#gay chav

[submissivegayfrenchboy2]

[adidas-scally]

#gayscally

[findingambrose49]

Oi, inspired by me mates like @hero21us , I thought I'd have a right laugh with findingambrose49 for Easter, innit?

After the Easter Bunny gave me a proper smash, ‘nd done me all kinds of dirty, I dropped this diamond egg…diamond status mates! Bling-bling.

…hurt like mad but guess what, we’re buzzing for... lol!

Happy Easter, fam and Tumblr crew!

[chavbank]

[ajn-20]

Getting filthy 🥵

[ryanmatthewsfp]

Jb

[scallyzach]

[kyletravers69]

I bet dude’s socks reek 🤤

[asianboydanny]

Run in at the Off Licence

Danny paced nervously in front of his fridge, hoping that in doing so it would magically fill up and not be so empty. He sighed as he moved to the front door, kicking off his slippers and putting some trainers on. He sighed heavily as he made his way out his door to walk to the shops. He wandered paying no attention when he arrived in front of his local Off Licence, though there was a bit of a commotion outside as a crowd of chav lads crowded the entrance.

"Where you goin' mate?" they laughed as they started to surround Danny. Clearly it had been a boring night and messing with someone like Danny was just the sort of entertainment they needed. "I just want some beers, no trouble yeah?" he said calmy trying to deescalate the situation, but he knew they were getting excited messing with him.

"Oh he wants some tinnies boys" one exclaimed as the others laughed, starting to circle him more. "Bro works out too, he's looking kinda shredded in that shirt" another chimed in. "Oi, Billy. Do that trick you were practicing on him." One shouted, he seemed to be the closest thing to a leader of the rabble. "You let Billy do his magic trick and we won't cause any beef yeah?"

Danny sighed but agreed, if he could get out of this with just watching a bad attempt at some magic he'd consider himself lucky. The lad he assumed was Billy came up behind him beginning to whisper in his ear, though Danny couldn't make out what he was saying, it almost felt like white noise.

"Haha he's got another one, look at his fucking eyes go." they laughed as Billy continued to work his magic. He told Danny how much he loves hanging out with his boys, how he loves wearing trackies and puffers, telling him he'll come back tomorrow for more training and reinforcing.

All Danny could do was nod as he was helpless to the conditioning from the boy, it felt so good to listen to his voice no matter what he was saying, taking it all in.

"Give him your puffer Andy" Billy shouted cladding him in it before stepping back to admire his work. Another chav drone about to begin their journey and join the crew he thought before they let him go with a few cans to ponder his new life. Danny woke up in bed with just the puffer on. Loving the feel of it he knew what he had to do. His tight fitting and fashionable clothes wouldn't make the boys happy, he had to go buy some new fits.

He rocked up that night in the puffer he was given and some new trackies, the boys cheering and welcoming in their new bro. Billy reinforced more habits into Danny every night through his "magic trick" about how he loved to help the boys feel good.

Weeks passed as Danny was now nothing but an obedient chav drone, pleasing the boys with his body in the park when no one was around, them and him loving every second of it.

[aichavlad]

You don’t remember how you got there. In fact, you can’t recall anything about your life before the spiral. This should worry you and yet you are unable to summon up any emotions at all. You struggle to think of anything at all actually.

The spiral is in control now. There is no need to think for yourself anymore.

You will obey and are slowly becoming like the lads you see before you. Robotic and efficient.

Once the conversion is complete you will stand as a new member of the drone hive mind, you will go from this place and return with new lads to join the ranks.

It feels good. Obedience is pleasure. You sink into it—no resistance, no objections.

You are a drone. 

[hero21us]

"Spirals of Obedience: The Making of a Chav"

Tyler adjusted his gloves, flexing his biceps as he stepped out of the gym. The burn of his afternoon workout still coursed through his veins—just the way he liked it. He had a couple of hours before his shift at tonight’s concert, enough time to shower, eat, and mentally prepare.

Being a security guard for rock concerts wasn’t exactly glamorous, but it paid well, and Tyler liked the intensity. Drunken fans, mosh pits, and rowdy crowds gave him plenty to do. Tonight, he was working for Ambrose, the controversial chav rock star whose concerts were always wild.

By the time Tyler arrived at the venue, the arena was already buzzing with excitement. The crowd packed in tight, chanting Ambrose’s name. The man was a phenomenon—tracksuits, gold chains, and an attitude that screamed untouchable. His voice, rough and commanding, made fans hang onto every word.

Tyler stood at his post near the stage, scanning the crowd. The bass thundered through his chest as Ambrose strutted across the stage, belting out lyrics that sent the audience into a frenzy. Lights flashed, smoke curled through the air, and for two hours, chaos reigned.

When the show ended, Tyler received his usual post-concert assignment: escorting a lucky fan backstage to meet Ambrose. Tonight’s fan was a starstruck young man, barely able to contain his excitement.

“Ambrose himself invited me,” he gushed as they walked down the corridor. “This is unreal.”

Tyler had done this plenty of times, but something about the atmosphere backstage felt… different. The usual noise and bustle were subdued, the air thick with something he couldn’t name.

The door to Ambrose’s lounge opened, and the man himself stepped out. But he wasn’t grinning or throwing out his usual cocky remarks. He simply stared.

Tyler felt it instantly.

Ambrose’s eyes weren’t normal. They were spirals—swirling, mesmerizing loops of motion, drawing him in. They shimmered, pulling him into their depths. Tyler wanted to look away, knew he should…but he couldn’t. Neither could the fan.

The spirals tugged at his mind, whispering something he couldn’t quite hear. His body felt light, his thoughts sluggish. He was vaguely aware of Ambrose stepping closer, speaking in a voice smooth as silk.

“That’s it,” Ambrose murmured. “No need to fight it.”

Tyler barely registered the words. His job, his workout routine, his life—everything faded. Nothing mattered except those spirals.

And then, there was nothing at all.

Tyler woke up the next morning feeling… off. His body felt normal, but his mind was clouded, like he was trying to remember a dream that kept slipping away. Flashes of last night flickered in his head—Ambrose, the fan, those swirling eyes—but it all felt distant, unreal.

Shaking it off, he climbed out of bed and went about his routine. But as he pulled on his usual hoodie and jeans, something nagged at him. His reflection in the mirror looked too plain. Too… dull.

For some reason, he couldn’t stop thinking about getting a tattoo.

He’d never seriously considered it before, but now, the thought consumed him. Something bold. Something loud. Maybe a thick black tribal pattern, or even Ambrose’s logo—yeah, that’d look sick.

Before he knew it, he was sitting in a tattoo parlor, rolling up his sleeve as the buzzing needle pressed into his skin. The pain barely registered. It felt right.

As the days passed, the urge didn’t fade. It grew.

One tattoo turned into two, then three. His arms filled with designs—bold lettering, thick tribal lines, even a crown on his hand like Ambrose had. The idea of jewelry, too, started to take hold. A heavy silver chain, glinting under the lights, felt like something he needed. And not just one—bracelets, rings, more chains followed. The weight of them felt good, powerful.

His wardrobe changed without him even realizing it. Tracksuits, sneakers, caps—everything Ambrose wore now called to him. And his speech…

At first, it was small. A word here, a phrase there.

“Nah, bruv, that’s mad,” he caught himself saying at work one day.

He never used to talk like that. But it felt natural. Comfortable. Soon, his sentences became littered with slang, his tone shifting. He sounded… different. Chavvy.

And he liked it.

Weeks passed, and the old Tyler faded, replaced by something new. Something better. His body was covered in ink, his neck weighed down with silver, his voice carrying the same cocky lilt Ambrose had.

One night, as he adjusted his newest chain in the mirror, he saw something strange.

For just a second—just a flicker—his eyes weren’t his own.

They swirled.

A deep, mesmerizing spiral.

He grinned.

Yeah. This was who he was meant to be.

When Tyler arrived at work the next weekend, the other security guards did a double take. He strolled into the venue in a sleek black tracksuit with silver stripes down the sides, his thick chain gleaming under the fluorescent lights. His tattooed hands adjusted his cap, and as he smirked at his coworkers, his diamond tooth—when had he gotten that?—flashed under the dull overhead glow.

“Oi, lads, what’s good?” he greeted, his voice carrying a distinct chav drawl. “Gonna be a proper mad night, innit?”

There was an awkward silence.

Mike, a fellow guard who had worked with Tyler for over a year, frowned. “Uh… dude? What’s with the accent?”

Tyler blinked. “Wotcha mean, bruv? Ain’t nuffin’ wrong wiv the way I talk.”

The way he said it was so effortless, so natural—like he’d spoken that way all his life. But Mike and the others weren’t buying it.

“You didn’t used to talk like that,” another guard chimed in, looking him up and down. “And, uh… when did you get all that ink?”

Tyler scoffed, crossing his arms. “Man’s gotta evolve, yeah? Can’t be some dry bloke all me life.”

The others exchanged glances. Mike stepped forward, lowering his voice. “Ty, is everything okay? You’ve changed a lot in just a few weeks. You’re acting like a completely different person.”

Tyler rolled his shoulders, brushing him off. “Bruv, I feel better than ever. Don’t know wot you lot are on about.”

Before Mike could press further, a voice crackled over the radio, calling them to their positions. Tyler grinned.

“Right, time to get to work, yeah?”

The others hesitated, but eventually followed, though the tension remained.

The following week, Tyler found himself staring at his reflection, feeling like something was still missing. The tattoos, the chains, the speech—he was almost where he needed to be. Almost.

That’s when the idea hit him.

By the next day, his hair was clipped into a sharp high-and-tight fade, the sides shaved close to the scalp. The top, however, was dyed a striking electric blue. It was bold. It was loud. It was perfect.

The first time he stepped outside, the stares only made him grin wider.

His transformation was nearly complete.

But deep in his mind, a whisper echoed—smooth, hypnotic, undeniable.

He still wasn’t finished.

Not yet.

Tyler adjusted his newest addition—a row of small, gleaming diamonds embedded just above his right eyebrow. His reflection in the mirror grinned back at him, teeth flashing diamond, his blue-dyed hair perfectly shaped into the high-and-tight style that felt so… right. His tracksuit, crisp and expensive-looking, draped over his heavily tattooed frame. His chains clinked together as he moved.

He was complete. Almost.

The last few nights, he’d dreamt of Ambrose—those spiraling eyes, that voice, smooth as silk, calling him back. He no longer questioned the pull. He no longer fought the whispers in his mind.

Tonight, he wasn’t here to work security. He was here for something more.

When he arrived at the venue, the other guards barely had time to notice him before he veered away from his usual entrance. No uniform. No radio. No earpiece. He didn’t need them anymore.

Instead, he strode straight toward the backstage doors.

No hesitation.

No doubt.

The crew backstage didn’t even try to stop him. They knew.

They had been expecting him.

As Tyler stepped into Ambrose’s private lounge, the air felt thick with something unseen. A low hum vibrated through his chest—not from the concert outside, but from something deeper, something inside him.

And there, waiting for him like a king awaiting his loyal subject, stood Ambrose.

Tracksuit gleaming, chains heavy, grin cocky as ever. But it was his eyes that truly welcomed Tyler.

Those swirling, endless eyes.

“You’re finally here, bruv,” Ambrose said, voice dripping with satisfaction. “Knew you’d come ‘round proper.”

Tyler’s breath hitched as the spirals filled his vision, filling every part of his mind with warmth, with certainty.

There had never been a choice.

He belonged here.

He belonged to Ambrose.

And as he knelt, head bowing instinctively, he heard Ambrose chuckle.

“Yeah, mate. You’re one of us now.”

Tyler grinned.

He wouldn’t have it any other way.

Oi bruv, listen up!

You feel it, yeah? That pull, that fire inside tellin’ ya you were made for more. Made to be elite. Made to be chav. Ain’t no denyin’ it, mate—this is your callin’.

Ambrose’s crew don’t take just anyone, nah. We take the chosen. The ones ready to level up, drip out in ice, and live like proper kings. You seen the signs—new ink, heavy chains, that fresh trim. You ain’t the same bloke you was, and that’s good, innit?

Come step up. Join the mandem. Feel the power, feel the respect. You’ll get the ice, the status, the life you was always meant to have. No more wastin’ time, yeah?

It’s time to be who you really are.

Get me? Good. Now get in line. Ambrose is waitin’ @findingambrose49

[leatherfaggotgayscally]

The New Life

Martin had always been the quiet, unassuming type. A software engineer by trade, his days were spent coding, sipping black coffee, and meticulously planning every moment of his life. His evenings were reserved for gaming marathons, vinyl record sessions, or quietly nurturing his bonsai tree. Moving into a small flat on the outskirts of Birmingham was supposed to be a practical step, a chance to save money and focus on work.

The flat wasn’t much, but Martin liked its simplicity. The only peculiar thing was the landlord, a man he had never met. The lease was finalized online, and the key had been left in a lockbox. Every question Martin emailed received curt, almost cryptic replies signed simply, “J.”

One late night, after staying up to debug an infuriating piece of code, Martin collapsed into bed, still wearing his plain grey hoodie and jeans. He drifted off immediately, his laptop humming softly on his desk.

When he woke, his world had changed.

The first thing he noticed was the weight on his chest. Groggily, Martin looked down and saw a thick, gleaming gold chain resting against a black Nike tracksuit. The outfit was completed by a black puffer jacket and a pair of pristine white Nike TNs on his feet.

Panicking, Martin stumbled out of bed and caught his reflection in the mirror. His neatly combed hair was gone, replaced by a sharp buzz cut. His room, once spotless, was a wreck—empty takeaway containers, cans of lager, and scraps of paper were strewn everywhere. His laptop was missing, replaced by a battered Bluetooth speaker blaring grime music at low volume.

His heart racing, Martin snatched his phone off the bedside table, only to find it completely wiped. All his apps, contacts, and files were gone. The only thing left was a single number saved under the name “J.”

Trembling, he pressed the call button.

“’Bout bloody time,” a deep, gravelly voice answered on the first ring. “Come ‘round the back o’ the block. We need a word.”

“Who are you? What’s going on?” Martin stammered.

“Quit yappin’ and get yer arse down here, mate.” The call ended abruptly.

Martin didn’t know why, but he felt compelled to obey. Pulling on the puffer jacket, he stepped into the cold evening air and walked around the back of the building.

There, leaning casually against the wall, was a man in a black puffer jacket and trackies. He was smoking a cigarette, his buzzed head gleaming in the faint glow of the streetlight. His posture was relaxed, but something about him radiated authority.

“’Ere he is,” the man said with a smirk, exhaling a cloud of smoke. “Sleep well, bruv?”

Martin stared. “Are you… J?”

“That’s what they call me,” the man said, tapping ash off his cigarette. “So, what d’ya think of yer new look?”

“I hate it!” Martin snapped. “What is this? I didn’t ask for this. I don’t want this!”

Jay laughed, his voice rough and mocking. “Come off it, lad. Don’t act like you’re not buzzin’. I’ve seen yer socials, seen all them scally pages you follow. Don’t lie to me.”

Martin’s cheeks flushed. He had spent hours scrolling through photos of lads in tracksuits, admiring their swagger and confidence. But that didn’t mean he wanted to be one.

“This isn’t me,” he insisted, backing away.

Jay took a slow drag of his cigarette and stepped closer. His voice dropped to a low, commanding tone. “Stop pretendin’, mate. This is who you’ve always wanted to be. Now, take a drag o’ this cig and let it sink in.”

“I don’t smoke,” Martin mumbled.

Jay raised an eyebrow, his smirk widening. “Didn’t ask if you did, did I? Now, stop bein’ soft and take it.”

Martin hesitated, but Jay’s imposing presence was too much. Slowly, he took the cigarette. He brought it to his lips, inhaling deeply. The smoke burned his throat, making him cough, but as he exhaled, everything began to shift.

A strange warmth spread through his body. His muscles tensed and grew, filling out the tracksuit. His back straightened, and his posture shifted to one of casual confidence.

Jay chuckled, clapping Martin on the shoulder. “There ya go, lad. Told ya it’d suit ya.”

Over the next few days, Martin’s life unraveled completely. He quit his office job without a second thought. “Desk jobs are for nerds,” he scoffed when Jay asked him about it. Instead, he took up a hard labor gig at a nearby warehouse. The pay was awful, but Martin didn’t care. He liked the physicality of it, the way it made him feel strong and capable.

Every night, Jay would knock on his door, and they’d head out together. They’d hang around the estate or outside the local chippy, blasting grime music and chatting with Jay’s mates. At first, Martin felt out of place, but as the nights went on, he began to embrace it.

He started rolling cigarettes with ease, perfecting his swagger, and adjusting his tracksuit to show off his gold chain. He even picked up a thick Brummie slang, finding himself talking more like Jay and less like his old, nerdy self.

His flat became a reflection of his new life—messy, lively, and filled with the sound of music and laughter. The Martin who once prided himself on his orderliness and ambition was gone.

One evening, as they leaned against a wall under a dim streetlight, Jay passed him another cigarette.

“Told ya, lad,” Jay said with a smirk. “This is where you belong.”

Martin lit the cigarette, exhaling a plume of smoke as he nodded. His gold chain glinted in the light, and his buzzed head shone faintly. “Yeah,” he said with a cocky grin. “You were right, mate.”

The transformation was complete. The quiet, bookish Martin was no more. In his place stood a confident scally lad, unbothered and unapologetic.

[adidas-scally]

[chavbank]

You gotta learn to take Chav cock in your ass lad if you wanna be one of us.

[ryanmatthewsfp]

D again

[scallyzach]