#men's leather kilt

[leathercollectionus]

The Black Leather Kilt For Men Modern Edge with Classic Design

With the Black Leather Kilt for Men, question what is deemed to be classic menswear. This kilt, a bold combination of history and modern style, is made from premium black leather, ensuring durability and a soft feel. It offers comfort in addition to an unique look thanks to its adjustable waist and pleated style. The kilt is ideal for a variety of events, including cultural festivals and daring nights out.

The Black Leather Kilt For Men Modern Edge with Classic Design

[cybertied]

a shirtless guy in a gas mask and kilt tied in a padded room

ai generated image

[11oh1]

[bearynerdy17-2]

Now maybe I'm jaded cuz I've DEFINITELY posted way riskier stuff elsewhere but the fact THIS got removed from TikTok for going again community guidelines?!?! There's videos of guys in tight fitting thongs on there (and don't get me wrong, not judging they're great) I came across a live that was a guy doing Cash master stuff (I AM judging that one a bit) but still this seems fairly tame. Anyways enjoy banned media. ;3

[kiltedcubfll]

[werksleather]

Get a diverse range of leather kilts, aprons, and loincloths for men at LeatherWerks. Shop our exclusive collection featuring genuine leather in versatile styles, including superior quality 100% real leather kilts for men. LeatherWerks offers unique leather kilts in various styles and colors, perfect for casual wear or making a bold fashion statement. Discover the perfect leather apron for men, designed for durability and style, whether for work or play. Each piece is crafted with meticulous attention to detail, ensuring comfort and longevity. Shop now to find unique, handcrafted leather apparel that stands out from the crowd. With leather kilts making a comeback in fashion, browse stylish options online at LeatherWerks.

[iscotkiltstore]

Embracing Elegance and Edge: Leather Kilts and Premium Tartan Kilts for Women

Fashion has always been a realm of innovation and expression, and in recent years, the convergence of traditional styles with modern trends has created a fascinating array of choices for the discerning woman. Among these, leather kilts and premium tartan kilts stand out as bold, stylish, and versatile options. Whether you're drawn to the edgy allure of leather or the timeless elegance of tartan, these kilts offer a unique way to express individuality and flair. Let's delve into the world of women's leather kilts and premium tartan kilts, exploring their origins, styling tips, and the reasons behind their growing popularity.

The Allure of Leather Kilts for Women

Leather kilts have carved a niche in contemporary fashion, combining the classic silhouette of a kilt with the bold, rebellious spirit of leather. Traditionally associated with Scottish heritage, kilts have evolved far beyond their origins, and the use of leather has injected a fresh, edgy dimension into this iconic garment.

A Modern Twist on Tradition

Leather kilts for women offer a striking contrast to the more conventional fabrics typically associated with kilts. The supple, luxurious texture of leather provides a distinct look and feel, exuding confidence and sophistication. This modern twist on a traditional garment makes leather kilts a perfect choice for women who want to make a bold fashion statement.

Versatility in Styling

One of the key advantages of leather kilts is their versatility. They can be dressed up or down, making them suitable for a variety of occasions. Pair a leather kilt with a crisp white blouse and heels for a chic, polished look suitable for a night out or a formal event. Alternatively, combine it with a graphic tee and combat boots for a more casual, edgy ensemble perfect for a day out in the city.

Durability and Longevity

Leather is renowned for its durability, making leather kilts a practical investment. With proper care, a high-quality leather kilt can last for many years, aging beautifully and developing a unique patina that adds to its character. This longevity not only makes leather kilts a stylish choice but also a sustainable one.

Women Leather Kilts: A Celebration of Individuality

The increasing popularity of leather kilts for women is a testament to their ability to celebrate individuality. In a world where fashion often leans towards conformity, leather kilts offer a refreshing alternative. They empower women to embrace their unique style and stand out from the crowd.

Breaking Gender Norms

Historically, kilts have been predominantly worn by men, especially in their traditional context. However, the fashion industry has seen a significant shift towards more gender-inclusive designs. Women leather kilts challenge traditional gender norms, offering a garment that is both feminine and strong, blending grace with power.

Customization and Personal Expression

Another appealing aspect of women leather kilts is the potential for customization. From the type of leather used to the design details such as pleats, buckles, and embellishments, these kilts can be tailored to reflect personal taste. This customization allows women to create a piece that is truly unique, enhancing their personal style and expressing their individuality.

Premium Tartan Kilts for Women: A Nod to Tradition with a Modern Flair

While leather kilts exude modernity and edge, tartan kilts offer a connection to tradition, steeped in history and cultural significance. Premium tartan kilts for women combine the classic charm of tartan with high-quality materials and contemporary design elements, creating a garment that is both timeless and fashionable.

The Rich Heritage of Tartan

Tartan is more than just a pattern; it is a symbol of Scottish heritage, representing clans and families. Each tartan design tells a story, weaving history and identity into its fabric. Premium tartan kilts for women embrace this rich heritage, allowing wearers to connect with the past while making a contemporary fashion statement.

Luxurious Materials and Craftsmanship

What sets premium tartan kilts apart is the quality of materials and craftsmanship. These kilts are often made from the finest wool, providing a luxurious feel and exceptional durability. The attention to detail in their construction ensures a perfect fit and a flattering silhouette, enhancing the wearer's elegance and poise.

Styling the Tartan Kilt

Premium tartan kilts are incredibly versatile, suitable for various occasions ranging from casual outings to formal events. For a sophisticated look, pair a tartan kilt with a fitted blazer and knee-high boots. For a more relaxed vibe, a cozy knit sweater and ankle boots complement the kilt beautifully. The key is to balance the traditional tartan pattern with modern, chic pieces to create a harmonious ensemble.

Women Premium Tartan Kilts: Elevating Everyday Fashion

Premium tartan kilts for women have transcended their traditional roots, becoming a staple in modern wardrobes. Their ability to elevate everyday fashion while maintaining a connection to heritage makes them a favorite among fashion enthusiasts.

Embracing Sustainability

In an era where sustainability is increasingly important, premium tartan kilts stand out as a responsible fashion choice. The use of high-quality, natural materials ensures longevity, reducing the need for frequent replacements. Additionally, supporting artisans who produce these kilts helps preserve traditional crafts and promotes ethical fashion practices.

Celebrating Diversity

The wide range of tartan patterns and colors available allows women to choose a kilt that resonates with their personal style and heritage. This diversity in design celebrates individuality and offers a meaningful way to honor cultural identity through fashion.

Conclusion

Leather kilts and premium tartan kilts for women are more than just garments; they are expressions of style, individuality, and heritage. Whether you are drawn to the bold, edgy allure of leather or the timeless elegance of tartan, these kilts offer a versatile and stylish addition to any wardrobe. Embrace the elegance and edge of leather kilts or the rich tradition of premium tartan kilts to make a unique fashion statement that celebrates both modern trends and historical significance. As fashion continues to evolve, these kilts stand as a testament to the enduring appeal of combining tradition with innovation, offering women a powerful way to express themselves through their clothing choices.

[johnthestitcher]

I own six kilts, and I've thought of getting a leather one - but they're incredibly heavy!

[leathercollectionus]

Roman Leather Kilt

Roman Leather Kilt features best quality cowhide and it excels five front and five back panels and pocket edges. The adjustable fastening straps on both sids allow 2 inch of adjustment at the waist and hips for a comfortable fit. Totally a unique in style and color.

Roman Leather Kilt

[kiltedcubfll]

[thelaisydazy]

Band!141 x Reader - Subway

Just a little something I've had rattling around my brain this week~

You've never run faster in your life, you're not even sure your feet are hitting the ground between your frantic steps as you race towards the open subway car. You can't miss this train. Not today. Please, not today.

Today is the most important day of your life. The day you audition for a spot in the city's most prestigious ballet companies. If you miss your chance, you won't be able to try again for another year, and you don't know if you'll be able to afford to stay in the city if you don't get into the company. And you refuse to go home a failure. 

From the open train car you hear shouting. Voices calling for you to hurry. The train was about to leave. Nononono. The door starts to close as you run up to the train, just a split second too late. Then it opens again, a large black boot keeping the door from closing completely. 

You look up and see four large men, one of which has stuck his boot out to hold the door open for you. He smiles down at you, the corners of his blue eyes crinkling. He’s older, handsome. His dark brown hair and beard sporting some specks of gray.

“Y’made it love,” he says in a deep, warm voice that makes your heart race. 

“Thanks,” you say quickly, slipping past him and the three with him. The car is packed with nowhere to sit and almost nowhere to stand either. Except right near the group you pushed past on your way onto the train. Sheepishly you make your way back towards them. 

The one that stopped the door for you smiles again and another one, younger with dark curls, waves you over. You’re hesitant, but you go over. 

“One seat left ‘ere,” he says, beckoning to a seat he’d been standing in front of. You mumble another thanks and slip into the seat, trying your best to make yourself as small as possible, missing the way the group smiles at each other.  

“Where you rushing off to love?” the first one asked. The word burly comes to mind as you look up at him. He’s wearing a white tshirt under a well-worn leather jacket, a pair of beat up black jeans and a black beanie. Slung over his back is an instrument case, it looks like a guitar, but you don’t know much about instruments so it could be a bass. 

“I have an audition downtown,” you say, fidgeting with your duffle bag in your lap. 

“‘At Danc’n Knights place?” another one chimes in with a Scottish accent. This one is the shortest of the bunch, though he still towers over you. He’s broad, dark stubble on his pierced face and a mohawk. He’s wearing a spiked leather vest over a black sleeveless shirt and a kilt. He’s standing closest to the largest of the bunch, a large, blond man wearing a privacy mask that resembles a skull.

You nod. You hadn’t wanted to tell them, but the decal of a ballerina on your duffel bag, along with the tight bun you wore your hair in, was definitely enough to give it away. “Dancing Knights, yeah,” you say. “They’re looking for new ballerinas.”

“We’re heading to a recording studio near there,” the second man says. Getting a better look at him, he’s darker than the rest of the group, his eyes are the softest though, dampening the nervousness in your chest. He’s dressed similarly to the rest of the group, another instrument case on his back and a plaid shirt tied around his hips. “Maybe we’ll be seeing you around there.”

You can’t help but smile up at him and nod. He reaches into his back pocket, pulling out a small black card, handing it over to you. “We’re I4I,” he says. “I’m Kyle, everyone calls me Gaz.” He went around pointing to the oldest man first. “That’s John.” Then to the Scottish man. “Johnny, we call him Soap.” And finally the largest of them. “And big guy there is Ghost.”

“Ghost?” you can’t help but ask, looking over the card in your hand. It’s a thick black stock with the band name and a logo featuring a skull with a sword running through it wrapped in a pair of white feathered wings.

Kyle shrugs at you. “Doesn’t like anyone knowing his name,” he says simply. You nod quietly, then give them your name with a polite smile. 

“You’re all in a band then?” you ask, relaxing a little. You were certain whatever they played, it wasn’t something you were into, but they seemed nice enough to at least check out their social media. It was the least you could do after they stopped the subway for you.

“That’s right lovie,” Kyle says. “Next big thing.” He gives you a wink. “Better keep your pretty little eyes out for us.” Your face feels warm at his shameless flirting and he chuckles at you. “We always post when we’re playing next, you should come to one of our shows. We’ll give you the VIP experience.”

“Oh!” you say. “Uh.. sure.. Maybe.” You tuck the card into your duffel. “I’ll keep an eye out if I make this audition.”

“You better make it then little one,” John says, smiling at you as the subway pulls into your stop. “For our sake.” 

[sassenach77yle]

||COUNTDOWN || SEASON 4 EPISODE 09 || THE BIRDS & THE BEES ||

#83daysofoutlander☆

The light outside was dazzling after the taproom’s gloom. Brianna blinked, eyes tearing at the shafts of sun that stabbed through the shifting greens of a screen of maples. Then a movement caught her eye, below the flickering leaves. He stood in the shade of the maples, half turned away from her, head bent in absorption. A tall man, long-legged, lean and graceful, with his shoulders broad under a white shirt. He wore a faded kilt in pale greens and browns, casually rucked up in front as he urinated against a tree. He finished and, letting the kilt fall, turned toward the post house. He saw her then, standing there staring at him, and tensed slightly, hands half curling. Then he saw past her men’s clothes, and the look of wary suspicion changed at once to surprise as he realized that she was a woman. There was no doubt in her mind, from the first glimpse. She was at once surprised and not surprised at all; he was not quite what she had imagined—he seemed smaller, only man-sized—but his face had the lines of her own; the long, straight nose and stubborn jaw, and the slanted cat-eyes, set in a frame of solid bone. He moved toward her out of the maples’ shadow, and the sun struck his hair with a spray of copper sparks. Half consciously she raised a hand and pushed a strand of hair back from her face, seeing from the corner of her eye the matching gleam of thick red-gold. “What d’ye want here, lassie?” he asked. Sharp, but not unkind. His voice was deeper than she had imagined; the Highland burr slight but distinct. “You,” she blurted. Her heart seemed to have wedged itself in her throat; she had trouble forcing any words past it. He was close enough that she caught the faint whiff of his sweat and the fresh smell of sawn wood; there was a golden scatter of sawdust caught in the rolled sleeves of his linen shirt. His eyes narrowed with amusement as he looked her up and down, taking in her costume. One reddish eyebrow rose, and he shook his head. “Sorry, lass,” he said, with a half-smile. “I’m a marrit man.” He made to pass by, and she made a small incoherent sound, putting out a hand to stop him, but not quite daring to touch his sleeve. He stopped and looked at her more closely. “No, I meant it; I’ve a wife at home, and home’s not far,” he said, evidently wishing to be courteous. “But—” He stopped, close enough now to take in the grubbiness of her clothes, the hole in the sleeve of her coat and the tattered ends of her stock.

“Och,” he said in a different tone, and reached for the small leather purse he wore tied at his waist. “Will ye be starved, then, lass? I’ve money, if you must eat.” She could scarcely breathe. His eyes were dark blue, soft with kindness. Her eyes fixed on the open collar of his shirt, where the curly hairs showed, bleached gold against his sunburnt skin. “Are you—you’re Jamie Fraser, aren’t you?” He glanced sharply at her face. “I am,” he said. The wariness had returned to his face; his eyes narrowed against the sun. He glanced quickly behind him, toward the tavern, but nothing stirred in the open doorway. He took a step closer to her. “Who asks?” he said softly. “Have you a message for me, lass?” She felt an absurd desire to laugh welling up in her throat. Did she have a message?

“My name is Brianna,” she said.

He frowned, uncertain, and something flickered in his eyes. He knew it! He’d heard the name and it meant something to him. She swallowed hard, feeling her cheeks blaze as though they’d been seared by a candle flame.

“I’m your daughter,” she said, her voice sounding choked to her own ears.

“Brianna.” He stood stock-still, not changing expression in the slightest. He had heard her, though; he went pale, and then a deep, painful red washed up his throat and into his face, sudden as a brushfire, matching her own vivid color. She felt a deep flash of joy at the sight, a rush through her midsection that echoed that blaze of blood, recognition of their fair-skinned kinship. Did it trouble him to blush so strongly? she wondered suddenly. Had he schooled his face to immobility, as she had learned to do, to mask that telltale surge? Her own face felt stiff, but she gave him a tentative smile. He blinked, and his eyes moved at last from her face, slowly taking in her appearance, and—with what seemed to her a new and horrified awareness—her height. “My God,” he croaked. “You’re huge.” Her own blush had subsided, but now came back with a vengeance. “And whose fault is that, do you think?” she snapped. She drew herself up straight and squared her shoulders, glaring. So close, at her full height, she could look him right in the eye, and did. He jerked back, and his face did change then, mask shattering in surprise. Without it, he looked younger; underneath were shock, surprise, and a dawning expression of half-painful eagerness. “Och, no, lassie!” he exclaimed. “I didna mean it that way, at all! It’s only—” He broke off, staring at her in fascination. His hand lifted, as though despite himself, and traced the air, outlining her cheek, her jaw and neck and shoulder, afraid to touch her directly. “It’s true?” he whispered. “It is you, Brianna?” He spoke her name with a queer accent—Breeanah—and she shivered at the sound. “It’s me,” she said, a little huskily. She made another attempt at a smile. “Can’t you tell?” His mouth was wide and full-lipped, but not like hers; wider, a bolder shape, that seemed to hide a smile in the corners of it, even in repose. It was twitching now, not certain what to do. “Aye,” he said. “Aye, I can.”

He did touch her then, his fingers drawing lightly down her face, brushing back the waves of ruddy hair from temple and ear, tracing the delicate line of her jaw. She shivered again, though his touch was noticeably warm; she could feel the heat of his palm against her cheek.

“I hadna thought of you as grown,” he said, letting his hand fall reluctantly away. “I saw the pictures, but still—I had ye in my mind somehow as a wee bairn always—as my babe. I never expected …”

His voice trailed off as he stared at her, the eyes like her own, deep blue and thick-lashed, wide in fascination. “Pictures,” she said, feeling breathless with happiness. “You’ve seen pictures of me? Mama found you, didn’t she? When you said you had a wife at home—”

“Claire,” he interrupted. The wide mouth had made its decision; it split into a smile that lit his eyes like the sun in the dancing tree leaves. He grabbed her arms, tight enough to startle her. “You’ll not have seen her, then? Christ, she’ll be mad wi’ joy!” The thought of her mother was overwhelming. Her face cracked, and the tears she had been holding back for days spilled down her cheeks in a flood of relief, half choking her as she laughed and cried together.

“Here, lassie, dinna weep!” he exclaimed in alarm. He let go of her arm and snatched a large, crumpled handkerchief from his sleeve. He patted tentatively at her cheeks, looking worried. “Dinna weep, a leannan, dinna be troubled,” he murmured. “It’s all right, m’ annsachd; it’s all right.”

“I’m all right; everything’s all right. I’m just—happy,” she said. She took the handkerchief, wiped her eyes and blew her nose. “What does that mean—a leannan? And the other thing you said?”

“You’ll not have the Gaelic, then?” he asked, and shook his head. “No, of course she wouldna have been taught,” he murmured, as though to himself. “I’ll learn,” she said firmly, giving her nose a last wipe.

“A leannan?” A slight smile reappeared on his face as he looked at her. “It means ‘darling,’ ” he said softly. “M’ annsachd—my blessing.”

41 JOURNEY’S END

[johnthestitcher]

Knowing how to accessorize is what separates us from the apes ....

[stupidphototricks]

Cheery/Cheri Littlebottom socially transitioning in Feet Of Clay.

"I thought dwarfs hardly recognized the difference between male and female, anyway. Half the dwarfs we bring in here on a No. 23 are female, I know that, and they're the ones that are hardest to subdue--" "What's a No. 23?" "Running Screaming at People While Drunk and Trying to Cut their Knees Off," said Angua. "It's easier to give them numbers than write it down every time. Look, there's plenty of women in this town that'd love to do things the dwarf way. I mean, what're the choices they've got? Barmaid, seamstress, or someone's wife. While you can do anything the men do…" "Provided we do only what the men do," said Cheery. Angua paused. "Oh," she said. "I see. Hah. Yes. I know that tune." -- Terry Pratchett, Feet of Clay

"What is this place?" Cheery whispered. "It's... a place where people can be themselves," said Angua slowly. "People who... have to be a little careful at other times. You know?" "No..." Angua sighed. "Vampires, zombies, bogeymen, ghouls, oh my. The und--" She corrected herself. "The differently alive," she said. "People who have to spend most of their time being very careful, not frightening people, fitting in. That's how it works here. Fit in, get a job, don't worry people, and you probably won't find a crowd outside with pitchforks and flaming torches. But sometimes it's good to go where everybody knows your shape. -- Terry Pratchett, Feet of Clay

(Just try not to see Biers as a gay bar stand-in.)

"I don't know, I've never talked girl talk before," said Cheery. "Dwarfs just talk." "It's like that in the Watch, too," said Angua. "You can be any sex you like provided you act male." -- Terry Pratchett, Feet of Clay

"There's no help for it, I'll have to move out," sighed Cheery. "I feel all… wrong." Angua looked down at the little figure trudging along beside her. She recognized the symptoms. Everyone needed their own space, just like Angua did, and sometimes that space was inside their heads. -- Terry Pratchett, Feet of Clay

THIS.

Vimes hesitated. Now he could put his finger on what had been bothering him for the last twenty seconds. "Littlebottom…" "Sir?" "You… er… you… On your ears?" "Earrings, sir," said Cheery nervously. "Constable Angua gave them to me." -- Terry Pratchett, Feet of Clay

"Er… Littlebottom?" "Sir?" "On your… your lips. Red. Er. On your lips…" "Lipstick, sir." "Oh… er. Lipstick? Fine. Lipstick." "Constable Angua gave it to me, sir." "That was kind of her," said Vimes. "I expect." -- Terry Pratchett, Feet of Clay

"Cheery?" "Yes, Captain?" "You've been, er, you've been trying to hide your face from me… Oh. Did someone hit you?" "No, sir!" "Only your eyes look a bit bruised and your lips--" "I'm fine, sir!" said Cheery desperately. "Oh well, if you say so." -- Terry Pratchett, Feet of Clay

Okay, so the recurring joke of Vimes not being able to wrap his head around why this dwarf he thinks of as male would be wearing makeup and jewelry gets a bit old. But bear in mind that a) he just hired her and barely knows her, b) there's a lot of other stuff going on, c) nobody has told him there's been a pronoun change, and d) Vimes does become one of Cheery's biggest advocates by The Fifth Elephant.

"Cheri," thought Angua. Now, what does that name conjure up? Does the mental picture include iron boots, iron helmet, a small worried face and a long beard? Well, it does now. -- Terry Pratchett, Feet of Clay

I actually love this.

"Are you all right, Corporal Littlebottom?" "Yes, sir," said Cheri. "You're wearing a… a… a…" Carrot's mind rebelled at the thought of what the dwarf was wearing and settled for: "A kilt?" "Yes, sir. A skirt, sir. A leather one, sir." Carrot tried to find a suitable response and had to resort to: "Oh." -- Terry Pratchett, Feet of Clay

Carrot, though. Carrot is uncharacteristically awful, I'm not sure he's entirely excused by his traditional dwarfish upbringing. Fortunately Angua is there to beat some sense into him.

"Female? He told you he was female?" "She," Angua corrected. "This is Ankh-Morpork, you know. We've got extra pronouns here." -- Terry Pratchett, Feet of Clay

"Well, I would have thought she'd have the decency to keep it to herself," Carrot said finally. "I mean, I've nothing against females. I'm pretty certain my stepmother is one. But I don't think it's very clever, you know, to go around drawing attention to the fact." "Carrot, I think you've got something wrong with your head," said Angua. "What?" "I think you may have got it stuck up your bum." -- Terry Pratchett, Feet of Clay

"Er… what's that on your hands?" "Nail varnish, sir." "Nail varnish?" "Yes, sir." -- Terry Pratchett, Feet of Clay

"You come, Littlebottom, and bring your… have you got taller, Littlebottom?" "High-heeled boots, sir," said Cheri. "I thought dwarfs always wore iron boots…" "Yes, sir. But I've got high heels on mine, sir. I welded them on." -- Terry Pratchett, Feet of Clay

"Hrolf Thighbiter's asked me out," said Cheri shyly, looking at the floor. "And I'm almost certain he's male!" -- Terry Pratchett, Feet of Clay

It's a throwaway joke but I mean. Imagine a society where you might find out someone's gender only after you dated and maybe already fell in love with them.

(It could be amazing, you know?)

[captain-mj]

I’m asking. Here it is. Ghoap outlander au. I have nothing to offer but my left kidney

Keep your kidney. Ive been shaking and waiting for someone to send me this ask. Real quick though, besides the basics of “modern person gets sent into 1700s Scotland” This won’t follow the show that much. Also, we are IGNORING homophobia. Realistically they were Catholic at the time but i do not care. Chances are there's going to be quite a few historical accuracies (plus I'm planning on making multiple parts because I fucking adore this idea) so just like... little heads up about that

Also, I'm doing this based off og SoapGhost, obviously it doesn't matter much, but I wanted you guys to know :)

Ghost had never believed in... well anything mystical really. He thought it was nonsense. For some people, it was helpful, but it meant nothing to him. Gunpowder held more meaning than a cross. He was a medic in the army for fuck’s sake.

So when he walked into an area he was told was sacred and asked to be careful, he treated it the same way he treated everything else of this nature. That was not to say he was in any way disrespectful, but he didn't treasure it the way his colleagues did. He was a soldier first, person second. The dark stones reached up to the sky, unnerving in their monolith, but they didn’t strike the fear of God into him.

And then, he felt a knife go through him. It aimed for one of his organs. He didn't remember hitting the ground, just knew that he was on it suddenly. Blood filled his mouth and he couldn't breath. Silently, he prepared himself for the next blow. Accepting death was maybe a bit too easy for him.

But he didn't die. He just laid there in a puddle of his own blood. Weird. It hurt a lot more than a regular stab wound but he was alive.

Ghost tried to get up to call for the others but someone's boot landed on his back, pushing him into the ground. The person started to speak, though he didn't understand the language.

"Get off of me." He tried to stand up and then a blade was against his neck. A sword. The person had a fucking sword. Ghost managed to glance up.

The person must be some kind of weirdo fucking larper. They had a mohawk with braids in it and blue swirling tattoos all over their shoulders and chest. As for their clothing... it was traditional. Kilt, furs over their upper half. He was hot but that was besides the point.

The person looked irritated, barking at him in his language again.

Ghost thought it through. "I can't understand you. I'm English?" He hoped the word “English” would mean something to him.

The man made a very upset face when he said English and that wasn’t what Ghost had in mind when he said something. He hissed at him and dug his heel in. Ghost groaned and gritted his teeth, glaring.

Someone spoke from elsewhere and he paused.

The man stepped off of Ghost and made a motion to get up, sword still pointed at him. Ghost got up and went for his gun, only to find the holsters empty. All of them. Even his assault rifle, which he was pretty sure only landed a few inches from his hand, was gone.

What the hell.

He looked up at him cautiously.

The man looked down at him and slowly used the blade to force him to tilt his head back.

His mask. Ghost's eyes widened as he thought about it. The stranger knelt down and went to remove it and Ghost tried to shove him off. Quickly they were surrounded by more men and something blunt hit the back of Ghost's head.

It was hours later when he woke up. He groaned softly and sat up, feeling thin restraints tug at his wrists. They were just thin leather straps, clearly more of a message than to keep him down.

Ghost looked around the room. It wasn't that well furnished, but it was rather cozy. The few pieces of furnishings he could see had clearly been hand carved. That did not mean they weren't well made, just it was clear they weren't machine manufactured.

He slipped from the binds anyway, touching himself to check for injuries. The knife wound had been well stitched and bandaged perfectly. Funnily enough, it looked like the supplies came from his own bag which was next to him on the floor. His shirt had been taken but the blanket had been pulled to his collar, so he had some privacy.

His mask. Fuck. He quickly touched his face, but luckily, his fingers met the soft fabric. They hadn't taken his mask.

Ghost started to get up but someone came in. The same mohawked person from before. They stared at each other before the man set the plate on the dresser.

They were roughly the same height, but Ghost was sure he could fight him off if needed. However, he was injured and the man brought food.

"English?" He said slowly, like he was feeling out the word. Ghost had a feeling it wasn't his native language. His thick scottish accent grated on the words.

"Yes... Speak it?" Ghost held his wound.

"Vaguely. Soap."

Ghost blinked, a little taken back. "Soap?"

Soap pointed at himself and nodded before pointing at Ghost.

"Ghost." He didn't want to tell him his real name. "What do you speak?"

"Gaelic."

"Don't speak that..." Ghost backed up and tried to joke.

Soap smiled and held out the food. It looked simple. Meat, potatoes, almost laughably what you'd expect from a Scottish person. "Eat."

Ghost reached out slowly and took it from him. The plate felt funny under his hands. He held it to himself, but Soap wasn't leaving.

Ghost decided to try to get some information. "Where am I?"

"Highlands."

"Here with a lot of people?" Maybe if there weren't too many, he could fight his way out. Or maybe just escape silently.

"Dozens. Better you stay here." Soap reached out and Ghost backed up, pressing against the wall. He pulled his hand back though it still lingered in the air.

Ghost slowly pulled his mask up and started to eat. He was starving. It tasted pretty good. His sunglasses were gone and the candle lighting of the room made Soap look otherworldly. A angel. He quickly glanced away again.

“You’re injured. Shouldn’t be out of bed.” Soap chided him, his head tilting slightly. He waited though until Ghost was done eating, hand reaching out for the plate. Once it was set to the side, Soap grabbed him, wrestling him back down.

Ghost fought back, trying to get away from him, but Soap had the advantage of not being fucking stabbed. He ended up straddling him to the bed as he retied him, this time much more securely.

Ghost tensed, feeling Soap’s weight on him. Panic filled his mind until it overflowed and he was kicking and thrashing. He didn’t make a sound, but he didn’t really need to.

Soap grabbed his face. “Breath.” It was a command and Ghost found himself following it. “Good.” He took a deep breath for Ghost to mirror and soon, his head was slightly clearer.

“Don’t touch me.” Ghost managed to spit out.

Soap nodded and got off of him. “Stay down, yes?”

Ghost glared and Soap put his hand firmly in his chest. “Won’t have to touch you if you stay down. Now. Stay. Down.”

Slowly, Ghost nodded.

“Good boy.” Soap grinned and Ghost felt heat rush to his face. He patted him gently and left Ghost alone again.

Ghost started to plan how he would escape.

[miru-has-thoughts]

These three old men decided to have a slut off on a kickoff show

Slutty ref suit with a slick bun

Slutty business suit with no gel in hair

Slutty leather jacket with no shirt and a black kilt