidd had experienced heartbreak before- many times, but very few things compared to what he felt when he made eye contact with you. If a heart could physically break, tear and twist and shatter, that’s what Kidd felt seeing your face, bruises and bloodied. You took note of the red staining his metal hand. It was painted in multiple shades, light crimson to dark, sticky brown. He’d been at it for a while. 

He rushed to your side, picking you up by the waist and removing the handcuffs from the nail on the wall. Your arms had been numb for an hour or two now. You wished they weren’t so that this release might have felt more satisfying. 

You collapsed into Kidd, who kept his arm wrapped around you, bringing you into his chest. 

“Shh, Y/n, I’ve got ya’ lassie,” he said, voice wavering. 

“Kidd,” you said, wincing as you tried to sit up, “The map-”

“Don’t worry about the map,” he said, picking you up off the ground, “I’m getting you on board. I’ve already called Killer, he’s meeting us about half a mile away.” 

He sat up against the wall, legs spread sort and placed you in between them, your chest against his back. 

“Let me see your hands,” he said. 

You placed your hands in the palm of his metal one, shutting your eyes and he cracked the sea stone around your wrist. The cuffs fell off in pieces around you. 

He stood up, taking you in his arms, “How ya’ feeling?”

You coughed, the change in positions overwhelming you, “Like a million bucks.” 

“Atta girl.” 

Everything was muddy, your awareness, your vision, your memory. You clung to Kidd’s neck, tucking your head into his chest. His heart ached- you were scared. 

“You’re alright, Y/n. I’ve got ya’,” he said, “Won’t let anything happen to ya’.” 

You nodded, but your body refused to relax. At any moment, you told yourself, you were going to open your eyes and be back in that room. Kidd was your lifeline, a solid, physical reminder that you were safe now. 

Killer was understandably furious when he saw the two of you climbing on board, Kidd with some cuts and bruises and you, barely conscious in his arms. He was smart enough to put two and two together and realize that Kidd had ignored his advice. He was on the verge of telling you two off, but one look at your state kept him quiet. You don’t remember much after that, as you fell in and out of consciousness. A feeling of disgust settled deep within you as your mind replayed the way your captor laid his hands on you, and was only soothed at the memory of Kidd’s touch. Of how gentle he was. The next four days passed in a similar fashion. You were much too out of it to know, but Kidd spent the majority of his time by your side. He established his longest arguing streak with Killer yet, by insulting all of the food he brought you insisting that “she doesn’t like that.” He made sure that you got new blankets every few hours, forcibly making Heat warm each new blanket. No one got much sleep until, finally, Kidd decided you were stable enough and retreated to his office to mope. 

You woke up around an hour after Kidd finally left, and got up later that night after. Killer helped you to your feet. The feeling of the cool wood against your bare feet was relieving. 

“Where to madam?” Killer said.

“His office.I have a word or two for him.”

“Whose idea was it, anyway?” 

“Seriously? Whose idea do you think such a stupid stunt like that was?”

“Fair enough, but you were stupid enough to go along with it.”

“Fair enough.” 

Killer dropped you off in front of your captain’s office. 

“Best of luck,” he said, “And... I'm glad you're okay. You had me worried.”

You gave him a quick hug, “Thanks Kil'.”

You opened the door, closing it behind you. 

Kidd turned around to scowl at you. His prior softness already having been replaced with his usual attitude.

“Can’t be bothered to knock?” 

Your hands balled into fists at your side. You marched across the room toward where he was sitting, and landed a heavy slap across Kidd’s face. He staggered two steps back and landed in his seat.

“Okay, okay,” he muttered, rubbing his cheek, “I deserved that.” 

“I told you! I fucking told you it was a bad idea and that your information was most likely innacurate. You risked my life and, even worse, your own. The crew could’ve lost everything, you selfish asshole!” 

He sat silently in his chair, avoiding eye contact with you. His cheeks were pink, one significantly more so than the other. 

“We should have called Killer like I said to and had another person with us- it was idiotic to have gone into that with just the two of us. Did I mention yet that I told you so? But you refuse to listen to anyone other than yourself, you absolute boar.”

The silence hung heavy in the room and you felt pride swell in your chest- you’d never seen your Captain so quiet before. 

“That was the stupidest decision I’ve seen you make in a long time,” you took a deep breath before reaching in your pocket, “But it paid off.” 

Kidd’s head turned to look at you, confusion was plastered over his face. 

You pulled the map out of your pocket and placed it in front of him. His eyes widened and his jaw dropped slightly. 

“Thanks for the change of clothes,” by the way, you said sarcastically, “I smell great.”

No doubt he had given up on the map the moment he saw you in that room. He took note of the bruises around your wrists and gently grabbed them without thinking. 

“I’m… sorry,” he said, rubbing his thumbs on your wrists.

God, he could be stupid. But there was no one else you’d follow after as readily. 

You crashed into him, wrapping your arms around his neck with tears pooling in your eyes.

“I’m just glad you’re okay!” 

You felt him stiffen, not having expected you to hug him. 

“I was so worried,” you continued, “That something had happened to you.”

He wrapped his arms back around you, sinking into the weight of your embrace. 

“So was I.” 

You heard him sniffling, and rubbed his back gently. 

“Crybaby.” 

“I’m not cryin’,” he said, voice shaking. 

He squeezed you one last time before letting you go. 

You stood up, facing him. His eyeliner was running. 

It was quiet again, though this time it was much more awkward. You’d yelled at him plenty of times before, but never had you embraced like that. Your pink cheeks now matched his. This time you looked away from him. 

You felt a slight pull at the back of your neck and realized Kidd was pulling you by your necklace closer to him. 

You obeyed and sank down into his lap. Your mind was telling you this this was abnormal, an overstepping of boundaries. Kidd was your captain and friend. You shouldn’t be in his lap hugging him. But it felt so natural. Like the most casual thing in the world. 

“I was terrified,” he said quietly, “That I- That we might lose you.”

You rested your cheek against his, savoring how warm it was.

“Can’t get rid of me that easily.” 

“Oh trust me, I know,” he laughed, “You’re a rather tough lassie.”

Your ears perked up at that, and very quickly went red. 

“Oh,” you whispered. 

“What’s that?”

“You were talking about me the other day.”

Kidd paused for a second, “Was I?”

You giggled. 

“She’s a rather tough lassie,” you said, imitating his thick accent, “And a bonnie one at that. A bit too good for me, no?”

“Oi, oi! I was talking about someone else,” he said, his cheeks darkening several shades. 

You pinched his cheeks, “Well, that’s too bad. I would’ve said that I feel the same way.” 

He perked up, “Oh, yeah? How’s about I describe this tough lassie and ya tell me if the description fits.”

You smiled.

“Right, she’s about this tall,” he held up his hand to your standing height, “Sittin’ on my lap, and just about the prettiest girl on the sea. And I owe her enormously for my latest fuck up because if anything had happened to her I’d have gone absolutely mad and jumped right on overboard.” 

Your smile softened, and you stared at him for a moment. 

“Sounds about right,” you said. 

“Well, then.”

You leaned in toward him and moved slowly, just in case. Just in case he changed his mind or wanted to backtrack or wasn’t sure. But your lips touched and your captain showed no signs of regret or hesitation so you deepened the kiss, wrapping your arms around his neck and savoring how he grabbed onto your hips. The kiss grew more and more heated, his grip on you stronger and stronger. You pulled away for air, gasping for breath. Kidd’s lipstick was smudged, and he brought a thumb up to wipe it off of your lips. His hand rubbed gently up and down your back. Fatigue began to take over as you let yourself indulge in the comfort of Kidd’s presence. Despite having been bedridden for several days your body was still mentally and physically in survival mode. Only now with a strong set of familiar arms wrapped around you could you finally relax. 

You laid your head down onto his shoulder, closing your eyes. 

“Tired?” 

“A bit.” 

“Sleep, lass. I’ll carry you to bed.” 

And you did. 

You woke up the next morning feeling more rested than you had in years, a thanks from your body for the break. 

The bedsheets surrounding you were unfamiliar, not your own. 

But the strong hand draped over your waist answered any questions you had started to form. You wiggled back until you felt your captain’s chest against your back, and held his hand, tucking it under your chin. 

“Mornin’ sweetheart.” 

“Good morning, Kidd.” 

[grimm-the-tiger]

Misadventures with Google Translate

I put Life Series quotes through Google Translate too many times. Please help me, I can't stop.

The Names

Bdubs -> Bduby

BigB -> Capital B

Cleo -> Language

Etho -> line

Gem -> Decoration

Grian -> Shooter

Impulse -> Road

Jimmy -> Jimmy

Joel -> Hurrah

Lizzie -> Lizzie

Martyn -> Martyne

Mumbo -> Explosives

Pearl -> Beer

Ren -> Ren

Scar -> Right

Scott -> Scott

Skizz -> Writing

Tango -> Background

The Watcher -> Inspector

Some highlights

Scott: this house Jimmy: And street. [Original line: "It's home?" "Home."]

Language: Be good to me: die for me. [Original line: "Do me a favor: Die for me."]

Lizzie: And I left this world the same way I entered it: troubled. [Original line: "And so I left this world just as I had entered it: confused."]

Shooter: Scar, I think we are spirit descendants and you are too busy catching fairies!! [Original line: "Scar, I think we're soulmates and you're too busy chasing fairies!"]

Scott: They tear up carpets and kill farm animals. It immediately burst into lava. [Original line: "They break carpet and kill cows. And they mine straight down into lava."]

Language: Look, if you have a lost father, you might lose it? [Original line: "Look, if you're gonna be an absent father, could you be at least absent?"]

Scott: Our theme is ABBA's summer house, is it there now? Dead metal?! [Original line: "Our theming was once Cottagecore ABBA, now it's what? Death metal?!"]

Martyne : Tell me something before you go. Why are you attached to the sun? Inspector: Hmmm... HE. It was never meant to be. He just wanted to look. [Original line: "Just... tell me one thing before I go. Why were you so set on Grian?" "Hmph... HIM. He was never meant to be there. He was only ever meant to watch."]

line: I'm a good person to have someone light my tree. [Original line: "I was a good person till somebody burned down my tree."]

Decoration: God, that seems like a recipe for anxiety. Yes I am. [Original line: "God, that sounds like a recipe for angst. Yeah, I'm in."]

Lizzie: Follow it! No friends! [Original line: "Ha! You've got no friends!"]

Beer: Something bad is happening here. [Original line: "Something wicked this way comes."]

Shooter: Here we show our true truth? For yourself or for someone else? Are we all excited? [Original line: "Is this where we show our true allegiance? To each other, and no one else? We turn on everyone?"]

Background: It's not fair, it's not fair, I'll come back to it. [Original line: "This is unjust, it's excessive, and I will return."]

Capital B: No holes! [Original line: "There is no hole!"]

Some notes

I thought it'd be funny if the translations I used were all into languages I either knew off the top of my head that the creators speak or are official languages where they live. This got really convoluted really fast, because Ren was the only person I could think of who speaks a language other than English and I completely ran out after French and Scottish Gaelic, so I added languages spoken by Hermitcraft members instead, then threw Maori on for good measure because New Zealand's close enough to Australia (sorry, New Zealand) and I couldn't find any aboriginal Australian languages on Google Translate. So the translation order roughly went Afrikaans -> French -> Scottish Gaelic -> German -> Swedish -> Polish -> Maori -> English.

Ren's line "Red Winter is coming, me laddie" line got translated as "The red winter is coming, my lady." Honestly, it still kind of works?

"Watcher" got translated as "Inspector", which gives me the mental image of Inspector Gadget in a Watcher costume.

I don't know where the extra e at the end of Martyn's name came from.

I don't know why Etho's name is the only name that got translated into lowercase.

The fact that Mumbo's name somehow got translated as "Explosives" made me start cackling as soon as I saw it.

There were several points where Grian's name got translated as "The Sun" instead, probably because "Grian" is the word for "Sun" in Irish and Scottish Gaelic is from the same language family, so they probably share the same or a similar word.

"Soulmate" somehow got translated as "Spirit descendants". I'm pretty sure it's because it got split up into its component words; "Soul" corrupted into "Spirit", and "Mate"...I honestly don't know.

I translated a grand total of one line from Bdubs, and for some reason when I translated the document back to English, that one line stayed stuck on what I'm pretty sure is Maori except the word "Boogey", which stayed exactly the same.

I'm genuinely surprised by how many lines stuck remarkably close to the originals. Aside from his name, one of Joel's lines ("Where's the fun in that?") somehow survived perfectly intact, and one of BigB's lines ("There is no hole!") got pretty close ("No holes!").

I think the best part about this is that you can tell how and why Google translated some things the way it did, and then others you're just left completely stumped about how the hell it happened.

[moonriseoverkyoto]

Whistle while you work

Synopsis - sometimes all a little lass needs is to just holler the lyrics of an angry female-empowering country music, but a certain beloved Scot just can’t help but be worried he screwed up

cw: swearing, medical and military workplace inaccuracies, playful language, suggestive content, heavy flirting, slight miscommunication trope(this hurts me more than this hurts you believe me), nicknames, use of Scottish and southern(Georgia/texas) accent that some readers may find corny or displeasurable

Pairing: Johnny “Soap” MacTavish x southern!medic!reader

Author’s note: I know I said I was busy but I heard “Before He Cheats” by Carrie Underwood come on the radio and it’s been an ear worm that sticking to my brain like flies on a horse. But once again I’m here to remind you that I’m taking southern notes from Georgia and Texas because I was raised in one and I visit family quite often in the other. I am completely open to constructive criticism but if you have nothing nice to say then you just scroll past it costs you absolutely nothing to mind your business. Italicized is singing btw.

©️moonriseoverkyoto 2023. please do not steal, copy, plagiarize, translate, or repost any of my works without my permission. do not steal any elements of my theme without permission.

Soap had begun to have a routine with you. He could often come visit you after shift hours or you would come along on missions and be his first pit stop at base. It was a beautiful little arrangement that the F1F begun to adore. You were the warm fire to warm their cold hearts or the blazing hearth to whip them into shape if they got rowdy. So it was a little jarring to him when he strolled into your clinic and heard an angry drawl.

“Right now, he's probably slow dancin' with a bleach-blonde tramp. And she’s probably gettin’ frisky.”

Your voice had him weak at the knees but there was something off in your pitch. A grit, an anger, a frustration. He suddenly began retracing his steps, trying to find a failure placed upon his behalf.

“Right now, he's probably buyin' her some fruity little drink 'Cause she can't shoot whiskey.”

“Bonnie?” the man called out to you, his reaction was controlled but his heart thumped against his chest trying to break out. When you didn’t respond he decided to stay by the doors out of your vision to figure out what was the issue, studying you.

“Right now, he's probably up behind her with a pool stick. Showin' her how to shoot a combo. And he don't know”

Your hips began to sway against the rising tune and even in your scrubs, there was a clear muscle memory when it came to the rhythm of the song. Soap quickly exited and left to go to the common room to find the rest of the F1F playing poker

“There’s loverboy, we were wondering how long it would take for you and-“

“Firstly, she’s my friend Capt’n you know that. Secondly, Somethin’s a mattah with Bonnie.” Soap cut Price off quickly not caring for niceties.

“why because she’s running a little late?” Gaz spoke while checking his turn. It was comical how they knew you by your nicknames from Soap rather than your god given name.

“Aye ‘nd she’s singin’ this song of ‘ers and it’s got me all worried. I mean I know that I’ve been a wee bit busy lately but I’ve made sure to make me rounds and when I came to her place she was swinging hips and I ken to know when somethin’s a mattah with me Bonnie-“ Simon’s head turned to his friend with interest as Gaz cut the rambling man short.

“Calm down mate. We cannot understand you when you go back to the ancestral plane with that tongue of yours” Gaz spoke. Price waved him off to let the Scott breathe.

“She’s up tae high doh.” Soap rushed out, his brows knit together trying to piece together what could’ve happened.

“In English, lad” Price spoke up. However somebody came to his rescue.

“The phrase is meant to be used to describe when somebody is pent up, flustered. It’s a Scottish saying.” Ghost answered with a deep baritone. Everyone was surprised but secretly noted the phrase for whenever they had to go solo with the Mohawk man.

“So go talk to her” Price responded to Soap with a look that said he was ordering, then he offered a small gift of liquid courage

Soap refused the drink and made his way back over to the infirmary. His brain scrambling to find an answer.

“I dug my key into the side of his pretty little souped-up four-wheel drive. Carved my name into his leather seats”

Your belted notes rung through the doors and hit his ears. He vowed he would find out the issue and fix it just so he wouldn’t have to hear the pain in your voice. He came around the corner as you stood in front of a table, organizing your different surgery and procedural tools. He spotted the AirPod beneath your trucker hat (since wearing a traditional cowboy hat was too distracting in the work place even during the quiet shifts. )

“I took a Louisville slugger to both headlights. Slashed a hole in all four tires-“

Soap swallowed all his worry as he grabbed an AirPod out and spoke but you beat him to the punch.

“Who in all of god givens creation just ordered a free fuckin’- Oh sweetheart Johnny it’s you.” Your fire calmed just as quick as it kindled.

“hey lassie I was getting worried about you” Soap said. His heart and maybe something else throbbed at your honey tone. One day he’d finally act upon those feelings but today he needed to worry about something else. “What’s got you all worked up?”

“Are you saying I’m throwin’ a hissy fit?”

“Noo jist haud on there Lassie. I jist was-“

“Heavens to Betsy! You do think I’m havin’ a hissy fit, why you oughta know that I was the best little-“

As you two went on back and forth, the distance between your bodies got smaller and smaller. Two wide eyed grins plastered across your face. He cut you off with a smirk

“Oh I’m sure you were the.. how do you say it again? Oh right” Johnny leaned in closer and his voice dropped, “the best little girl this side of the Mississippi. Ain’t that right, hen?”

“I know damn well you did not just call me a hen from a damn barn house-“ you went to speak again but got cut off as your throat hitched, soap’s mouth just by your ear and his tone got unrealistically deeper and more dominant. A careful hand grazing your hip.

“Shut yer pus for a moment, hen. Tell me what’s a matter. What’s got you so up tae high doh.” The male spoke.

You were silent for once. All the cogs in your brain just stopped. Everything was quiet, if you had perfect hearing you could hear Johnny’s poor heart banging to get out of his chest in anxiety from him boldly caressing your waist.

“Aww come on lassie, need me to buy a wrench for that brain of yours”

“I misplaced my sewing needle. Well I did or one of the stupid nurses did but I can’t find it and I won’t find it till the cows come home” you huffed.

“The one from your nana?”

“Does a bear shit in the woods?”

“No need for the ‘tude. May I look?”

“Sure. It’s no bigger than a minnow in a fishing pond” you said softly as he gently moved you aside to look at the table below. His trained eye spotting a glint on the ground. He reached over to pick it up and show it to you.

“Bless your heart! Good god Johnny, oh my sweet I could kiss you!” You cried out with the biggest grin. You leaned forward and kissed him softly on his cheek. His stubble gently scratching your soft, plump lips. His cheeks barely flushed as his smirk transformed into a smile and a small chuckle left his throat. He took a moment to memorize the feeling of your lips for later.

If that’s all it took to make his little Bonnie proud. He’d search every haystack for your needle in a heartbeat. You were his everything, he’d wait until the right moment to tell you. Especially when he was pretty sure the rest of the team was right around the corner listening to them. He’ll confront them later, for now he wants to stay in this moment with you. Watching his sweet hen, praising him. Grinning as she danced around with the needle he found, and even maybe hid.

MY REQUESTS ARE OPEN

Slang translations

Noo jist haud on - Now just hold on there

Heavens to Betsy - southern expression of surprise

Hen- a woman (Scottish term of endearment)

Bonnie - a beautiful woman, Scottish term of endearment typically paired with Bonnie lass

Lass/Lassie- beautiful woman, term of endearment

Shut yer pus - Scottish way of saying hush up, not literally referring to genitalia

Does a bear shit in the woods - kinda like a sarcastic response of “duh.” Whenever you’re asked a question. Hard concept to explain but I hope it’s not just me who got this from their southern mama

no bigger than a minnow in a fishing pond - comparison of size

Author’s note: AAAAAAAA I DID IT. I wrote my first fic. Oh my god. I’m so tired but I hope everyone loves this as much as I did. Please go listen to the song as well. It’s “Before He Cheats” by Carrie Underwood

General Taglist (comment to be added) : @glossythor @banana-beans-police

also thank you for the support for the series: @fruitsa1ad

[sgiandubh]

Machiavelli took a day off

... when the Telegraph article was written in great haste, by someone blatantly given a last minute task, who had no fucking idea to whom she was talking and what exactly meant the PR vetted or even prompted questions.

Instead of a line-by-line analysis, we'll take things differently, on this page, using the '5 W rule of journalism' (or even non-fiction writing, in general, if you ask me):

Who? SRH, EP of the OL series and one of the two male leads of the TCND series, which will be shortly broadcast by Channel 4, in the UK and IE only (and Movistar in ES). The rest of the world is not concerned.

What? A promotional article, focused on the actor's personality, CV and projects.

When? At a particular moment in time, just after the SAG-AFTRA strike and before shooting OL's eighth and last season.

Where? Crucial to place it in LHR (to imply he is 'just visiting') and God forbid it would be in GLA, which (for some curious reasons) seems to be off-limits.

Why? An actor with solid credentials hopes to keep agents and employers interested, after above OL project is done, which is rather sooner than later. Also addressing (as per the actor's PR agent specific requirements) three particular issues: the Palestine letter, the Bond project and his 'private life'.

Onwards to the three issues at stake, which probably prompted the article. In chronological order, this time. And no, I am not going to address the Scottish independence mention, because this is a sincere, well-known position of his and this page never bitches about people's convictions - also because I educated myself on it and I agree with S.

Palestine:

It was important, for obvious reasons, to push damage control a tad further. Also, strictly from a hypothetical POV, I would be very curious to read your compare and discuss thoughts with regard to this particular post on this page:

A sort of answer came in the Telegraph paper, too. Not only to me (I am less than nobody), but to all the people (of which we were many) who thought he should not get involved in this type of debate:

This is not the first time he uses this specific talking point. Last time known to me was on the day the Queen died, on X (I looked for that post, but can't find it, because I am just a filthy lurker, like that: but it is there).

The really interesting question, therefore, is: does he/somebody monitor what is being said on Tumblr? The answer is, I think, yes, and it shows. Will it stop me talking in here? Nope, as I trust my discerning abilities, for the moment. Other than that, his damage control op does not bring anything new to the table.

Bond:

What can I say, Sir? While there's life, there's apparently hope. But that doesn't translate well, given the context of your interview. That spells desperate and it's not a great picture. Also, let us keep a pious moment of silence in fond memory of a 25 year old who had a dream and the dream went to Daniel Craig (who I detested as Bond, because every girl has her Bond and mine is Pierce Brosnan, amen).

I know people still speculate about it. I have very high reservations and I cannot, for the life of me, seriously consider even thinking about the possibility. He could do it with flying colors, no doubt. Does he stand a chance? I prefer to have zero expectations on it and be floored if it happens. If he naively still yearns/pushes for it, this interview could very well be as abysmal as C's VF tantrum.

'Private life':

Ugh. Slippery when wet. I have already touched the subject in a reactive re-blog of @samheughanswife's post about it and I will not get back to what I said even without reading the article.

Some more extraordinary wording, in here: 'there might even be space for a personal life' - begs the question 'when?' In general? (in general, all men are created equal, too - it's practice that kills the theory) Now? (it is my staunch belief the answer is yes). After OL? (then and now and after Hiroshima, too). Can you program these things? (nope, stars simply aligned) Heh. Enough said. Also, 'might' spells cheap insinuation to me. But that's just me, a blonde voice in the audience.

Now, onwards to the daughter thing. I believe this specifically addresses the cheap, abundant clickbait content on You Tube, hence the vague 'online' reference (not Tumblr, not fans, not blogs - he is not C, he kept it clean). Such as this very recent one (last 'clip' on the topic was five days ago):

The two I chose to share here, which are very conspicuous FAKES, are originating from the same 'source', an account that seems obsessed with S&C and has no problem changing its narrative three times a week, if needed. My opinion? PR induced shite, to prod numbers/interest and see what sticks.

No newborn daughter? I hear no lies.

As for OL leaving 'no time for relationships', ahem. *urv will be thrilled to read that, I bet the farm. As will Flukenzie Floozy, at least her - damn, she was persistent! Also, hello, back to 2014-2016 playbook, aren't we?

No new relationships? Whatever for, when IYKYK? I hear no lies.

'I want a cat' ('because she's great', says my shipper brain on autopilot), 'but I am too scared even for that'. Humph. A very poor lie. But admitting you wanted and got a Ca(i)t scares the bejesus out of you, since 2016. I hear no lies. Yes, I am being tongue in cheek and damn the consequences.

Morality of it?

The easiest solution is never to take personal questions in interviews or panels. Why These Two still do it completely mystifies me.

[intoxicated-chan]

Letters Keep Me Warm

♡o。.✿ฺ Paring // Simon “Ghost” Riley x GN!Reader

♡o。.✿ฺ Summary // Johnny catches sight of Ghost writing to a special someone.

♡o。.✿ฺ (A/n) // Inspired by “Gunslinger” by Avenged Sevenfold. Again Tumblr is being a huge pain. Is anyone else having problems with Tumblr?

♡o。.✿ฺ Word Count // 413

♡o。.✿ฺ Content Warnings // Gender neutral reader, established relationship, very fluffy…

“For someone who seems cold…” Johnny peers over Ghost’s shoulder, “You do love writing letters to this (Y/n).” He dodges Ghost’s fist, “Sorry mate!” He nervously laughs, keeping a good distance between him and Ghost.

“What do you want, Johnny?”

“Jus’ wanted to see what was keepin’ you busy.”

Ghost continues to ignore Johnny’s questions, whacking him whenever he gets too close. He sealed the letter, writing the address and sending it off. It wasn’t long before Johnny began telling Gaz about his findings, but it was only him who had the nerve to pester Ghost about it. That’s until…

“Letter for Ghost!” A soldier shouted, the letter in hand. Ghost didn’t bother to silence the soldier, all he cared about was the letter.

He found a private spot, ripping open the envelope.

Sorry for writing so late. I would’ve written sooner if it wasn’t severe weather. Don’t worry, everything is perfectly fine. Now I hope this letter arrives on time. I got your book that you ordered, should’ve known you were into the sickening love story of friends to lovers. Classic Simon. The puppy you brought before is doing well, she’s quite an eater.

But I’m sure you didn’t wait months for my letter just to hear about the puppy, even though you do have a soft spot for her. I miss you, Simon, and even though it’s your job, I can’t help but worry. I trust you, and I know you always come home. I’ll be waiting for you.

With love, (N/n)

P.S, a ‘friend’ of yours stopped by, it was hard to understand what he was saying because of his scottish accent.

“You’re not a lap dog!” You wince and laugh, watching the large dog get comfortable on your lap. You didn’t have the heart to tell her to get down, she was too cute!

Simon’s letter, you held tightly onto that, afraid to let it go.

Hey love, I know I was supposed to arrive weeks ago but we got held back. This will probably be the last letter before I have to go dark again. I know it’s difficult for you, and I’m sorry. I’m just happy that you are willing to wait for me. You know writing small isn’t my best ability and with this small paper, there’s only so much I can tell you but, I will forever love you.

From, Ghost

It was clear from the start how little information Ghost tries to leave behind, he’s worried about enemies intercepting the letters. Which is why you sighed with a nickname and not your full name.

P.S, the ‘friend’ won’t bother you anymore.

“What?” You stared at the letter, confused, flipping around trying to find out what he meant.

“I don’t know what yer talking about.” Johnny silently snickers, “I haven’t left the base in the past week.”

“I ain’t talking about the past week, I’m talking about the past few months.” Ghost crosses arms as he glares at Johnny, “How’d you find her?”

Johnny jumps to his feet with a cocky smile on his face, “Let’s just say it’s a brother’s intuition.”

© Intoxicated-Chan, I do not allow my work to be copied, translated, modified, adapted, or put on any other platform without permission.

…

[opashoo]

staring so kindly at your sluglang post,, as someone working on a language as well this looks fantastic (and is also. super organized compared to mine BHAHAH) Any tips for putting together a language? Like resources on how to go about it, or notes? /genq

You are staring kindly... (thank you)

As for tips... Wikipedia is actually one of my biggest, most useful tools, because I love to read articles about grammatical concepts, and they will usually have a varaiety of examples of use if you can figure out how to parse the academic language. There are some core ideas that pop up all over the place crosslinguistically, like case marking or converbs, and you can get a lot from learning how other languages might parse the same idea, both how they handle the idea grammatically and what kind of metaphorical language might be involved; like how in Scottish Gaelic, to say you have something, you say it's 'at' you, or how it doesn't have an exact equivalent of English's infinitive, or how Mongolian has so many word endings that convey meaning, and a bunch of them are literally endings stacked on top of other endings.

There's also really good conlang youtubers, like David Peterson, the one who made Dothraki and other pop media conlangs, Artifexian, Biblaridion. They have videos on both interesting grammatical concepts that don't exist in english AND how to integrate them into conlangs. Davide Peterson especially has interesting videos on things like sound changes, vowel harmony, phonological concepts that can really help shape your language and bring a degree of naturalism if that's what you're looking for.

Etymology can be extremely informative though, and really help you to understand exactly how creative people have gotten with language over the past thousands of years. Etymonline is a great website for that. Did you know that the word "next" was originally literally "nearest"? Or that that the suffix "be-" was originally "by", so words like "before" actually meant "by the fore", and very often these meanings are metaphorically extended to the way we use them today. It's great for helping to develop very important words that can be structural to your language, so that you're not just trying to raw make up a new word with no basis every time.

Aside from that, there's no single source I go to for making conlangs. Everything is on a case by case basis. Something that has been really helpful for me is constantly writing example sentences and finding things to write about, because similar to translating existing texts, it forces me to reckon with the way my conlang works, figure out how to convey certain ideas (or whether or not the language can convey the idea at all).

Usually I'll have a few languages that I keep in mind for inspiration for any given project and if I'm stumped or need an idea, I'll actually look up learning resources for those languages. My slugcat language has had me looking up a lot of "How to say..." in Korean, Arabic, Japanese Filipino, a little bit of Indonesian? Some Russian for verb stuff. Once I find resources, I spend a bit of time dissecting how it works in those languages and figure out how that can fit in the existing framework of my own project, or if it's something I'd even want in the project at all.

Once I have an idea, I'll just start iterating on it, usually on paper, basically brainstorming how the sentence structure and sounds might work until I find something that is both sonically satisfying and logically sound within the existing framework. If I'm feeling extra spicy, I might try to consider how the culture and priorities of the speakers might shape the development of the language. The important thing while doing this is, just like brainstorming, to be unafraid to keep throwing ideas onto the page no matter how unviable or nonsensical it may seem in your head. You NEED to experiment and find what doesn't work or else your brain will be too clogged to find out what does. Exercising your pen will help you get into the mindset of someone using the language (because you are), it'll help you form connections to other parts of the language you've already developed, and once you've developed enough, the language will almost start writing itself.

I've actually had some really interesting interactions happen my scuglang between the archaic system of suffixes, the position word system, and the triconsonantal root system, which actually gave rise to an entire system of metaphorical extension, letting speakers use phrases like "at a crossing of" or "at a leaving of" to mean across or away and also talk about concurrent events like "He talked while eating noodles" (He, at an eating of noodles, talked).

Anyway, I know I got kind of scattered but these are some of the big parts of how I approach conlanging! If I have questions or needs, I look to other languages, find learning resources, apply it, and then ask more questions. Spend time with your language and get familiar with it. There's the time I read "Ergativity" by Robert Dixon, but reading literal textbooks is not a requirement for conlanging. You just need to chip away at it and keep asking question.

Here's some photos of my own conlanging notes so you can see how serious I am when I say iterating and brainstorming are extremely helpful. You need to be throwing shit on the paper. I will handwrite three pages just to contradict myself on the next because those three pages were important for forming the final idea.

[louisupdates]

CLASHMUSIC / FEATURES / 19 · 02 · 2024

Deep Diving: The Snuts Interviewed

Scottish band on seizing independence, their new album, and touring with Louis Tomlinson...

[…]

As they get ready for the release of ‘Millennials’, their second studio album, songwriter, producer and frontman Jack Cochrane talks to Clash about doing things differently this time, creative freedom and health, Louis Tomlinson and how he wants to see changes for young bands and artists in Scotland.

Talking of being on stage. How close did you get close to Louis Tomlinson?

We’ve done a support tour with Louis Tomlinson, we loved this opportunity. It really gave us a chance to get in front of people we wouldn’t necessarily be in front of in a live environment. It’s a different type of fan, our music translated well towards that. We’ve done tours with him over the past couple of years, we know him well.

He comes up to Glasgow for his shows, and we’ll go and watch football. He’s a good guy. Quite private. It’s funny because he been in the pop world, but deep down his roots are in indie guitar music, that’s what he is making. He’s fun guy to be around, and for us it’s great to see how others do things.

What did you take away after sharing stage and spending time with Tomlinson?

There’s been a confidence shift in terms of being onstage that we picked up on tour. The idea of taking control, sometimes I felt like we were always trying to part of the crowd and never wanted to be the centre of the attention. So being in control, having a stage presence, being able a walk on and be confident enough to do what you are meant to do up there. Definitely learned lots, we got so much better after those tours.

The Snuts mention touring with Louis Tomlinson, in their interview with Clash Magazine [19.2.2024]

[barksenji]

Kidkiller modern/real life (?) AU: College or something, idk.

Holy, this is my first time writing on Tumblr lol. This was originally in Spanish but I decided to translate it because it's cute. Anything that doesn't make sense is there for narrative purposes. Also, this is how college works in my country (Venezuela), I have absolutely no idea how it works in the US much less other countries. Lol. Anyways. Enjoy.

Sitting in the bleachers of the gym, the two guys watched as the ball skidded across the feet of the students playing football. The game, meant to be a simple friendly match, had devolved into what resembled a WWE brawl, complete with the loud thuds of bodies hitting the ground.

"I'm way better at sports than these losers," the redhead boasted, his thick Scottish accent sharp with arrogance.

"I know, Kid," replied the blonde, equally as Scottish, if not more.

"I'd have my team winning every damn game."

"I know, Kid."

"I'm gonna be the best football player in the world."

"...You're studying robotics engineering."

"That's beside the point, Killer."

"I know, Kid."

Both men had classes later in the day and lived quite far from the university, often finding themselves with long stretches of idle time between lectures. Their days sometimes began with a class at 7 AM, followed by hours of nothing until their next class at 4 PM. Rather than wander aimlessly around campus or venture out for errands, they found amusement in watching the medical students attempt to play sports, often failing miserably. Or more specifically, they enjoyed watching Law making a fool of himself.

The funniest part? It was an elective. He chose it himself.

"Hey! Trafalgar! Keep eating dirt like that, maybe it'll improve your grades!” Kid mocked.

“FUCK YOU!” Law shouted back, red-faced and indignant.

Kid threw his head back in laughter, oblivious to the enchanted eyes fixed on him. Killer watched Kid’s antics, a soft smile playing at his lips. He couldn't have asked for a better companion. Having Kid by his side made him feel incredibly fortunate.

“What are you staring at, bozo?” Kid asked, breaking Killer’s reverie.

“Nothin',” Killer replied, his voice betraying a hint of nervousness despite his attempt to sound nonchalant.

“Wish I could see behind that motorcycle helmet to know just how much you're judging me.”

“I'm not judging you! I'm just... contemplating.”

For a moment, silence hung between them.

“Uh-huh.” Kid arched an eyebrow, then laughed again.

Killer blushed beneath his helmet, trying to hide his embarrassment. They were bros, and such feelings were out of place.

“So, what's your next class?”

“Confectionery and ice cream,” Killer answered.

“Confectionery and ice cream?! Is that a real class?”

“Well, I am studying gastronomy.”

“Do you have a super hard exam on how to make a sandwich? Like 'Oh no! I failed my toast exam! I'm toasted!' Haha, get it? Toasted... because of toast."

"You're so hilarious, Kid,” Killer said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “But they actually teach you how to design amazing products using sugar, icing, chocolate, and other ingredients. You know, the kind of things I cook for you that you love? Like that Dundee cake you ate for breakfast, lunch, and dinner?"

"Ok, you should've led with that. Never stop making those, they’re delicious,” Kid said, practically drooling at the memory. “Nothing beats the pasta though."

"I agree, nothing beats the pasta..."

They both fell silent, lost in thoughts of food, debating whether their lunch money should be spent on actual lunch or saved for a taxi. No, they did not have a car. No, they didn't have money for one.

"So... what's your next class?" Killer asked, snapping them both out of their pasta-induced coma.

"Physical fundamentals of mechanics.”

"...Confectionery and ice cream does sound kinda funny next to that,” Killer admitted. “What do you even learn there?”

"Well, we study kinematics, point dynamics, work, power, mechanical energy, that kind of stuff." He was still baffled by the fact that Kid could comprehend all that.

"Yeah, I'm sticking to the ice cream," Killer laughed, but as soon as he noticed, he quickly covered his mouth over his helmet. "Ahem. Sorry about that. Uh—when did you say that class was?"

Kid frowned, noticing Killer's reaction to his own laugh. Killer had something called "PBA," or something along those lines; he didn't know—he wasn't that smart. What he did know was that it caused uncontrollable bursts of laughter in inappropriate situations. It had started after a brain injury from a mishap they got into together. Killer was self-conscious about it; he was already insecure before, but after the accident, he grew absolutely sick of it, even when it was genuine. Kid felt guilty; if he hadn't dragged him into that, he would feel okay. First, he lost his arm to stunt riding, giving Killer the biggest scare of his life, and now this—

"Uh...Kid?"

"Oh yeah, yeah," Kid snapped back to reality. "It’s at 3 PM."

"Kid."

"Yeah?"

"It's 2:56."

"Fuck, you're right!” Kid said, scrambling to gather his things. “Sorry, dude, don't want to leave you here all alone but—y'know."

"Yeah, no worries. I have to get to class soon anyway," Killer reassured him. "Plus, you'll need to study hard if you want to make that giant metal arm you showed me."

Kid paused, surprised that Killer remembered. A blush crept up his cheeks, followed by a wide grin. "Hell yeah, Kil! I will! I'll make you some sick cooking utensils too. Like—knives that spin like chainsaws."

"Why would I need knives that spin like chainsaws?"

"Because they'd look cool. And they'd be faster. Plus, there's the risk of adding a finger to the menu, which is metal."

Killer let out a soft giggle and a sigh. "God, I love you, Kid,” he muttered under his breath.

“HUH?!” Kid turned as he walked away, cocking his head.

“I said you'll miss your class, Kid!" Killer corrected himself, blushing furiously.

Kid raised an eyebrow. "...Love you too, bro, I guess," he responded with a smirk, then dashed off.

Fuck.

[whiskeynwriting]

heyyyy idk if you take requests but if you do, can i request something with Ghost and Soap and female reader? she’s never done anything with either of them and then one time they get shipped off all three of them over seas and something spicy happens?:::)))) rolling my chair into oblivion byeeeee

THIS IS SO SEXYYYYY. Ugh.

Simon Says

Simon “Ghost” Riley x John “Soap” McTavish x Female Reader

◆

Word Count: 7.1k

Warnings: 18+ (minors DNI)

Mentions of reader’s hair, dirty talk, praise kink, spanking, hair pulling, choking, spitting, slapping (just one tiny face tap), bisexuality, polyamory, threesome activities, sub/dom dynamics, brief male masturbation, vaginal fingering, anal fingering, oral sex (m receiving), unprotected sex, anal sex, m|m and f|m sex

◆

A/N: Omg, this is the first time I've EVER written m|m sex, and the first time I've EVER written a threesome. I can't handle it. Anon, thank you for this.

Alsssooooo, we have some Scottish Gaelic in here for Soap! AAHHH I’m loving it. The translations are in parenthesis after the words are used, of course <3

◆

Simon “Ghost” Riley Masterlist

Join My Taglist!

◆

To say you’re out of your element here would be an understatement. Oftentimes, traveling out of the country was a breeze for you. Things weren’t all that different, give or take. But going overseas was an entirely different thing. Comparing Brazil to London? There wasn’t anything you could lean on for comfort here; nothing reminded you of home. Except for them.

After joining the force, you found yourself gravitating toward the two of them. After all, Simon grew up in the same area as you. It’s not like the two of you ever met before finding each other here, but knowing he’s tied to your home somehow ties him to you. And Johnny, his parents live just down the road from your grandparent’s home. How the two of you never met before this is beyond you. Regardless, you’re thankful to know them now. It’s like one way or another, you were meant to find each other. 

But for some reason, you can’t find them right now. Simon and Johnny were always close, so much so that you were shocked they welcomed you into their friendship so quickly. Usually though, the three of you convened after a mission. Whether it was in the barracks at the base or a break room in the safe house, you always relaxed afterward together. So, where are they now? 

“What do you think you’re doin’?”

“Oh, sorry Cap.” Immediately, you straighten a bit, addressing Price as he appears off to your right. “Just um, checking out the new base… I guess.”

“New,” He chuckles, reminding you, “Won’t be new for much longer. We’ve got a week.” 

All you do is smile, giving him a curt nod. “Sir.” 

Price has always been easy to avoid. Just straighten your back and say what he wants to hear, and he’ll be out of your hair. Which is just what happens. Right after your response, he’s nodding, turning to walk out of sight. 

Relaxing your posture, you trudge on, stepping quietly down the long and empty halls. The makeshift barracks are empty, most of the team taking a break in the kitchen. Which is what originally led your search. But now, a sound seems to direct your steps. 

“Quiet, now.”

“Simon?” Whispering, you furrow your brows, taking a step toward a side door. 

Bewildered, you press your hand to the knob, inching the door open to peer inside. It seems to be a storage room of sorts, a small warehouse, almost. The lights are off, but you can still see the shelves stacked high with boxes and files. You wonder what they’re for. But all too quickly, they become the last thing on your mind. 

In the dim light of the room, just barely, you can make out the figures of the men you’d been searching for. Both tall, much taller than you, and bulky, too. But it’s clear that one is much bigger than the other, and wearing a mask. Simon. 

“Simon?” Walking in, you push the door open further, calling out for him “Oh.”

Stopping in your tracks, your jaw drops, not meeting Simon’s eyes but Johnny’s. Deep blue with his irises blown wide, half of his face covered by Ghost’s skull. But then, they’re fluttering shut, a heated breath shoving its way out of his chest. A moan. 

“S-Simon,”

“Yeah,” He groans, but he doesn’t let go. “I see her, Johnny.” 

He’s pushed Soap up against the wall, one hand on his throat to keep him steady. And you’ve never seen him handle Johnny like that but that’s not the shocking part. What’s shocking is the sight of Ghost’s free hand palming the captain’s crotch. And even though he’s acknowledged your appearance, he hasn’t stopped. 

Turning, Ghost glances over his shoulder at you, addressing you by name. “How’re you?” He asks, completely nonchalant. 

“I, um…” Releasing a flustered chuckle, you sigh, shoving your hands into your pockets. “Was… looking for you. Both of you.”

“Figured you would,” He returns in that gruff voice, unapologetically turning back to his companion. “Didn’t think you’d find us, though.” 

His mask is pulled up above his mouth, nothing you haven’t before seen. But now, his bare mouth is on Johnny’s, kissing him sloppily. Your face burns at the sight, a small gasp slipping from your lips. You expected him to stop, to move away and maybe say something. Not do… that. 

“Simon,” Soap moans again, shaky hand reaching for his hip. He’s overwhelmed, very clearly.

“You, you didn’t want me to? To find you?” The entire situation is making you feel antsy and embarrassed but above it all, you’re hurt by Simon’s words. You always find each other after a mission. 

By now, Soap’s hands are on Simon’s neck and waist, pulling him further in. They’re both in plain jeans, Soap in a short black sleeve and Ghost in that sexy ass light-gray fleece. And if you were being honest, you’ve always thought about them this way. Just because they were your friends didn’t mean they weren’t hot. But never in your wildest dreams would you have imagined them like this. 

Now, Ghost does stop, laughing at your words. “Sure we did.” Smacking his lips, he lowers his head, finding Johnny’s neck. “We love your company.” 

“Well, I don’t know if it’s much help right now…” Backing away, your body finally catches up with your brain. 

“You never know.” Comes his immediate response, rutting his hips into Johnny’s. Jesus, he’s so brazen. Every little movement is catching you offgaurd, making you stumble and stutter. “What d’you think, Johnny? Huh?”

“Oh,” And you’ve never seen Soap so submissive. 

“Think she’d wanna join in?” 

At that, your eyes widen. Everything in your body is on fire from seeing them like this. You never expected it, in general, and you definitely never expected to like it. Nibbling on your lower lip, you shift your stance, rubbing your thighs against each other a bit. 

“C-Close the door,” Soap suddenly begs, motioning towards it. “No one,” He gulps, feeling Ghost’s lips suction to his neck. “No one needs to see. Other than you.”

“Johnny?” You question, not understanding his wording. 

“He wants you here.” Ghost answers for him, squeezing his throat a little harder. And then, Simon’s eyes are flashing toward you. “And so do I.” 

��Would you?” Johnny then asks, whimpering helplessly when Ghost shifts his hips over his again. 

Glancing down, your eyes follow Soap’s gesture, his now outstretched arm. He’s reaching for you. It’s only then that the moment begins to feel… soft. Inviting, even. 

“Really?” You’re already stepping toward them, reaching out to intertwine your fingers with his. He’s calling out to you, he wants you. 

“Yes.” 

Before you can even register what’s happening, the hand intertwined with yours leaves, lifting to cup your face and bring you in. 

“Johnny…” He brings you close to his face, so close that you can feel his breath on your skin. “I, I never knew…”

“That we did this?” Ghost finishes for you, huffing out a short laugh. “No one does.”

“No one should.” That Scottish accent adds, returning your eyes to him. “Kiss me.”

“What?” Even though you’re less than a hair’s breadth away from his lips, you’re surprised he asked. He’s never asked. Nothing sexual has ever happened between you and them.

“We’ve thought about this, love.” Simon chimes in, still marking Soap’s neck while he groans. “Thought about you.” 

You’re not sure what to do, not at all, but you know one thing for certain - you’re glad Simon is taking the lead. 

“You wanna be here with us, hm?” Now, he’s removed himself from Soap’s neck, addressing you directly. “You want us like I want him? Like he wants me?”

His words force your heart to lurch into your throat, the pound of your pulse deafening in your ears. Has he noticed? Have they both? Have they seen the way you stare? The way your irises widen, the way you swallow when you see them shirtless? The way your body eases into them when you’re given a hug, the way you react to their touch? 

“A simple yes or no.” Ghost reminds you, pulling you back to the present. “It won’t affect us, love, the three of us. We’ll always be mates, yeah?”

“Yeah.” Johnny nods, looking from Ghost and then to you. His hand is still on your face, thumb swiping gently over the apple of your cheek. He finds you so breathtakingly beautiful. They both do. 

The fact that they’re reassuring you of this shows you just how much they care, just how deeply they trust you. They’ve been your best friends for months now, you’ve been able to count on them for anything. Emotionally and physically, they’ve always been there, always had your back. And you’ve had theirs, but… not to this extent. Maybe now is the time to change that. 

“I, I do.” Nodding, you lick your lips nervously before swallowing. “I…” 

Gently, Johnny’s hand guides you back toward his face, angling himself downward slightly so he can connect with you. And Ghost stays perfectly still while he does it, wanting to watch your first embrace. 

Leaning into his hold, you meet him halfway, just barely lifting yourself onto your tippy toes. Your hands feel awkward at your sides, so you reach out toward your captain. Immediately, though, Simon is catching your right hand and holding it tightly as he watches your lips connect. 

As soon as your lips meet, Johnny’s moaning against you, hand curling around to hold the back of your head. And you all but melt into him, the hand not being held by Ghost securing to Johnny’s hip. 

“Oh…” Simon sighs, leaning back in to mouth at Soap’s neck. “That’s it, pet.” 

Just like that, the gradual roll of Ghost’s hips picks up again, each of your mouths paying attention to Johnny. With his hand on your neck, he guides the kiss, leaning in as he mouths at your lips. 

“S-Shit,” He’s stuttering, feeling Simon’s full erection weighing heavy against the fabric of his jeans. You take this opportunity to slide your tongue into his mouth, grinning at the noise it drags out of him. 

“I need more, Johnny.” Simon begs, that gruff voice sending a shiver down your spine. 

A small, metallic noise draws your attention away from him, glancing down and witnessing the quick movements of Ghost’s hand. He’s undoing Soap’s belt, and in record time, might you add. Before you can even blink, he’s reaching in and freeing Johnny from the confines of his pants. 

“That’s better.” He sighs, fisting Soap’s length and giving long, slow pumps, all the way down to the base. 

“Fuck me.” Johnny’s head drops back, eyes shutting as he relishes in the feeling. 

At first, you don’t know what to say, what to even think. Thoughts jumble through your mind, feeling both shocked and flustered and excited. He’s so much bigger than you expected; he’s cut and slightly curved, and neatly trimmed, too. 

“Johnny…” It comes out as an airy breath, your own hand now reaching for him. 

Timidly, your fingertips dance along his scrotum, and Ghost smiles at this.  

“Why don’t you take over, love?” Glancing up, you lock eyes with him as he says, “Yeah?”

“Yeah…”

“That’s a good pet…” Simon responds, almost immediately. And it mesmerizes you. 

Releasing Soap of his hold, Ghost’s hand finds the back of your head, hurriedly bringing you into him. Smashing his lips to yours, you accept it wholeheartedly, your soft moan echoing in the back of Ghost’s throat. 

“Fuck,” Lifting his head, Soap stares at the sight in front of him. He chokes slightly when he feels your hand replace Simon’s, gripping him firmly while giving him the same languid strokes. 

“I am loving this,” He expresses, licking his lower lip. “Kiss him like you did me… that’s right…” 

While you’re shoving your tongue into Ghost’s mouth, feeling his thick fingers curl into your hair, Johnny leans in to kiss your face. It’s like he can’t help himself. It’s hurried and frenzied, his lips moving across your cheek and jaw. 

“Johnny,” He suddenly barks, ripping himself away from you. “Get on your knees for me.” 

Staring into Soap’s eyes, the captain does what he’s told, the two of you watching as Ghost leans back to undo his belt. 

Internally, you’re screaming. This is all moving so quickly, but you have absolutely no reservations when it comes to this. None, none at all. 

With Johnny’s movement, you’re forced to let go of him, watching as he shuffles back against the wall. Without either one of them saying another word, Ghost is guiding his cock into Soap’s waiting mouth. Instantly, his lips form a breathless smile, feeling the wetness of Johnny’s tongue slide over his tip. 

“Take it.” He mumbles, their eyes locked as Soap does just that. 

Shifting his hips forward, Simon releases a breathy chuckle, giving his companion’s mouth an array of shallow thrusts. And then he’s glancing over at you out of the corner of his eye, jerking his head to the side. 

“Get over here, princess.”

Jesus, you thought he’d never ask. 

It’s astonishing just how easy it is for this to happen, for you to follow his instructions. Because you do. Obeying his word, you kneel beside the captain, knees feeling like jelly as you move. Your entire body is nearly numb from excitement, and they’ve barely even touched you. 

Eyes widened, you stay on your knees beside your comrade, swallowing your nerves. “How… how many times have you…”

“More times than I can count.” Simon grunts, fingers curling into the stripe of hair at the top of Soap’s head. “You feel like givin’ it a go?” He then asks, smirking when your pretty eyes flicker up to his. 

“Yes.” It’s small and quiet, the word as it comes out. And Simon is happy with it. 

Pulling away from Soap’s mouth, they each release a harsh grunt. When Simon reaches for you, he’s much kinder. He doesn’t tangle his fingers into your hair just yet, he doesn’t know how much you can take.

“Come here, sweetheart.” Simon coos, his voice so soft and loving. Johnny remembers when he was first like that, before they got comfortable with each other. Comfortable enough to be rough. 

“That’s it…” That sweet voice is in your ear the entire time his attention is on you, his hand guiding you closer to him. 

With doe-like eyes, Soap watches you take in Simon’s cock just an inch away from his face. Your lips open just enough to envelope his uncut tip, tongue sliding beneath the girth of him. He’s bigger than Johnny, much bigger, and not so well-trimmed. In fact, he has a bush at his base. 

“Yeah, just like that.” Nodding slowly, both of Ghost’s hands find your face, pulling you gently onto him. 

Leaning with his movements, you soon find your mouth stuffed of him, his low moans echoing throughout the quiet space. Again, Johnny can’t help himself. Moving forward, he presses his cheek to yours, leaning down to run his tongue over Simon’s balls. And collectively, you moan, your sound vibrating through the lieutenant's cock.

“Fuckin’ hell Johnny,” Simon grunts, briefly baring his teeth at the feeling. “Oh, love…” Naturally, and without instruction, you move your mouth along the length of him, sucking slowly, tenderly. “That’s so good, princess…” 

He doesn’t even have to move his hips, not when both of your mouths are on him like this. Right now, all of his focus is going into keeping his legs sturdy, keeping himself standing. 

“And you know what you are, Johnny?” 

With his own mouth full, all he can mumble is, “Hm?” And you don’t know it yet, but he’s asking for Simon’s attention, begging for his praise. 

With those blue eyes lifting, searching for Simon’s dark gaze, he whines when his partner says, “You’re a good boy.” 

Even though the praise isn’t directed at you, you whine all the same. And Soap does, too, sucking more of Simon’s tender flesh between his lips while he sighs.

“I quite like the idea of this,” Simon chuckles breathily, unable to tear his gaze away from sight beneath him. “Havin’ myself two pets.”

And you have to admit, you like the sound of that, too.

Reaching up, your hands find the thick meat of Simon’s thighs, massaging and clawing them as you continue to take him. Willingly, you urge him down your throat, your quick and airy breaths making you feel all fuzzy. Limply, you lean on Johnny, his sturdy body offering you a hint of support. 

“Look at you, takin’ me all the way.” It actually impresses Simon. It took Soap a while to work up to that. “You’re just full of surprises.” 

With one hand, he strokes Johnny’s head, the fingers of his other combing through your hair. His pretty pets. 

Swiping his tongue hungrily across Simon’s scrotum, Soap’s tongue occasionally dances across your lips, and he savors it. He even dedicates a moment to running his tongue along the edges of your mouth while it’s still full of Simon’s dick. 

“Ugh,” Simon suddenly expresses, a thick groan escaping him. “Jesus, Johnny.” 

“Sir?” Johnny returns, his voice timid and light. And more than ever before, it sets your body alight. You’ve never heard him speak this way. 

“Up here,” Simon demands, chest rising and falling quickly. “On your feet with me.” 

Whimpering quietly, you watch him stand. You liked having his company. 

With firm movements, Simon spins his partner around. “Put your hands on the wall.” And even though he just gave him a command, he helps him do it. With his hands on Johnny’s wrists, he places them on the sturdy concrete in front of him, sighing happily once he’s done it. “Yeah… that’s right.”

And while he’s talking to Johnny, you’re still on your knees, mouth endlessly pleasuring him. Before either of you can even take a moment to think, Ghost’s hand is on Johnny’s jaw, forcing him to look down at you. 

“What d’you think about fuckin’ her mouth, Johnny?” Now, he starts to move his hips, thrusting himself down your throat at a much harsher pace. 

Unexpectedly, you whine, nodding beneath the two men. And Soap’s eyes go wide when he sees this. Removing yourself from Simon, you sigh, trying to regain some semblance of your composure. While watching you shuffle before him, placing yourself perfectly between his legs, Soap nods. It’s like he can’t bring himself to look away, like he can’t comprehend the acts you’re all performing. 

“Beautiful…” Soap murmurs, reaching down to cup your jaw gently. Sliding his thumb over your bottom lip, he watches them part so he can slide it in. “That’s beautiful, lass.” 

 Slowly, Simon retracts his hips, pulling himself out of your mouth. The sound produced from the act is wet, almost sticky. 

“She’s lubed it up quite nicely for you.” Ghost whispers into his ear, kissing the lobe. Shifting his feet, he positions himself behind Johnny, hands holding firm on his hips. 

Lowering one hand, he slides it down to Soap’s ass, fingers prying at the muscular flesh. With one finger, he teases Johnny’s hole, rubbing and just barely poking it. And the whimper that comes from Johnny is euphoric, feeling your mouth wrap around him while Simon plays with his ass. 

Leaning back, you ask, “Is this alright?”

Your question prompts his attention to return to you, all while feeling Simon slide a finger into him from behind. Nodding, Soap swallows thickly, entranced by the sight of his cock resting on your soft lips.

“That’s more than alright.” He answers, one hand falling to the back of your head. “That’s just… that’s so good.” And then he’s giving you one, firm nod. “Do it again.” 

While holding his gaze, you slide the length of him over your tongue until he’s entirely in your mouth. Sitting still for a moment, you hollow your cheeks, sucking on him. 

“Oh…”

“You ready for me?” Ghost then asks, one hand coming up to hold his throat, just like before. 

“Fuck…”

Pumping his finger in a handful of times, Simon adds another, stretching the tight ring of muscles he’s become far too familiar with. The hand not on the back of your head lays palm-flat against the wall, Johnny leaning in to press his forehead to the cool concrete. 

He’s taking deep breaths, trying to calm himself. “Yeah.” 

Moving in sync with Simon, you slide Johnny into your throat in the same motion as the lieutenant slides between his partner’s cheeks. And it makes him fucking choke. Already, Soap’s legs are shaking, and the gentle scratch of your nails down his thighs isn’t helping.

“How’s she feel, Johnny?” Ghost is kissing Soap’s neck, his small whimpers and moans making Simon throb. 

Pulling himself back, Simon returns to the warm confines of his friend, building a gradual pace. And you do the same, attempting to match it. Only a few thrusts in, and Soap is an absolute mess, moaning freely with his lips parted, eyes furrowed shut as he takes it. From the sensation of it all, he’s barely even able to thrust into your mouth. But that’s alright, Simon’s thrusts are so heady that they do most of the work, repeatedly sliding Soap down your throat. 

Angrily, Simon snaps his hips against Johnny’s ass, grinding in deep. And it forces an almost painful cry from the captain. “I asked you a question, love.”

Simon was always a dominant man; with his size and demeanor, how could he not be? But seeing him in this situation has that notion growing tenfold. He’s clearly the one in charge, the one who calls the shots between the two of them. And you wish so badly to be beneath him. 

The grip Ghost has on Johnny’s throat tightens, his hips picking up their pace. His pelvis slaps against the meat of Soap’s backside, forcing him deeper into your mouth every time. Reaching out, your hands slide over Johnny’s thighs. Curling around, they find the flexing muscles of Simon’s backside, scratching into the surface before you squeeze. 

“S-So,” He’s trembling, stuttering, eyes opening to stare down at you. Your lips are gliding so smoothly along his shaft, your throat sucking him down with every thrust. “So good.”

“Yeah?” Ghost grins, hearing his lover’s shaky voice. “She felt pretty good around me, too.” 

Ghost’s indirect praise makes you moan, the vibrations shivering through Soap’s cock and hips. 

“F-Fuck me, I’m gonna - Simon.” Soap is whining and groaning, reaching around to hold the back of Ghost’s head while he sucks on the side of his neck. “I’m gonna cum.”

“No you’re not.” He replies nonchalantly, pulling out of his comrade with a groan. And it successfully cuts off Johnny’s high. 

He whimpers quietly, almost pathetically, from the loss, dropping his head down. But Ghost presses his back to Soap, leaning down to place his chin on Johnny’s shoulder. 

“Look at me,” But Soap almost can’t, because you’ve hollowed your cheeks and are drooling down his shaft. “I said look at me.” With the force of his hand, Simon makes Johnny turn to look him in the eyes. 

“You can cum after I fuck our new play thing.” Without looking down, Simon drops a hand, running his fingers through your hair as he says it. An affectionate, possessive, gesture. 

“Alright?” Reaching down, he uses his dominant hand to gently cup Soap’s balls. It makes his body jolt, a helpless mewl slipping from his mouth. 

And then Simon’s looking down at you, giving you a nod. “Hey, gorgeous.” He calls, the hand on Soap’s balls reaching out to give your cheek a soft little smack. “Your turn. Eyes up here.” 

Immediately, your eyes are on him, your mouth still stuffed full. 

“You want me to fuck you? Huh? Wanna know what it feels like?” 

“Mhm,” Nodding rapidly, you slide your tongue along the underside of Johnny’s cock, listening to his airy moan. 

“Then,” Ghost says, deep voice rumbling as his fingers tighten in your air. “Get off.”

Pulling your head in the opposite direction while pulling Johnny back forces you to let him go, both of them watching as you pant and gasp. 

“You liked that?” Tilting his head, Simon grins.

Huffing out an array of heavy breaths, you nod. “Yes.” 

“Ah,” Simon tuts happily, reaching down to your pretty face. “That’s a good girl.” 

“Oh,” 

“You like that too, huh?”

“Yes, Simon.” 

“Why don’t you lay down for me then? And show me how good you can be.” 

He’s never spoken to you like this before, and why would he? But after tonight, you’re hoping he does again. And again, and again.

Leaning back, you find yourself scrambling onto your backside and palms, shifting down to the ground. You don’t even care that it’s dusty and who knows what could have trudged through here. It’s worth it when Simon says, “I love how well you listen to me.” 

“Baby,” It comes out before you can stop it, before you can even realize it. And it’s said as Simon is crouching down, moving to cover your body with his own. 

You’re reaching for him, and it’s so easy to see just how captivated you are by him. “You’ve thought of me.” He states, grinning. 

Situating himself over your body, you can hear Johnny’s pants beside you. Out of the corner of your eye you see him bend down, but right now, all you’re focusing on is him. Ghost. 

“Yes.” Hands finding either side of his face, you bring him in, and he doesn’t reject it. 

Passionately, his mouth meets your own, lips just barely colliding before your tongues do. He licks into you, one hand wiggling beneath the back of your head so he can hold you. 

 “I want you.” Simon growls against your lips, both his breath and pulse quickening. “I want you, pet.”

“I want you.” Your body curls upwards toward him, feeling an undeniable pull. Diving in, you slide your tongue across his, listening to his harsh and heated moan. 

“Johnny,” Ghost mumbles against your lips. “Get over here.” And just like that, he’s at Simon’s side. 

“You always do what he says?” You tease, grinning. And Soap fucking blushes.

“Whatever Simon says.” He responds, looking deeply into his partner’s eyes. And that fills Ghost’s heart with pride. 

“Whatever Simon says…” You repeat, staring up at him, too.

Lifting your hands, your fingers find the edge of his fleece, pulling impatiently on him. Chuckling, he glances down at you, licking his lower lip before speaking to Johnny. 

“Want you on top of her.” He says, eyes now entirely on you. “Come fuck that pretty face.” 

“Oh, fuck yes.” 

Instantly, he’s climbing over you, positioning his pelvis directly above your face. Indirectly, he shoves his ass into Simon’s, but it’s not like he minds. Bending forward, he sinks his teeth into the thick muscle of Soap’s upper thigh, sucking a mark onto his skin. 

“There you go, Johnny.” Reaching forward, Ghost lays a hand over Soap’s back, guiding him further down. “Bend over… just like that.” 

Still hanging heavy between his legs, you take Soap back into your mouth, tongue reaching for his tip. Once it’s past your lips, you suck gently on it, prompting a flurry of small hip movements from the captain. His palms are flat on the ground on either side of your head, and while you’re entirely caught up in Johnny’s attention, Ghost is tearing it away all too soon. 

Broad hands find your calves, sliding up to find the waistband of your pants. He takes his time in undressing you, and finds himself wishing the three of you were elsewhere, somewhere you could be naked completely. Somewhere you could give all of yourself to him. 

“Fucking - ngh, you suck it so good.” Johnny’s sweating and babbling nonsense, thrusting into your mouth at a much different pace than before. It’s quicker, shallower, and you know he has to be close. “Keep doin’ that. Oh, Christ, keep sliding your tongue around.” 

You’re so distracted by Johnny that you barely even register when Ghost slides your pants off. In one swipe, your panties are gone, too, leaving you exposed to him. Instinctually, you spread your legs wider, welcoming him in.

Glancing up, Ghost finds himself throbbing at the sight of Soap’s flexing ass as he continually ruts into your mouth. With one hand, he’s pawing at his cheek, giving it a firm smack that makes Johnny’s hips stutter. 

“How about I fuck your ass, sweetheart?” Ghost asks, voice low and seductive. “I don’t have a condom with me right now…” Broad hands find your outer thighs, caressing you. “Maybe next time I can feel your sweet little pussy…” 

It comes as a shock, a jolt to your system, when he slides a finger down the seam of your sex. You want so desperately to moan, but with the way Johnny’s filling your throat right now, you can’t. But Johnny sees your reaction, he sees how your eyes roll back.

“Oh, she likes that, L’t.” 

“Does she?” Simon counters, giving your inner thigh a small smack. The motion sends a tingle through your body, your lungs attempting to fill with staggering gulps of air. 

Leaning back on his heels, Ghost’s hands spread your cheeks, eyes closely inspecting you. “Has anyone else ever been here, love? Anyone else ever fucked your ass?” 

When all he’s met with are sloppy gurgles, he gives Soap’s backside a light slap. “Back up, Johnny. Lemme hear her talk.”

“No,” It comes out as a gasped groan, the only word you can get out before Soap is diving back in. 

“Oh…” Simon sighs, eyes returning to your fluttering holes. “I like firsts.” 

Listening closely, you can just barely make out the sound of suction, the sound of Simon’s finger in his own mouth.   

“I’ll be gentle, pet.” He promises, damp finger now prodding at your tight ring. “I’ll make it good…” Releasing a low, muted sigh, he then promises in a whisper, “I’ll make it so good you can’t even breathe.”

You have no doubt that he’ll fulfill that promise, but if you’re being honest, you’re already feeling that way. Taking Soap down your throat is no easy task, and coupling that with Simon’s hands on your body is making you see fucking stars. 

Using his left hand, he makes sure to keep his dominant one clean. Once you’ve taken his entire pointer finger, his right hand finds its way to your sex, rubbing you tenderly. And the passionate moan you release gives him all the consent he needs.

Leaning in, he spits forcefully onto your fluttering lips, sliding his first two fingers through it. He uses the wetness of it to rub your clit, circling it slowly, gently, the stimulation allowing you to take in another one of his digits. 

“Look at that… opening up so nicely, aren’t we?”

Your hands have been sliding around Johnny’s thighs, fingers curling as you hold onto him. Nodding, you’re able to manage a moan before he’s plunging back in. 

“Think she can take three?”

“I know she can.” Johnny responds instantly.

Spitting again, Simon watches his saliva drip down your sex, sliding over the two fingers he’s stuffed into your ass. Retracting them halfway, he allows the wentess to coat his digits before returning them to your warmth, pumping them into you at a slightly quicker rate. 

“Simon,” Gasping, you push Johnny’s hips away from your face. “Please.”

“Please, what?” He’s furrowing his brows, but he doesn’t stop what he’s doing.

“I just, I want to feel you.” Swallowing heavily, you beg, “Please just fuck me. Please.”

While he’s out of your mouth, Johnny uses a spare hand to jerk himself off, keeping his eyes on you. “Fuck,” Lifting the other, he uses it to palm at your covered chest. “Wish we could see your tits right now, babe.”

“Maybe we’ll get to.” Simon suggests, removing his fingers from your ass. Leaning forward, he holds his palm out to Johnny, nonverbally asking for his spit. Which he gives. 

“Oh my god,” Groaning, you do your best to catch your breath while the boys interact. “I love this.”

“You and me both.” Johnny returns, moving a hand to your head to hold you steady. Slowly, he glides over your tongue, bottoming out in your mouth once again. “She takes it so well…”

“I know she does.” 

Situating himself between your legs, Simon holds the thickness of his shaft in one hand, rubbing the tip over your tightest entrance. His dominant hand hasn’t left your clit, his fingers rubbing sensual and sloppy circles over it.

“This might hurt a pinch, love.” 

All you do is lift your hips toward him, running your tongue along Soap’s tip. But he’s right, it does hurt. The slight sting of his bulbous tip entering you is… different, entirely new. The continuous stimulation on the peak of your sex helps, though. That along with Johnny as a distraction. 

When Ghost is halfway in, he prompts Johnny to take a break, allowing you a breath. Rubbing your thighs, that breathy voice asks you, “How’s that, princess?”

“A lot.”

Now, Soap is answering. “I know.” His hands find your face, cupping and stroking you softly. “It’s so much, isn’t it, lass?”

“Yes.” While he’s speaking to you, Simon continues sliding in. 

Sighing, Soap swipes his thumb gently over your cheek. “Sweet cailin…” (Girl)

“Mm,” You whine sharply at the feeling of Simon bottoming out inside you, his thighs resting flush against your cheeks. His free hand is on your hip, holding you steady with his thumbs swiping over your skin.

“There we go,” Shuffling closer, he grinds into you, holding you tightly against him. “Oh, Christ…”

Pulsing his fingers upward, he finds your g-spot, caressing it firmly. And the moan it tears from your chest sounds ungodly, Soap quick to cut it short with his cock. 

Steadily, they pump themselves into you, Simon’s fingers working just as hard, too. His thumb just barely flicks the nub of your clit while his hips shift right up against you. And even though he’s going relatively slow, the groans coming from him are guttural and deep, heavy grunts alongside every push and shove of his fingers and length. With every passing second, he’s growing more ravenous, more insatiable. The slick of your cunt drips down onto his length as it repeatedly dives into the space between your cheeks, aiding in his smooth slides. 

“Fuck, you’re so tight back here…” Already sweating, he feels his muscles shake, wanting to have more of you and Johnny but not knowing how to do it. “Would love to warm you up. Stretch you out. Oh…” Leaning forward, Ghost presses his forehead to his lover’s back, giving his skin a sweet kiss. “Would you let me do that, sweetheart? Would you let me do this again?”

Again, a muffled noise is all you can muster around Soap’s length. But he knows you want it, they both know you’ll want this again. 

Johnny’s motions directly contradict that of his bigger, stronger lover’s. He’s giving your mouth tender and sensual thrusts, sliding all the way in until the head is prodding at the back of your throat. He’s rolling his hips against your face, staring down at the striking image of you.

“Simon, please.” That thick, Scottish accent begs. He’s so close, he can feel himself throbbing. “Please…”

Leaning forward, Simon whispers into his ear, “Give her face a proper fuck, and I’ll let you cum.” 

Immediately, Soap’s fingers find your hair, using the strands as leverage to hold your head down. His hips slap down against your face, choking you with his cock. He’ll always do what Simon says. 

And that’s when Simon releases a breathy laugh, shaking his head with a mix of proud disbelief. “Cum in her mouth, Johnny.” He then says, “Go ahead.”

Simon watches and feels Soap’s body as it shakes, his cum and your spit pooling out of the corners of your mouth as you do your best to take it. It’s instantaneous, his high coming on as soon as Simon allowed it. And it makes you wonder once again how long they’ve been doing this. 

Soap’s body shivers above you, doing his best to hold himself up. His palms are pressing into the floor, the muscles in his stomach and chest tightening. Erratically, his hips jerk against your face, the melody of moans floating from his mouth absolute heaven to both yours and Simon’s ears. 

You’re gurgling on it, choking slightly from the amount. They’re both watching you, watching the white remnants slide down your cheeks. 

“Look at that…”

“Swallow it.” Soap’s first real demand of the night. 

There’s a strange order to this, to the interactions between the three of you. It’s unspoken, very clearly, but it’s there, hanging so heavily in the air you can practically feel it. Simon is above Johnny, and definitely above you. It’s in his nature to be like this, to be dominant. It’s obvious. And when Johnny’s with Ghost, he’s very clearly submissive. And now, with you in the mix, you find yourself falling into place quite nicely. Because what’s even more obvious than Simon’s dominance, is your submissiveness. 

You’re unable to gather the stickiness dripping down the corners of your mouth, but what you can swallow, you do. Your compliance earns you a proud grin from your captain, his hand returning to stroke your face lovingly. He’s so goddamn sweet. 

“Go rest, Johnny.” Kissing his shoulder, Simon speaks gently, urging him to relax. But before he does that, he’s letting his softening erection rest on your lips, watching you smile kindly as you stick your tongue out to lick him. 

“Caileag ghrinn…” (Lovely girl) 

Ghost had stopped his movements, wanting to witness his partner’s high. But as soon as Johnny’s gone, he’s focusing on you. The way he sees it, the way he hopes for it to be, is that you’re his new partner. You’re making their duo and trio. And he wants to welcome you fully, wants you to know how you’ll be treated when you’re with them. Simon could be rough but he could also be sweet. Above all, he just wants to take care of you, to make you happy. 

“C’mere, love.” Enthralled by you entirely, Simon moves over you. And he can’t get to you quick enough. 

In the blink of an eye, his mouth returns, one hand lifting to hold the hinge of your jaw. Now, he goes back to his previous movements, thrusting himself into your ass while his fingers continue to slide in and out of your sex. 

“Simon,” Your hands are holding his head, keeping him close to you. 

“I know,” He breathes, voice thick and gruff. “I’m here.” And his words do wonders to reassure you. 

Kissing him vigorously, you release a wanton moan at the sensation of his tongue dragging across your own. The force and pitch of Simon’s groan surprises you; he already loves the taste of Soap on your tongue. 

Watching from the side, Johnny catches his breath, witnessing the intimate act between you and Ghost. And the wonderful thing about it is he doesn’t feel jealousy; he’s happy, happy to see you collide and mesh with them. They’ve waited for this. 

“I’m, I…” You’re shaking, trembling in his hold. 

The thick bulge of Simon’s bicep curls beside your head as his hand lowers to hold the back of it. He knows you’re close, he knows that’s what you’re trying to tell him. 

“I’ve got you, love.” Leaning in, he kisses your cheek, his heated breaths washing over your skin. “Gorgeous thing…”

By now, you’re rocking your hips into him, into his hand and hips. “I, I need, mmh…” Fuck, you can’t get your words out. “I need you.”

“I know, and I’m here.” Simon grunts out in response, hips hammering into you. “I’ve got you. You’re mine, understand? You’re mine and Johnny’s now.” 

“Yes!” Your quiet wail makes him groan, shoving his face into the crook of your neck.

Unexpectedly, he bites down, feeling himself spill inside your tightest channel. And the foreign feeling urges you to crumble beneath him, to give in to the euphoria begging to burst from inside. 

Suddenly demanding your attention is the soft persistence of Johnny’s lips, his hand forcing your face to the side so you can kiss him. And Simon allows it, welcomes it, resting his forehead on the back of Soap’s head. You can barely kiss him back as your body convulses beneath the weight of them, your new partners. It shivers through your limbs, shooting into your nerves and washing waves of pleasure through your hips and sex. And Simon’s is just as powerful, the muscles he’s built over the course of years flexing to their limit. 

Staying inside for a beat, Ghost sighs, trying to gather himself. When Simon pulls out, he’s gentle and slow with it, mirroring the motions of his digits. He knew he’d lick them as soon as he could, and that’s exactly what he does. 

“Oh… I want a better taste.”

“Let her rest.” Soap coos, brushing hair away from your forehead. 

With kind efforts, Johnny pulls you into him, settling his back against the wall and urging you to straddle him. It’s easy, leaning on his body and accepting his soft kisses. He’s petting your hair, kissing you tenderly while Simon watches. 

“You know…” Ghost grumbles, shuffling to sit behind you. Pressing his chest to your back, he lowers his head with a contented sigh, lips trailing over the skin of your shoulder and neck. “I could get used to this.” 

[selkies-world]

How to write bilingual characters when you're not bilingual

I've seen this come back up pretty often recently, so I figured I'd make this post to help some of yous out.

I'm a polyglot, I grew up using Makaton, speaking English and Gaelic, I understand Scots though I don't usually speak it. I went to a multilingual school, where we learned a new language every term (4 languages a year) and had the EAL students & teachers teach us their language. We had to use the language the school was learning when we passed each other in the hallway, when we went into a different classroom to fetch or ask for something, when a different member of staff came into the room and when we were stopped by teachers in the hallways. Sometimes we had to use it in the lunch hall, too. We had to be able to understand & reciprocate basic conversation level skills in whichever language was being taught that term. In addition, classes 5, 6 and 7 also learned individual languages which we had to be able to read, write and understand music in as well as converse in more advanced ways.

From 11 through my teens, I taught myself Italian to near fluency, as well as BSL and Scottish Gaelic. I have varying levels of understanding in Russian, very minimal French and Japanese, and conversational German.

(If you're interested in how I learned these languages, check out this post I made and this article I wrote.)

I'm saying this so that you understand when I say: I KNOW HOW BILINGUAL CHARACTERS WORK.

So here's some suggestions on how to write bilingual characters realistically, arranged in no particular order.

We don't forget how to "switch back", so please fuck off with that concept. (Example: "Va bene," Kelsi said. "Huh?" Harry asked, and Kelsi laughed, embarrassed. "Sorry," she said. "I forget to switch back sometimes. "I meant; it's fine.") We don't do this.

HOWEVER, something close to this that we do do is forget which language we're speaking, and jump between two, usually fucking the grammar up as we go. (Example: "It's bene," Kelsi said, and Harry squinted at her. "Huh?" he asked. Kelsi looked at him, confused. "What?" she asked, and he fought a smile. "It's be-nay?" Harry repeated, and Kelsi stared at him before grimacing as she muttered under her breath. "It's fine," she said, louder. "I meant to say it's fine.") This is more realistic than us "forgetting to switch back".

Another thing that can look like us forgetting to switch back is when we get upset and the language part of our brain just. Nopes tf out. (Example: xxxx) [THIS EXAMPLE WAS TAKEN FROM MY BOOK!!! THAT I PUBLISHED!!!! ONLY 1 CHARACTER HAS ENGLISH AS HER FIRST LANGUAGE!!!!! ALL THE OTHERS ARE BILINGUAL AND GAY!!!!]

We forget basic words for shit, and only remember them in other languages. (Example: "- tie your... thing," Henry said, faltering, and Jess raised her eyebrows at him. "My... thing," she repeated, and Henry gestured vaguely to her shoes. "Your thing. The..." He muttered under his breath. Jess only looked at him, not understanding. Exasperated, Henry gestured to her shoes again. "The string thing! In your shoes. The... the fingers. The finger strings. The... the shoe belts! The- just the thing!" Jess was grinning at him as she laughed quietly. "Do you mean my shoe laces?" she asked. Henry nodded, though he wasn't entirely convinced that was the right term, either, now that he was hearing it.)

From that, we usually forget the common term for something, but we'll remember the literal translation from another language, or the literal description of it. (Example: "hey do you have any... uhm... bee puke?" "WHAT?!" "I want to put it in my toast." "WHAT THE HELL IS BEE PUKE?!?! WHY WOULD YOU WANT THAT ON YOUR TOAST - WHY WOULD YOU WANT TO EAT IT?!?!?!!?" "Everyone eats it? It's super sweet. And golden, and drippy?" "It sounds disgusting." "HONEY. I MEANT HONEY! THAT'S THE NAME OF IT!")

Another version of this is saying the sound or action the thing does, rather than the name of the thing itself. (Example: "OMG your bark-bark is so cute!" "You... mean my dog?" "Isn't that what I said?")

This is all I can think of atm, but feel free to ask any questions about bilingual / polyglot characters!

[siminnmsis]

Found in translation | Soap MacTavish.

Pairing: Johnny "Soap" MacTavish X Reader.

Summary: Soap and reader bound over language and odd sayings.

Warnings: none, it's just fluff, can be interpreted as platonic.

___________________________________________________________________________

"Hen? Like a chicken? "

A hearty laugh fell from his lips but stopped quickly when he winced in pain, folding over with his hand on his chest.

Calm and kind to a fault, she helped him settle back slowly on the makeshift bed and continued cleaning his wound. A stab wound, not enough to kill but definitely painful, made by an amateur mercenary, graced sergeant Soap's muscular chest. If anything, the sergeant felt grateful, as a strategist she did not have to play medic after hours but she was nice enough to share what little medical skills she had with the team and Soap would lie if he said he didn't like her playing nurse with him.

Now, loving and caring as she was, he felt like a term of endearment wouldn't be out of place, but that was without counting on the language barrier; him and his heavy Scottish accent, her and her literal, too-polite English she learned as a second language.

Keen on fixing the miscommunication while she put the last of gauze on his wound, he explained " no, like honey or sweetheart...you know".

Oh he hoped she didn't mind the steps he was taking toward her, but she didn't look mad in the slightest, if anything she looked pensive. Finally she smiled warmly at him " I understand, for a moment I thought you meant it as in coward"

"Never in this life or the other, lass"

They already went through the word "lass" last week and "bairn" the week before.

"Does it sound weird to you?" He asked curiously.

She fixed the last piece of adhesive bandage before removing her gloves and gesturing for him to get dressed.

"Not at all," then she thought for a second while bringing a stool close to where he was sitting "in my country, when you really love someone, of unconditional and unlimited love, you don't call them your heart" she leaned forward with a conspirating look and a mischievous grin, and Soap found himself leaning too, impatient to hear what she had to say "you call them your liver"

He laughed again, this time boundless and free of pain.

[louistomlinsoncouk]

Talking of being on stage. How close did you get close to Louis Tomlinson? 

We’ve done a support tour with Louis Tomlinson, we loved this opportunity. It really gave us a chance to get in front of people we wouldn’t necessarily be in front of in a live environment. It’s a different type of fan, our music translated well towards that. We’ve done tours with him over the past couple of years, we know him well. 

He comes up to Glasgow for his shows, and we’ll go and watch football. He’s a good guy. Quite private. It’s funny because he been in the pop world, but deep down his roots are in indie guitar music, that’s what he is making. He’s fun guy to be around, and for us it’s great to see how others do things. 

What did you take away after sharing stage and spending time with Tomlinson? 

There’s been a confidence shift in terms of being onstage that we picked up on tour. The idea of taking control, sometimes I felt like we were always trying to part of the crowd and never wanted to be the centre of the attention. So being in control, having a stage presence, being able a walk on and be confident enough to do what you are meant to do up there. Definitely learned lots, we got so much better after those tours. 

[screampotato]

I've never read or seen Outlander but I kind of hate it, partly because fans of it keep parking in ridiculous places and blocking public highways in order to break their necks trying to get to filming locations, but also because the name "Lallybroch" makes my eye twitch.

It's just so clearly a name created by someone who knows nothing about Scottish place names and just spent 5 seconds Googling. So what's wrong with it?

First of all, it's backwards. It's clearly trying to be a Gaelic name, and Gaelic is like French: the adjective comes after the noun. If we allow that "broch" means "tower" (I'll come back to that in a moment), and that "Lally" is either an adjective or a possessive ("Lally's Tower") then it should be Brochlally. Like Dundee or Dunsinane ("dun" means fort), Aviemore or Benmore or Newtonmore ("mòr" means big), Tobermory ("Mary's well"), and even its fictional counterpart, Balamory ("Mary's town" - the BBC does its research on this stuff!). So if this name is going to exist at all, it will not be Lallybroch, it will be Brochlally.

Then, "broch". *Sigh*. First of all, it's not even Gaelic, it's Lowland Scots, from Old Norse, but that's not the besetting sin - Scottish place names are often a mix of languages. No, the real crime here is that "broch" is not a word that appears in Scottish place names, unless those names refer specifically to a broch - a very particular type of iron-age stone roundhouse found mostly in Orkney and Shetland and the North of Scotland. One of these:

The Dun Carloway broch in Lewis, Photo by bikerhiker75

Now, it's true that "broch" comes from the same root as burg/burgh/borough, meaning a significant settlement. So if you meant that, rather than a literal broch, it would be called Lallyburgh. Like Edinburgh or Fraserburgh. It would be pronounced "lallyburra". On the other hand, if you actually wanted to refer to the fact that it was a fort or tower house, as I think the author was trying to, it would be Dunlally.

I realise all this may seem like nitpicking to fans of Outlander, but it doesn't feel that way to me. It feels like my culture being used for decoration, which is fine in itself, but being used without any care for the people whose culture it actually is. This together with that girl who wrote the dragon books and gave all the dragons Gaelic names without even bothering to find out how to pronounce them (which is easy, I promise you, Google Translate speaks Scots Gaelic pretty well) - well, I'm just a little bit fed up with it.