#scottish cloth anon

[himboskywalker]

So I am currently reading your outlander story and I am horrible at history, but don't they loose in the end? Or isn't that important for the story? Was Obi-Wan ever interested in another men before or is it the first time?

I love your story by the way, I love when writers decide to mix history with my favorite couple.

Yes the Jacobite rebels were defeated at the Battle of Culloden in 1746. And it is important for the story! Both the original Outlander book series and my own. It’s a highly romanticized period in history (primarily because of Walter Scott originally,who wrote Ivanhoe,Rob Roy,and Waverly) but also because the era of the Jacobite rebellions pre-Culloden is considered the last era of the true Scottish clan system. After Culloden and the resounding and final defeat of the Jacobites, the British passed a ton of reformatory measures that,boiled down simply,eradicated the medieval relationship between clan chiefs and their clansmens (the chiefs themselves also share ownership of this). It became what a lot of landowning aristocrats became in Britain,simple landlords to their tenants. Because of the breakdown of the Clan structure,both socially and as an economic support system,there were massive waves of emigration from the Scottish Highlands and Islands. And thusly the highland and island populations plummeted,that era saw massive social upheaval for Scottish Gaelic culture,and there were a lot of Scottish participants in overseas colonies. And this is all the reason people like me who grew up in certain parts of the United States come from Scots colonists and have inherited a lot of evolved Scots Gaelic culture.

And yes this is the first time Obi-Wan has been interested in a man!

[violentdelightsandviolentends]

Chibs with a reader around the same age as Juice and they do it on Chibs’s bike at the club house thinking nobody is there but they get caught by a few of the members

Teach Me How to Ride.

Synopsis - Chibs is teaching you how to ride (in more ways than one).

Pairing - Filip 'Chibs' Telford x Female Reader

Warnings - smut. cursing. age gap.

Age Rating - 18+

Word Count - 1k

Author's Note - thank you SO much for this request, anon. it made me feral. that old man owns me and i'm not sorry about it. always open to SOA and chibs requests. <3

Masterlist. Inbox.

"Any weekend plans, darlin'?"

You smile at the blonde man sat on the other side of the bar you're wiping down.

"Nothing too exciting. I think I'm gonna try and get out on my bike."

His brows raise in curiosity.

"You have a bike now?"

"Yeah. Chibs is teaching me how to ride."

"I bet he is."

You roll your eyes at the snickers that come from the other guys who are dotted around the room.

"Real mature, Jax."

"Is he charging you for these lessons, or are you paying him in other ways?"

You put down your cloth and look up.

"I'll jump over this bar and beat your ass right now, Tig. Don't think I won't."

They all laugh, and you can't help but chuckle along with them. You know they mean well. They'd do anything for you, in a heartbeat.

Eventually, the sun sets, and all of the guys make their way home. You've been restocking the bar, not minding staying a little later if it means you get the job done.

You're crouched down filling the fridge when you hear a familiar Scottish accent echo though the clubhouse.

"You still here, sweetheart?"

You stand up and smile at him, grinning wider when he reciprocates.

"Still here. Trying to get my shit done."

"That's my girl. Always working ten times harder than the rest of us."

You laugh, throwing him a beer.

"You're here late. How did the run go?"

"All good, nothing to worry about," he winks.

You think back to Jax's comment earlier, and decide you've had enough of avoiding the truth. You want answers. You also just kind of want to know what he'll say.

"Why does everyone think we're fucking?"

Chibs practically chokes on his drink, taken aback by your sudden brashness.

"What?"

"You heard me."

He takes a moment to process, before a slow smile etches itself onto his face.

"Why do you ask that?"

"Just something Jax said earlier."

"Ignore that bastard. He doesn't think before he speaks."

You chuckle in agreement, finishing up your jobs for the day.

"You wan' a ride home?"

You nod gratefully, making sure to lock up before walking over to where Chibs is leaning against his bike. He's parked by the door, under the shelter, obscured from the yard. He slips a helmet onto your head, before standing in front of you to do up the buckle. His rough fingertips slide under your chin, clasping the straps in place. He swipes a thumb over your bottom lip gently, eyes never leaving your face.

"You're too good for me," he murmurs. "Pretty young thing like you."

"Everyone already thinks we're fucking anyway," you whisper, smirk on your face.

He chuckles lowly, before leaning in to capture your lips with his. He kisses you with need, unbuckling the helmet he just put on you and dropping it to the ground. He's grabbing at you - your hips, your ass, anywhere he can find. You've got your hands tangled in his hair, yanking roughly when he bites your lip.

The two of you waste no time. Chibs is shrugging his jacket off while unbuttoning your pants, pulling them down. You're fumbling with his belt, undoing his jeans with shaky hands. You're both high on adrenaline, desperate to feel the other person. He smashes his lips back to yours and you groan, reveling in the way he tastes like smoke and peppermint.

Chibs grabs your hips and walks you backwards, twirling you around so you're bent over his bike. You can't help but laugh, remembering what Jax had said.

"What?" he chuckles into your ear, hot and heavy against your back.

"Nothing," you giggle. "I'll tell you later. You gonna fuck me, old man, or just stand there?"

He growls under his breath and smacks your ass as punishment, smirking when you whine.

"You gonna ask me nicely, sweetheart?"

At this point, you're not above begging. Besides, you know it'll do wonders for his ego, and you don't entirely mind that.

"Please, Chibs," you whinge. "Waited so long for this."

"Oh, ya have?" he coos. "Better not keep you waitin' then."

In one smooth thrust he slides home, both of you groaning in unison. He plants a hand on the back of your neck, the other with a firm grip on your hip, providing him with leverage. He sets a steady, even pace, careful not to knock the bike over.

He tilts his hips upwards a little and you keen, seeing stars.

"Right there? Yeah? That's it, isn't it?"

You only nod in response, holding onto the motorcycle for dear life. You trust him, though. You know he won't let you fall.

"Fuck, darlin'. You feel so good."

"So close," you choke out.

"I know, I know. Can feel you squeezin' me. Come on, that's it. Good girl."

The lilt of his accent combined with the glide of his hips is lethal, sending you over the edge in no time. You see stars, heart racing and mind blank.

Your undoing is also Chibs'. He groans as he finds his release, leaning over to rest his head between your shoulders. You're both panting, chests heaving as you recover.

After a moment, the bike groans, and you both jump up, laughing as you do it. You're redressing, Chibs stealing kisses from you, when you hear a voice cut through the darkness.

"Well, shit. I was only kidding earlier."

You can hear Jax's teasing drawl before he comes into view, cocky smirk drawn across his face.

You groan as Chibs rolls his eyes and throws his arm around your shoulders, pulling you into him. Both of you know you're not going to hear the end of this for a long time.

[tyrianludaship]

Imagine dressing up pretty for your F/O's...

Soldier giddily clasping his hands together, with a beaming smile, as you tip the helmet slipping over your eyes up with one hand, as the other holds a rifle over your shoulder. You got the nicest army uniform, with a lovely patch of the American flag or three decorating you. You will be an anti-commie-hippie-nazi force together.

Demo's scrumpy pouring from his bottle to the floor, as he watches you, slack-jawed, in the garb of an ancient Scottish warrior, furs reminiscent of explosions, and a beautiful sword serving as little more than decoration. The thing is heavy, but as he put it, you look bloody mesmerising.

Heavy sighing wistfully, as his eyes study your dress, befitting a knyaz, or a tsar, the hefty jewellery of bullets weighing your neck, head, and hands down, as you try to stand with a straight back, the very model of a painted figure he'd admire on the pages of history books. He's already pretty quiet, but, he is utterly speechless this time.

Engineer whistling lowly, as he admires you from the cowboy hat, down to the spurs, several handsome tools in place of a gun in your holster. Caterin' just to him, that you are, with the proud combo of his spirit and his passions in your clothes. Yer spoilin' him, he says with a shy smile.

Medic gasping softly, as he watches you twirl in your nurse dress, half-laughing half-ooh'ing and aah'ing at every little detail that reminds him of home. The hat, the suspenders, the boots, it's a little silly to most, but to him, you're the best, cutest assistant he could ever ask for! ... Excuse his excitement, schatz, he's just very pleased to see you, is all.

Sniper murmuring "Holy Mother of...", looking at you above his sunglasses, and from under his hat, his face getting even longer - the hunter-esque attire is a personal attack. And the handsome rifle you apparently got as a gift for him, and presented with the rest of yourself? When you already look like Cupid himself gave you an unseen bow to strike his heart with? Crikey, he's in love...

Spy raising his brows, and giving an appreciative "Hmm!", as he nods. The béret? The classy, yet casually appropriate suit? You could approach him anywhere any day, and his focus on the façade of suave calm might dwindle just a little bit. Positively enchanting, he says, eyes fluttering just a tad too dreamily to truly hide how enamoured he is.

Miss Pauling stammering and stumbling over her words, when you catch her off-guard. You look really nice- That's what she's trying to say, yeah, because the way you did your hair, and the shoes, and the tie- Is that a gun in the hidden inner pocket of your jacket? That's, wow, she- Can she look at it? And also generally move closer to you? For no reason at all, you're just so gorgeous- ... Did she say that out loud?

- Penis Anon. (Jumpscare again.)

[izgnanik-a]

Some more trans Ghoap? Previous fic link here

Thank you to the lovely anon who loved it so much to send me an ask for more in the funniest way. I love that you loved it.

Cw: mutual pining, sexual tension, fingering, toys, semi-public sex, more frotting, slight dom/sub, Johnny’s a pleasure dom, ftm!Simon

// Don’t like?? Don’t read // MDNI //

Having Johnny’s number meant the ball was in Simon’s court to contact him. He gave him his number because they’d had a good night, a great night even, though it was embarrassingly short.

Simon ran through his thoughts the morning soon after, realizing he probably seemed so pathetic. Cumming from humping this guy with clothes on, and then falling asleep??

He needed to move out of town ASAP.

Simon let a few days pass, anxiously eyeing the note every time he’d sit in his living room, or even staring at it from the kitchen. He’d stand at the counter, eyeing the vibrant thing until it imprinted into his mind.

What harm would come from texting Johnny back? He obviously showed interest in Simon, regardless of their night together.

And they hadn’t even gotten to the good part where Johnny’s hands would be all over him. Didn’t even get to the part where Johnny’s mouth was supposed to run through the folds of his cunt.

Fucking idiot.

Simon finally sat at the coffee table, a full week later, the night of the club event again, sticky note in hand, phone in the other. He contemplated if any of this was a good idea; bringing a stranger to his own apartment was risky but so was going to someone’s house.

But he was apparently desperate, and had no other options but a big Scottish guy who was a dirty talker and good with shoving his tongue down Simon’s throat.

He input the number into his contacts, sitting with a draft message open in front of him. He didn’t know what to say. Sup? Hey? It’s Simon? Nothing. He was so embarrassed by their last encounter that he would rather never show his face at the club again, never call.

Simon bit his tongue as he sent a shotty text of hey, and stared at the screen. He’d make himself a cup of tea, take a shower, let the message linger before he’d return to it.

The moment his hand touched the kettle —

DING.

He stared across the room to his phone on the table from the kitchen doorway. He clutched his hands into fists before moving for it. Staring at the lock screen, he eyed the message.

Took u long enough.

Simon paused, plucking it up. Do you even know if you’re texting the right person? He watched the bubbles appear and disappear.

I’m sure I am. ;)

Simon began to wonder just how many people Johnny had wooed like this at the club. How many people had fallen in Simon’s exact steps. There was technically no ulterior motive besides getting fucked — so there was no harm in playing the game, right?

Simon humored. Okay then — what color are my eyes?

There was a long pause, long enough for Simon’s kettle to whistle. His phone chirped.

Blue.

Lucky guess. Simon sat down on the couch. Half of England has blue eyes.

Then don’t ask stupid questions. Ur smarter than this. He replied.

Simon was taken aback. Johnny was blunt, but not overly critical. Maybe this wasn’t Johnny. He leaned forward in his seat. Fine. He sent. What’d we do when we left the club?

It would come out in truth whether or not Johnny was a one person at a time kind of guy, or if he really thought that Simon was just some stupid bloke.

We went back to urs, and u fucked urself on my hip. I told u how much of a good boy u were, and u came in ur pants before I could eat u out.

Simon didn’t want to show his face at the club so he skipped this week. He received a text from Johnny asking where he was, when he had lied and said he was going out with a friend, he had received a “ :( “ and “ be safe .”

The next day he received a good morning text and a soft looking selfie from Johnny; the orange hue of sunlight came in through his bedroom, dark grey sheets and blankets, his hair ruffled, sleep in his eyes. He was shirtless, tattoos creeping where the camera couldn’t fully see. But Simon outlined the roundness of his cheeks, the cushion of his chest, the absolute beauty of this man.

God — he could touch himself raw.

He sent a flimsy good morning message back, and proceeded with his day. Dinner came, and Johnny sent another photo. He was sat by candlelight, face red, and a wine glass in front of him being the culprit. His chin was leaned on his palm, pouty frown on his face.

Wish u were here.

Simon felt flushed. This man was lusting after him, and he was just feeding Johnny scraps. What would he even do if he had Johnny in front of him again?

Simon sent, how much have you had to drink?

Enough. Came back almost too quickly.

Are you driving home? Simon wondered who Johnny had gone out with. Was it with his friends? Another date? Another—?

Another date would have to reference to having gone on a date with Johnny. Simon hadn’t ever gone out with him. Only used him as a scratching post to get his rocks off.

Came with friends. Still wish u were here.

Simon started to think if he did something heroic, like showing up to where Johnny was, sweeping him into his arms, and took him home — would it get him laid.

He shouldn’t be so selfish. The man was drunk off wine. He wouldn’t take advantage of him like that.

Lmk when you get home safe. Simon sent and let his phone ding for the rest of the night. He regretted doing so when he woke up.

Waking up to drunk messages from Johnny was a handful to sort through. Half written messages, horribly written ones, and a singular photo.

Simon’s mouth was dry; Johnny was laying on his bed, shirt shucked up between his teeth, the bottom of a tattoo under his pecs showing. The hairy expanse of his stomach and happy trail showing, pants unbuttoned and pulled open to show his briefs. Johnny’s hand was holding the bulge of his cock in his pants.

The message underneath read wish u were here bad.

Simon felt his cunt throbbing perversely. He felt all urges to leave the house vanish, and all he wanted to do was touch himself like Johnny was in the photo.

It had been the last thing Johnny sent, but there wasn’t much thought to why. Simon contemplated but didn’t fight himself long before he was moving for his bedroom, unbuckling his button, and pulling the curtains over the windows before sliding his pants off.

He grabbed his silicon dildo from his closet along with his lube, situating himself up by the pillows before pouring a drizzle of lube on his fingers. He slipped his fingers between his thighs, already warm and soft under his touch. He kept the photo on his screen as he touched his clit, glancing over when he lost focus on why he’d been so bothered.

He imagined it was Johnny touching him, but he wouldn’t be so desperate and quick. Johnny would praise him, run his hands up and down his thighs as he shoved his tongue down his throat. He’d makeout with Simon until he was throbbing in his jeans, grinding himself into Simon’s hot cunt, and still refuse Simon relief.

He wouldn’t aggressively rub Simon’s clit. He’d run his fingers over his mons, along his outer lips and work his way down. Maybe he’d even eat Simon out. He’d get so cock drunk that he wouldn’t even put his fingers into Simon until he was begging him, writhing, squeezing his face between his thighs. He go at it for hours.

He wouldn’t keep shoving his cock head into Simon’s cunt to the point where it was burning. He’d make sure Simon was gushing pre before lubing himself up, and he’d play with Simon’s clit. Tease him with his tip, pushing it between his folds, and running it back over his mons. Just making a mess.

Then he’d lean over, whisper sweet things in his ear as he was pushing in.

“You’re doing so well for me. Such a sweet boy.”

“So soft. I can’t stand the way you feel under my hands. It’s too good.”

“I wish you could see the way you’re taking me. Splitting open on my cock, panting so hard, and I haven’t even gotten all of it in.”

“I love the way you clench when I play with your clit. Pushing yourself on my cock to take the rest of it. So greedy.”

“Such a good boy for me. Only for me. Say it, sweet thing. You’re mine, aren’t you? Yeah?”

Simon fucked himself down on his dildo as he rubbed his clit, eyes shut, mouth open, grinding until it pushed up against his front wall, lighting up stars in his eyes.

“That’s it. Good boy. Of course you needed something to grind up against. Be sweet for me and cum, using me as a toy to get off.”

Simon moaned painfully as he orgasmed, sitting on the full length of his dildo as he slumped down on his shoulders and knees. He grimaced as he dragged his fingers over his clit to feel the lingering shock of his orgasm. Like the masochist he was, he kept rubbing until he was jerking away from his own touch.

Sliding until he was belly down on the bed, he pressed his forehead into the sheets as he took deep breaths. Dildo abandoned behind him, covered in lube and his own excrements.

All his time was becoming occupied with obsessing over this man, over this Scottish devil who teased him and praised him. He should feel sick for doing such ludicrous acts.

But he couldn’t bring himself to take the shame he was being handed.

The photo was left without another word. No acknowledgment that it ever happened. Come the night of the queer event, and Simon was sitting in his seat with a drink in hand. He knew Johnny would come, because he’d asked, practically begged him for an answer, and he was jittery with nerves.

He’d jerked off more times than necessary to Johnny’s photo, a teasing non-nude photo, the prerequisite of promised sex. There would be no slowing down when Simon got his hands on that man. He’d tear him apart in the bathroom stall if he had to.

Simon couldn’t see the front door so he was left to wonder if Johnny was really coming. Would he come? Would he treat Simon differently? Would he cling to Simon, keep him under his arm, and drag him this way and that way all night? Or would he just take Simon to some quiet spot and finish what he was promised?

Simon was lost in thought as a crowd was closing in on the other side of the bar. He looked up from his drink.

From across the bar, the low LED lights underneath painted the high points of Johnny’s face in red, like some lucrative predator. He kept his eyes on Simon, making sure his prey didn’t run off before he could sink his teeth in.

The air felt electric, and Simon was buzzing again.

All he could think about was the photo, and the desperate ache of Simon’s thighs every night he rode his poor dildo.

Johnny rounded the bar, and Simon tried to brace his dignity before Johnny yanked it out from under his feet. His hand slid along the back of Simon’s shoulders before it wrapped around his waist, his chest pressed to his spine, cheek to Simon’s neck. The hug was as intimate as fucking was, but it was careful, stomping the line between friends and fuck buddies.

“Hel-lo sailor.” Johnny purred against the side of Simon’s face, giving a chaste kiss to his cheek before pulling himself aside. Not far enough to give Simon space, but enough to press his chest to Simon’s arm, facing him while standing between the bar stools. “You’re here early.”

“Spying on me?”

“No.” Johnny trailed off with a seductive smirk, sliding into the seat beside Simon, still facing him. His thighs bracketing Simon’s body. “What’re you drinking?”

“Vodka.”

“In a weekday?” Johnny guffawed. “I didn’t know you were the type.”

“There’s a lot you don’t know about me.”

Johnny smiled, leaning in on the back of Simon’s chair. “Oh yeah? Care to share?” He hovered in Simon’s space, and he was just choking on his spit.

Simon watched him peer at his lips, and back up to his eyes. “Got a light?”

Johnny was all hands and tongue and teeth. His body was plush up against Simon’s, keeping him pinned up against some stranger’s car in the dark of the parking lot.

Simon let his head tip back against the roof of the car as Johnny bit all along his throat, mouthing and nipping along his collar. Simon gasped as Johnny managed to get a thigh between his legs, searching until he got the right angle and—

Simon whined out loudly, like a kicked puppy, and clenched his mouth shut when Johnny pressed down on him.

“Feels that good, huh?” Johnny pressed his smiling lips to Simon’s cheek, holding the other side of his face. “Go on, ride it like last time.”

Simon’s face was hot red. He was driven by carnal desire and nothing more. He couldn’t explain why his thoughts left him. All he knew was how to listen.

And grind he did.

Simon gripped the back of Johnny’s neck, pressing his cheek to his bicep, and grinding his clothed cunt until he felt raw. Until his hips were giving desperate humps, meeting Johnny’s hips before bumping the side of the car.

Johnny’s hands were soothing down his back, over his hips, guiding him, and slipping into his back pockets to cup his ass. He found amusement in Simon’s empty headed lust.

His lips pressed up against Simon’s ear. “Do you want my help?” He hummed, crushing Simon’s body to the cool glass of the car again. He collected Simon’s face in his hands, looking into his eyes. “You want my hands?”

Simon panted over his wet mouth, clarifying finding him in moments of need. “Yes.”

“Yeah?” Johnny smiled, “Unbuckle your pants for me.”

Simon gulped, licking his lips, and let his hands fist in Johnny’s shirt at his sides. “Not here.”

Johnny glanced around, and shoved his hand in his pocket between them to find his car keys. He unlocked his car, underneath Simon, and reached for the handle. “Inside.”

They shuffled into the small backseat, bumping into each other within the confined space, and Simon ended up straddling over Johnny’s lap.

“I think I liked outside better.” Johnny joked, kissing Simon into silence. His hands smoothed along his thighs, squeezing his ass. “But this is fine too.”

Simon kissed down Johnny’s throat, biting his neck as he did, and kissed his collar before there was a hand in his hair bringing him up again.

“I like kissing you.” Johnny said.

“Then stop talking.”

Johnny smiled, one hand dragging underneath Simon’s shirt. “But I want to have my mouth on other parts of you.”

Simon gave a high sigh when Johnny kissed him again. Simon ran his hands down Johnny’s chest to his stomach. Teasing at his belly, feeling his happy trail, and waistband.

Johnny gazed up at him with soft eyes, “You can unbuckle my pants if you’d like.” He whispered.

“Why would I want to do that?” Simon teased.

“Maybe you’re curious.”

Simon scoffed. “Curious?”

“Because I didn’t send you the photo I wanted to the other night.”

Simon felt hot, maybe it was because the air in the car was growing thicker or because Johnny was a literal heater under him.

“You never text me back.” Johnny smirked.

“What was I supposed to say?” Simon huffed.

“A compliment would have been nice.”

“You come off as cocky, you know that?”

Johnny hummed as he leaned in to kiss Simon’s mouth again, reaching between them to unbutton his own pants. The sound of his zipper slipping down made both men look down between them. Johnny leaned back in his seat. “You next.”

Simon hesitated. Sat in the lap of a very hungry beast, he hated to steal its dinner. “There’s something I have to say first.”

“Okay.” Johnny sat closer, putting his hands on Simon’s hips.

Before Johnny’s mouth could silence him, he shouted into the hot silence. “I’m trans!”

Both men stared at each other at the intrusive utterance.

Simon felt his heart suddenly shifting to blare in his ears when Johnny stared up at him. He felt like his breath was too loud, panting too heavy, holding Johnny too softly.

“Okay.” Johnny said plainly. And his hands began petting Simon again, smoothing up and down his waist. “Do you want me to stop?”

Simon didn’t even answer. He was launched by the reassuring question, sinking his mouth into Johnny’s again. He unbuttoned his pants, desperately trying to shove them lower so he could get his underwear down enough.

The dripping smell of his hot cunt filled the space, making Johnny seem less interested than he was.

Simon’s hands were collecting one of Johnny’s off his hip, bringing it to his stomach, dragging downward to his thighs. He panted over Johnny’s mouth as he took his sweet time to Simon’s cunt.

He had a teasing twinkle in his eyes when he parted his fingers, deliberately touching Simon’s pubic hair and outer labia instead of his warmer tip.

Simon grit his teeth, gripping Johnny’s wrist. “Just fucking do it already.” He growled.

“I can’t help it. I like the way you look.”

And Simon must’ve looked like a freak; pants pulled down under his cunt, half way sitting in Johnny’s lap, half straining his thighs as he arched his ass back between the seats. His head bumping the ceiling, hands clutched Johnny’s body like some soul eating creature.

Simon relished the moment Johnny’s two fingers were closing around his swollen tip, gently tugging and stroking him between his fingers. Simon fucked into hand, panting and shaking as he held himself up.

Johnny clutched the bottom of his jaw, making him look into his eyes as he played with his tip. “Look at you. Sweet—sweet boy. You’re so big in my hands. Practically drooling into my palm.”

Simon tried to tuck his face down but Johnny kept him firm.

“You’ve been like this all night?” He pulled Simon’s face in, ghosting his tongue along his bottom lip. “Poor thing. Were you thinking about the photo? Would you like to know what got me hot that night?”

Simon whined as Johnny cupped him, nulling his chances of grinding against his palm.

Johnny mouthed in his ear. “I was thinking about eating you out, all night. And I couldn’t stop thinking about you absolutely loving it.”

Simon began moaning desperately, muffling it into Johnny’s shoulder as Johnny rubbed his palm against Simon’s clit. His fingers rubbing past his hole, making an absolute mess of him. He rocked his hips against Johnny’s every stroke, breath getting higher and higher.

“There you go. Make a mess of me, sweet thing.” Johnny held the back of Simon’s head, keeping his lips on his cheek. “I’ll suck you off dry and then maybe you can fuck me.”

Simon was seeing black spots in his vision as his eyes were rolling back. He clutched to Johnny’s wrist as he whined in agony, orgasming the hardest he has alone, and still forcing himself to grind against Johnny’s stagnant hand until he was crying from overstimulation.

He felt his cunt throbbing, his head pounding, and—Johnny’s soft hand on his thigh. He soothed his hand up to his hip, and down to where his jeans cut off access. Then up again. He didn’t usher Simon along, didn’t redirect him to a more comfortable spot yet, just soaking in the blissful moment.

Simon moved first. Sitting his bare ass on the backseat, his knees resting in Johnny’s lap, head against the glass of the door. He shut his eyes, parched again. His pants were still tangled around his thighs.

Johnny squeezed his calves softly.

Watching him, Johnny made no effort to get Simon out of his car. He was quite content with squeezing up and down Simon’s calves, rubbing his thumb into each ankle, and up to his thighs. He gave him a soft look before smiling, his thumb stroking the skin of his thigh underneath.

“Why do you do that?” Simon asked.

“Do what?”

“Touch me.”

“I like to.”

“You’re always touching me.”

“I like to.”

“Why?”

Johnny shrugged. “You’re attractive. Though your humor is really dry.”

“Alright.” Simon began tugging his pants up. “Times up. I won’t be insulted by you.”

Johnny laughed, leaning over to trap Simon against the door with a kiss. He smiled down at him, “I like you.”

Simon glanced between his eyes with bewilderment. “You don’t know me.”

“I want to.”

Simon shook his head softly. For a man who just got a handjob, he really was something else. Maybe he was always this dumb, or maybe it was just the endorphins. Johnny liked that.

“I’m a really good cook.” Johnny insisted.

“I bet you’re a lousy cook.”

“Let me cook for you, and we’ll see.”

“What if it’s a flop?”

“Then we stick to handjobs in parking lots.” Johnny stated.

“I’m not doing this in your backseat again.”

“Fine.”

“Fine.”

Johnny stared down at Simon, smile slowly growing more and more on his face.

“You’re unattractive when you smile.” Simon lied.

“You’re attractive when you cum. I want to see you do it again.”

next chapter?? maybe??

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[robo-writing]

Ok I don't know anything about Cod but am curious to know who of your faves is most likely to lovingly hold you on a chokehold and do they prefer to use their biceps or thighs to do so!

Yes this is the same anon who asked about chokehold bicep Bi-Han many moons ago and I do apologize for my fixation on muscular men flexing their muscles on reader 🙏 love your writing btw!

I hope you know anon that I ALSO have a fixation on muscular men flexing their muscles on reader (I think I wrote something similar for Cassidy from ow a while back) so I happily invite you to return to my inbox. That being said—

Johnny 100000% would. He loves it when you look at him, the guy has a serious peacock-like attitude where he’ll walk around in wife beaters and sleeveless shirts as an excuse to flex around you. He knows you love his body, but even better is the satisfaction of knowing he can grab your attention so reliably. If there is anything he loves, it’s your eyes on him.

He realizes just how badly you love his muscles when you ask him if he can put you in a chokehold. The question makes his eyebrow raise a bit before a smile sweet as sin spreads across his face.

“So, wanna get nice and personal?” And before you can take back what you said he spreads his meaty thighs nice and wide, pats the corded muscle of them and invites you close.

“Come on then, time’s wasting.”

Which is how you ended up with your head trapped between his elbow, his deep Scottish voice tickling your ear with each sound. He hasn’t even fucked you yet, just let his cock rub between your thighs, your pussy leaving an embarrassingly large wet spot right on the front of his pants.

“There ye go, nice and gentle,” he coos, just barely rocking himself to your rhythm. “We’re not in a rush, just sit back and enjoy yerself.”

He squeezes his arm just a bit harder and you swear you see stars, the lack of oxygen making your head light. A second, another, a third passes when he lightens his hold on your neck and you’re finally given a reprieve, only for him to repeat it all over again.

“Should fuckin’ see yerself, cute hips trying to bounce on what isn’t there,” he groans, holding your legs wider so he can slide his cock against your clothed sex. “Want me inside yet? Want me to choke ye while I make ye cum?”

Your body burns with exhaustion, hips bucking into the air with each word. You frantically nod your head as much as you can, and in response Johnny makes you a deal.

“Go on then doll, cum for me just like this and I’ll make sure to fuck ye just how ye need it.”

That’s all it took to having you chasing your release, nails leaving crescents against the skin of his strong forearm. Your breath hitches, a pathetic whine leaving your lips, a sloppy mess of his name as you cum.

His praise is nothing short of worship, fingers dipping underneath your pants to touch your sensitive pussy for the first time, astonished at the slick that coats his fingers with each swipe.

“Fuck me, you really did it…” he says amazed, then quickly carries you to the bed. “You’re coming like that at least twice on my cock before I even think about letting you out of the house.”

[brian-in-finance]

Hi Brian, I know you remember everything and you can find any posts known to Tumblr. I clearly remember that SH signed a 2 year contract with Barbour. Do you remember? And if so, can you find any posts supporting the 2 year contract? All the drama surrounding his work with Barbour is OTT. Thanks!

Thanks for the message Anon. 🗓️ July 2016… seems like only seven-and-a-half years ago…

Yes, I remember our excitement about Sam’s new gig with Barbour. The man wore those clothes so well. And who could forget Connie the wee dog?

Photo: Barbour

At the time, there was fair mention of a two-year contract.

Influencer Intelligence

Just Jared

MR

Fashion Insight

Drapers

Celebrity Café

Scotland Now

One would think a two-year deal that began in July 2016 would be finished by end-of-summer 2018… but wait… there was more. For example:

Photo: Barbour (published in British GQ Digital 1 March 2019)

Photo: Barbour (published in Town & Country 18 March 2019)

Why did we see Barbour Sam beyond the two years? Contracts get extended. Informal handshake after the formal two-year deal expired? Photos published later, but shot earlier? Two years applied to his actual work, not publication of the work? 🤷🏻‍♂️

Whatever the reason for the extension, your memory serves you well, Anon. It was a two-year deal.

Barbour introduced Sam’s Spring Summer 2019 Signature Collection on 15 March.

Remember… quintessentially Barbour with a distinct influence from the Scottish countryside, this season’s Sam Heughan Signature collaboration mixes a smart aesthetic with the actor’s Scottish roots, and introduces womenswear into the collection. — Barbour

[olderthannetfic]

I don't know beans about traditional Chinese clothing and I'm not in any fandom where characters were hanfu, but I'm finding the conversation about it really interesting by analogy to something I am familiar with, Highland dress. I wear a kilt maybe about once a week, and the historical and cultural significance is important to me.

The full outfit one traditionally wears with a kilt has a gazillion pieces, and each pice has at least two names, was probably invented a few hundred years later than you think it was, and almost certainly is at the center of at least one political issue in the 18th or 19th century.

The thing you think of as a kilt is also called a small kilt, or a philabeg (a loan word from Gaelic, also spelled filibeg or phillibeg), and is technically half of the great kilt (aka philamor, also with spelling variations). It may or may not have been invented by an Englishman.

The Jacobite shirt is a recent invention. The wide belt with a huge buckle comes from military dress. Tartan is technically the name of the cloth, and a plaid is a sort of mini cloak you wear on your shoulder. Kilt pins only go through the top layer of fabric and don't pin the kilt together, and are a Victorian invention. Tartan patterns only gained close and official identities with specific clans or families or groups in the Victorian era. Some modern Tartans are under copyright and you need permission from the designer to weave or sell them, others are public domain and literally anyone can wear them, despite affiliation.

I could go on....

Or you can wear a kilt with stompy goth boots and a band tshirt, or with hiking boots and a polo shirt, that's fine too (and how I wear mine, more often than not).

It's not hard for me to see that hanfu is just as complex and has just as much historical and cultural significance as the traditional cultural clothing I'm more familiar with, and getting it wrong in a fic would look just as silly.

But you don't have to actually do this much research and know everything I know about Scottish history to write a character who wears a kilt, whether it's in a historical, present day, or fantasy setting.

You probably want to have an OK grasp of what Highland dress means to your character and why they wear it, and you want to acutally know what a kilt even is in the first place (it's a little more specific than just a skirt), but that's all you really need.

If a Chinese fanfic author wanted to write Outlander fic, and didn't want to do the in depth research to get the clothing terminology exactly right for the time period, that's fine. Just put the pleats in back and call it a kilt instead of a skirt and that's good enough.

-- Same anon who just sent the ask about Highland dress. I can see where the "it's not a robe" anons are coming from. To me, the word "robe" covers a huge variety of unrelated garments, including bathrobes and wizard robes and hanfu and kimono and togas and the sack-like things graduates wear and the things Medieval European kings wear. But if someone called a great kilt a robe, I think I'd have a fit. Yes, just like the other examples, it's a large flowing piece of cloth worn around the body in a certain style, but it's more specific than that. I most likely feel this way because I'm more familiar with great kilts than I am with the other examples. The others are all just different kinds of robes to me, but a great kilt is something specific that I know a lot about. If you described a great kilt to someone who didn't know anything about it as a type of robe, I would consider that accurate, but if you said of an Outlander character "he put on his robe", I would be like "excuse me???? that's a great kilt". That's probably how the "hanfu ≠ robe" anons are thinking.

For me, as a novelist, the calculation is simple:

When I'm writing in third person limited (as I usually do), how would the character be thinking about this clothing? That's what the argument boils down to.

On one side, we have "This word is more Chinese, so it feels more like it's honoring that these are Chinese canons".

On the other side, we have the equivalent of "Your Scottish guy from 1350 is not going around thinking 'He was clad in Scottish dress' about his bros who are just wearing normal clothing."

--

No one is confused about the two sides of the argument. They just disagree about whether 'hanfu' is anachronistic and exoticizing.

[blood-feathers]

The journal flips open, as if a phantom hand has gone to read it.

(You flip through the journal, reading through the spy's notes.)

[transcription below]

Notes from Reese's machine

----------------------------------

Went through machine logs:

Transcripts accurately translate foreign languages

Gabe sucks at keeping secrets as always

Machine takes snapshots from camera instead of recording video (saves storage?)

"Askers" are pushy

Machine creates solid holograms to represent some askers---capable of physically interacting for a moment.

Askers capable of low-level magic---illusions??? Still physical like the "avatars". Imitates taste? Gabe at e a bag of seeds from an asker/didn't note odd taste

Gabe speaks Latin too. Add to list later.

Machine transcribes sensory details other than auditory---i.e. texture

Time passes faster in their reality, unknown how much.

Some askers have name or icon attached to question, others listed as "anonymous"

Machine lists details it should not be aware of in transcripts (self-consciousness, other team) Ask Reese about this

Gabe understands birds? Fucking polyglot

"Ship"=relationship Stupid slang

Gabe/Ray are still sickeningly in love

Askers are very affectionate

"Bushman" = Sniper Aussie slang

They like men in dresses???

Askers like to pick on Gabriel

High emotion interferes with the camera?

Ask for definition of:

Fandom Tumblr Website Internet Feed Baldur's Gate 3

Gabe suspects my fear of doctors

Animals can be askers?

Machine generated correct context to a vague answer---an image of a dog mauling a bird

Gabe fears being eaten---trauma from the mauling?

"Magic anons" are capable of restraining us with manifestations

"Their" RED team:

Scout -- Jeremy

Loud, obnoxious New Yorker Bostonian Possible radiation poisoning from irradiated drink Spy's son, implied drama

Demoman -- Tavish <Finnegan> DeGroot

Scottish alcoholic cyclops Functional while drunk Haunted sword? Chemist Produces alcohol in his body?

Heavy -- Mikhail

Giant russian man Obsessed with gun, "Natasha" "Sasha"

Medic -- (Fritz) Ludwig (?)

Sadistic tendencies ("Funny") Lost medical license Bones their heavy (Implied)

Sniper -- <Michael/Mickey> Mundee Mundee y

Kidney problems---implied jarate pills "Professional", reserved Australian (born NZ)

Spy -- no known name

French cutthroat Apparently has no concept of work clothes Same guy from Vegas???

Engineer -- Dell Conagher

Radigan's grandson? 11 degrees Nice until paid not to be (how familiar) Shortest, not specified how short Trustworthy

Pyro (No specified name)

Subject of the "pyrovision" experiment Identity unknown Never removes suit

Soldier -- "Jane Doe"

They took a man that was too mentally unfit for the trenches and gave him a rocket launcher Fixation on raccoons (don't let meet Mark) Uses a shovel as a bludgeoning tool Friends with their demoman Knows a wizard (Same wizard?)

Askers prone to saying cryptic shit without elaborating

I think they enjoy schadenfreude a troubling amount---turn it off if they get rowdy

We're all fiction to them, may lead to crueler "asks"

[asktaskforce141]

okay, next random question because i can’t sleep! is there any aesthetic style of clothing that the 141 and Kortac would adore seeing their partner in? (like dark academia, indie, etc.) Admin you too!!💗

-🗝️

I'd be rather intrigued (and more than a little interested) if my partner tried out traditional Scottish clothing at least once... 👀 Oh and that dark academia style is cute too, key anon...

- your friendly neighborhood Scotsman 🧼

My partner could wear whatever they wanted, as long as they're happy, I'm happy. 💙

- 141's resident Ghost 💀

You didn't hear this from me, but I secretly have a soft spot for the goth girls. They know what's up... 😏

- Keegan "The P is Silent" Russ 😎

Mein Schatz could wear a paper bag, as far as I'm concerned, and I'd still find them adorable. 🫶🏻 Although this 'dark academic' aesthetic you speak of, does pique my interest.

- König 🇦🇹

I like my men the way I like my tea: strong and dressed darkly. 😏 Really big fan of the all-black aesthetic...

-Admin 🥀

[lopsided-whiskey-grin]

hi i just read your ghost/soap flashbang fic and I LOVED IT thanks for sharing!! you said we could suggest things and i'd love to see it written by you: a fic set at the first time soap saw ghost shirtless, and lost his SHIT about ghost's pecs. he goes bonkers about them honkers, yk?

Anon, I wanna personally thank you for this prompt bc my mind went wild with the possibilities lmao plus picturing Soap going absolutely feral for Ghost's knockers blessed my entire life. Hope you enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it! ( ˘³˘)♡

***************************

"On your feet, MacTavish. We're going to the gym."

Soap paused the game he'd been playing and pulled up one side of his headphones. He looked over at Ghost standing beside the couch. "You what?"

Ghost was zipping up a black hoodie over a black Under Armour shirt stretched across his broad chest. He was wearing dark gray sweats and a worn-in pair of trainers, all-in-all looking quite delicious. Soap swallowed hard. 

"I said I'm getting you out of this fucking house, Johnny. You've been holed up in 'ere for weeks." He put on his skull jaw face mask that covered his nose and chin.

Soap sat back against the couch. He turned his attention to the TV. "Nah, I'm good." 

After Chicago, he and Ghost had gotten a flat in London and were laying low, waiting until Laswell instructed them on their next move against Makarov. Dealing with Las Almas and Hassan had left him exhausted, mentally and physically and he told himself he only needed a break for just a few days to recuperate. But then a few days had turned into longer than that, with Soap barely ever leaving the apartment for the last two and a half weeks. He couldn't seem to get out of the rut he found himself in. 

Ghost shook his head. "I wasn't asking," he said. 

He grabbed Soap up off the couch none too gently and all but shoved him toward his bedroom, completely ignoring the string of Scottish curses Soap lobbed at him along the way. 

"You have five minutes to get dressed, Sergeant or I'm throwing you over my shoulder and carrying you there in whatever you've got on right now." 

Soap turned at the threshold of his door, hand on the doorknob. "Is that a promise L.t?" he asked with a cheeky grin tugging up the side of his mouth. 

Ghost growled and started toward him, one hand balled in a fist. Soap laughed and shut the door. 

He made it back out of the room by Ghost's five minute deadline, dressed in his workout clothes, but still not happy about being forced out of the house. He voiced as much to Ghost their entire ten minute walk to the gym. Ghost only sighed.

For as much griping as he did though, once he was actually at the gym he actually kind of enjoyed himself. He logged three miles on the treadmill, did a few 100 kilo deadlift reps, and spent some time with the battle rope. It felt good to be working his body, to be working up a sweat.

He caught Ghost's eye a couple times as they moved around each other to the different machines and each time felt his heart rate speed up. He knew it had nothing to do with the exercises. Spending the last two weeks in that small flat with Ghost in such close quarters was almost agonizing, seeing but not touching — not knowing if Ghost wished he could touch him too. 

After about an hour and a half, drenched in perspiration and a little sore but in a good way, he started making his way to the locker room, looking forward to a hot shower to soothe his muscles. He was halfway across the room when Ghost called his name.

"Johnny, come spot me. I'm almost done." 

Soap wandered over to where Ghost was laying back on the weight bench, his hands already on the bar over his head. Soap dutifully braced his legs apart and held his hands at the ready even though Ghost lifted the weights easily. He let his eyes roam over Ghost's body as he went through his reps, hungrily drinking in the sight of Ghost's massively broad chest flexing with each pump. He felt his cock jump in his gym shorts and quickly looked down to Ghost's face to see if he had noticed. 

Ghost was staring straight up at him. Of course he fucking was. 

Two bright spots of red bloomed on his cheeks and he swiftly looked away. "That's four," he said. His voice was a little hoarse and he coughed to cover it up. 

Ghost racked the weights with Soap's help and he sat up, shaking his hands out. "Thanks, mate." 

"Anytime," Soap replied with a half-hearted smile. Without waiting for Ghost to say anything else, he made a bee-line toward the locker room, grabbing a bottle of water from the vending machine in the hall on his way. 

Soap cracked open the bottle and drank down half of it before he even sat on the bench next to his locker. Shit. Even after everything they'd been through in Mexico and Chicago, Soap still had a hard time showing Ghost how he felt about him — an impossible time, in fact. Fucking Christ, why was it so difficult to just say "Hey Ghost, I think you're hot as hell and I'd love to fuck your brains out one of these lovely afternoons if you're not too busy."?

Soap snorted out a soft laugh and took another pull of water. Yeah, that'd go over swimmingly. 

The locker room door opening shook him from his thoughts and he looked over in time to see Ghost stalking into the room. His presence was so commanding that Soap couldn't help but stare. 

Ghost went to his locker that was directly across from where Soap sat, turning his back to him to dig inside it. "Thanks for coming with me today, Johnny." 

Soap shrugged, trying to be nonchalant but failing miserably. "I didn't really have a choice, did I?" 

Ghost chuckled. "I think it was good for you," he replied gruffly, still not facing Soap. He unzipped his hoodie and tossed it in his duffle bag. Then pulled his t-shirt off. 

Soap's gaze roamed over the large swatch of the bare skin of Ghost's back; it was the first time he'd seen him without a shirt on. Scars marred the flesh, some old and faded, others obtained more recently, but all of them utterly fascinating. And there was a small tattoo on his left shoulder, he noticed. Soap couldn't quite make it out. He squinted, trying to bring it into better focus. 

But before he could try to read it, Ghost turned around to face him. Soap was in the middle of taking a sip of water when his brain short-circuited completely. He sputtered and choked while Ghost looked on with his shirt held loosely in his hands. 

Soap's eyes were wide as fucking saucers as he took in the sight before him. It wasn't just Ghost's broad-as-a-barrel chest that floored him. It was his. Fucking. Pecs. They were massive. How he hid them under his shirt everyday without ripping it from seam to seam was a mystery to Soap.

 They looked so fucking lusciously squeezable. But firm at the same time, somehow? Ghost's nipples were dusky pink and hardened into little pebbles from the cool air of the room. And it all made Soap's jaw drop — quite unattractively in all honesty. 

Closing his gaping mouth with a click, Soap slowly set his water bottle at his side with a shaky hand. He rose on unsteady legs and walked around the bench between them, entranced.

"Ghost, I — I uh, what the…" The words fell off without Soap even registering that he'd quit talking. 

He stopped before Ghost, unable to look him in the eyes. A kink Soap didn't even know he even fucking had was drawing all of his available attention straight to Ghost's chest. He needed to touch, needed to feel, needed to bury his face right fucking there. 

He reached a trembling hand up, then hesitated with his fingertips hovering just above Ghost's skin. Ghost's dark gaze followed his movements closely, his eyes wide. It sounded like Ghost himself was out of breath but Soap wasn't sure — his brain was going fucking haywire and he couldn't concentrate. 

 Looking up at Ghost, he rasped, "Can I?"

Ghost seemed surprised by the question, but nodded. Soap released a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding. He brought both hands up, laying his palms flat on Ghost's massive pecs.

"Sweet screaming Jesus," he whispered reverently, kneading the muscles. 

Ghost groaned and Soap's cock throbbed in response. He bent forward and took one of those perfect nipples into his mouth. The taste of sweat and the promise of a long night of fucking bloomed across his tongue. Ghost jerked at the contact. 

"Fuck, Johnny. If I had known you'd be so turned on by my tits, I'd have taken my shirt off in front of you weeks ago." 

Soap drew Ghost's nipple between his teeth, biting down gently. Ghost hissed and grabbed onto Soap's hips. "If I had known you were hiding these fucking knockers under your clothes this whole time, I'd have ripped your shirt off myself," he murmured around Ghost's nipple still in his mouth, "Bloody hell, Ghost."

A chuckle rumbled through Ghost's chest. 

"You realize I'm not going let you wear a stitch of clothing around the flat now, right?" He punctuated the words with rough squeezes of his hands. 

"That so?" Ghost rasped behind his mask, sounding amused. 

Before Soap could reply or say anything further, though, the locker room door opened. Soap backed off immediately, but Ghost held him in place with his hands still on Soap's hips. 

The man who had interrupted them backed out the door slowly under Ghost's intense glare. When they were alone again, Soap massaged Ghost's chest once more. He canted his head up to meet Ghost's gaze. 

"Shall we continue this conversation back at home, Johnny?" Ghost asked. He tugged Soap's hips forward until they were flush against each other. 

Soap was pretty sure Ghost already knew the answer to that. "Oh, hell yes." 

[bitchin-beskar]

please elaborate on the werewolf!soap there isn’t enough out there i am scrounging for crumbs

I can absolutely elaborate on werewolf!soap!! I will admit, I've not spent a lot of time thinking about it, but there's no better time to start!!

anon is referencing this post here, btw (also on my masterlist)

Ok so like I said, werewolf!soap is 110% little more than a puppy when he's not on a mission. His energy is through the fucking roof, he's constantly bouncing around between team members (cause they're his pack, even if he'd rather die before he tells them that for fear of rejection) and curling up against whoever'll let him when he wants cuddles or to fall asleep with the scent of HOMESAFEPACK in his nose.

His sense of smell is also impeccable so not only can he tell when you're horny and needy, he can also tell when others are mad, or sad, or happy, or upset and needing comfort, or angry and needing space. Slowly the team realizes just how much their emotions are on display through the pheromones that Soap can smell, so they try to not lose themselves in them, because too much can give Soap a headache.

I also think that he struggles sometimes with the sensation of clothes on his skin. They feel constricting, and the fabric always feels coarse and rough on his skin, so when he's alone, or even just at the base, he prefers to walk around in just a pair of shorts, basically the absolute maximum he can get away with shedding of his clothes before Price starts to give him The Look™ and he has to slink off to cover up more.

Sometimes, when the stimuli can get too much, and his brain feels like it's overheating, he'll shift to his full wolf form where he doesn't have to think quite so much, and he can just... do wolf/dog things? The rest of the 141 have figured out that when a wolf roughly the size of a truck comes wandering over, head low and ears down that Soap is looking for some kind of distraction or way to not think quite so much, which often leads to long games of fetch, or nice belly rubs, or tug o' war with giant chains bolted to the ground because let's be honest, he'd swing anybody around if they tried to play tug o' war with him in wolf form.

(IF WE WANNA GET NSFW... TW UNPROTECTED SEX/BREEDING KINK/SCENT KINK)

Like I said before, Soap absolutely has a thing of you with his scent. You learn very quickly that wearing his clothes is pretty much a guaranteed way to get fucked. It hits that primal part of his brain that is more instinct than critical thought, and he goes damn near insane.

When the two of you start having sex and you go over protection and shit, you're on the pill and he wears a condom, but further down the line, when you're more settled in a relationship and you've talked about kids and neither of you are opposed to the idea, you start having sex without the condom, even though your still on the pill.

And the first time he comes inside??? God it makes him go absolutely feral. The scent of him mixing with you alone would be enough to clear his head of all higher thought, but actually seeing his come leaking out of you triggers his desire for you to near insane levels. The next time, he accidentally lets slip something about what if he got you pregnant? And when you clench, and he realizes that you're into it just as much as he is, it finds its way into every coupling after that.

His voice, that thick scottish brogue whining in your ear about how he wants to fuck you full, wants to breed you nice and good, wants his come pumped so deep you'll feel him inside you for days, it drives you just as crazy as you wearing his clothes drives him.

[wetcatspellcaster]

Do you have any advice on how to craft pretty descriptions? I find myself loving how pieces still stuck in your teeth is written and being obsessed with just how vivid your descriptions paint it

hi anon! thank you for the compliment, I really appreciate it! I don't consider description to be a particular strength of mine so I'm very flattered that people have found something to enjoy in my work, more than anything :D

I'll do my best to answer your question!

How I approach descriptions! - under the cut!

I tend to only go into extreme detail for essential things. Often, unless a setting is important, a few details (the colour, the vibes, the size) are all that are needed for then the reader's imagination to fill in the rest. This makes an allowance for you to go ham on what is important, and in turn also signals to the reader what should be important to them. If you say the room is white but then spend a paragraph describing the person in it, they know the person is what is important, not the room. Think of description as a way of signposting and determining focus.

Describing around something, or using description to avoid focusing on the action, can sometimes perform the inverse of this - why is the character focusing so intently on this meaningless detail, rather than the matter at hand? Are they, mayhaps, avoiding something in the room? This tip bought to you by Rosalie, the 2nd most unreliable narrator after Astarion.

You want a mixture of short sentences and complex sentences, so that the description doesn't interrupt the pacing of the wider scene. Sometimes, you just need to state something simple, e.g. 'the room was blue' and then that avoids a paragraph describing the room as blue that interrupts the action. Pieces is a weird fic for this bc there are whole chapters that are just exploration, so I had to be descriptive to generate pace, when often all it does is undercut it. But in scenes where shit is actually happening, I can just say "they were in an office" and that's basically all that's the description that is needed. What's more important is they're about to fuck in that office.

Be careful of too many overextended metaphors or similes. Everyone has their bandwidth and patience for purple prose. In my experience, less is more. I'm honestly sure my writing is purple prose, for some people, and this is me being restrained. So basically, save your metaphors for when they really matter. Use one per thing you're describing, at most (less, when also using the rule above).

Alternatively, you can make a simile into an understated metaphor without using many words. Instead of 'the ceiling looked like ribs', 'Rosalie walked down a corridor feeling like she was being swallowed into the belly of a dragon' I can just say 'the ribs of the ceiling' and 'they were led into the bowels of the mansion". Single words can create an image, without being florid or labouring the point.

Descriptions tend to circulate around the visual - a colour, a pattern, a facial expression, the beauty of a space, the visible contents of a room, etc. (we all love knowing what pretty clothes our blorbo is wearing). but descriptions that focus on sensation are also my go-to. Yeah, use all the five senses for variety, etc., but stating how the space/person/item makes the person feel tailors the experience of the setting to that character, specifically, and makes the reader more immersed in their perspective.

Use things you yourself have experienced. This tip bought to you by: Rosalie getting knocked unconscious by Wish, after her author had just been under general anaesthetic for the first time! Rosalie getting panic attacks, after her author experienced somatic symptoms of anxiety! Rosalie going to live by the sea, after her author went on holiday to the Scottish Coast! I am one of those neurodivergent people who catalogues a feeling as I'm feeling it - you don't have to be like that. But if you use stuff you or someone close to you has personal experience of, it feels realer - what do you experience, when you feel fear? What's a landscape or setting you remember vividly? etc.

If it lies outside your experience or expertise... read. Read extensively, and in the genres you like or want to emulate. I read a lot, I highlight and annotate books I read, underlining descriptions I enjoyed, ESPECIALLY on kindle so I can find them later. It will teach you fun and unusual descriptions... it will also teach you the established shorthands. If you've never had a panic attack, how are panic attacks signalled in fiction? Using a trope is so totally valid, and often helpful for getting the reader on the same page as you. It's ok if you're using a cliché, if the cliché serves you.

Finally... be a little silly with it! Take risks! Use weird descriptors. Use odd metaphors. Use your description to make jokes, so it's not just a boring stage direction! Description can feel dull sometimes, bc people don't use it to do anything except set the scene. If your description is doing other things - being funny, telling the reader something about the pov character's voice or how their mind works, creating an odd image that sticks in the person's brain - this makes it more enjoyable to read. In these cases, not only is it just providing cues for the reader to understand where the character is or what they're doing, it contributes to the overall experience of the story!

Hope any of that helps lmao. x

[specialagentlokitty]

Saul silva/farah x teen!reader - never lost hope

Do you want to write a part two of never lost hope? Would like to see R in Alfea. :) - Anon💜

Part two:

Alfea was different to way the least, very different to the school you were so used to, it was bigger, different halves of the school for different things.

You had been here a few weeks, and Saul and Farah were still trying to figure out if you were a fairy or not without directly asking you.

Sitting in her office, you ran your hand over Bodi’s head as you looked at her.

“So.. is this meant to be like some bonding thing?” You asked.

“No, we’re just trying to figure out who’s side of the school you should be in.” Saul chuckled.

You looked at him and looked back down and Bodi.

“I’d much rather just go to my old school..”

“Do you not like it here?” Farah asked worried.

They knew you were having a hard time settling in, you stayed with them in their dorm, having a room to yourself.

But they knew you found it hard to talk to the other students, engage with them and find things to do.

You sighed, looking at your mum.

“Look, I get y’all are happy to have found me and all, but I’m just.. I’m so used to my life how it was. And I get I agreed to come here, but this isn’t me.”

“How so?” Saul asked

“Fancy school, different classes for whatever reason, the middle of nowhere? Pretending to be some happy family, that ain’t what my life is about. I’m country through an through, I drive tractors, ride trucks, I get messy and do hard work.”

You gestured to the window.

“Half these idiots are scared to get a little dirt on their clothes. It’s boring.”

Standing up, you tapped your hand against your side and Bodi stood up to follow you.

“If y’all really want what’s best for me, you’d let me go home and leave me alone.”

With that you walked away and they sighed.

They thought they were making progress with you, but just when it seemed they were making some headway it all came crashing down.

You didn’t want to be rude to them, but this life they wanted you to have, but fancy building, boring classes, nice clothes and brand new whatever, it wasn’t you.

You weren’t some little kid who they try and mend things with, you were nearly an adult, you could make your own choices.

And in a way you felt bad for how you were behaving, but you felt like everything they were doing was trying to make you into the kid they wanted you to be.

Not the kid you were.

Walking around the school, you made your way outside and jumped down the steps, looking around for something and you huffed when you couldn’t find a single thing.

“Hey you’re from America right?”

You looked over at the red haired girl.

“Yeah, what’s it to ya?”

“Sorry, so am I. I’ve actually been wanting to talk to you for a while, I’m Bloom.”

“(Y/N), so you’re from America too?”

She beamed and led you to a bench so you could sit down and talk to her about what you liked to do where you were both from.

You didn’t mind the fact everyone here was English or Irish or Scottish or Welsh or Solarian, but words couldn’t express how much you missed having people to talk to about your home country.

“Do you like it here?” Bloom asked.

“I mean it ain’t bad don’t get me wrong. I just wanna go back home.”

“I get it, it’s really different here.” She sighed.

You nodded your head in agreement.

“Am only doing this for Farah and Saul.”

“How do you know them?”

“I don’t, but they’re my birth parents. It’s a whole big mess, I was taken from here and out there.”

“So was I!”

You looked at bloom.

“No kidding, really?”

She nodded her head and explained her situation and she accidentally explained a little too much and even showed you her magic.

You jumped back and Bodi barked, standing in front of you as he growled.

“You don’t know about Fairies?” She asked.

You shook your head.

“Oh crap I’m so sorry! I’ll explain it all I swear!”

You nodded and told Bodi to sit and you listened to her explain everything she knew, which wasn’t much and you nodded your head.

You both frowned a little.

“Wonder why they didn’t tell you..” she mumbled.

You heard your name being called and you looked over.

“We’re boutta find out.”

Walking over, you stood in front of the two and crossed your arms over your chest.

“You both fairies?” You asked.

“You know?” Saul asked confused.

“I’m sorry!” Bloom yelled.

She quickly ran away from the scene and Farah sighed.

“I am, Saul isn’t. We were wondering I maybe you were.”

“Well that’s just stupid. You coulda just told me straight away.”

“We didn’t want to directly ask you about it, we wanted to try and figure it out before explaining but I see Bloom already told you.” Farah sighed.

You narrowed your eyes at them a little.

“So, tell me what you really do here.”

“Of course.”

Saul began to explain everything to you while Farah walked away from you both and you listened to him.

Once he finished explaining you pointed at where Farah was sat with her head in her hands.

“She was scared we’d scare you away for good. She’s taken this a lot harder than I have, and it hasn’t been a walk in the park trust me. But she’s taking it really hard, she was so excited when she found out she was pregnant and when you were gone it tore her apart. It tore us both apart.”

You looked at Farah and you sighed softly, walking over, you crouched in front of her, resting your arms on your legs.

“Ya know… it’s pretty cool, knowing I could be a fairy.”

Farah moved her hands from her face and wiped her tears.

“I don’t think I am though, but what Saul does look pretty neat, you think I can give that a try?”

Farah smiled a little.

“Really?” She asked.

You nodded and stood up, stuffing your hands into the pockets of your jeans.

“Yeah why not? Me and Bodi could be a little team.”

She laughed softly.

“I think you’d make a good team. I’m so sorry we didn’t tell you (Y/N), really. I am. But I just don’t want to risk loosing you for a second time, even if you live in the first world and we only see you once a year or through FaceTime. I really do want what’s best for you.”

You sat down next to her, patting your lap for Bodi to jump up and lay on you as you scratched behind his ear.

“Farah you wanna know how I spend my early teens?”

She nodded.

Saul came over and sat on the floor in front of the three of you.

“I spent my teens drinking in some random cornfield, I got lost more times than I can count, but I kept doing it. Riding horses, learning to work a farm, drove a tractor for the first time, even though I nearly crashed it, I broke my leg jumping from a tree, spent my summers swimming in the lake, and winters skating across the same lake.”

You smiled as you remembered those memories.

“You’re a mind fairy right?”

She nodded her head.

“Have a look at them, I want you to see what I experienced.”

Farah did, and you stared as her eyes changed colours.

She went through your memories, seeing the ones you had mentioned and others.

“I crashed my first car, and I got in more than a few brawls, we had huge bonfires, parties, laughing and drinking our youth away like every other teenager in the world.”

Farah blinked, letting her eyes return to normal and you smiled softly at her.

“The way I see it, I’ve had a pretty damn good life, and you shouldn’t be upset you weren’t there, I couldn’t have asked for a better life. Even if I did wanna know you guys, but I loved the way I was raised and I wouldn’t trade it for nothing.”

“I understand that.” She said softly.

You moved Bodi and stood up and he watched you, tail thumping against the bench.

“I had the best upbringing someone coulda ever had! I loved every moment of it!”

You turned to look at them, and gestured to the school.

“That was my life, and you gotta experience it for a few months. This is your life, and I wanna experience that too. I may not get the whole class thing, or magic thing, but hell it sure does sound pretty damn fun you know? You don’t gotta hide that from me, it’s who you are, it’s who I am, you don’t have to be scared you’re gonna loose me, cause the way I see it is it’s gonna take more than a little magic to scare me away.”

“Really?” Saul asked.

“You two lost a lotta memories, a lotta things you shoulda experienced with me, but that don’t mean you missed out on everything. I still got a long life so long as I don’t die doing something stupid first.”

They both laughed and stood up, Saul brushed the dirt from his clothes and Farah wiped some tears from her eyes.

“I wanna do whatever it is Saul does, that looks hella fun, but I’m down to see if I got magic too.”

“I’m sure we can figure that out a lot easier now.” Farah smiled.

“And I’m more than happy to train you.” Saul nodded.

You beamed and punched the air making them laugh again.

“I’m sorry, I guess I’m having a tired time as seeing you grown up.” Farah sighed.

“Don’t be sorry, I get it, it’s hard. But I’m still growing.”

She nodded her head and she took a small breath.

“Can I.. would it be okay if I hug you?” She asked.

You smiled walking over you wrapped your arms around her.

“Course it would, you don’t need to ask.”

Farah wrapped her arms around you, placing his head on yours and you looked at Saul, reaching back you pulled him over and he laughed, hugging you both.

Bodi barked and jumped on you, and you wrapped and arm around him as well.

“I ain’t forgotten about you buddy.”

He barked again and you laughed with Farah and Saul.

They both had a few tears running down their faces, but they held you tightly.

You were all grown up, and they were still scared, but their fear was eased knowing that you wanted to be part of this life too.

This was the first time everything felt okay, and to them it felt like you were all actually a family, even if there was a long way to go

[himboskywalker]

I am not sure if you answe questions like that or if authors normally do that. But a girt can try. Anyway. Can you you tell me what are your plans for the nxt chapter of your work the same cloth? Are they going to fight a war or is this story just talking about the tour to Orkney. I am so in love with this storyy, I normal ly don't read different univere fiction. Of course only of you want, some people don't like to spoil their story. Or is it even a spoiler? Maybe I shouldn't write drunk. Anway thank you for publishing your amazing stories. I really hope I don't sound unnice or

Drunk anon my beloved lol I don’t mind answering at all! It’s kind of an in-between,the fic mostly focuses on Anakin and Obi-Wan and so the mustering of the Jacobite forces are more of a background than the plot of the story. It will extend past going to Orkney but I have no intention of taking the fic through the war and to Culloden. Because A,this was meant as a oneshot and I just have no self control with historical world building and B,Anakin has no clue about Scottish history,unlike the protagonist of Outlander,who invariably saves her boo from dying. I’m not saying Obi-Wan dies at Culloden but I honestly don’t have an ending for this story. It’s meant to be more of a microcosm,or a snapshot of a brief period during the war and the beginning of Obi-Wan and Anakin’s relationship. The next couple of chapters will take you guys through a handful of months but expect a very open ended ending where you guys can imagine however you want the rest of the story to go. Because I don’t know personally how I would end this fic,does Anakin stay on Earth and Obi-Wan and learn to live in the 18th century? Or does Anakin somehow get back to the GFFA and bring 18th century Obi-Wan with him? Or do they part ways and it’s a temporary romance while they’re together in the same time and place?

[arsenalgbt]

I cannot write the stripper Ben fic but I can let it consume me. Wrote a little bit today, I don't know what it is but I'm obsessed, I see this au so clearly

"He requested you" Kalvin told him, swirling a cloth around the glass he was pretending to polish. They didn't work in an establishment classy enough to attract the kind of patrons that cared about clean glasses but their boss liked to pretend they did so Kalvin did the same "Why'd you sent the kid?"

"Fabio needs more practice" Ben told Kalvin, reaching over the bar to pick up a glass and the bottle of vodka that Kalvin hadn't put back yet. He poured himself a quick shot and necked it at a speed that impressed the bartender, Kalvin was hypnotized by the movement of Ben's Adam's apple as he swallowed, dirty thoughts swarming his mind "Plus he's hardly a kid, he's only two years younger than me"

"He seems younger" Kalvin mused and Ben nodded. Fabio's slender frame did make him seem much younger, a lot of the customers who requested him for private dances seemed to love that fact. Ben wondered how Willo would feel about it, if he'd like Fabio more than he liked him. Ben didn't know why he felt jealous at such a thought. Willo had spent ten minutes talking about his school teacher fiancé the last time he had paid for Ben's attention and that hadn't bothered him as much as the idea of Willo liking Fabio "It's nice of you, looking out for him like that"

"Its really not' Ben shook his head, pouring another shot of vodka in the hopes the buzz woild make him forget Willo. It was a Wednesday night meaning the mumbling scottish man who couldnt make eye contact with Ben till he had downed his third drink would come in. Maybe Ben would give him a free dance tonight, ease his conscious for continuously charging Willo double. He was surprised the owner Jorginho had yet to question him for the extra money on the books "You know me Kal, I'm as pretty as as I am selfish"

"Then you must be the most selfish man in London"

"Then you must be the most selfish man in London"

-💙🤍 KT anon

YO WHAAAAAAT??????????? TWO (2) STRIPPER!BEN FICS IN ONE DAY??????????????

YOOOOOOOOOOO my good deeds writing arsenalmpreg been rewarded by the rpf gods yoooooooooo kt anon!!!!!

FABIO

these two queens taunting new meat the serious, reading glasses wearing, office worker fantasy specialist, jurrien iktr

fucking hell dude.............. ben x Fabio duo..... please tell me u have seen Fabio's dancarina video.... my kryptonite...... idw to link the video cuz I always get so scared by Fabio's potent twinkyness like............ u get me..................

KALVIN

OWNER JORGINHO. U KNOW THE DEAL YEAH? reissy as his fave employee....... Jorginho being so overprotective of his most prized meat........... you KNEW I will demand---I mean ask to put reiss in this... oh wow

willo as ben's regular............................ my baby darling.................. not the groom then. came once and couldn't resist..................

free dance for stressed repressed kieran

damn

keep them coming yo!!!!

[beautiful-basque-country]

vintageeveryday(.)tumblr(.)com/post/189701633720/24-amazing-vintage-photos-of-portuguese-women-from these kind of remind me of those ladies from nafarroa you posted!! altough i think those are hoods, not skirts

Kaixo anon!

Yes, here's a pic from the link so anyone can see what anon's talking about:

It's a kind of cloak attached to the skirt, right? We guess it looks closer to this Korean piece of clothing that @chibiwing-aka-nozomikei shared in a reblog?:

Some other rebloggers talked about the Scottish earasaid, that also made possible to cover the head:

It's cool to see similar clothes created by such different cultures!