#nae+naw

[thelaisydazy]

Firefighter!Simon Riley x Reader - Locked Out

“Riley! Bad dog!”

You don’t have time to look up before a familiar German Shepherd barrels into you, knocking you to the ground and sending your keys skittering across the sidewalk. 

You sputter as the dog licks your face before a hand grips Riley’s collar and pulls him off you. You wipe the dog slobber from your face and look up expecting to see Simon, instead you see a broad man with a short mohawk, attempting to reign in the overexcited dog. 

“Sorry leannan, dinnae mean fur ‘im tae get away from me,” he said as you started to get back on your feet. 

“S’alright,” you say, brushing off your pants. You give him a quick once over. He's wearing jeans and a tight fitting navy T-shirt with the fire department’s emblem on it. 

He gives you a lopsided grin. “Lek whit ye see, bonnie?” He teases. 

Your face feels warm as you attempt to stutter out a response. 

“I'm only joking, lasso,” he chuckles at your embarrassment. He glances at the bakery door. “Gett’n off yer joab? Ye must be that wee thing the LT acts so sweet aboot.”

You stare at him for several moments, having little idea what he's saying. “I uh… I was just getting off work yeah,” you finally say. “Bakery's closed for the day, sorry.”

“Oh naw, I wasn’t look’n tae buy anyfing,” he said warmly. “Jus’ walkin’ Riley ‘ere.” He stuck a hand out. “Ye can call me Johnny.”

You shake his hand, giving him your name as well. “It’s nice to meet you,” you say. “I don’t mean to rush off, but I need to get home.” You stick your hands in your pockets, finally registering that your keys weren’t in their usual place. You pat your other pockets before looking around at the ground. 

“Whit ye look’n fer?” Johnny asked. 

“My keys,” you say. “I think I dropped them when Riley ran up.” Your eyes scan the sidewalk before spotting the storm drain by the curb. Johnny seems to read your mind as he walks over and looks through the grate. 

“Wee charm oan it?” he asks. 

You groan. Of course your keys had fallen into the storm drain. How were you supposed to get into your apartment now? Your landlord was away on holiday and he hadn’t left a spare behind. He wouldn’t be back until tomorrow night. You’d just spend the night in the bakery, but you’d already locked up for the night and no one would be back until morning. 

Johnny seems to sense your distress as he claps you on the back, knocking you from your thoughts. “Ye can stay wi’ us at th’ station house,” he suggested. “We can even get yer keys oot th’ drain fur ye.”

“I don’t wanna be a both-” you start to say but are cut off by Johnny. 

“Dinna fash!” he beamed at you. “ Nae trouble at all.”

Before you could protest, Johnny wraps a muscular arm over your shoulder and starts to guide you back to the station, grinning to himself as Riley trotted happily next to you. Simon was going to love this.

---

As a treat, here's a second one today <3

[on-a-lucky-tide]

Nik and Price get in the ring after the sergeants tire of them heckling from the ropes. Bravo Six learns something new about himself.

CW: blatant sexual tension; mention of choking out in an MMA context; desire for forced submission (and being very into it but also bloody terrified by that desire).

"MacTavish, stop droppin' your hands! KorTac'd walk an entire detachment through that guard," Price called from Soap's left just as Gaz locked his arm, twisted and threw him over his shoulder, "fuck, Christ."

Price rubbed his eyes and glanced over at Nik through the eventual gaps in his fingers. Nik had been clapping and whooping enthusiastically every time Gaz had landed a blow, drowning out the thump-thump of the sergeants' preferred playlist, and now he was beaming from ear to ear. "Kharoshaya rabota, well done!" Nik called, thick forearms slanting across the rope as Gaz bound Soap's chest and arm up into an arm bar.

Nik was looking frustratingly good that evening, the drop tank he'd thrown on to lift weights with Ghost hanging low under his arms, giving Price far too good a view of the heavy set physique beneath. He'd been worried about getting caught staring at the dumbbell rack while Nik had counted through the reps of a single arm row, every line and tendon in his shoulder and tricep pressing through sweat-sheened skin, so he had spent a bit longer on squats, hoping the burn in his thighs overcame the burn somewhere else.

Price figured it was the easy confidence with which Nik carried himself that had always drawn his eye. Open chested, spread arms, hips first. Not afraid to be looked at and proud of what he had to display. And what's worse? Price was pretty fucking sure Nik knew he was looking. Played up to it, in fact. Funny for him, miserable for Price. Bastard.

Gaz rolled away as Soap tapped out, panting from the exertion of keeping Soap subdued, hands on his knees, but grinning right back at Nik. "Ochin mela, spasiba bolshoya.*

"Ahh, and your Russian is coming on well, my brother. Soon you will be wooing all the ladies, eh? Heh heh."

"Learned from the best, mate," Gaz said as he bounded over to take Nik's hand and bump their shoulders together.

Price eyeballed Soap as he clambered to his feet with a groan. "What the fuck was that? I've seen better footwork on crows fresh out of selection."

"Aye, well," Soap flexed backwards, his hands at the base of his spine, "nae my fault Gaz's b'in trainin' with daddy KGB over there."

Price grabbed Soap by the jaw. "Should send you on a yomp at 0400 tomorrow for that kinda talk. Stop makin' excuses." Soap grimaced and Price saw the sting of his words pass through his eyes before they drifted across to Gaz. Price squinted. "You broken?"

"Naw, sir."

"Then get the fuck back over there and wipe the floor with him. Stop taking the bait he's layin' out for you." Price shoved Soap's jaw away from him and slumped back against the ropes.

The sergeant bashed his fists together in front of his chest and turned back into the ring with a look of determination, bumping gloves with Gaz before pulling back to start the next round. He didn't allow himself to be led by the nose this time, circling with nifty footwork, swaying away from a mean right hook that narrowly missed his jaw.

"That's it, don't let him dictate the fight," Price said.

"Eh, sir, you playin' favourites?" Gaz called, his smile never fading as he teased Soap into another right hook, dancing deftly out of range.

"Neither of you qualify. Simon's my favourite."

Said Lieutenant was currently sitting by the speaker with a battered Terry Pratchett novel, his tupperware of steak and garlic potatoes balanced on his knee so that he could eat and read simultaneously. He might have smirked, but the overloaded fork of protein and carbs he shovelled into his mouth hid it from view.

"Och, didn't even hesitate. Cold," Soap said.

"Fuckin' baltic, mate - oop! Nearly, Tav." Gaz dodged out of Soaps attempted clinch, light on his feet, and bounced back round.

The playlist flicked over to yet another generic anthem dredged from the seedy club scene and Price glanced over his shoulder. "Turn that shit down, Simon."

The lieutenant obliged without looking up, if only by a few notches, before his hand returned to his fork.

"Easy, Gaz, you must watch his right leg," Nik said.

"Cheat," Price grunted.

"Poshel tuy, what's good for Soap is good for Gaz." Nik damn near pouted, arms folding across his broad chest as he quirked an eyebrow in challenge.

"Come over here and tell me to fuck myself in my own gym," Price growled back, bristling. Nik only smiled at him toothily, a glint in his eye and a tilt of the head that said 'I'd love to' in a way that made heat lick down Price's spine. It drove him crazy, how Nik could have that effect without even touching him. It was a distraction though; Price looked back to the fight only to spot Soap's demise a second later. "Soap, d--"

An overstep. A throw. An attempted grapple on the floor, followed by a deep sprawl that allowed Gaz to force Soap into the mat. Soap tried to flip onto his back, but within moments Gaz was sitting on his chest and raining punches down on the backs of his gloves as he shielded his head.

Price let Soap take a reasonable beating as punishment for his poor focus before barking from the ropes. "Callin' it, Garrick, get off his sorry arse."

Gaz rolled onto his feet and Soap grunted as he sat up. "Ah need tae get a few sessions in with Nik..."

"Nah, ya need t' get your head in the fight," Price replied. "Maybe turn your drum and bass shite down so you can focus."

"It's not drum and bass, s--"

"Can it, Garrick."

"Sir."

Soap jutted his lower lip, grabbing the lower rope for support as he stood. "Ah think ye should come show me how it's done," Soap murmured, pulling out his gum shield to flex his jaw. "Get in here n' kick th' shit outta him, rather n' gripin' from the sidelines."

"Oh ho ho, no way, he's not sandbaggin' me," Gaz lifted his gloves in immediate surrender. "He can pick on someone his own size. You're up, Nik."

Nik's face lit up with the most feral fucking grin Price had ever seen on a man. "I am ready if you are, captain."

Price could feel the fire under his skin; a burning desire to knock that silly grin off Nik's face and put him back in his place. Or, that's what he told himself. Because his eyes weren't exactly on Nik's face; they were tracing the broad shelf of his shoulders and the thick curves of his biceps, imagining them subdued in a grapple, and the sounds Nik would make as he tried to fight his way out. That same heat curled in his gut and he figured the only way he was going to extinguish it was with fists. "Fine, fuck it, sergeants, out."

"Ooh, shit," Gaz cackled, ducking under the ropes to stand on the edge of the mat, followed closely by Soap.

Price ditched his shirt and snagged his grappling gloves before stepping into the ring. As he wrapped his wrists, Price's gaze wandered to the slope of Nik's back, the curves of his arse and thighs testing the generous cut of his shorts, and had to breathe deeply through his nose to get his bloody pulse rate under control. It was adrenalin before a fight against a worthy opponent, he told himself.

The damn front wasn't any easier to look at once that drop tank had been removed, especially when Nik bounced from foot to foot and his chest moved with the momentum. He threw his arms in a few test punches at the air and rolled his head from side to side, relaxed and limber. Price chewed on the inside of his cheek and finished securing his gloves. The music was doing his nut in. "Turn that shit off," Price growled in Soap's general direction.

Soap removed his mouth guard and rolled his jaw before calling across to Simon. "Ay, L.T., put on somethin' more their vibe."

This time, Simon deigned to look up from his novel to pick a song. As Benny Andersson's fingers slid down the keys of his clavinet and Abba's 1976 Hit single 'Dancing Queen' droned from the raspy gym speaker, Price decided Simon was no longer his favourite.

Nik seemed content with the choice, however; extending his arm with the other held in front of him like he was dancing with an invisible partner, crooning along to "you can dance, you can ji-i-ive" like he was at a seventies disco. Soap and Gaz guffawed and whooped loudly on the sidelines.

"Bloody muppets," Price grumbled. "Oi, today, Nikolai. London rules." He lifted his fists and moved forward.

Nik knocked his knuckles to Price's and then stepped out of range in time to dodge a cheeky swipe. "Nu vot, Price. Not Queensbury? I thought you were a gentleman." The grin on Nik's face said he'd thought no such thing.

"What gave you that idea?"

"Salt of the earth country boy, no?"

"Hmm."

Nik was bigger, slower, which meant Price could stay out of his way and wear him down with well targeted hits. He knew there was an injury in Nik's back to take advantage of too. If it came to it, Price wasn't above fighting dirty to win. Hit and run was the way to go with big fighters like Nik.

Nimble and quick, Price landed a few punches to Nik's chest and a leg kick or two within the first few minutes, but Nik absorbed them, batting away another aimed for his head and retaliating with a hard right book that Price barely dodged in time.

"Watch it, cap!"

"He's landin' easy ones, Nik. C'mon!"

Price watched Nik carefully over his gloves, darting in only when he saw an opening and then dodging back again before those huge arms could engage a clinch.

Nik's first real hit came from nowhere; Price left a gap as he switched stances and the resulting body shot left him momentarily winded. Enough to lose ground. Price looked for a gap to evade but Nik pursued relentlessly, lashing out only to make Price dodge into the space he wanted him in, controlling him like a marionette on fucking strings.

Out of the corner of his eye, Price could see Simon step up to the rope next to the two sergeants, his meal finished and his novel forgotten, the fight too interesting to ignore. That didn't stop him dabbling in his second favourite sport. "Hey Johnny, Want to know how you make any salad into a caesar salad?"

"L.T. no--"

"Stab it twenty-three times."

Gaz snorted into his fist and Soap pinched the bridge of his nose and then winced when Price took another hard body blow that staggered him against the ropes.

Nik kept coming, wearing Price down with a slow, deliberate pursuit around the ring that made him dance and skip to land shots where he could. It was like hitting padded concrete, the red marks on Nik's skin nothing but surface damage. His body was fucking magnificent, bloody superhuman, and each time Price laid a hit he felt excitement surge through him like lightning. They bound up a few times, but Price always managed to escape the attempted grapple, his heart in his mouth, or Nik broke the clinch.

It couldn't last.

Price felt his energy waning, his footwork slowing, the sweat stinging the corner of his eyes. Nik hadn't pushed his advantage yet and he didn't need to. Not until the opportune moment, which he seized when Price was cornered again against the ropes after another prowl around the ring. Strong arms bound his torso in a clinch and Nik performed a flawless uchi mata that earned a surprised hum from Simon. They grappled on the ground, Price sprawling his legs wide to prevent Nik from levering him over.

"C'mon, sir! Break out!" Soap leaned over the ropes, gripping them intently.

Nik slipped around Price's back and wrapped his legs around his hips, drawing his neck into a rear-naked choke that felt like being crushed in a steel vice. Price thrashed, trying to drive his elbow back but only scoring glancing blows. He refused to tap out in his own fucking gym on his own fucking mat--

"Captain," Nik grunted, struggling to keep Price constrained, "please... do not think... our friendship will prevent me from... putting you to sleep. Submit."

Submit.

Something tight and hot twisted in Price's gut as Nik growled the command so close to his ear, voice rumbling from deep inside the barrelled chest pressed to Price's back. Price's toes curled against the mat and he became intimately aware of every inch of Nik's skin against his, slick with sweat and a mirrored heat, every muscle as hard and as unyielding as steel. He had been completely overpowered, taunted and teased into a trap, and now Nik had absolute control. There was... there was nothing Price could do.

Price's vision edged in grey, his nails biting into Nik's forearm, and his palm finally pounded the mat.

Nik released him immediately, rolling to his knees and moving to take Price's face carefully in his hands. "Breathe, John."

Price didn't know why he was gasping like that, his heart hammering a neat little samba against the cage of his chest. He could smell the sweat and leather of Nik's gloves, but all he wanted to do was tear them off and feel Nik's fingers in his hair. No, no too fucking much, too fu--

"'M... Fine. Gerroff." He pushed Nik's hands away and the big Russian at least had the good grace to stand and give him some space. Price closed his eyes and took a moment to steady himself, breathing in through his nose and out through lips that definitely weren't shaking. It was just a bloody fight. He'd had his arse handed to him a fair amount in his time. This was no different.

But as he opened his eyes again, Price knew something had clicked in his head that had been teetering on the brink all this time. He looked up at Nik, gaze dragging up his muscular thighs and the dark hair of his belly and chest, and felt the tightness of arousal in his gut. The realisation that he liked kneeling here at Nik's feet, subdued, conquered, settled into his chest like a shard of ice. He wanted Nik's hands on him; his wrists, his neck, his throat, holding him down. He wanted Nik to push his knees and thighs apart to claim every inch of him as a prize. He wanted the control torn from him, to hear the word submit snarled in his ear as he had no choice. It was terrifying.

Nik offered a hand down and Price took it mechanically, letting Nik drag him up until their bodies were pressed together again. Dark brown eyes studied him closely, a gloved hand resting at his hip. "Molodech, captain. You fought well."

"And you fought better," Price croaked, stiffening his back so that his body didn't shake in Nik's hands.

"This time." Nik's voice lowered significantly in volume, his hand squeezing meaningfully at Price's hip. Fuck, fuck, he'd seen. He'd bloody seen those wide, desperate eyes after feeling Price's body against his, and worked it out, hadn't he? Price swallowed hard.

"Fuckin' hell, mate. I'm glad you're on our side," Gaz called, and Soap agreed with a quiet murmur. Price was thankful they were none the wiser.

Well, the sergeants weren't. Simon was studying him closely as he ducked under the ropes. "Somethin' on your mind, Simon?"

"No, sir." He glanced at Nik and then back at Price. "He fought well. But not that well."

"Thanks for the feedback."

Simon hummed. "Perhaps you should do some one on one with Daddy KGB. Iron out the uh... kinks."

"Fuck you, lieutenant," Price growled quietly. "And don't." He cut the observant bastard off before he could start that innuendo, and headed towards the locker rooms.

"Ahh, don't worry," Gaz said, slapping Nik on the shoulder. "He'll lick his wounds and be back out here tomorrow."

Nik rubbed his chin thoughtfully, watching Price's retreating back. "Perhaps..."

Simon cleared his throat. "You should go help," he paused, "with the wounds."

"Da," Nik responded, leaving the ring to follow in Price's wake. He had opened an untouched vault of riches and he was keen to explore them, and so was Price, if those big blue eyes were anything to go by.

--

(Kinda want them to fuck in the shower, with Nik's hand around Price's throat, fingers so big they nestle in the hinge of his jaw, pinning him but Price relaxed and in heaven; yeah, a friend got that image in my head and I'm feral for it.)

[writersdrug]

Sorry for my last message, about Johnny's Scots. I've realised how disheartening that could be to receive as a writer so thought I'd come back to actually offer some advice instead of just "don't do it." (This isn't all aimed at you just a collection of mistakes I've seen surrounding Johnny's language in fics etc in general but you might find helpful)

Obviously like all language, rules get broken but in general, and I'm sure they're not solely used in Scots either:

Nae - there isn't/it isn't (nae problem, nae chance/nae way)

Nah - dismissive/friendly (nah don't worry) (in our accents this does often sound similar to Naw)

Naw - usually more vehement. (Naw you're takin the mick/Naw enough now) Honestly often a warning shot that you're approaching your limit in a disagreement.

Cannae - can't/cannot

Dinnae - don't

Didnae - didn't

Doesnae - doesn't

Tae - to (as in the beloved "get tae fuck")

Bonnie - does mean pretty but usually used as a descriptor rather than a pet name

Scottish Book Trust has a good starting list of vocabulary if you're interested at all!

Best of luck with your writing, you'll smash it!

No you don't understand this is so helpful, I never know what to do with his accent 😭 Thank you for this!!

[crashandlivewrites]

omg am i your first ask??? anyway, crawling to your inbox on my hands and knees to please ask for dom!soap overstimming reader <3 like she’s overwhelmed from work and can’t get her brain to shut off so johnny forces her brain to melt by making her cum over and over again. idk i just think that would be yummy :(

You know you are, Cherry darling <3 taking my ask virginity. Enjoy me not shutting up about your (our) man xx

As requested: Dom!Soap x fem!reader

CW: MDNI 18+ content, NSFW, overstim, degradation, Johnny being nasty and mean (but that’s normal), me ranting my ass off

“Hen, what’ve I told ye about overworkin’ yerself?” Johnny growled as he stepped over the threshold, home from the gym. Chucking his towel and bag in the corner and shutting the door behind him, he marched over to where you were sitting at the table. You were seated in the exact same place you were when he’d left for the gym and the same place you’d been when he’d woken up this morning. Tugging your chair back, he slid his body between you and your laptop, frown evident on his face.

“I’m just finishing things up, Johnny. Need to get this last thing done—”

“No, hen. Yer not.” There was no room for argument in his tone, so you shut your mouth and furrowed your brows together in annoyance. “Dinnae look at me like that, I’m in a right mood tae punish ye.”

“For what? I’m trying to finish this.” You snapped, trying to reach over his shoulder for your laptop, but he grabbed your wrist, pinning it to your side as he raised his brow.

“Dinnae give me that attitude, hen. Yer walkin’ a thin line.” His voice lowered and eyes narrowed, sending shivers down your spine. Meeting his hard gaze, you reached out with your other arm for the laptop again, attempting to click the save button on the email you’d been drafting when he snapped.

“Fuckin’ brat. Ye naw listenin’ tae me. Gonna give it tae ye now.” Standing up and throwing you over his shoulder and taking you to the bedroom where he unceremoniously dumped you onto the bed, before manhandling you so you were bent over the end of it, face pressing into the sheets.

“Johnny—” You gasped out, but you were interrupted by a sharp click of his tongue.

“Shut it, ye wee slut. I gave ye a chance and ye didnae listen.” His hands were rough as he stripped your bottom half bare, kicking your legs apart to expose your cunt which, much to your embarrassment and his delight, was already wet. Johnny chuckled darkly as he ran his fingers through your folds, collecting your slick on his fingers as he cooed. “Haven’t even touched ye, hen. Mah good wee slut, ain’t ye?”

He allowed two of his thick fingers to slide into you slowly, clicking his tongue again as he felt you try and shift to pull away. A hand came down to slap sharply on your ass.

“Ye lost the right tae move, hen. Already proved tae me ye cannae take care of yerself.” Curling his fingers, he pressed directly against that spongy spot that he knew made you moan. You did just that, tilting your hips back to meet his fingers as he thrust them into you. “Look at ye. Fuckin’ slut takin’ my fingers. Listen to yer pussy. She’s fuckin’ missed me. All wet and leakin’., makin’ the sweetest sounds fer me.”

He kneeled down between your spread legs, ignoring your cries and calls of his name. Instead, he crooned directly to your pussy as he added another finger, producing slick sounds that made you want to bury your face into the bed.

“I ken I’ve been neglecting ye. But dinnae fash, I’ll make ye feel so good tonight, aye? Make up fer lost time.”

“Please… Johnny I need—” You yelped as another hard strike stung your ass cheek.

“Naw, bonnie. Ye get nae say in this. This is between me and ye bonnie wee cunt. At least I’ve got one lassie that listens tae me.” Whining, you dug your fingers into the sheets, turning your head to look back at your boyfriend over your shoulder, who was pointedly looking at your sopping cunt and not you.

“C’mon bonnie. Cum fer me, aye?” He cooed, leaning in so his tongue could dance over your clit.

And you did. Over. And over. And over until slick covered your inner thighs, the bed, his fingers, his face…

“Please Johnny… I can’t… no more please!” You cried, struggling to form the words as your legs were numb and trembling, making it virtually impossible to push him away.

“Yer still talkin’ hen, clearly need to muddle ye brain more. Ye can handle another one, aye? Ain’t even shoved my cock in ye yet.”

Johnny was usually the most impatient bastard around, but when it came to teaching you a lesson… he suddenly had all the patience and self-control in the world.

“Besides, ain’t heard yer safe word yet, bonnie thing. Ye remember it, dinnae ye?” Chucking, he spun you around so you were sprawled on your back, hooking your knees over his elbows and looming over you. “Gonna be a good girl fer me? Gonna listen tae me next time I tell ye to take a break?”

Heavily panting and body lax from climax after climax, you gave him a small nod and his responding smile was wicked. Letting go of one of your legs, he reached down to drag his thick cock along your slit before pressing in. Johnny moaned loudly as he slid in right to the hilt, meeting no resistance.

“Steamin’ bloody Jesus, hen. Pussy feels s’fuckin good ‘n wet. Gonna fuck ye, breed ye til ye cannae even think of work nae more.”

[shakespearenews]

QUEEN: Hamlet, wheesht. Nae mair  o’ this.  My een ye’ve turnt tae stare back inwarts,  An’ in my saul I see the blackent smutches, stains,  That keep their awfu’ colour.  HAMLET: To live atween the sheets,  In the sweaty spunky greasy sheets o’ yir kip,  Stewed an’ bubblin’ a’ corruption’s heatit honey,  Makin’ houghmagandie in the pigswill –  QUEEN: O will ye haud yir wheesht! Eneuch!  Yir words are blades that slice intae ma lugs, they gang richt in.  Nae mair, for peety’s sake, douce Hamlet.  HAMLET: A murtherer, a villain,  Juist a slave, no’ e’en a twentieth pairt the wee-est bit  O’ him ye jinked wi’ last. A doitit fuil, a clown,  A measlie-mean an’ mealy-mou’d bluidsucker o’ the empire,  Wha liftit frae a shelf the croun whan naebody else was keekin’,  An’ slipped it in ’is pooch.  QUEEN: Nae mair!  HAMLET: A king o’ tatters, scraps an’ patches –  (Enter Ghaist)  Abune me wi’ yir wings, O gairds o’ heivin!  Sauve me, fluther owre! Och, man, yir grace, yirsel’, whit’s up?  QUEEN: Ochon, ochon! He’s gyte.  HAMLET: I ken I’m slow tae stert, ye’re here to nudge me,  Deavit doun in passin’ ’oors an’ gumption, a’ gane by  Yir strang command an’ my obeyin’ o’ ’t.  Speak tae me nou!  GHAIST: Dinnae forget, an’ dinnae forgie, ye’ll mind o’ this, an’ mind  o’ me.  I’m here to roust yir purpose oan the whetstane aince again. It’s bluntit.  Shairpen up, son. Luik. Yir mother’s visage flauchters wi’ amaze.  Nou get atwixt her an’ her ragin’ saul. Imaginin’ in dwaiblie fowlk works strang.  Speak tae’r nou, Hamlet. Oan ye go.  HAMLET: Hou’s yirsel nou, mither?  QUEEN: Naw, naw, hou’re you?  Yir een are set on naethin’ness,  And a’ yir words are sent intae the tuim an’ bodiless air.  Oot o’ yir een yir speerits keek like craziness,  An’ juist like sodgers sleepin’ through alarums,  Yir hair, richt there, starts up, staunds up, on ends. Och son,  My denty chiel, owre the flamin’ het o’ yir wierd govin’,  Spatter the cool o’ patience. Whit’re ye luikin’ at?  HAMLET: Him! Him! He’s wan as a full muin at midnicht. Luik!  He’s glowrin’ at us nou. Baith hou he luiks an’ whit he tells  Is nou the ae thing, anerlie, jined. He could preach tae stanes  An’ see them sympathise. 

[scottishoctopus]

I know you’re literally heartless and all, Cap’n.

…But do you receive sympathy from others well? Do you appreciate it even secretly, sir?

"Naw, Ah do nae recieve any sympathy from the people Ah come across, nor do Ah desire tah have it. The last thing Ah need is fer people tah treat me as though Ah am some damaged soul- uh.

Ah don' care for a measly thing such as sympathy." The cursed man states, his tentacle beard writhing slowly in thought.

[blueonwrestling]

tell ye, the young bucks finally going back to being the best thing they are, baiting shitebags, is fucking great, nae more fuckin' wanky elite shite are they friends are they not friends, naw, it's EVP time.

[ur-mousey]

watch me whip watch me nae nae wa

I bet I could do it better than you! 🥳

*naw fam, I'm lying, I suck.

[rainytastemakerwasteland]

new foto naes naw foto ❣️

[thewolfisawake]

"Da?"

Balmoral gave a small hum to indicate he was listening as he annotated on the summary of grievances.

"What would you be doing if you weren't ruling?"

"It's nae my reality so ah cannae say."

"Surely, you've thought about it though. Once during day where you're buried in paperwork or sometime during the militia, right?"

"Naw."

"Never?"

"Aye."

"So you've gone this whole time...since like childhood, knowing that you were gonna be king? That you were going to be in charge of the Unseelie?"

Balmoral looked up from the papers, "Is thon so strange?"

"A little," Nathair admitted, "me and Sceolan were born in the palace and I'm sure we've thought about what else we'd be doing."

"And whit would that be?"

"Sceolan says she'd want to plan the communities. That she likes to see the world being built before her eyes."

A careful eye remarked, "And you, wee yin?"

"I'm hardly little anymore, da."

"So long as you're my boy, you'll always be a 'wee yin' tae me," Balmoral informed, chuckling at the petulant look from Nathair, "but what are your dreams?"

"To roam," Nathair said, "to just go with no destination in mind. To see where the winds take me and take in what I'd see."

"It's a nice dream. Wan you can take, Nathair. Ah'm nae hauding you nor your sister here. Ah have many years tae oversee and if ah have my way, you dinnae have tae worry aboot ruling either."

"I don't mind ruling, especially if it means you can try something new. Yeah, don't think I didn't notice you changing the subject. Mon, da, surely you can think of something you'd want to do? Like if someone took you by the hand and said 'let's go right now' there's nothing you can think of?"

The king set aside his paperwork to meet his child in earnest. But it was truly a conundrum to him. He had contingencies and plans as to all sorts questions that could be heaped upon him. But this was different. Asking him what was there besides his ambition? It was all that had driven him. All he had ever hoped for.

"Not really."

"Daaaaa..." Nathair drawled in a plea for his dad to take this seriously.

"Och aye, geez a minute," Balmoral replied. But it really was difficult. So he decided to run with the possibility that Nathair had laid forth. There was shifting within the lone multi-colored eye. As if they warped to help rearrange the scenario in his mind.

What came to his mind was years back. Back before he ever stepped foot in this palace. Back before he was even a blip to anyone's attention. A starry night as he was so fond of spent on the surface. It was an idle night with only two awake ruminating in the secrets shared over the course of these numerous nights. How hands clasp round his own and how red-orange shined with daring and determination.

Let's leave this fucked up place behind.

And how despite everything in his being that would kick and scream. How it would want to revolt...Balmoral could feel the strength in those hands and look into those eyes. And he'd believe them. And follow him anywhere so long as it was together. So they...escaped into the night.

"Maybe something like yours, wee yin," he finally voiced, "simply running far and beyond where we've known. Could be the hells, could be the mortal realm...only thing was that it'd never be returning tae where we've left."

"We?"

"Where else would you play oot in a' this, mo luran? Noo anymore questions or are you tae help me with these preparations?" Balmoral questioned back, quickly pushing aside that thought. It was a silly question after all. As he said, it wasn't his reality.

[steeleyespan]

customers are so insane the questiins they except you to answer. Woman asked me in the crisp aisle today what crisps were gluten free so i was like all the gluten free stuff is in aisle 3 :) and she wis like naw some ae these ones have nae gluten i just canny mind which ones it is can you tell me. ummm i was like go ask that manager over there. what does she expect, For me to be like aye the Walkers cheese and onion are gf i kehn this cos i spent my last shift reading the ingredients of the products we sell? . and like 20 minutes later an old lady comes up asking what non brewed condiment is am like idfk its the fake chippy vinegar but she was wanting like a detailed answer and a list of what she could use it for .... ask Google please

[theuniverseawakens347]

YOU BEEN HATING ME SINCE DAY ONE FROM A SPIRITUAL PLACE WE COME FROM N YOU BITCHES WAN KNOW N MYRON IF YA GOOD TO ME NOW,.

THIS LIFE ABOUT MAKING RIGHT TO ME GOD AS CASHAY,

I tell ya now JESSICA TURNER YA LOST N NAE TOO,

the rest we gotta fight boo,

SMALL LIP DESTINY BITCH, YOURE OUT! FUCKED OVER AT THAT TRACK MEET .. Ya Tele me .. ya hated me still..

FOR WHAT!??

“My hair longer than yours n my lips smaller”

LIKE JASMINE LILY MOM YA COLORIST BITCHES FOR THE WHITE MAN COONS ,

Miss “they praise you” NAW SON THEY HATE ME IM FREE THEY LOVE YOUR INCEST WILLING SLAVE ASS BITCH,

YA GOT YA PRIOROTIES FUCKED UP ALL YOU BITCHES AND WAYNE N CHRIST RACIAT ASSES TELLING ME I WASNT BLACK WNOUGH TO CLAIM IT AND NAE TALKING SHIT BEHIND MY BACK FOR IT N THEN TELLING ME IM TOO LIGHT SKIN THEREFORE WHITE ENOUGH,

FUCK YOU 54 STREET SKÜL BITCHES LONG N HARD. YAL DESERVE THE PAIN ABOUT TO COME TO YOU,

AND THE BLACK BITCHES WHO HATE ON LIGJT SKIN FIRST CAUSE THE WHITE MAN FED YOU BULLSHIT AGENDA OF LOVING THEM MOST FROM HOUSE NIGGA DAYS,

YOU A FUCKING EVIL COLORIST WILLING AT HEART,

YA DONT WANA LEARN SOMETHING NEW,

OFF MY PLANET OF CREATION BOO,

BUT FIRST WE GET OUR LICK BACK,

AND VICE VERSA FOR THE LIGHT SKINS HATING DARKS WILLINGLY!!

HAPPY HUNTINGS, I’ll let ya in on a lil Tele secret if I like you,

BUT GOOD LUCK CITCH-CENFUL-BITCHES

🥱

BARAK CAN THE SHIP JUST EAT THESE BITCHES ALREADY,

TIRED OF THESE HOES TAKE EM TO THE PLANET OF VENOM ,

And meet my REAL NASTY MEAN GIRL SIDE

😴

Ya dummy fat asses

( ps not a compliment jas lily’s mom soft* mommy bbl ass shots)

SOOOOO PLAYED OUT,

ALL I GOT TO OFFER IS HALF A BOOK READ MY HAIR N NAILS DONE RELIGIOUSLY ( interesting routine) and fake woke spiritual wisdom I get from a mineral seamoss bath, WHILE I POORLY COOK YA STREET FOOD! THANKS MAMA NICOLE FOR REMINDING ME MY NIGGER SIDE W FOOD AT DUMBASS JAS N NAE THOTS .. BITCH ITS SOUL COOKING SOMETHING YOU DONT GOT.. MISSING THE WHOLE FOOT DUMMY THATS WHY ERIC LEFT YOU … and ya nigga now thinking bout too.. cheating on you w def trannies cause he lost n confused … COME HITLER ILL TEACH YOU 💋 ( naes mad GOD KIDSSED HER MANS)

🥴

like be SOOOOO FUCKING FRFR,

WHY WOULD YOU EAT THAT BULLSHIT FROM LEE,

A 4 YR OLD TOLD HER…

So ya DO THINK IM SMART ASS FUCK N GOD…

Interesting can’t tell if ya love like or HATE ME

ALL AS ONE,

CRI(st)MES OF PASSIONS, KILLING YOU FOR GOOD.

Ya know how it go sspiritual* Zclone famILY cunts wh$re

[dionadaiiraaa]

❛ You're not worried I'm going to make a run for it? ❜

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐅𝐨𝐥𝐤 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐀𝐢𝐫 : 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐂𝐫𝐮𝐞𝐥 𝐏𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐞 ;

accepting @vilestblood

" Naw. " Eden replied as he rested on the window cill of the Kelpie. He slowly opened the window to let the sea air billow in. He glanced at the other and slowly canted his head to the side to watch him curiously.

" Ah'm nae yer jailer, yer free to go where ye wish."

[scottishoctopus]

I hate to bother you, sir. But I have far too many questions, Cap’n.

I have a few questions about your curse, if you don’t mind, sir.

1. How did the curse originally take hold of you? Was it immediate or was it a gradual process? Either way, I…assume it was painful?

2. When a new man accepts your offer to join your crew, is there an initiation process or is there no official “ceremony”? My first question also applies to their crew: is it immediate for them or is it a gradual transformation? Also, let’s say someone is pressed-ganged into your crew and they do not willing give their soul or whatever: Will the curse affect them or do they have to verbally acknowledge give their service to you in order for the curse to take affect?

3. Do you…uhh…ever miss being completely human?

"Well, since Ah have nothin' bettah tah do on this ship, Ah suppose Ah can answah yer curious questions." He replies, lighting his pipe and taking a deep smoke.

"Twas a long, dreadful process of mahself and the crew transformin' intah the bein's that we are tahday. At first, Ah assumed that we were all slowly perishin' due tah me abandonin' mah duty as ferryman. Howevah shortly aftah Ah lost mah leg and was replaced with that of a crab- uh, it was then Ah discovered we were nae dyin' but becomin' part of the seas itself.

As fer new souls, there is naw ceremony nor congratulations given tah one. When they declare their service tah me, they are expected tah begin workin' their debts. If they have nae proven that they are worth their soul, then Ah have them dropped off at the bottom of the sea where they can repay their debts there. The souls on board the ship or at the seabed then go through the same transformin' process as Ah went through centuries prior.

Fer the mattah of me desirin' tah be human once more, Ah wish nae. That is a face of a man that Ah am naw longah." Jones finished bitterly, sneering at the thought of his naive human self.

[biaoba]

Oh hell naw hell naw hell nae hell naw hell naw hell naw jell naw hell nae

[g00dfell0w]

A robin flew into the house one night

Their mother opened the door to what had sounded like a soft knocking and in it flew in a flutter of feathers. 

She cried out in spite of herself and the hour and woke the woodsman from his drunken stupor. The poor bird flew this way and that, smacking into the walls and ceiling until at last finding a spot to rest and look around. No sooner had it settled on a curtain rod than the woodsman was in the room swinging a long pole around as if there were a cloud of birds, each fiercely diving at his eyes. In a panic, the little bird narrowly avoided a strike to fly down the hallway to where the boys were getting out of bed to see what the commotion was. When they opened the door, in flew the robin, pinging off the walls and bedposts. The twins screamed and fell over themselves but Nel saw the bird for what it was: confused, terrified, and lost. With uncharacteristic firmness he shushed the scrabbling twins and slowly held up his hands. Henry and Arlo fell silent as they watched him move with glacial deliberateness, speaking gently as he followed the bird with his eyes. It couls find no place to land that was not too near the terrible giants and so fluttered back and forth, trying to ascend and meeting the ceiling each time with a soft thump and loss of a few feathers. Try as he would to calm the creature—“Hush, settle down now. I’ll get you out. No need to do all that now. You’ll hurt yourself, shhh. I will nae hurt ye, little fellow”—the anger and killing intent rose from the woodsman like smoke that blinded the poor thing and set its heart racing. It was made to fear for its life and now could not act otherwise. Drunk, groggy, and stupid as was the woodsman, he did not believe his wife when she insisted he had hit the thing and it was gone. He would not be pacified by her and listened with a predator’s ear. Nothing. The brats, who he’d heard squawling a minute ago, were silent. He lumbered down the hall with the broom tight in his grip. “Arlo, get the window open so he can get out.” “How d’ye know it’s a he?” “The color of ‘im, now get it open!” Arlo rose, keeping an eye on the fluttering thing that was trying ineffectually to fly out of the corner of the darkened room. He unpinned the shutter and lowered it to the floor. “Careful!” said Henry. “It’ll peck your eyes out!” “Naw he won’t,” said Nel. “E’s afraid of us and just wants to get out.” “Then why’s he not go?” asked Arlo from below the open window. Despite the breeze and moonlight coming in from outside, the bird continued to fling itself against the ceiling and walls. “Doesnae want to fly lower for fear we’d catch and eat him,” said Nel, casting around for anything to help. “Henry, take one end of yer blanket and I’ll take the other and we’ll make a soft wall to push him out.” Henry hesitated. The little bird’s flapping was becoming erratic and it struggled to keep hovering near the ceiling. “Hurry, his little heart will give out.” That stirred Henry, now seeing no reason to be afraid, and he was up in an instant to save the poor creature. But as he flung one end of the blanket to Nel, the woodsman’s shadow fell across the doorway. Everyone in the little room froze save for the flapping bird and when the woodsman’s eye fell on it, he sprung into the room, planting one foot squarely on Henry, and swung like a whirlwind. Nel opened his mouth to shout “No!” but the word was lost as the broomstick collided with the side of his head. It was less from the dark that the woodsman could so widely miss, but his disregard for any living thing be it robin or child. The stick whizzed through the air and the bird, at last, dove for the open window. With a roar, the woodsman swung and battered the little bird into the opposite wall where it impacted with the sound of breaking bones and the final shocked piping from its collapsed lungs. He growled with triumph and picked it up from the floor, squeezing it in his great palm before flinging the tattered remains of a songbird out the window he’d refused to let it escape through alive.

The pain in his head throbbed terribly and the brush of his own fingers agains his temple made him wince, but his tears were for the bird. It had been beautiful and scared and did not want to be in there at all. One less song would greet him in the morning and the loss of it was more than he could bear.