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buckupstitches · 1 month

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Millie Bobby Brown

#millie bobby brown #oxters #belly button #cheer up love

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wgsr4roav · 1 year

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Big Butt Pussy Masturbation Dirty Sluts Tits Slut Lucy rides a huge coke bottle Gibson Rickenbacker gets served by a mature mom Delivery video【Nipple orgasm masturbation with vaginal cum shot delusion】 Bareback european and latin Inked young men share dildo before fucking fourway Anal slut Jynx Maze Cute couple strip completely nude and fuck outdoors Harajuku dolls Japan made cunt send Johny Castl to orgasmic pleasure

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tokumon · 1 year

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Oxter from Return of Ultraman ep. 30

#ultraman #tokusatsu #kaiju #Return of Ultraman #oxter #ox #horns #bamboo

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vimbry · 2 years

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what’s fun about new y/otsuba chapter is the art I’ve seen around of k/oiwai before on his travels pre-adopting her, armed with a huge rucksack and other travelling gear ready to explore, and here he’s finally shown like “would I like trekking :/" googling beginner’s hiking shoes

#somehow this is exactly like m/oomin with j/oxter #being depicted as an active vagabond vs whenever he's shown in the novel his personality's essentially ''zzzz''#(not a knock on that interp at all btw!! just the comparison. he's barely a presence in that story anyway it's cool to have fun with him)

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spectrerie · 1 year

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Would you let me go? Even if I asked you to

Simon Ghost Riley x Fem!Reader.

Requested by my awesome mutual @lululandd

Part One. ~ 3k words.

Simon meets a young woman on a night out with the 141 ft. Los Vaqueros. He's drawn to protect her and when she needs him, he makes a promise he's not sure he can keep. With one war over another begins, and his task: Protecting you, no matter what it takes.

POV alternates between Ghost and the Reader.

this is a stalker fic where Ghost watches over the reader and discovers that he's not the only one doing so. Eliminate the hostiles and fulfil his mission. Easy. Right?

TW: Stalking, kidnapping, murder, extreme depictions of violence, swearing and foul language, threats, minor character death. Possessive!Simon, Toxic!Simon

Additional parts to come, with additional warnings. This is just a general TW for the whole fic

“I swear lads, I swear I thought I was gonna die of laughter if he didn’t kill me first!” Drinks sloshed and laughter rang out around them as Gaz recounted some sage, albeit dodgy, advice Price had given him.

A night out with the 141 and two of the friends they’d made along the way was long overdue. The weeks of blood, sweat, and smoke had taken its toll on them. Killing came with a a cost, and they paid it gladly. For their countries, for the world. For themselves.

Life in battle was easy, everything came down to friend or foe. Friends were hard to make, and the latter easy to dispose of. Usually. Killing could be easy, if they let it be. If that made them bad people so be it, they’d be bad to keep the balance. But not tonight.

Tonight donned in their civvies they occupied a corner booth of a hole in the wall pub, a town away from the barracks. It was their last night all together, one of their first nights all safe. Before the Cowboys went back home to fight another day. Before Soap went back to Scotland to see the country he missed dearly. And before Ghost and Gaz went back to their corners of England. Before Ghost crawled back to the barracks, to the only life he knew how to live.

“Ah, will ye fuck off, ‘e didnae say that! ‘ E’s been up te his oxters in work.” Soap barked out as he clutched his sides. The group waited with baited breath, stifling peals of laughter as they waited for Ghost’s response.

“Christ, Johnny. In English?” The stoic blonde said from across the table.

“Eh? D’ye no ken what I’m sayin’ L.t? That was bloody English.” Soap whined back as he closed his bleary eyes. The first of the laughs began to eek out. When he opened them the blonde Lieutenant was staring back at him with his dark eyes. “Gaun'ae no dae that? That was bloody English! Fine. ’Oh emm gee, he did not say that. He has like totally been up to his armpits with work!’ THERE!” Johnny shouted back in a mock American accent.

The group fell about themselves with laughter as Simon shook his head slowly.

They needed this. This release. There’d been other nights for tears, for recalling the horrors they’d seen over the months, but not tonight. Tonight was only for good things. For accents coming out too thick, for drinking too much knowing you were in safe company, for friendship.

Ghost stood and pulled his dark cap lower, casting a shadow over his face. “Same orders, yeah?” He asked the group and he walked out of the booth. He had to good sense to leave the mask at home. Or so they thought. He had it folded in the inner pocket of his jacket, his armour against the world.

“I’ll have a Dom Perignon if you’re buying, whole bottle please.” Called out Gaz as Alejandro poured him another shot of earthy Tequila.

Ghost shook his head and huffed out a low laugh, chasing tequila with pints. They were clever chaps, weren’t they?

As he made his way across the bar, the din of dozens of conversations hushed as he walked by, the packed room parting in his wake. He cut an intimidating figure. Six foot two, almost six four in this heavy dark boots. A myriad of faded scars dusting his jaw and hands, the only part of him easily visible. The brightest thing about him was his blonde hair, neatly tucked away from prying eyes. He didn’t need the mask tonight. His crew knew his face, and no one in the pub could bring themselves to look at it, averting their eyes sheepishly as he moved by them. At most people glance up at the top of his head in awe, surveying the space he took up with his sheer bulk and height. He didn’t need to be Ghost. Not here.

He placed a hand on the bar and slid in, eliciting no complaints from the other patrons. What could they have said? Move? That’d be the day.

— — —

“So you’re not going crack a smile, baby? I thought that was a pretty good one.” The drunken lout beside you laughed in your face, the smell of hops, stale cigarettes and chips blowing at you.

“Ha. Ha.” You said dryly. Turning your attention to the bartender trying to get drinks for you and your ever-late friend. You felt an overly warm, sticky hand slide around your waist, tugging you back towards him. “Alright then, you tell me a joke, if I’m no good at ‘em.”

“I’d rather not, sorry.” You said with a terse smile, eyes drifting back to the bartender hoping to catch his eye.

“Okay, okay, let’s play a new game if you don’t like jokes. If I guess your name you buy me a pint, but if you tell me now I’ll buy you one.” He winked at you, or rather he tried to.

“How about I tell you and you go away?” You asked, before barking out your name and turning away, though his grip on you tightened.

“Oi, mate. Two Coronas, three lagers. Whatever’s easy, yeah?”

A low voice beside you called out to the bartender you’d been playing a one sided game of cat and mouse with.

“Is Carling alright?” The bartender’s attention went straight to the owner of the voice beside you, as did yours. You were about to tell him you’d been here first, as you looked up and you were met not with a face, but the middle of a wide set of shoulders. Was this a man or a mountain?

“Excuse m-“ craning your neck up you caught a glimpse of a face and your protests died on your lips. The giant was handsome. In a rugged, cold sort of way, but handsome nonetheless. He cast a glance in your direction that turned cold quickly. All the heat of your body pooled at the bottom of your stomach, you didn’t even notice the arm around your waist had dropped immediately.

“Hmm?” He grumbled in way of a prompt.

“Uhh, I was— I was just going to say I’ve been waiting.”

“I don’t know you.” He said curtly. A normal person would ask ‘do I know you?’, or rather a normal person would understand basic bar etiquette. Though it seemed this man had no need for niceties.

“Well no, I was waiting to order my drinks. Didn’t anyone teach you any manners?” You said, letting go of your decorum. Two could play at this game. You’d had enough of men thinking they could have whatever they wanted.

“What?” He said, turning away from the bartender. Your bravado dissipated as quickly as you’d found it. You felt your eyes grow round in shock and a heat creep up your neck to your face.

“I just-“ your sentence was cut off by a low laugh from him as he said “What, as in what were you going to order?”

“Ah… just two ciders, sorry.” Fuck. Where had all your confidence gone, he wasn’t going to hit you for teaching him manners.

His gaze grew cold again, well maybe he was.

“You let your girl do all the talking, do you?” He said, seemingly to the man who’d been pestering you for the better part of your evening thus far.

“I’m not his anything.” You said before the man behind you had a chance to speak.

The handsome one turned away from you again, “And two ciders, cheers.” He said to the bartender. When the man behind the bar asked what sort he angled himself back to you again, you sheepishly pointed to the tap of your choosing and said your thanks quietly.

You heard your name from the pest behind you and ignored it, watching the bartender pull your pints along with those of the only person at the bar you had any interest in.

“Fine then, be a bitch.” The man huffed and walked away, you only knew because your new companion’s eyes watched him closely as he left. Tracking him through the crowd. Something about him made your skin tingle. Made the hairs on your body stand. There was an edge to him that scared you.

“Sorry about him” you said at the same time, eliciting a laugh from you both.

“So, you planning on neckin’ two pints or are you waiting on someone?” He asked as he slid his card over to the barman.

“Oh, no you don’t have to pay for these. Please, let me ge-“

“Think of them as payment, for tonight's lesson. Anyway, are you alone?”

“Oh, I’m just waiting on a friend.” You shook you head, confused. “Wait. What lesson?”

He laughed, tucking his card back into his pocket, arranging his three pint glasses into a triangle, then balancing the two bottles on their rims. He’d never be able to carry these back to his table, at least not without spilling half their contents.

“In manners,” he said with a wink before grasping the drinks in his big hands and slipping back into the flow of the crowd, disappearing like a ghost.

— — —

“Bloody took you long enough, L.t” Gaz crowed, clearly they’d need less pints and a few glasses of water to offset all the tequila they’d drunk in Simon’s absence.

“Did you go to brew la cheve, Ghost?” Rudy chimed in, emboldened by the alcohol.

Ghost huffed and set the full drinks down deftly. “Shut up and drink.” He didn’t have to tell them twice.

The conversation and alcohol flowed easily as the boys cleansed themselves of the stresses of war. Minutes rolled into hours and their raucous laughs drew a few sidelong glances to their table, they couldn’t care less.

“Right,” Garrick said as he stood, clapping his hands together and rubbing them mischievously. “I’d murder a kebab right now. Have you lads had kebabs before?” He asked their Mexican companions. Soap stood and stretched, the promise of a trip to the chippers rousing him from his stupor. “Not a kebab on a stick, like… with lamb and cabbage and sauce, y’know. A kebab.” he chimed in, clapping Gaz on the back for his enlightened suggestion. Alejandro and Rudy shook their heads with a laugh, “teach us the British way, amigos. Where do we get this ‘kebab’?” Rudy asked as he and the other two men stood from the table.

The pros and cons of a kebab after a night out were being discussed as though life’s meaning could be deciphered after one drunken bite. As Soap and Gaz evangelised a groggy ‘no!’ caught Simon’s attention. The quiet pleads were mixed with a name that was new, yet familiar.

“One second, lads,” he said as he moved ahead of the group, instinctively making his way towards the source of the disquieting feeling growing in his chest. Something was wrong, very very wrong.

“No, I don’t— I want to go. I don’t— I’m too tired. I want—no,” the girl from the bar was pulling against the grip of the man who’d ran with his tail between his legs at the first sign of confrontation. Simon didn’t have to listen to the young woman’s garbled sentences to know this shouldn’t be happening. She didn’t know him. She didn’t trust him. Neither did he. The would be assailant kept muttering her name and steering her towards the door as she shook her head and kept glancing behind her.

“Oi. Is there a problem, mate?” Simon asked, as his friends caught up with him. The man blanched as he looked up at Simon, growing quiet as the girl's protests got louder, drawing the attention of the few patrons left in the pub.

“She’s wasted, I’m just trying to get her home,” a shaky laugh punctuated the lie.

“I’m sure. But she doesn’t know you.” Simon pushed the mans shoulder, sending him two steps back and giving the girl the chance to shake him off.

“She… her friend knows me, he told me to get her home. Right? David,” he reached out to the girl in an attempt to get her attention. The look in Simon’s eyes told him that wasn’t a smart move. “Hey, tell them that David told me to-” before the sentence could end Soap spoke up, putting himself between Simon and the man, as Simon stepped closer. Whether this David existed or not didn’t matter, the Lieutenant was ready to separate the man’s lying head from his body. A scene was ill advised, especially if the police ended up getting involved.

“Alright,” Soap said, he reigned in his brogue as best he could, “let’s not put words in anyone’s mouth.” He began trying to deescalate the situation, much to Simon’s irritation. The girl looked up at him and he watched as she took in his face and something dawned on her.

“Ah, manners,” she said, mumbling to herself as she drew nearer to him. Simon couldn’t help but soften at that, pulling her close and wrapping an arm around her protectively. She’s been full of fire at the bar, a small part of him felt more sad than angry at the situation she found herself in. Maybe he should have stayed with her, at least until her friend came.

“Yeah, that’s me. Can you tell me your friends name, or what they look like? Maybe we can find-”

“The ghost with manners” she said weakly as she pressed her head against his chest, body going slack, knees buckling beneath her. Simon’s arms reached around her, his grip like a vice pressing her closer to him. The Ghost.

Ghost. How could she know that name?

He clung to her weak frame like a raft on a rocky sea. His fingers digging into the soft flesh of her as they both spiralled.

— — —

Weak pleads and careful promises swirled behind you, you couldn't hear them. Not really. Every fibre of your being was fixed on the man holding you up. The ghost from the bar with the big hands and scary eyes. But he wasn’t scary now, not anymore. Not to you.

“Hey,” his deep voice rang out above the world around you, though he spoke to you gently. A whisper that contained the roar of a distant sea. Who? Who was he?

“Simon, my name’s Simon.”

Shit. Had you said that out loud? Why couldn’t you tell? Why couldn’t you stand? You tried to take a shaky step back, to get free. To get a better look at this ‘Simon’, but your legs wouldn’t work, the muscles felt heavy and useless. How were you still standing, why couldn’t you remember how you’d gotten here?

You and David had been drinking, laughing. He’d gone to the bathroom. Said he’s meet you at the door and you’d get a taxi home together. Then the room began to slip away. A tide pulled you to the door. Sticky hands, a shake voice, and your name over and over again as you were pulled away. You’d wanted to fight but your body wouldn’t let you. You wanted to scream but your voice wouldn’t work right, your words didn’t fit together. The last few minutes became a puzzle somehow, and it terrified you.

Then Simon.

Like some vengeful angel, he appeared from nowhere. Pulling you close, holding you up though you felt as heavy as a star.

“Please, Simon… Simon,” you muttered, not sure whether he could hear you or if you were speaking in your mind again. Though a part of you felt like he could hear everything in there too.

“I’ve got you, don’t worry. I’ve got you.”

Suddenly you were warm and weightless, drifting through the cold air. Fear beat in your chest, thumping against your ribs like a molten ball. You were going to die. You were certain. Your stomach rolled at the realisation.

“You’re not going to die, pet. You’re just a bit poorly now. But I’ve got you.”

His voice was closer now, warm lips pressed against your ear as he spoke into your mind. You wanted to believe him, so badly. You wanted to believe it was true.

“It is. I won’t let you die. I swear.”

“Don’t you let— don’t let me down. Are you gonna drop me?” please don't, Simon. Please.

“No, never.”

Simon.

Your ghostly Simon. The word shone bright in your foggy mind. “Never— don't hurt me.”

Something deep in you told you he couldn't.

— — —

The nurse at the desk was asking all the wrong questions. Simon could guess the answers she wanted, he could form a loose timeline in his mind. A version of events that made sense. But one thing was certain, he’d have to embellish the truth to get the right result. Civilian life was easier in someways, harder in others.

He gave her a name, gave an approximation of an age but he wouldn’t be allowed to stay with you unless he started filling in the blank spaces. He’d made a promise to you, and he’d keep it.

“I need a surname for the intake form, sir. Do you actually know this young lady?”

He sighed. He wasn’t the villain here. He knew how it looked, five men bringing a clearly intoxicated girl into the ER was dodgy. But he wasn’t the villain.

“Yeah, I already said that. Look, she needs help, and I have to stay with her, she’ll be looking for me when she wakes up.”

“I understand that sir, but only family are allowed to stay with patients overnight. And you still haven’t given me her—“

Surname and relationship to him. Yeah, because he didn’t know. All he knew was that he had to be here, all night if it took that long. He had to be there when you woke up, so he could fulfil his promise. So you'd know you were safe.

“Riley. It’s Riley.”

“And you’re family?”

Was he?

“Yes, of course.”

Now he was.

#simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley x fem reader #ghost x reader #simon ghost riley #ghost mw2 #stalker fic #tw stalking #tw possessive behavior #ghost mwii #simon ghost riley requests #simon ghost riley imagine #ghost imagine #ghost x female reader

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buckupstitches · 11 months

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Emma Watson

#emma watson #oxters

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sassenach77yle · 4 months

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“I have lived through a fucking world war,” I said, my voice low and venomous. “I have lost a child. I have lost two husbands. I have starved with an army, been beaten and wounded, been patronized, betrayed, imprisoned, and attacked. And I have fucking survived!”

My voice was rising, but I was helpless to stop it. “And now should I be shattered because some wretched, pathetic excuses for men stuck their nasty little appendages between my legs and wiggled them?!” I stood up, seized the edge of the washstand and heaved it over, sending everything flying with a crash—basin, ewer, and lighted candlestick, which promptly went out. “Well, I won’t,” I said quite calmly. “Nasty little appendages?” he said, looking rather stunned. “Not yours,” I said. “I didn’t mean yours. I’m rather fond of yours.” Then I sat down and burst into tears. His arms came round me, slowly and gently. I didn’t startle or jerk away, and he pressed my head against him, smoothing my damp, tangled hair, his fingers catching in the mass of it.

“Christ, ye are a brave wee thing,” he murmured. “

Not,” I said, eyes closed. “I’m not.”

I grabbed his hand and brought it to my lips, closing my eyes as I did so. I brushed my battered mouth across his knuckles, blind. They were swollen, as bruised as mine; I touched my tongue to his flesh, tasted soap and dust and the silver taste of scrapes and gashes—marks left by bones and broken teeth. Pressed my fingers to the veins beneath the skin of wrist and arm, softly resilient, and the solid lines of the bones beneath. I felt the tributaries of his veins, wished to enter into his bloodstream, travel there, dissolved and bodiless, to take refuge in the thick-walled chambers of his heart. But I couldn’t. I ran my hand up his sleeve, exploring, clinging, relearning his body. I touched the hair in his oxter and stroked it, surprised at the soft, silky feel of it. “Do you know,” I said, “I don’t believe I’ve ever touched you there before?” “I dinna believe ye have,” he said, with a hint of nervous laughter in his voice. “I would ha’ remembered. Oh!” A stipple of gooseflesh burst out over the soft skin there, and I pressed my forehead to his chest. “The worst of it is,” I said, into his shirt, “that I knew them. Each one of them. And I’ll remember them. And feel guilty that they’re dead, because of me.” “No,” he said softly, but very firmly.

“They are dead because of me, Sassenach. And because of their own wickedness. If there is guilt, let it rest upon them. Or on me.” “Not on you alone,” I said, my eyes still closed. It was dark in there, and soothing. I could hear my voice, distant but clear, and wondered dimly where the words were coming from.

“You’re blood of my blood, bone of my bone. You said so. What you do rests on me, as well.” “Then may your vow redeem me,” he whispered.

He lifted me to my feet and gathered me to him, like a tailor gathering up a length of fragile, heavy silk—slowly, long-fingered, fold upon fold. He carried me then across the room, and laid me gently on the bed, in the light from the flickering fire.

~A Breath of Snow and Ashes

#outlander #outlanderedit #the frasers #jamie fraser #outlander series #outlander starz #outlander fanart #samheughan #jamie&claire #jamie and claire #caitrionabalfe #claire fraser #dr claire randall #claire beauchamp #outlander books #outlander season 5 #outlander 5x12

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thecreaturecodex · 2 months

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Stegon

[Stegon is a Return of Ultraman kaiju that seems to be an homage to original Ultraman monster Seabozu. Both are skeletal dinosaur kaiju that are treated sympathetically, and Stegon uses a modified version of Seabozu's roar for a sound effect. This is somewhat striking because Stegon definitely kills people. Like, we see construction workers get melted. So I wanted my flavor text to pay homage to that, and to be a technically-against-the-rules-in-PF1e neutrally aligned undead. I'm also including a reference to a thematically similar kaiju who appears in the same series that I'm also intending to stat up in this project.]

Stegon CR 17 N Undead This creature resembles the skeleton of an oversized reptile, its stance quadrupedal. Its skull has a pointed snout and projecting teeth. Its bones are embedded in a tarry mass, giving the creature a bulky body.

A stegon is a chimeric undead creature made out of the bones of dinosaurs and other ancient megafauna. These bones are suspended in a black tarry mass, something like asphalt. When a bone bed is disturbed, not to uncover its secrets and learn about its former inhabitants, but in order to exploit the land, a stegon may rise to avenge the desecration of its grave. These grave sites are sometimes those guarded by an oxter, which can lead the two monsters to collaborating in their destructive vengeance. Once it has avenged itself, stegons tend to roam widely and target land developments, strip mines and other massive construction projects that devastate the land. As such, stegons are among the few undead creatures that are respected in druidic traditions, although a druid would be likely to try to lay the animal souls to rest after they have completed their mission.

Stegons typically attack their targets using their breath weapons and trampling feet. They can breathe a cloud of acidic mist. This acid is much more potent against flesh and bone than metals and minerals, and the gear of stegon victims may litter its lair. If creatures fight back, or attack it, it fights with its teeth and tail if cornered, but is just as likely to try to walk away, trusting to its natural armor and resistances to shrug off attacks.

Stegon CR 17 XP 102,400 N Colossal undead Init +4; Senses darkvision 60 ft., Perception +24, scent Defense AC 31, touch 2, flat-footed 31 (-8 size, +33 natural) hp 300 (24d8+192) Fort +17, Ref +8, Will +16; channel resistance +2 DR 15/magic and bludgeoning; Immune acid, force, undead traits Offense Speed 50 ft. Melee bite +27 (2d8+16/19-20 plus 4d6 acid), tail slap +24 (3d8+8) Space 30 ft.; Reach 20 ft. Special Attacks breath weapon (60 foot cone, 18d6 acid, Ref DC 29, 1d4 rounds), trample (Ref DC 38, 2d6+24) Statistics Str 43, Dex 10, Con -, Int 2, Wis 10, Cha 25 Base Atk +18; CMB +42 (+44 bull rush); CMD 52 (56 vs. trip) Feats Awesome Blow, Blind-fight, Great Fortitude, Improved Bull Rush, Improved Critical (bite), Improved Initiative, Iron Will, Multiattack, Power Attack, Skill Focus (Perception), Toughness, Weapon Focus (bite) Skills Climb +22, Perception +24, Swim +19 SQ organic acid Ecology Environment any land and underground Organization solitary Treasure incidental Special Abilities Breath Weapon (Su) When a stegon uses its breath weapon, the cone of acidic mist condenses into a 20 foot radius cloud at its origin point. This cloud obscures vision as a fog cloud spell and deals 2d6 acid damage every round to creatures and objects in the area (no save). This cloud lasts for 1d4+1 rounds before dissipating, and can be dissipated with strong or stronger wind. The save DC is Charisma based. Organic Acid (Ex) Acid damage dealt by a stegon’s breath weapon and bite deals minimum damage to creatures or objects made of stone or metal. It ignores the hardness of creatures or objects made of organic materials, such as wood or bone.

#pathfinder 1e #ultraman #return of ultraman #stegon #kaiju #undead

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inthefallofasparrow · 11 months

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#poll

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skinks · 1 year

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was chatting to a woman I work with on Friday and she brought up that her daughter, who is 13 and a tomboy and a passionate member of her football team, has started growing body hair. The woman I work with prides herself on being strong and tough spoken and unfeminine in her lifestyle and behaviour, and yet she still said that she’d been “begging” her daughter to let her teach her how to shave her legs.

The daughter had refused because she “doesn’t care” about having leg hair, but her mother told me that eventually she had been convinced. Or, pressured, I guess. Bullied into it by her own mother. Just for her leg hair though, she refuses to shave her oxters.

And like… I understand that the girl has faced sexist bullying for being a tomboy already, and god knows *I* of all people understand what that’s like. I know her mother just wants to prevent her being bullied any further, but I know what it feels like for your own mum to harangue you every day into changing things about your body/appearance that you don’t want to change. I even told my coworker this; I told her that I had been the exact same way, and still stopped shaving entirely at 15 because I hated the injustice of the expectations heaped upon my adolescent body versus my brother’s. She pushed that aside though, she said it was different for me because my body hair is lighter. That’s true, but it didn’t stop any of the bullying I got for being a hairy fugly munter manbeast dyke, did it?

I still preferred to bear the harassment I got than concede to changing myself for other’s benefit. No concessions that women and girls make to misogynistic expectations ever makes the misogyny go away, but the one thing that would have helped was knowing your own mother was on your side, and it just breaks my heart for this girl I’ve never met that she’s gonna grow up with it too. Stop trying to convince girls their neutral human bodies are wrong, especially when those girls don’t even believe it yet

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samuelroukin · 1 month

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Google 'oxters' lol.

Sorry, just came across it here and found it relevant: https://www.scottish-at-heart.com/scottish-sayings.html