#Soap Star

[scotianostra]

Happy birthday the beautiful Natalie Joy Robb born December 3rd 1974 in Bellshill.

Robb is the youngest of three children. As a child, Robb attended weekend drama groups in Glasgow, where she was discovered by director Alan Macmillan, later going to the Royal Scottish Academy of Music and Drama. She made her screen debut as a nine-year-old starring in an STV docudrama with veteran Scots star Tom Conti. At 13, she was awarded the BBC Young Entertainer of the Year award on kids' TV show, Going Live! At the age of 14, she got the role of Trish McDonald in Scottish Soap, Take the High Road, which launched her TV career, she was in the soap for 9 years.

f course a talented Scottish actress like Natalie is obviously going to appear in Taggart!! She went on from High Road to the popular Sky drama, Dream team and has featured in many other shows through the noughties, Londons Burning, The Bill, Holby City and Doctors to name a few.

Nowadays it is as Moira Barton n Emmerdale we see Natalie, she has been a regular in the soap since for over 10 years, she previously won sexiest female at the Inside Soap Awards, an award usually taken by actresses many years her junior!

Natalie has a great singing voice and was originally looking for a career in music and was once in a band called The Kinky People she also sang "I Will Be There" by a group called Absolutely which I will post below. In 1997, she released a single with dance group Partizan called "Keep Your Love" She has a fine voice, check her out on youtube.

[siremasterlawrence]

Possession: Becoming My Favorite Soap Star

I am remembering watching this television show about a average people stepping on to a soap opera stage.

It was called I Want To Be A Soap Star I was really into and wanted to do gab show for a walk on role.

Unfortunately, the show got cancelled after a second season so my hopes were dashing away.

That is until I saw one of my super favorite soap stars Steve Burton in a bar and grill in New York.

After his divorce from his wife he found his new start life traveling the country to get his awareness back.

I think about approaching him sneaking in to the shadowy feeling sliding on the wall till I am in back of him.

I breathe in deeply inhaling the air as it dives in a swirling motion overtaking my body and I become still.

My body in air format transform into air puff its self follow him as he stands up and slam the chair.

He is angry about something stomping all of his feet to the bathroom the door hits hard and he faces the mirror.

“Where is that smell coming from?”

“Hello Steve!”

“Who the hell?”

“Am I?”

“Your biggest fan”

“My fan?”

“Your fan, one that covets you “

“I am not gay…no”

“Who said anything about being gay?”

“You can’t cover me”

“Why not?”

“Hell no!”

“Get off me!”

“Why should I?”

“I forbid you “

“You may not touch me”

“You can’t stop me”

“I am in control now”

Steve freaks out at my last comment putting heavy force onto the bathroom sink he is in awe.

The audacity of me to think that I can own him as it were so outright in my words and voice.

He thinks I am insane by the way he finally caught my image in the mirror I step back into the darkness.

“Wait! I saw you a minute go come into the light.”

“You saw nothing, I am not him any longer “

“He is my past”

I cause him to shiver at the sound of my voice going manic in the sound of my laughter,

“Any last words! Steve Burton”

“Fuck You! Uuuuuggggghhhh! There will be fucking Steve but this is my body and I will

tear many asses up now”

Steve’s soul forms a shadow in back of me in a sighs his body flows upward into the abyss known as the sky.

Look out for part 2 Inside The Actors Studio

The end

[vivianbernadetteaurora]

SHIRLEY CARTER

Shirley Carter. One of the best characters in British soap ever, she brings in a sort of dangerous energy while also seeing her hidden depths of being a mother who ran away.

And why did she run away? You see her deeper mothering side as well; she’s funny, she’s a laugh, and she’s loyal as you’re close to this friend, the dog.

She was a so we’re a good mom to Jay and Ben, Phil’s eldest. She also helped with the businesses and was the only equal partner he ever had. Because they were honest with each other in most ways. He just didn't love her as much. In relationships is often the way there’s always one person who loves them more than ever. And even when he’s about to marry Sharon, she still holds the torch 4 him. She was gonna marry him herself until she found out that he had his own affair with Glenda, his mother-in-law. EastEnders is a very incest show in that way. Anyway, I think her character is so good because you can say believe this person exists and there are a lot of shirleys out there.

And when her best friend Heather is having problems with men because she’s overweight and a bit geeky, she is loyal as a dog again, whenever it comes to Heather she doesn’t let **** whenever it comes to Heather she doesn’t let **** go down.. even if it means hiring somebody. Just for her to be happy for a moment she'd do anything for her friend.

Even when Ben murders Heather, somebody who’s also been like a surrogate auntie to him. She treated him really well. Maybe she stuck her foot in a few times with Ben. and this is what happened. She had some knowledge that he didn't want to get out.

Himand Jay they round there and then this fight gets out of control ends her life.she's still is loyal to him before dragging him out like a dog and giving him a right seeing to. could be. But afteLucy murder,, he comes back and he is on the bus with the night of her matter while she’s on it, I’m just getting to this part so then I’ll update it. But she fought forever when everyone else she said she knew that everyone was laughing behind his back and even heaven knew. Bring back Shirley.

[vozart]

PUT THAT BACK ON WHAT ARE YUOU DOING?!?!? - mando!ghost

@27potatochips for sharing the same braincell as me <3

[shotmrmiller]

being at a haunted house with your friends only to get separated and end up alone in a random room. it looks empty, except for the usual props and you're just taking a moment to catch your breath, wiping your sweaty palms on your jeans only to spot something in the corner shift, realizing that you're not alone.

a guy as broad as the door behind him is in there with you, costume seemingly lower budget than the others (was he called in at the last minute? his mask makes him look more a criminal than whatever the hell he's supposed to be.)

he's a clean two or three heads above yours, his dark clothing making him hard to see, blending in with the jagged shadows created by the red (because red means scary, right?) flickering lights overhead, and he's standing right in front of the quick exit, neon green sign barely grazing the crown of his head. shit.

a sudden, ear-splitting noise activates your fight or flight response and you're out the way you came in a second flat, uncaring that you're running against the flow of traffic, harshly bumping shoulders into both visitors and actors alike, and instinct takes over- without a second thought, you glance back over your shoulder.

the guy you'd bolted from is moving with unsettling purpose your way. the crowd parts around him, letting him gain on you effortlessly, his hulking stature looming larger with every step.

his eyes lock onto yours and your breath snags in your throat- he's a hunter, staring you down through the scope of a rifle, as if you're nothing other than fresh game for him to take home and devour.

you push on even though it feels like you're swimming upstream, his gaze burning into your back like a brand, the icy fear slithering through your veins alive, coiling around your galloping heart, tightening with every ragged breath.

until you hit a dead end. cornered, every instinct screaming for an escape that doesn't exist. and then he's on you, presence overwhelming, reaching a paw-sized hand toward you-

"i thought you guys aren't allowed to touch us?" you choke out, his fingers curling around your wrist and you wonder if he can feel your racing pulse.

his breath warms the side of your throat. "says who, pet? you're free t'stop me." if you can.

(soap and kyle watch him come out with you in hand, looking like you're about to be sick. kyle gives you a water bottle and soap pats your back, telling you that if yer that scared, he'll go with ye next time.)

[gomzdrawfr]

have a star, go back in time, but nothing changes, would you do it?

[vannss4206980085]

thinking about the spock soap

[clnclm]

[trek-tracks]

"Sonic shower or water shower" discourse is so limited. This is the replicator-equipped Enterprise! Set that to "Caffeine Mist." Melted butter, gently cooled. Chocolate fountain and I'm the strawberry.

[mayawakening]

I promise this isnt an ad, I just NEED people to know you can smell like Maul. 😭 The heavy grit implies this man is smooth AF.

Let Obi-Wan soothe you:

The Vader one is brutal, why they do it to him like that, chokeberry, smoke, charcoal and SAND:

And why not smell like Yoda?:

Was very entertaining to just find these out in the wild lol

[journen]

Commission I did for @/kalli_adreena on Twitter!!:)

Star Wars x CoD crossover! Jedi Soap and Clone Commander Ghost! Ghost would totally be so smug about returning Soap's lightsaber when he drops it just like Cody and Obi-Wan. 🤣💛

[ack-cough]

Entering my Siff into an isatlings competition y'all think he got a chance?

No I don't think they know their alive

[13ag21k]

Ah yes the good old "I can't remove my boyfriend's mask" trope.

[felixeis003]

Grey Jedi!Ghost and Jedi!Soap

This fan art comes with a fic written by the amazing @theghostofsoap !!!!! Read it here : 😊😊

[henreyettah]

Nona bath + conditioner time! 🧼 🫧 🛁

[shotmrmiller]

kinktober: gunplay (ghoap x reader) cw: the tiniest of dub-con if you squint 1.8k of this foolishness and im pretty sure i lost the plot somewhere but in my defense, guns don't interest me

When you wake, you notice that Ghost isn’t in the tent. His bedroll neatly rolled up and put away in its usual spot and by the looks of things, he's been gone for quite some time. You sit up, the morning light filtering through the tent's fabric— the soft, diffused glow creating gentle shadows on the ground.

Outside, the air is crisp and sweet, dew still fresh on the grass, damp beneath your bare feet. Soap's lone mare is tied to the hitching post, tail flicking lazily as she eats off the hay net.

The campsite is quiet except for the chirping of birds and Soap's deep, growling snores coming from behind you. Ghost isn't here. Ghost isn't here. The thought bounces around in your skull, heart loud in your ears as the realization begins to sink in.

You could get away, slip away unnoticed from these two who've kept you as their reluctant companion since they wrangled you up in a rowdy saloon a couple of towns back with your hand deep in someone else's pocket. "Behave and we won't give ya up for the meager bounty yer worth." Or worse. The three of you knew no one would miss you, no family or friends to claim the body if you ended up face down on a riverbank.

It’s now or never. Freedom stands in front of you in a glossy, white coat and a braided mane, but being Soap’s horse, even approaching her will be a gamble. You'll just have to risk getting bucked off and trampled on.

When you go back inside to gather the few belongings you've got, you spot Soap's gun belt in all its worn leather glory lying in a tangled heap in the corner, revolvers still snug in their holsters. He must've gotten in late from town, the reward for the bounty he turned in last night traded in for hooch.

A mistake. His costly mistake. And a chance to ride his mare relatively unharmed. Your fingers tremble as they wrap around the handle, the ingrained symbol digging into your palm as you tighten your grip. You may not be a gunslinger with the fastest draw in the West, but you do know what end to point at someone.

But Soap's a bounty hunter and a damn good one. His reflexes are fast— faster than they should be with his dense, muscular build.  You've seen him close gaps with an unnatural speed that’s left even the toughest men reeling. He's a relentless force of pursuit when he wants to be and keeping him at a distance is a losing game, especially when you've no prior experience using a gun. Your only option is to corner him, limit his options. Every man bends the knee to power, and right now, you've got it in your clammy hand.

You straddle him, knees planted firmly on either side of his lower ribs, and press the barrel onto the left side of his jaw. Incredible, not even a hitch in his breathing, as if you're not sitting on him with your full weight. Fisting the front of his union shirt, you tug, the sharp, sudden sting of his chest hair being pulled taut waking him out of his deep sleep.

His bleary eyes snap open, blinking away any traces of sleep within moments, the new day's light catching the edges of his irises, making them gleam with an almost otherworldly brightness as they sweep the tent for any real danger.

Your breathing turns ragged once they land on you, satisfied, a wolfish grin tugging at the corner of his lips, revealing a hint of teeth. Dread claws at your gut, your nerves rattled, but you meet his gaze head-on. There is no room for hesitation, for doubt, not when the man you've got pinned with his own weapon is more touched in the head than Ghost is.

"I ken I'm handsome but all ye ‘ad t'do was ask, hen. I'm achin' fer the hair o' the hound if ye got any, though." His tone gives away nothing, his body completely lax. Even the rise and fall of his chest is steady, slow. You know better than to believe he isn't waiting on you to make the next move to retaliate, so you don't move. Neither of you do.

"You'll take me to town and you'll leave me there. Compared to the other folk you rope up and dump at the Sheriff's feet, I'm worth nothing." You'll make yourself scarce, move to a different state, maybe. A new life, a decent one. Honest work.

His smile widens, the puckered scar on his chin stretching. "Didnae think to take my girl? She's righ' there, saddle 'n all." Soap must think you daft.

"I want to disappear without drawing a target on my head large enough for you to see from across state lines." He would've hunted you down for sport, at that point. Soap blinks once, thrice, and then you have a solid weight pushing on your back, sudden and unexpected, forcing your upper body forward, your shoulders hunching in reflex.

The very familiar scent of earth and mildly ripe sweat sends a shiver licking up your spine, locking every notch firmly into place. Why you hadn't heard him arrive at camp or open the flaps to the tent is now irrelevant. Ghost is here now and you've nowhere to run, definitely not with Soap grabbing onto the soft of your waist, tethers made of human flesh and bone.

The weathered leather of his glove feels unexpectedly soft as his fingers curl around your trembling hand. "If you're gonna threaten ‘im, ya gotta do it proper," he mutters, breath warm against the shell of your ear. His voice is a low, rolling rumble, the kind he takes when calming his panicked horse.

"Easy now, settle down, loosen your arm a little." It does nothing to soothe you, Ghost looming larger than the gun in your grip, making it feel almost insignificant— a mere prop in the face of his overwhelming presence and the voice in your head screams at you to bare your neck, submit, and hope he goes for your jugular quickly, death seemingly a better choice than whatever game he’s making you play. "Open up, Johnny."

He does so readily, a transparent string of saliva stretching between his top and bottom teeth. Ghost's denim-clad thighs bracket yours as he settles comfortably behind you, his barrel chest engulfing the entirety of your back with space to spare.

Soap lies there with his tongue out like a dog on a hot, summer's day, mouth open wide enough for you to see the ridges and grooves of his molars. Ghost forcibly moves your hand, metal scraping against Soap's stubble with a coarse, gritty sound.

“Lie still Johnny, ya hear?” his pointer finger hovering over the trigger. The lump that’s risen to your throat makes breathing hard, each swallow a struggle. You never intended to fire a shot, just hoped the threat of life and death would be enough to make things go your way. 

“W-wait,” you gurgle out but Ghost’s hand only tightens around yours. 

“Can’t get cold feet now, sweet’eart, not when Soap’s southern blood is pumpin’ ‘cause a you.” His-? You take notice of it then, the rigid swelling between your legs, pushing up into your center. As if to drive the point home, Soap bucks his hips while pulling you down, making the inseam of your pants brush against your pearl. 

“Oh-,” he does it again, and again, the leaden lump of dread that had once anchored itself in your belly begins to melt away, becoming an insistent ache that quickens your heartbeat and warms your veins, a mellow heat radiating from your core outward.

And then two things happen at once. 

Soap takes the pistol’s barrel into his mouth, slightly pursing his lips as he creates a seal around it, and his cheeks gently hollow as he bobs his head forward and back, and Ghost slowly weaves his unoccupied hand south, under your jeans and underwear, the roughened tips of his fingers quickly finding what you’ve been forced to neglect for months. 

Soap grunts, a gravelly resonant sound— rich and full— when you dig your nails into the meat of his chest as Ghost jerks erratic little circles on your puffy clit, sending shockwaves through your stomach, each wave headier than the last. 

“Can’t let ‘im ‘ave all the fun, eh?” The pressure on your waist is enough to ache, your flesh already throbbing beneath Soap’s hands, and the closer you get to the precipice, the harder they squeeze. 

Metal clacks against tooth every time your body tenses, muscles constrict, unable to keep your arm steady even with Ghost’s iron grip over your own. Soap’s a slobbering mess, spit dribbling down his chin, pistol glossy with it as he sucks on it as if it were a man’s cock instead.

(Maybe he wants it to be.) 

A couple of hiccups claw up your throat as the sticky, wet sounds of Soap’s mouth get drowned out by the shrill ringing in your ears as you teeter on the sharpened edge, Ghost’s pace on you turning frantic, almost violent, and—

“Keep those pretty eyes on Johnny, he’s been dreamin’ of lookin’ at ya in the face while you come.”

Ghost tossing the gun aside, metal skidding across the floor, and you’re coming apart with Soap’s tongue in your mouth, swallowing your every gasp and moan.

It tastes like the lubricant he uses to clean his gun. Metallic. Tangy. Slightly acrid.

You’re barely able to draw in a breath when Ghost is already tugging your pants off, waistband coming to settle snugly right below your arse, exposing only what he needs, a couple of fingers gliding along your folds, curling right at your entrance.

But he doesn’t do what you expect; for him to sink into cunt, fill it to the brim, distended until you’ve got tears clumping your eyelashes and blood on your tongue. 

(It’s been a very long time since you’ve last laid with a man, and not one has ever been as big as he in stature.)

Instead, he takes Soap’s bare length in one giant paw, using your creamy slick for better friction, and ruts his own heavy cock against it until they’re both spurting the warm spend Ghost crams into your needy hole with two fingers.

“‘M not fuckin’ you, not after your stupid little stunt,” he says as if he’s talking about the weather, and you’re not sure if laughing will stop the hysterical sob about to slither past your trembling lips. 

Soap stares up at you with a heavy-lidded gaze, content, satiated unlike you, and pinches your cheek with his fingers. “Next time ye want tae threaten a person—,” his voice peters off, and you can feel Ghost wiping his hand on the back of your shirt before reaching for Soap’s pistol and pressing a button, the cylinder dropping open.

Empty. Every single chamber is hollow, like the empty sockets of a honeycomb. “Make sure it’s loaded, sweet’eart.”

Un. fucking. Believable.