#scottish fiddle

[thatnerdyqueer]

MY FUCKING GOD if I find ONE MORE spotify playlist that says 'trad folk' or 'jigs and reels' or 'fiddle tunes' and then ITS JUST POP MUSIC GIRLIES SINGING ABOUT MOLLY MALONE IM GOING TO THROW HANDS

like dont get me wrong, love me some folk song arrangements or even modern takes on the style, but when you're looking for fiddle music and spotify JUST hands you pop music????????

JESUS FUCKING CHRIST HELP

[weepingwidar]

Helen Flockhart (Scottish, 1963) - Fiddler (2015)

[scotianostra]

Happy Birthday one Scotlands finest musicians' fiddle player Aly Bain, born in Lerwick, Shetland May 15th, 1946.

Bain began playing the fiddle at the age of 11 and studied under influential Shetland fiddler Tom Anderson. In the late '70s, he played on two of Anderson's albums -- The Silver Bow and Shetland Folk Fiddling, Vol. 2. Honing his craft in a series of local bands, Bain attracted international attention after joining Irish/Scottish band, the Boys of the Lough, whom he met at the Falkirk Folk Festival in 1969.

Aly released his debut solo outing, First Album, in 1985. Three years later, he traveled to Louisiana to record the album, Aly Meets the Cajuns. The same year, he met Phil Cunningham at a pub near Edinburgh and they agreed to tour together. Their first duo album, The Pearl, released in 1994, was followed by The Ruby in 1997.

Bain has hosted several musical series for BBC Television. Down Home explored the spread of the Celtic fiddle tradition from Ireland and Scotland to North America. Push the Boat Out, shown in 1991, was taped during the Mayfest celebrations in Glasgow. The Shetland Set, shown the same year, was taped at the Shetland Folk Festival. Bain's autobiography, Fiddler on the Loose, co-written by Alistair Clark, was published by Mainstream Publishing in 1993.

Aly had a wee health scare in 2019 and had to undrgo a triple heart bypass, but was soon on his feet again and is keeping himself busy.

Today, Aly continues to be an ambassador for Scotland abroad and a powerful advocate for traditional music.

Aly Bain & Phil Cunningham are currently touring, you can catch them next at Backstage at The Green in Kinross, on May 23rd The two will be at Sidmouth Folk Festival in August and will return to Scotland for gigs in Forres and Lanark, two concets in Glasgow's Òran Mór in September, quite fitting as the rough translation for the Gaelic name of the venue is 'great melody of life' or 'big song',

[chrisburke]

Visiting the Moray Coast and Bow Fiddle Rock 🪨🌊

[muirneach]

just had good spontaneous blues night bar crawl i actually love life. my friend texted me at 4:30 saying we Had to go out so me and my other friends sprinted to the bus stop to catch the last half hour of a blues show at one bar, walked to the next one and got dinner to see the second blues show, got frozen yogurt and then sat at the bus terminal for 40 minutes. social life… so back??

[scenicworlds]

May 18, 2024

Scottish Fish! Portland, ME.

[deltakig]

Happy St Andrew's Day

Xユーザーのでるたさん: 「今日はSt. Andrew's Dayという事で🏴󠁧󠁢󠁳󠁣󠁴󠁿の曲を。元々はバグパイプのマーチですがこうしてダンスのリズムでも演奏します。アニメやゲームに出てきそうな賑やかな曲調なので特に日本では人気な気がします。 https://t.co/usGlYA6KIk」 / X (twitter.com)

[homeofthelonelywriter]

Pt. 1

You couldn't help but anxiously fiddle with the hem of your dress as you sat beside Simon, one of his hands resting on your thigh, while the other gripped the steering wheel. "It's going to be fine, sweetheart. They're going to love you." Unsure, you glanced up at him, a frown on your pretty face. "Are you sure? Maybe they'll just see me as an inconvenience that will keep you from them in the future. Or maybe they'll-" Simon interrupted you as he tightly squeezed the fat of your thigh, a possessive growl leaving his throat. "They'd never. Trust me." With a sigh, you nodded. And he was right.

From the moment you two walked into the same dingy pub where you first met, the others treated you as if they'd known you for years, and you were a part of the friend group. The entire evening, you laughed and drank, Simon's hand constantly on you. At least until he left to go take a piss and smoke a cigarette.

The moment you were alone with the three men, the Scottish one leaned across the table, a gigantic grin on his face. "So? How did ya two meet?" The older one quickly pulled the Scottish one back, a scowl on his face, as he regarded his team member, but there was a certain hint of curiosity sparkling in his eyes.

You chuckled, thinking back to the day.

Excitement cursed through you as you stepped out of the cab, your phone in your hand as you watched your best friend type. But the moment she sent her message, the excitement dissipated. "I'm so sorry, but I can't make it! I'll make it up to you though!"

You rolled your eyes, glancing at the sign of the pub you were standing in front of. She couldn't have let you know before you made your way there, could she? Inside you, two demons started to fight. One yelling at you to go back home and gulp down an entire ice cream pint. The other one calmly stating that you were already here and should at least get a little bit wasted. Before you knew it, the calm demon had won and you walked into the pub, quickly finding a place at the bar. But you noticed him immediately. Sitting in a dark corner, his face almost completely hidden. And very obviously staring at you. It didn't matter when during the evening you turned around, his eyes were always on you. At first, it creeped you out, but before long, you felt warmth spread through you. You almost felt protected, his obvious attention keeping all the usual creepers at bay. So, you decided you at least wanted his number.

But when you paid for your tab, hoping to be able to join him at his table, you watched as he stood up and walked outside. As quickly as you could, without tripping over the air, you rushed after him, finding him outside, leaning against a wall. After taking a deep breath, you started to walk over to him, but he immediately pushed off the wall and started to walk away. Were you really this repulsing?

Before doubts could start to fill you, you called out to him. "Uhm, I'm sorry, Sir?" He stopped and slowly turned around to face you. With a small and hopeful smile, you crossed the distance. The closer you got to him, the more you could really see him. While the lower half of his face was hidden behind a black surgical mask, you could see the top of his cheeks. And they were red, practically glowing with heat. Adorable.

"I'm sorry, I hope this isn't too direct, but I wanted to ask if I could have your number? You're really handsome and seem like a nice man. Of course, it's okay if not, I don't want to pressure you or anything. I-" You stopped, your eyes wide as you watched his entire body trembling slightly. Like a robot, he slowly stretched out his hand to you. Your eyes focused on it and you watched for a few beats as the trembling only got worse. Then, you quickly pulled out your phone and handed it to him.

Once again moving like a robot, the man slowly plugged in his number, his hands trembling bad enough, that you thought he would drop your phone at some point. When he handed your phone back, you looked down and saw that he had also put in his name. But it was a mix of upper and lower cases, making you chuckle. You grinned up at him and pocketed your phone. “Thank you…well…have a good night.”

You turned around and walked a couple of steps before his shaking hand on your elbow stopped you. “U-Uh…uhm…eat? Uh now?” His voice was shaking even more than his hands and he kept stumbling over his words, but when he got the question out, you couldn’t help but nod with a smile.

“And yeah, that’s it.” The Scottish and the pretty one immediately burst into laughter, slapping their thighs and each other, while the older one just smirked, slowly shaking his head. You looked at them, confused. “What…?”

“What did I miss?” Simon slid into his chair beside you, his arms loosely wrapped around your shoulders. His friends immediately started to tease him, recounting points from what you had just told them. Immediately, the blush was back on his face, and you couldn’t help but chuckle along. At least until his hand came to rest on your thigh, and squeezed tightly. Oh, you were in for a night.

A/N: Here we go! Part two and the real story all wrapped up in one! Hope you like it! Edit: Re-upload because I forgot to add tags... :)

@skeletonsucker

[csswingandeasy]

i practiced violin today lmao

[sweetstrawberryys]

Strawberries, please write Soap with quiet and shy reader. Maybe she’s depressed? 🫣 Kinda checked out and unenthusiastic about anything. Here comes fireball Johnny! 😉😘

“You Don’t Have to Smile For Me”

Summary: You're the new Analyst who got transferred after a horrible gruesome operation. You stooped talking or feeling anything. But that doesn't stop Johnny to fight tooth and nail to bring his girl back from the light.

Rating: Angsty with a happy ending. TW: Depression, emotional numbness, implied past trauma, comfort, slow-burn affection, Johnny being a sunshine pitbull.

Masterlist

---

The first time Soap meets you, you don’t say much.

Not in the shy, cute way people expect when they say a girl is “quiet.”

No bashful smile. No tucked chin or hidden glances.

You just… don’t say anything. Barely blink. You exist like wallpaper—flat, muted, unnoticed unless someone’s really looking.

Johnny? He looks.

---

You’re sitting on the corner of a folding bench at base, back straight, hands limp in your lap. You don’t scroll your phone. Don’t fiddle or doodle or talk. You’re not really doing anything. And that’s what catches his eye.

It’s unnatural, he thinks, how still you are. Like someone pressed pause and forgot to unpause you.

“What’s her name?” he whispers to Gaz at the vending machine, subtly nodding toward you.

Gaz follows his gaze. “New analyst. She got reassigned here after the Germany op.” He pauses. “Be nice. Heard it was messy.”

Messy. The word hangs.

Soap watches you blink slowly, eyes heavy-lidded like sleep doesn’t stick to you anymore. You don’t flinch when loud boots pass by or when someone slams a locker nearby.

You’re not skittish.

You’re not scared.

You’re just… gone.

---

It starts with stupid things. Johnny’s good at stupid things.

“Y’ever think energy drinks are just trauma in a can?” he says, holding up a neon pink can and making a dramatic gagging noise. “This one tastes like electric regret.”

You don’t laugh.

But your brow twitches. Barely. A ghost of an expression.

That’s all he needs.

Next day he brings a different flavor and gives you a full, tragic review:

“This one’s called Blue Lightning Deathstrike. I’m not saying I’ve licked a car battery before, but—”

Your lip almost curls. He sees it. Marks the victory down in his mental scoreboard with a gold star and a celebratory bag of chips.

You’re quiet. Withdrawn. Checked-out in a way that makes his chest tighten if he thinks too long on it. But Johnny MacTavish is not the kind of man who gives up.

You didn’t flinch when everything fell apart, sure.

But maybe you forgot how to feel.

So he makes it his job to remind you.

---

Some days, you don’t answer when he talks to you. You just give him these slow, tired glances like his words have to fight their way through fog just to reach you.

But he keeps talking anyway.

He tells you about the time he cut his mohawk crooked and had to pretend it was “a style choice” on a recon op.

Or how Ghost once fell asleep in a beanbag chair with his mask on sideways.

Or how he tried yoga once and ended up spraining his ego.

“You don’t have to talk,” he says one day, crouching next to your bench. “But you don’t have to be alone either, bonnie.”

Your throat works like maybe you’ll say something.

But you don’t.

Still. You don’t walk away.

He counts that as progress too.

---

The day you speak, it’s raining.

You’re both stuck under the little overhang near the barracks, him bouncing on his heels, you sitting silently with your knees pulled to your chest.

He’s rambling, as always. Voice warm. Scottish lilt soft, melodic. Like laughter under a quilt.

“Y’know, it’s weird how rain makes people feel clean,” he says. “When I was a kid, I thought maybe the sky cried for us when we couldn’t do it ourselves.”

You finally speak.

“…That’s stupid.”

Your voice is hoarse from disuse. Blunt. Barely above a whisper. But it slices through the quiet like lightning.

Johnny grins. Wide. Unbothered. “Aye, probably is.”

You stare at him, eyebrows drawn. “Why are you always talking to me?”

He shrugs. “’Cause you remind me of a cat. All quiet and bitey and half-feral. But I like cats.”

You blink. Your mouth twitches again. That almost-smile. Almost.

“You’re annoying,” you murmur.

“Consistently,” he agrees cheerfully.

And—for the first time in weeks—you smile.

---

He starts showing up at your door after that.

“Walk with me,” he says one morning, nudging a takeout cup of coffee into your hands. “We’ll go somewhere ugly and talk shit about it.”

Or:

“You look like you need to punch something. Want me to find Ghost and tell him you called him ‘Mr. Bean in a balaclava’?”

Or even:

“I’m not saying you should run away with me to open a flower shop in the Scottish Highlands, but I’ve got a business plan and I’m very persuasive.”

You never say yes. Not with words.

But your feet move. You show up. You follow. Every time.

---

The thing about Johnny is—he doesn’t try to fix you.

He doesn’t tell you to “cheer up.”

Doesn’t ask what’s wrong or push for answers.

He just stays.

He’s loud and warm and always within reach. A safe, solid kind of chaos. The fire that makes you want to come in from the cold.

You don’t know when the numbness starts to fade.

Only that one day you feel it again—the sharp pang of something. Like waking up with pins and needles after being still too long.

You cry. Not hard. Just a few tears sliding down your cheeks like they don’t know what they’re doing.

Johnny catches them with his thumbs, kneeling in front of you with eyes soft as rain.

“There she is,” he whispers, forehead brushing yours. “There’s my girl.”

You hiccup a laugh-sob. “I’m not yours.”

He leans in, gentle, unrushed. “You will be.”

And somehow, in the wreckage of your silence, in the weight of everything you’ve buried, you believe him.

Because if anyone could burn through your dark.

It’s Johnny MacTavish.

[scotianostra]

On November 16th 1700 James Macpherson, the famous fiddling freebooter, was hanged at Banff.

The outlaw’s father was a laird and his mother a tinker. How he became a criminal is as unclear as some of his activities, but his career appears to have culminated in “a reign of terror” on the Banff, Elgin and Forres markets. He seems to have enjoyed the Laird of Grant’s protection, but was captured in Keith when, according to his own account, a woman threw a blanket over him and he was disarmed before he could free himself.

He was tried in Banff where he was especially disliked. The jury was packed with the dependants of Lord Duff, who had previously organised a group to capture MacPherson, but as on many other occasions, he escaped.

MacPherson was found guilty, but a reprieve was said to be on its way to Banff at the time of the execution. Duff turned the clock 15 minutes forward and MacPherson was hung before the pardon arrived. There is a traditional account that says the clock was kept 15 minutes fast for years and Macduff has its west-facing town clock covered so the people of Banff can't see the right time.

The story goes that in the week before his hanging, Macpherson reportedly composed an air variously described as “Macpherson’s Lament” or “Rant” or “Farewell” which he then performed on the gallows.

In the most picturuesque version, he played his own fiddle in this exit performance, then dramatically smashed the instrument.

By all accounts MacPherson was a big muckle man, this is justified by his sword, which is preserved in Duff House, at Banff as seen in the second pic, and you have to question the story a wee bit.

The first pic is a depiction of MacPherson playing before they hung him, now would they have given a Goliath the free use of his hands at such a desperate moment?

Well there are, as always different versions of the song, I will post my favourite afterwards, which was written by oor Bard Rabbie Burns, this is an earlier version:

Fareweel, ye dungeons dark and strang, fareweel, fareweel tae ye,

MacPherson's time will no be lang on yonder gallows tree

Chorus

Sae rantinly and sae wantonly, sae dauntinly gaed he

For he played a tune and he danced aroon, below the gallows tree

It was by a woman's treacherous hand that I was condemned tae dee

Above a ledge at a window she sat and a blanket she threw ower me

There's some come here tae see me hang, and some come tae buy my fiddle

But before that I would part wi her I'd brak her through the middle

And he took the fiddle intae baith o his hands and he brak it ower a stane

Sayin, nay other hand shall play on thee when I am dead and gane

The reprieve was comin ower the Brig o Banff tae set MacPherson free,

But they pit the clock a quarter afore, and they hanged him frae the tree.

Additional verses

The Laird o Grant, that Hieland saunt, that first laid hands on me,

He pleads the cause o Peter Broon, tae let MacPherson dee

Untie these bands frae aff my hands and gie tae me my sword,

And there's no a man in all Scotland but I'll brave him at a word.

[yasministration]

the princess and her knight - sirius black

summary: when your boyfriend dumps you, sirius does everything in his power to get you to smile again. and maybe make you understand how much he likes you wc: 1k cw: lots of nature/fairytale imagery, r is sad/going through a breakup, sirius is in love

Songbirds found their voice every time you walked into a room, carrying music and joy into the lives of people who surrounded you. It was what Sirius loved the most about you; you were genuinely happy and took things with a grain of salt. But that was missing today. The usual mischievous glint was absent from your eyes, and your laugh that usually echoed in the halls had been stripped from the castle’s walls.

After a day of unsuccessful hide and seek with you, Sirius decided to finally ask Lily and Marlene why you were so upset. The two girls just shot each other a look — it wasn’t their place to say. Luckily for Sirius, rumours travelled like cold scottish winds on Hogwarts grounds. Or in simple terms, many people in the castle didn’t care what was or wasn’t their place to say because news that your boyfriend broke up with you had quickly spread around the castle.

Sirius had found you like Cinderella’s prince, stopping in front of every girl in the castle before he finally spotted you. And like Prince charming, the second he set his eyes on you again, he knew he'd found you. You weren’t sat in any of your usual spots, bringing the nature around you to life. No, it was as though you had been locked in a dungeon and your beauty had been confiscated from you until your smile would find its way back to your face. Sat on the top of a row of stairs, you were resting your head on the railing, staring at the moving staircases, patiently waiting for them to create a pathway for you.

You hadn’t even looked up when Sirius sat next to you, embracing even a stranger’s presence in your dissociated state. Sirius called your named softly, watching as your head snapped towards him. You greeted him with a smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes, but Sirius appreciated the effort. “You’re going to be late to class if you keep waiting for the stairs.” You scoffed “Like I care.” Sirius frowned. You did care. You always cared about your punctuality, speeding away to your next lesson before the previous one had even ended in fear of being late. Your footsteps usually echoed in the hallways, and he usually trailed behind, watching as you had small conversations with people left and right, the heels of your shoes creating a soft musicality in the otherwise dull corridor.

“I’m sorry about your relationship.” You huffed, looking in your lap and fiddling with your skirt. “Me too.” You returned your gaze to Sirius, desperately looking for the every present constellations in your eyes. He didn’t find them. He feared that tonight when he’d look up into the sky, the stars wouldn’t be shining, falling from the sky at the darkness overtaking your heart. “It’s a shame. I quite liked him.” Sirius cupped your face when you tried smiling again, your eyes filling with tears. The oceans in your eyes roared, quickly flooding your face as tears began rapidly falling down your cheeks.

“And it’s so embarrassing why he did it!” Sirius decided he would be paying your ex a visit, though the thought quickly dissolved when he realised it would only cause another thorn to bloom from his beautiful rose. “Hey, I had a girl dump me once because I said she looked ‘nice’. And she didn’t even ask or anything. I just saw her at breakfast, said she looked nice, and there you go. Dumped on the spot.” You laughed whole-heartedly, and for a second Sirius saw the clouds part from the sky, birds whistling from their place on the window sill. “Promise you won’t tell anyone?”

Sirius removed his hand from your face, holding his pinky up. You hooked your pinky finger with his, smiling softly when the boy whispered. “Pinky promise.” You brought both your hands to your face, wiping away at the tears and for a moment Sirius saw the stars in your eyes light up as you found humour in the unfortunate situation. “He said it was discouraging to be with someone who didn’t seem interested in the relationship. It’s ironic, isn’t it?” Sirius nodded, throwing an arm over your shoulders and tugging you closer to him.

“I think we should just make out and forget about those guys.” The laugh that bubbled out of your chest bounced off the walls, and Sirius watched as you pulled away from him to face him. There you are, he thought, nearly sighing with relief. “Give me some time to get over him first.” You told him with a mock annoyed tone. Sirius threw his hands up in surrender, playing along to your game. “Sorry. I’ll find you in a couple of weeks.” “Weeks!?” You screeched, eyes going wide in shock. “I’ll be getting over the next guy in a couple of weeks, sweetheart.” Sirius’s heart soared in his chest at the pet name, pushing himself off the floor.

He stood in front of you, and you realised that as he striked his pose, looking down at you heroically with the sun beaming in through the castle’s tall windows, that he looked like a knight in shining armour. You squinted your eyes to see the details of his face against the light, finally spotting his beaming grin. “Fine, a couple of days it is.” You giggled at his words, standing up to match his height to your best ability. “We can sneak one of those muggle tellies into my dorm and watch a film.” You offered, lacing your hands together behind your back. “And we can kiss a little, I guess.” Added Sirius with a roll of his eyes. Despite the joking tone laced in his voice, he wished those words could come true. You hummed courteously, looking up at the ceiling as you gave it a thought.

“I’ll see how into you I am that day.”

taglist: @ravisinghs-wife, @amatoanima, @starry-remus, @pain-in-the-ashe, @hiireadstuff, @superlegend216, @treefairy-28, @superlegend216, @kitkatkl, @rory-cakes

[plutosillywrites]

imagine plus size!reader going to the bar for a date— just to get to stood up.. but that’s okay, 141 is there for their night out, and could never say no to a pretty bird like you.

(i hope u like this nonsense :3)

you’ve never had much luck with dating, which you think for the most part you’re okay with, sometimes it just doesn’t work out when you think it will— but it does sting when all of your friends are snatched up and engaged or dating.

it leaves you asking if there’s something wrong with you— which you know is not true, but when you are so crushingly rejected every single time, you get sick of it.

and tonight, god you hope it’s different. you had been chatting up some pretty guy, and he was nice— attentive even, and you aren’t ugly by any means.your curves are to die for, the way your tummy is seen in dresses, and how your thighs and ass look in some good jeans— maybe you have a few more fat rolls than the average person, and your body held a plump look. but you looked damn fine with it too..

the cellulite— the hair, the skin. practically flawless, and as you slipped on your black dress with pearl accessories, and a beautiful vintage black bag. you were ready to go—

you slip your heels on, grab your keys and you’re out the door. locking your apartment door behind you (god forbid you forget again like that one time. you’ll always miss your good mixer that the thief stole.)

the walk there is quite nice, your date having asked you to meet up at a jazz club nearby, which was only a 10 minute walk.

you walk towards the front door of the place, bright LED letters adorned the top of the building. ‘THE JAZZ ROOM.’ it’s a nice, quaint place.

as you step inside the sound of the sax and sweet singing voice draws you in, you smile at the song being sung— and make way towards the bar, waiting patiently for your date.

what you don’t see however, is how 4 men sat back in their seats to get a better look at you as you walked in. johnny is the first to say something— “Fucking gorgeous ain’t she.” — the others hum in agreement.

you twiddle your thumbs, sipping on a fruity cocktail because— of course you can’t shoot whiskey, it’s been 25 minutes since you got here— you even showed up 5 minutes late.

you laugh, but not one filled with joy, one filled with disbelief. “i think im just gonna delete tinder. it doesn’t work— stupid apps never do.” youre mumbling as youre finishing off your drink, and fanning down the bartender.

johnny claps his hands, and goes to stand. “i think pretty bonnie over ‘er got stood up. blokes missing out— it’s alright though, i’ll go and swoop her up.” he shuffles out of the booth, the others make no move to disagree but simon chimes in by saying, “you better tell ‘er how fucking gorgeous she looks tonigh’. “

johnny then makes his way towards the empty seat beside you. the 3 men sit and watch— they trust johnny to woo you over, he’s just too good with words.

you ask the bartender for another cocktail, and as you go to take a sip you hear a gruff scottish voice from beside you. “what’s a pretty bonnie like you doing here alone?” you turn, and wow.

the man has a mohawk, and the most stunning blue eyes you have ever seen. he’s got a smile that has a warmth churning up inside— why is he staring at you like your the only girl in the world? and why does it feel so good??

“oh— uhm,, haha..” you trail off, “it’s a funny story, really.” you fiddle with the fruit on a toothpick in your drink, “i’m supposed to be on a date, but uhm.. he didn’t end up showing.” you grimace a bit, taking a large sip.

“well, he’s a bloody idiot.” the man says, he leans closer, resting his head on his hand. “my names johnny, you wouldn’t mind if i took his spot as your date, would’ya?”

a handsome, muscular man with a hot accent asking to be YOUR date? yeah, you’re not saying no to that! you smile, laughing so quiet johnny almost didn’t catch it under the music.

“no, i wouldn’t.. i’d prefer if you did.” you scoot your barstool closer, and tell him your name, your hand resting on the table dangerously close to his.

“you look stunning tonight, love.” he breathes out, he intertwines his fingers with yours, “fucking breathtaking— had my eyes glued to you since you walked in ‘ere.”

you look at him quickly, he’d watched you since you walked in? “you like what you saw that much?” you questioned with a frown, and his smile only grew. “fuck yes, and not just me—“ he leans you can see the rest of the group.

their eyes are hungry; with something else mixed in, and you can’t quite tell if its passion or lust. “—my whole team thinks you’re the prettiest girl in this whole place.”

your body goes slack just slightly, before letting a smile creep onto your face, resting your hand on johnny’s knee you leaned close to his ear.. “well, it’s rude to keep people waiting.. isn’t it?” you whispered.

“you’re right as rain, bonnie. why don’t we join them?” johnny mumbles back, already standing and tugging you near their table, his hand wrapped around your waist…

pt 2!! https://www.tumblr.com/plutosillywrites/775073803823890432/part-2-of-plus-sized-reader-who-gets-swooped-up

(an: johnny i love you. i love you and you just don’t know it.)

[st3rlace]

˳೫˚ | 𝐁𝐀𝐁𝐘 𝐂𝐀𝐌𝐄 𝐇𝐎𝐌𝐄

in which you wake up in the very world you dream about, but there’s a second biological nature that changes life as you know it. will you ever get back home? or will you learn to live as task force 141’s omega…

pairing: alpha!price, beta!gaz, alpha!ghost, beta!soap x omega!reader (afab)

𝐂𝐖: A/B/O dynamics, polyamorous relationship, four men x one woman, eventual smut, angst, misogyny/degradation (from random soldiers) — 18+ ONLY | series masterlist

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐖𝐎: Instinct

Simon. Ghost. Riley. 

You just saw the Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley. 

Holy shit.

He was so huge he had made the wide hallway look small—

���Bon?”

You glance to your left to see Soap.

“Let’s go ge’ some food, yea’?” 

You glance back at Price and Gaz who had been listening to Doctor Kellen, and see them finishing up. You glance back at Johnny and nod softly as you follow him to stand.

“Soap.”

Johnny and you swivel to see Price coming over with something jelly-like in his hands. You notice Johnny’s scent become subtly smokier – a telltale sign he was annoyed. A quick but stern look from Price settles the beta, and Johnny takes his blocker. You watch as he places the strip over his scent glands, frowning softly when you can no longer smell him. A coolness is plastered over your neck too, and you flinch softly. Price was gently covering your scent gland too.

“Don’t fiddle with it,” his gruff voice speaks to you, before he begins walking away.

You glance at Johnny and he nods his head, gesturing to follow Price with him.

The journey to the base’s mess hall doesn’t take long, and before you know it you’re in a huge, echoey hall filled with four long tables–much like Hogwarts. A soft smile flickers on your face.

“Hey Johnny?” You ask him, glancing up. His blue eyes are immediately on you.

“Yes, bon’?”

“Do you have Harry Potter in your universe?”

A grin breaks out on his face, “Aye, that we do.”

“Which Hogwarts house would you be in?” You grin back, copying him in picking up a tray for food. You don’t comment as Soap starts loading yours up for you, chatting about the dynamics of the different houses. The pair of you find a secluded spot down the end of the far-left table, and the curious looks of other soldiers don’t escape you. As you continue to glance around and eat your stacked tray, you catch sight of Price and Gaz, purposefully sitting away from you. Price is talking lowly, intensely to the younger man as he sips on a tea from an orange flask. Your shoulders instantly droop, and you pause mid-chew. 

The echoes in the hall seemed to grow louder, the lights feeling too bright. Your skin prickled with warmth as an uncomfortable ache panged your chest.

Soap’s hawk-like gaze picked up on your demeanour instantly. He says your name softly, like a prayer in his beautiful Scottish lilt.

“They’re probably just discussing things you don’t have clearance for,” he tries to lighten your mood, offering you his drink. You’re not stupid, though.

“They think I’m dodgy,” you mumble. 

Johnny sighs softly, shifting his body to face you more.

“Look, I’m sure you alrea’y know this, but they’re very cautious. Especially Price. And Gaz is his beta, so he’ll follow his lead.”

You glance up, frown subsiding a bit in favour of curiosity.

“Gaz is Price’s beta? What does that mean?”

Soap pushes your tray closer first, and you get the message. You begin to eat again, and he talks.

“When our task force was formed, it had ta be balanced. Price knew he wanted Ghost, so naturally he needed two betas to balance the dynamic. One for each alpha. Keeps them from buttin’ heads.”

“So are you… mates with Ghost, then?” You ask in soft confusion. Johnny chuckles, and your cheeks flush.

“We’re teammates. Packmates, yes, bu’ no’ in tha way yer thinkin’, swee’ girl,” he tilts his head with a grin, the scar on his chin catching the light. “We only seal the mate bond with an omega–our omega. You.”

The innuendo makes your cheeks go warm again, and you glance down at your emptier plate. The fluorescent lights overhead catch on the cool metal, making it shine in your eyes. The more you focus on it, the louder the buzzing of the lights become, making your shoulders creep up to your ears. The uncomfortable heat begins to prickle up your spine again, making you feel suffocated despite the fact no one is crowding you. Yet, your annoyance and discomfort grows.

Soap says your name, his cool fingers gently brushing against your knuckles to bring you back.

“It’s alrigh’, bon. I think yer body’s adjustin’. It can happen–early signs of heat. D’you wan’ to go somewhere quie’?”

The Scotsman doesn’t miss a thing.

You nod softly, your appetite gone anyways. You both stand up and he puts your trays away, guiding you out. You shoot Gaz and Price a pathetic look as you walk past where they’re sitting, but they don’t make any moves to follow. 

In an attempt to comfort yourself, you cross your arms over your bleeding heart, feeling more melancholic than when you were a moody teenager. What was going on? 

“Wait, did you say heat?” You suddenly realise and speak to Johnny. He nods.

“Yer scent blocker doesn’t stop symptoms–just prevents others from smellin’ it.”

You sigh heavily and he tentatively places a hand on your shoulder. When you don't shrug it off, he wraps his strong arm around your shoulder.

“C’mon, we can go ta my room–I’ve go’ a fan and we can take our blockers off.”

Johnny’s quarters are tucked away in a quieter wing reserved for SAS—more space, more privacy, no communal showers. He shuts the door behind you both with a soft click, locking it before slipping off his boots and stretching with a sigh. You follow his lead, exhaling shakily as you press your fingers to the blocker still adhered to your neck.

You peel it off with a soft wince. The cool air hits your exposed gland, but instead of relief, you’re left… unsettled. The warmth in your chest doesn’t ease. If anything, it worsens.

Johnny hums low in his throat, nose twitching as he tests the air—instinctively checking for danger, imbalance, or bloom. He seems to settle when he’s met with just presumably your scent. Not that you could tell.

You furrow your brows. “Johnny?”

“Mhm?” He’s tugging off his own blocker, flicking it onto the dresser without ceremony.

“…Why can I only smell my fear?”

He pauses mid-motion, then turns his head toward you. A flicker of understanding passes through his expression. He sinks down to the edge of the bed and pats the space beside him. You take it, feeling oddly like a student beside a very kind teacher.

“It’s instinct,” he murmurs, voice low. “Old omega biology.”

You blink at him.

“Back before all this—back when omegas were hunted—being able ta smell yer fear was the one way you knew somethin’ was off. Alphas could mimic comfort. Trick omegas with scent. Calm them down, make them stay put.”

He turns his head, looking at you softly.

“But you can’t fake fear. If you smell that sharp tang in yer own scent? It means you don’t feel safe. Means yer body’s still on alert.”

Your throat tightens. “Then why can’t I smell my normal scent?”

“Because you haven’t let it come through yet,” he says gently. “Not fully. Your body’s holdin’ back. You’re still braced for danger, bon.”

You swallow thickly, and Johnny offers a comforting smile.

“Some omegas don’ smell their true scent til’ they’ve been properly claimed. Not in tha bite way–” he gently nudges his shoulder to yours– “in tha heart way.”

You sit with that for a while, letting Soap’s calming spice and citrus do wonders for your nervous system – you suppose that’s the beta’s purpose.

Eventually your thoughts drift someplace lighter, the sun peeking through the clouds. A small smile twitches on your lips before you glance at Soap.

“I still think you’re a Hufflepuff.”

“Am not! I’m a bloody Gryffindor–”

Your laughter and Soap’s comically indignant cries could be heard drifting down the hallway as your heavy heart eased with the soothing balm that is Johnny Mactavish.

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You hadn’t slept well last night. Your first night away from home, away from your universe as you know it. As the sky had gotten darker and the halls had grown quieter, you found yourself unable to stop the weepiness that rose in your chest when Price hadn’t allowed you to stay with Johnny.

“That’s base rules,” he had gruffly spoken with (unbeknownst to you) a held breath. The captain couldn’t bear to smell you. Depression had a smell, and yours was horribly thin and suffocating. Milk left out too long in the cold, wilting jasmine, a raw mineral tang that wasn’t quite like blood, just… off.

Johnny had scented his jumper before giving it to you as Price showed you to your own personal room. It was in their hallway, so they could smell the unsettling scent crawling under your doorway and into the shared hall, causing an ache in their bones. Their omega was dysregulated, miserable, and yet, Price was still determined to protect the men he knew over the woman who’d fallen into their lives. 

Your only indication that Price didn’t hate your guts was the fact that he had made you lock your door.

“You don’t open this for no one, you hear me? No one but Soap, Gaz, Ghost, or myself.”

Price had woken you up early the next morning with knocks to your door.

“Get up, we’re going to Doctor Kellen.”

You rub your bleary eyes, gently rubbing your knotted tummy. You drag yourself out of bed, using the bathroom to freshen up before putting on Johnny’s jumper, his comforting scent enveloping you. 

You unlock and open your door, being met with Price’s icy blue eyes. He lifts his hand and you can’t help but flinch back. He hesitates, a flicker of something flashing through his eyes. His shoulders soften ever-so-slightly.

“It’s just a scent blocker,” he speaks the softest you’d ever heard, and you let him press the cool jelly patch across your glands. 

Doctor Kellen’s office is warm, and it’s making your skin prickle again in discomfort. It’s too warm. The air is quiet, but at least it’s not as awkward as the walk to the med-bay was with Price.

“I heard you’ve been having some sensitivities? Sensory, emotional?”

You shrink slightly in your chair.

“Did Johnny tell you that?” You mumble back like a pouting kid, and Price prickles subtly in defensiveness, speaking up.

“I asked him. He reported to me because I’m the pack alpha.”

Doctor Kellen swiftly cuts through the rising tension in the room, turning her gaze to you. “You’re reacting as expected for an omega dropped into a pack and alpha-heavy base. The blocker can be a bit of a pain, but it helps everyone else.”

You fiddle with it softly, but stop when you catch the piercing blue of Price’s eyes, and remember his earlier statement to not mess with it.

Doctor Kellen continues, “but it doesn’t mute what your body feels. It’s only part of the preheat process for omegas to get heightened sensitivity.”

You sigh softly to yourself as you continue to listen to Doctor Kellen, watching the second hand tick on the wall clock. You just wanted to get back to the one comfort you had here — Johnny.

You’re back in the mess hall for lunch, sitting with just Johnny again, mind running with the thoughts from the check-in with Doctor Kellen. Shouldn’t heightened sensitivity mean your alphas are more attuned to you? Warmer? Instead of ignoring you, or treating you like something on the bottom of their shoe?

After your fifth fork stab to your food, Johnny speaks up, “What do ya wan’ ta do, bon? Come train with me? Go for a walk in the woods?”

You mumble something under your breath as you stab your potato. Soap’s lips tilt up in amusement.

“What was that?” He asks, despite hearing what you’d said.

“Stab Price’s face,” you grumble louder, and his chest rumbles in amusement.

“Johnny!” You softly cry out, mindful of the other soldiers eating, “it’s not funny! I feel like shit and they just make me feel worse. I thought they were supposed to be my pack. What if my heat comes and they still act like this? I’m not from here! I don't understand how any of this works, and I–”

Soap sighs softly and takes the fork out of your hand to hold you hot flesh instead, cutting off your overwhelmed speech.

“I’m gonna talk to them, alrigh’, swee’ girl? Until then, let's come back to my room. I think I know what will help.”

As usual, Johnny was right and you now felt much better, utterly consumed by his warm scent as you lay on his bed, enveloped in his arms. His big palm gently rubbed up and down your back, and for the first time in twenty-four hours, your prickling subsided, almost quenched by the attention from Johnny. Your beta. 

But it still wasn’t quite enough. 

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“Soap!” A loud, gruff bark wakes you up with a jolt, and your eyes fly open. 

Soap’s door is open, and Price and Gaz are standing in the hallway – Gaz with a conflicted look in his brown eyes, Price’s heavily guarded, as usual. 

“What did I say about keeping our private quarters private?” His eyes narrow at the Scotsman. 

Johnny’s scent grows thicker, smokier, and they all smell the cold milk and wilting jasmine pouring off you. Johnny retracts what he was going to say, and goes on the offensive, finally snapping.

“No, Cap. Respec’fully, no. She doesn’ unnerstan’ how this all works! She needs support, affection. She needs her pack. Her alphas,” he delivers a steely glare to Price and Gaz. You stay still beside him, seeing Gaz’s eyes flash with guilt before he glances away. Price stares at Soap for a long time before leaving. Gaz heads off in the other direction. Soap releases a shaky exhale and turns to you, melting when he sees your teary eyes.

“Oh, bon–” His arms wrap around you like second nature, and you let go in his chest, finding comfort. Your smokey, citrus-y blanket in a world of covered scents, glares and chemicals.

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Gaz felt awful. He had been so caught up in supporting his alpha that he had forgotten he technically has an omega, too. His role as a beta was to support the pack, help the dynamic between omega and alpha flourish, and he’d failed. Johnny was the only one helping you.

He sighs softly, rubbing his face before entering the classified meeting room. 

“Gaz.” Price nods in acknowledgement, and the beta greets him back as he sits.

Johnny is sat across from them, blue eyes icy as he gently swivels in his chair, impatient. Gaz could smell your warmth on his clothes, and he realises the Scotsman was probably restless to get back to you.

Ghost was the last to enter, standing quietly by the table.

“You might want to sit for this.”

A female American voice fills the room, and they all glance to see Kate Laswell holding up a manilla file.

“No projector?” Johnny speaks up, and the woman shakes her head.

“Not for this one. This is extremely classified. I was barely allowed to bring it out here. I had to plead special circumstances.”

“What have you got for us, Kate?” Price’s gruff voice fills the room, and she sighs. 

“‘Analysis and Assessment of Gateway Process’.” She drops the manilla file on the metal table, and they all crowd around to get a look. She opens it to reveal highly classified CIA documents, and they all eagerly soak it up.

As they progress, the room grows uneasy, and Price speaks up, “Kate… what is this?”

“It’s astral projection, boys. Expanded consciousness. You wanted an answer on if your omega is telling the truth? Here’s the truth. And she’s living proof that this theory exists.”

141 struggles to wrap their military heads around the document, the theories–it all seemed… impossible. Yet here you were, with information about them and their world that no one could possibly know. Appearing in their radar like a glitch in the system.

Because you were.

“Bring her in,” Price’s gruff voice sounds, and Johnny leaves to fetch you.

You enter the room five minutes later behind Johnny, glancing at Laswell for the first time in real life. Of course she would be the one to prove your story. You give her a soft nod. She pushes the document over to you wordlessly. You read the familiar piece, gently clearing your throat.

“We have this in my universe, too. The CIA published it. Or leaked it. It’s debated.”

Laswell nods, “This isn’t just a theory anymore. You’re living proof.”

You glance around to see the other’s reactions. Gaz and Price look visibly uncomfortable, and Ghost is unreadable with his balaclava. Soap looks at you like he already knew. 

“I didn’t do this on purpose, by the way. I just… fell asleep one night thinking of you guys…” you trail off meekly. Soap speaks up.

“That’s fate. You were drawn ta us. Meant fer us.”

Everyone except for you gives Soap a long, loaded look. If the room wasn’t so tense, it would’ve been comical. 

That evening, Price sits closer to you and Johnny. Not quite within earshot, but still closer than before. Gaz is with him, but he’s more quiet tonight. Ghost is eating by himself, as usual.

You and Johnny chat softly, and your gaze occasionally flickers to Price as you watch him drink his tea from his orange flask. 

The captain had talked to Laswell after everyone had left.

“You think this is fate?”

“I think this is beyond us now, John.”

And that night, you had found a softly steaming tea out the front of your bedroom door.

In an orange flask.

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You’d had another check-in with Doctor Kellen, learning more about what to expect during a heat. It was embarrassing and daunting to think about, but she had reassured you your body wouldn’t let it kick in until it felt safe in it’s pack–safe with it’s alphas.

The med-bay was relatively quiet, most of the base presumably heading to lunch. You walk down the quiet corridor, the air cool as the soft humming of the tech fills your sensitive ears. You round the corner–and thump.

A big, gloved hand is quick to steady you, before just as quickly retracting away. 

You bite back a gasp when you see it’s Ghost. You don’t move. He doesn’t move.

His dark eyes sweep your being, seemingly analysing every inch of you in a heartbeat.

“Your scent’s changin’.”

His low, cockney accent fills the quiet corridor, the air no longer cool, but suffocatingly hot.

“You’re overheating,” he states again. You sputter back like a fish out of water.

He doesn’t press, just glancing at your trembling hands that you weren’t even aware of.

He exhales, and it’s soft, barely there, but you heard it in the quiet corridor.

“Drink water. Stay close to Soap.”

And that’s it. He walks past you, not looking back.

But you could smell the faintest flicker of something in the air behind him.

His scent.

Strong enough in that moment to push through the medical-grade scent blockers.

Just a trace. Like steel after rain. 

You close your eyes and try to memorise the scent, standing in the fading moment like it might anchor you—your omega tingling in desperation for something from either of your alphas.

But instead you're left in the corridor.

Alone.

main masterlist | baby came home masterlist

chapter two here we goooo! As usual, I’d love to hear your thoughts in my inbox or the comments/reblogs :) warmly, carina 💝

[scenicworlds]

June 5, 2024

Shooting a music video with Scottish Fish. Boston, MA.