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rankdisasster · 4 years

Text

obstacle 1

Billy Hargrove x fem reader

“24 & 41 w some soft billy 🤧” requested by anonymous.

#24: “You’re trembling.”

#41: “I feel like I can’t breathe.” from dialogue prompts

warning(s): slurs, violence, panic attacks

a/n: angst but it gets better I promise!! title of the fic comes from a fucking phenomenal Interpol song. also beware if you send me a number from a prompt list there’s no way I know how to make it short like a drabble, I only know how to draw it out pretty much haha.

—

“What the fuck is the matter with you? Huh?”

Billy’s back had been shoved up against the wall, his lip trembling and eyes red rimmed with unshed tears. His father’s fingers are tightly clutched around his jacket, ugly nostrils widely flared, looking down at his own son as if he were a mistake; as if he were the scum of the fucking earth. And Billy knows that that’s true, too.

“I had to get a call from the sheriff, at—” his father breaks eye contact for a split second to eye the clock that hangs on his son’s bedroom wall, “three-thirty in the goddamn morning, only to be told that my gracious son has been caught stealing chocolate bars from the drugstore, like some fucking delinquent. How do you think this makes me feel, William? As your own flesh and blood,” his father sighs and pats his own chest, pretending like he’s hurt because Billy made a fool of himself and embarrassed his family. Of course, only his father would be making all this about himself yet again and not seeing with his blind dumb eyes that it’s a cry for attention and help.

It was impulsive and stupid, Billy can admit that at least.

He was hungry, he felt like acting out, and there just so happened to be a drugstore nearby and thought it’d be kinda funny. Billy assumed that the security would be shit, and he also assumed he’d be smooth enough to not get caught. He played the part pretty well, at least what he considered to be convincing. Whistling and peeking at his surroundings as he casually stuffed around twelve, maybe even more chocolate bars down his pants and coat pockets and then sprinting like a bat out of hell to the parking lot.

He swore he was in the clear, and would eventually get to enjoy the candy bars and have a funny story to tell you later. Have a happy ending to one of his shenanigans for once, instead of ending in tears and blood. That is until the way-too-beefy-for-this-job clerk behind the counter saw him and called him out before chasing him down, slamming his entire front into the concrete. Holding him there until the boys in blue show up and handcuff his hands behind his back before shoving him in the backseat. The bruises from the comfy cement came out nice and big, Billy already checked them out in the bathroom mirror at the station. Seriously, he’d never seen a guy get that protective over Kit-Kat bars since he was in grade school.

After fucking begging the officers to just let him off the hook and promising it’ll never happen again, that it was just a silly fluke; they had betrayed him, and unsurprisingly at that. Like all authoritative figures have done to him his entire eighteen years of living. The pricks really did it, they really called his dad on him, and now here we are.

“Answer me this instant!”

Billy flinched at the deafening tone his father used to screamed right into his face. Their noses are practically touching. He can even smell his father’s alcohol consumption through his breath, and it’s so fucking grotesque that Billy wants to throw everything he ate that day up.

“I got popped for stealing chocolate, s’not the worst thing I’ve done,” he weakly murmurs, cursing himself internally because he felt a tear bust out of his left eye. He can’t cry in front of this monster, he fucking can’t.

Why can’t this be over with already? Why not just a slap on the wrist, one and done? This shouldn’t be as bad as the time he got caught tripping on acid in the woods that his weird ass classmate Mike gave to him. Yet he’s still here, spitting on Billy’s face and gripping him tighter, voice thundering louder. Susan doesn’t ever give a fuck about what’s happening to her step son, so why would Billy be foolishly praying that she would save the day this time? The helpless boy even imagines a scenario ending with his little step sibling Max stepping in and calling the cops. But all that’s just wishful thinking. Those things only happen to people who are cared about, and nobody gives a rats ass for Billy’s well-being in this household. Not even the cops would throw his nutcase of a father in jail and swallow the key.

The cops only care about petty misdemeanors, such as teenagers stealing candy bars from drugstores. They wouldn’t bat an eye at seeing a troublemaker like Billy with bruises and scabs scattered all over his face. They don’t care. None of them do, and none of them listen either.

“Yeah yeah, sure. It’s just a couple candy bars, right? But here’s how thieves work,” Neil starts his lesson, looking down his nose and pointing a finger at Billy’s face accusingly. “First, it’s just a candy bar. No big deal, right? You’re just having a little fun. Then, it gets bigger. You get away with that, then one day, you think you can get away with stealing a car,” he takes Billy’s jaw in one hand to keep him in place before giving his cheek a quick sharp slap, leaving it stinging and flushing red. “You should be ashamed of yourself.”

The first punch is always a shock, and has the teen holding his breath waiting for what the next one will feel like.

“You are a fucking disgrace, a worthless juvenile with nothing better to do,” his father winds up for round two, even grinning like a sadistic bastard. He grins even wider when he sees his son’s face leak with more tears, and hissing when he wipes his own face too hard from brushing the evidence of the blow with his finger. More insults are thrown at him, like “faggot” or “disappointment”. He’s heard it all before, but it’s seeping further into his skull now, right along with his dear old dad’s fist. Cutting deep, deeper than it ever has, and not just in his face.

And Billy, paralyzed and hopless while lying on the ground, realizes that his father had to have been right all along.

Throughout his teens he consciously wondered if he actually was the reason Mom left, or if that’s just his dad fucking with his head. Which usually happens to be the case. But now, Billy is petrified that he’s telling the truth, and he’s giving it to him raw, like a sick reminder of his utter worthlessness. Maybe he will grow up to be no good, just another bum and a thief, getting caught doing more stupid shit. Billy wonders if this is really a sign that he should wise up before it’s too late.

His dad has finally stopped knocking his head into the wall and sucker punching his nose and cheeks, now seemingly satisfied with the work of art done to the boy’s face. With blood pouring from the boy’s nose like a faucet, he scrambles to plug it up and hug himself while bracing for a potential next hit. To Billy’s relief, his dad up and leaves at that, slamming the door behind him with a scoff and more damaging insults murmured under his breath. As soon as the door is shut, the boy fumbles to shove open his window, rushing to crawl the fuck out and nicking his injuries on the way out. He can’t fucking take this anymore.

By the time he’s out in his driveway, tears are still flooding out of his fucked up purple eyes and he rips open his Camaro door. While starting up the engine, he shakes his head before speeding to the only safe place he knows.

Your room.

—

When Billy makes it to your house, still just as hot of a mess as he was when he was being beaten and screamed at, the way up to your room was no picnic. He skinned his knee on the way down, falling three or four times before finally making it. His strength isn’t at it’s best at the moment. He carelessly shoves your window open and stumbles as he climbs through, landing directly on the floor. His back is to your door, and he adjusts himself to sitting with his legs crossed as he waits for your return. You’re probably downstairs, or in the bathroom. He doesn’t fucking know, but he wouldn’t doubt that you’d leave him too, like everyone else had when they discovered how much of a burden all his issues really are. History often repeats itself, and maybe it’s a mistake unveiling his mask and shitting all over you with his fucked up problems, but he doesn’t know where else to go.

Yours and Billy’s relationship strictly consisted of fun. Just joking around without any drama, maybe once in a while getting up to no good together. When you two would drink heavily in your room on weekends, sometimes he’d kiss you but you wouldn’t talk about it in the morning. Because that’d be just too much to deal with, and the packaged guarentee he got with you was that you weren’t anything to deal with. You were the most laid back, good time he’d had in this town. This wouldn’t be the first time he’d snuck up to your window and crawled in, however, it will be the first time he ever showed up this vulnerable and seeking comfort. Your comfort, specifically.

Billy’s back is still facing the door when you finally arrive, and you let out a squeal in fear before recognizing it’s him. You’d know that mullet, that jacket, and those tight blue jeans absolutely anywhere. It was your good friend Billy sitting on your floor.

“Holy shit man, you scared the Jesus outta me. Gimme a warning next time, ay?” you laugh, holding your chest to slow your quick heart down. It’s pretty late, and it’s a typical Saturday. You’re in your pajamas with a rejuvenating green face mask smothered all over your skin, as well as a bowl of cookie dough icecream in your grasp. It almost went flying when Billy had frightened you, and that would’ve been a bitch to clean off the carpet.

“I have some cookie dough icecream here. I could get you your own bowl too, if you want,” you offer, not yet hearing a peep from the boy seated on the ground. He’s eerily quiet, but you’re still oblivious to it all. “I heard this gossip around town, and oh my god, it totally reminded me of you. Some dipshit got caught stealing a bunch of Kit-Kat bars from the store right by your place,” you chuckle, then worry a bit as he remains unresponsive.

“Billy?” you tread lightly as you tip toe closer to him, then observe his shoulders shaking, and then his entire body too as if it were freezing in here or something.

“You’re trembling,” you notice, now terrified of knowing what happened to this boy to make him this freakishly twitchy. You hastily put your hand on Billy’s shoulder before the ice finally breaks. He turns his head to you , finally exposing the dried blood that’s still down his nose, as well as the black and blue all over his face. His tears were falling silently at first until he steadily starts to sob violently, letting you cradle him in your arms and shush him soothingly.

“I’m— I, I didn’t mean to, it was just s’pposted to be a joke, but I messed up so bad, he got so mad at me this time, and—“

“Who? Who got mad at you?”

Billy’s vision is blurring rapidly, to the point of barely seeing any shapes or colors. His chest is heaving up and down way too fast to be normal, and he thinks he’s about to have a fucking heart attack. His dad would probably throw a parade if his son moved into a hospital instead.

“I feel like I can’t breathe,” he panics, whole body still trembling while holding you tight enough to hurt as his salty tears land on your shirt. You could give a fuck about your mask that’s still on your face and getting slightly ruined. Little bits of it is now smothering Billy’s hair, and that makes you want to smile, but this is no time to be smiling.

“Do you want some water? Fuck, I think I have a water bottle in my bag—“

“Please don’t leave me,” he implored, halting you from getting up by burying his beaten face into your chest.

“You got it! I’m staying right here, I swear. Um, I might remember the steps to doing mouth-to-mouth, if you need that?” your eyes are wide and apprehensive, praying to whatever God in the sky that Billy doesn’t die in your arms tonight. That seemed to get him to crack a smile, a weak one, but small progress is still progress. “I’m serious! I might be wishing I payed more attention in class when they talked about this stuff, but I’m here for you. I’m practically PhD certified,” you assure him, sounding less than convincing. Your ignorance is working it’s magic though, humoring Billy and making him finally take deep breaths at a normal rate, instead of the hyperventilating he’d been doing a second ago.

“Pfft. Sure, yeah, I can tell I’m in real good hands here. You got any a’ that cookie dough left, Doc?” he sniffles and licks his lips, staring at the bowl that still has a decent amount of scoops of the dessert left unmelted.

“Hell yeah, and there’s more where that came from. In fact, when you leave tonight, or tomorrow— whatever, you can stay as long as you want— I expect you to gain at least five pounds from this,” you hand the bowl over to his grabby hands, smiling sweetly as he scarfs it down. He suddenly stops for a moment and shrieks when he eats too much too fast, giving himself brain freeze. “You eat faster than my dog.”

“I’ll take the win on that challenge, actually,” he grins, inhaling more of the creamy dessert, letting out occasional hums when he gets an especially good bite of the sugary cookie dough.

After a beat of silence, you decide to get up and put a record on your record player, sticking with a classic Tom Petty album, setting it on low so that there’s some background. You know Billy favors it too, remembering all the drives you’d go on together with Petty playing through his speakers. You head to the bathroom which is only a small distance of five steps away, you grab a washcloth and wet it with warm water to clean Billy’s gross bloody face. You’ve never seen a guy look as fucked up as he did right now in real life. Only in the movies had you seen blood oozing from somebody’s face, or splotchy bruises like polka dots sitting on somebody’s face. Basically, you had no idea how to help him, but you were gonna try. He came to you after all, he trusted you enough to let you see this side of him.

“Is this the part where you give me that line, shit, what is it? Oh yeah, ‘you should have seen the other guy’?” you ask as you go up to him, making sure you’re as gentle as a feather while dabbing the damp lukewarm cloth on his battered cheekbones as he continues to eat.

“Nah, the other guy is just fine if you ask him,” Billy scoffs, finishing the bowl and putting it down next to him. He zips up his jacket further up his neck, then shoves his hands in his pockets as you tend to his wounds.

“You cold?”

“Eh, kinda. Not really though,” he answers, but you’re able to read between the lines at his body language then reach behind you to your bed, dragging a blanket over. Ignoring his protests about not needing to be babied this hard, you wrap it around him. He just shuts up and nods his thanks, holding it tighter by proving you right about how chilly he felt.

“I’m sorry about all this, by the way. I probably freaked you out, and I’m kinda wishing I hadn’t done that,” he sighs, in hindsight realizing how humiliating his meltdown was.

“Don’t apologize for showing emotion. That’s a fucked up male habit,” you scold, the boy nodding vigorously.

“It was me, you know,” he says , resulting in you raising your brows at the questionable ambiguity. He rolls his eyes at having to explain himself then goes on. “I did it. I uh, stole all those Kit-Kats from the store.”

You pause your cleansing his face then can’t hold in your giggles anymore at the fact that you were fucking right, of course Billy would be the one to do a thing like that.

“Yeah yeah, laugh it up Y/N,” he claps his hands, sarcastically urging you on.

“C’mon, that’s some priceless shit!”

“At least someone found it funny,” he grumbles, staring down at his hands and the soft blanket keeping him warm.

“What’s the matter with you?” you ask playfully, covering your mouth muffle your boisterous laughter.

That stiffens the boy up, thinking back to his father’s words, “What the fuck is the matter with you, huh?”

“Holy shit, you should’ve called me! I so would’ve been there to like, cause a distraction, maybe flirt with the cashier so that you could take a pack of those expensive cigarettes you’ve always wanted to try,” you laugh, then take his silence into account and find him shutting down again. You don’t know what you said, but you had to make it right.

“Hey, hey now. Don’t get all emo on me again, we were just starting to have some fun,” you peek his undamaged chin up, looking at him in the eyes and trying to stay positive, or better yet keep him distracted from his demons that won’t quit.

“Do, um. You don’t think I’m gonna grow up a low life asshole, do you?” he asks, wanting to hear it from somebody that he’s doing a good job. Making somebody on this earth proud, because pleasing his dad is a lost cause, and getting back his mom is about as likely.

“No. Why? Is it that you think you will?”

“Kinda, yeah. That’s what everyone drills into my head anyways,” he laughs, but you refuse to because that isn’t funny.

“Well if you give me all their names, I’ll go to wherever they’re at and sock them in the face. I don’t care if they’re bigger than me, I’m fucking doing it. Let’s go, come on. What are their names?” you assert without an ounce of humor. Billy’s lips curl into a smile, huddling further into the soft blanket you had given him. He isn’t at all in control of how fucking wide his lips get when he grins, all from the fact that his short stack best friend would do all that just for him. He suddenly wants to rub it in his sad sack of a father’s face that somebody really cares about him.

And he wants to really kiss that somebody right now.

“Think it’s time you wash that uh, whatever that is,” he gestures to the face mask that’s since dried when he came, “Off your face. I could come with you, if you want.”

Your blush is hidden under the green goo, and you nod your head in confirmation before grabbing his hand to lead you two to the bathroom.

“What is it even for, anyway?”

“Oh. For like, exfoliating, and... honestly, I don’t know. It could be complete bullshit, I just threw it on hoping something might happen,” you give up trying to explain your attempt at keeping up with personal hygiene, then Billy just shushes you and points to the sink to hurry you on washing it off.

With a good three minutes of Billy staring intently at you splashing your face with water, you self consciously look away and grab a towel to dry off. He looks you down once more, shakes his head, then leans in and caresses your cheeks with both his hands. His kiss is long and makes you feel so warm and tingly everywhere, but you’re mostly worried about fucking up his face doing this. As if on cue, your nose bonks his, making him moan.

“I’m so so sorry, did that— that hurt you, didn’t it?” you ask with dread, before he shuts you up with another kiss, not letting what his dad had done to him stop him from enjoying you. After making out by the sink for as long as he could hold out for, the two of you pull back and take a breather, still panting and smiling so happily. He pets your perfect cheeks that rest in his palms, and he hums in thought before speaking.

“Your skin’s real soft,” he observes.

“Yeah? Thanks, I um. Guess the face mask isn’t total bull after all,” you laugh, most of it coming from the nerves.

“Huh. I could try it sometime, yunno, only if you keep your mouth shut about it,” he playfully threats, poking you in your stomach as you continue laughing from how it tickled you.

Billy decides to stay the night at yours, playing the little spoon in your arms tonight. Tom Petty is still quietly singing from your record player, the empty bowl that was once filled with cookie dough icecream still sitting on the floor. The boy’s face hasn’t gotten much better, and he knows he’ll have to deal with his dad again tomorrow. It’s inevitable, really. But he knows now that you’re by his side, ready and willing to even whoop his dad’s ass if he gets him hurt again. And that’s more than enough for Billy to feel like he can really pull through.

—

happier about how this one turned out:) thank you all so much for being so kind and patient and everything. the people who write on here are wonderful, the people who read on here are wonderful, everybody is so amazing and I can’t express how grateful I am!!

I really wanted to write the reader as being kinda clueless about what to do with taking care of him, cause I’ll be honest, I have no idea what I’d do if a guy like him ever came to me looking super fucked up😂

#billy hargrove #billy hargrove x reader #billy hargrove imagine #stranger things #stranger things fanfic

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movedvalkyriesryde · 5 years

Note

Bucky x clumsy!reader with #3?

I’d like to formally apologise for this, it’s probably not what you were looking for but it’s what came to me so ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ is also slightly longer than anticipated lol

3. “Are you stuck?” “Yes...please help” Modern au

warning: swearssssss because everybody says fuck

Every Tuesday you made dinner for the gang. It probably should be called a feast more than just a dinner because over the years the numbers had grown and you were now feeding between 10 and 12 a week.

In the beginning it was just you, Nat and Wanda. Then Wanda made friends with Pepper and where Pepper goes Tony follows and where Tony goes Rhodey is normally trailing behind picking up the pieces.

After that you met Carol and Clint and with Clint came Laura and suddenly your small Tuesday dinners for three turned into eight. And that's where it stayed for a couple years.

Then Nat met Sam and everything got a bit more crazy. The first couple weeks it was just him but then Nat decided it would be nice to invite his friends along as well. So in rolled Steve and Bucky and now you were cooking three different meals every week for everyone as they crammed into your apartment happily with booze and money to pitch in for the meal.

You weren't complaining. You would never complain. These people were your family and this was your tradition. Not everyone made it every week, you all had classes and then work and partners/family but most of the time it was all of you together. A big dysfunctional family.

Traditions like that always stuck. And more, smaller traditions, joined it. Like how Bucky always came round straight after work to help you cook, how he had a draw in your closet to change into after he showered and then sat at the bench and cut vegetables or stirred the pot while you ran around him doing everything else.

Nat claimed it was because he was smitten for you, Sam said it was because he had no game. Bucky argued quite defensively that the last time he wasn't here when you were cooking you had tripped over your own feet and spilled curry you'd made for the night all over the floor. Bucky had walked in to find you sat in the mess clutching your knee. He said that he was there to make sure you didn't hurt yourself again, he was there to catch you before you fell most of the time.

Bucky even went as far to having a first aid kit on him at all times, in his gym bag, his work bag, his car, he even always had at least one plaster in his pocket.

Today you were making a giant roast for everyone. Both vegetarian and meat were cooking away in the oven but there was no Bucky. No one to help you clean up, no one to talk to while you waited for everything to cook. He hadn’t even called or text to say he wasn’t coming, he just wasn’t here.

At first it worried you, when it was ten past five and he still hadn’t turned up. Then it was five thirty and you were past the point of worried and starting to get angry, people would start turning up in the next half hour and you still had to clean the entire kitchen. So you took your anger out on the dirty pots and pans and mixing bowls.

Music blasted as you scrubbed at the pan, the damn thing was being a stubborn bitch but you were much more stubborn. You reached up without looking and fumbled around the bench for the bottle of soap, you felt it with your fingers and went to grasp the bottle but it slipped through your fingers, and then it slipped again and you fumbled trying to catch it, catching your bracelet on the handle of the pan and pulling it off.

The soap was forgotten and you lunged to catch the bracelet before it went down the sink but you were too slow.

“FUCK” you yelled following it down the drain with your hand, you grasped the bracelet and pulled but to your surprise your arm wouldn’t budge. You were stuck. “Fuck” you sighed.

It had been two minutes but it felt like ten. You’d tried reaching across the bench to get your phone but it was just far enough that you couldn’t get it. So now you had just resorted to kneeling on the tiled floor, you arm and hand still stuck in the drain holding tightly onto the bracelet with your head leaning against the cold bench. This was it, you were going to die and this was how they were going to find your body. Or worse, Nat or Clint will be the first ones to come over and you will NEVER live this down.

Bucky trudged through the front door, his shoulders were slumped and his head hung low. He was angry, annoyed, fucking fuming. His last client of the day came in fucking five minutes before they closed then demanded they fix their car, fucking Karen. Then, THEN, he missed his window and got stuck in the five o’clock traffic which was a goddamn stand still. His phone died, he left his charger at home, he was hot and sweaty and angry and just wanted a shower and a nap and to see you.

Yea, that’s what would make everything okay, if he could just see you. Bucky perked up a bit at that, he dropped his bag and moved right past your room and the bathroom, he can shower and get changed later, he was on a mission now.

You were too busy cursing yourself and imagining each of your friends reactions to finding you dead in the kitchen with your hand stuck in the fucking drain to hear the door or the stomping feet walking towards the kitchen. You were too busy cursing Bucky because this wouldn’t have happened if he was here to do the goddamn dishes that you didn’t hear the footsteps come to a stop in the doorway and you didn’t look up when the figure cleared their throat. It wasn’t until Bucky crouched down beside you and pulled some hair back from your face that you noticed his presence and jumped, letting out a scream and almost, almost, letting go of the bracelet.

“Bucky what the hell!” You hit his chest with your free hand as he leaned against the cabinet and laughed. “Where have you been! Why the fuck did you sneak up on me like that?! You know you can’t do that, you’re like a fucking cat I swear!” You rambled on as Bucky’s laughter died down and he took in your position.

“I’m sorry I’m late, I got caught up at work and my phone died, then I got caught in traffic. And uh,” he let out a chuckle, “because it’s funny. Now, why are you kneeling on the floor like that?”

You sighed and stood up, Bucky following to stand beside you.

“Geez, are you stuck petal?” he asked biting back a smile. Classic. If his phone wasn’t dead he’d take a photo.

“My bracelet fell down the drain and, ugh. Yes, please help?”

“Have you tried letting go of the bracelet?”

“I can’t Buck,” Bucky’s looked at you confused before nodding understandably.

“Is it your-”

“Yes.”

“I can buy you a new one,” he offered.

“You said it was one of a kind.”

“I’ll get you another one of a kind petal,” he crouched down again and open the door under the sink, inspecting the drainage like he knew what he was doing. Mechanics and plumping can’t be that different he thought. “You’re gonna have to let go Y/N”

“Bucky -”

“I know you don’t want to but I don’t think you’ll lose it.” He looked up at you from his position on the floor to see you leaning on one hand looking exhausted and a little scared. “I think I can get it out of the drain but you have to let go.”

“Really?” Bucky smiled at you brightly and nodded.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

“I’d wash it first but I got it out,” you walked back into the kitchen after showering as the timer went off, there was chatter coming from the living room but you weren’t paying much attention to it.

“Thank you again Buck,” you said opening the oven and taking out the contents, it still needed to sit for a bit.

“Hey, it’s what I’m for isn’t it,” he smiled brightly at you, “looking after your clumsy ass,” Bucky winked before making his way out the door with a pile of plates to set the table.

“You love my clumsy ass,” you called after him. You looked at the bracelet that sat on a paper towel, slightly damp and a little dirty but it was there.

The delicate silver bracelet that Bucky had given you as an early present the Tuesday before your birthday. The one he said he’d gotten made specifically for you from a friend of his. That he’d designed himself, because he wanted it to represent you. One of a kind, he’d said when you picked it out of the box, your fingers brushing over the small flower that was the centerpiece, ‘made specially for you petal’.

You smiled turning your attention back to the feast, your actions dealing with the food before you but your mind reeling with nothing but Bucky.

It’s a shame you missed what he said when he walked out the door with that pile of plates. But it is his fault for mumbling it under his breath.

“Fuck I really do.”

#valkyries drabble week #marvel drabble #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes modern au

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valkyriesryde · 4 years

Text

I’d like to formally apologise for this, it’s probably not what you were looking for but it’s what came to me so ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ is also slightly longer than anticipated lol

3. “Are you stuck?” “Yes…please help” Modern au

warning: swearssssss because everybody says fuck

In the beginning it was just you, Nat and Wanda. Then Wanda made friends with Pepper and where Pepper goes Tony follows and where Tony goes Rhodey is normally trailing behind picking up the pieces.

After that you met Carol and Clint and with Clint came Laura and suddenly your small Tuesday dinners for three turned into eight. And that’s where it stayed for a couple years.

You weren’t complaining. You would never complain. These people were your family and this was your tradition. Not everyone made it every week, you all had classes and then work and partners/family but most of the time it was all of you together. A big dysfunctional family.

Nat claimed it was because he was smitten for you, Sam said it was because he had no game. Bucky argued quite defensively that the last time he wasn’t here when you were cooking you had tripped over your own feet and spilled curry you’d made for the night all over the floor. Bucky had walked in to find you sat in the mess clutching your knee. He said that he was there to make sure you didn’t hurt yourself again, he was there to catch you before you fell most of the time.

Bucky even went as far to having a first aid kit on him at all times, in his gym bag, his work bag, his car, he even always had at least one plaster in his pocket.

The soap was forgotten and you lunged to catch the bracelet before it went down the sink but you were too slow.

“FUCK” you yelled following it down the drain with your hand, you grasped the bracelet and pulled but to your surprise your arm wouldn’t budge. You were stuck. “Fuck” you sighed.

You sighed and stood up, Bucky following to stand beside you.

“Geez, are you stuck petal?” he asked biting back a smile. Classic. If his phone wasn’t dead he’d take a photo.

“My bracelet fell down the drain and, ugh. Yes, please help?”

“Have you tried letting go of the bracelet?”

“I can’t Buck,” Bucky’s looked at you confused before nodding understandably.

“Is it your-”

“Yes.”

“I can buy you a new one,” he offered.

“You said it was one of a kind.”

“Bucky -”

“Really?” Bucky smiled at you brightly and nodded.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

“Thank you again Buck,” you said opening the oven and taking out the contents, it still needed to sit for a bit.

“Hey, it’s what I’m for isn’t it,” he smiled brightly at you, “looking after your clumsy ass,” Bucky winked before making his way out the door with a pile of plates to set the table.

“You love my clumsy ass,” you called after him. You looked at the bracelet that sat on a paper towel, slightly damp and a little dirty but it was there.

You smiled turning your attention back to the feast, your actions dealing with the food before you but your mind reeling with nothing but Bucky.

It’s a shame you missed what he said when he walked out the door with that pile of plates. But it is his fault for mumbling it under his breath.

“Fuck I really do.”

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes drabble

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mille-marteaux · 4 years

Text

[T-A-C] Marte: how delirious do we need to get you in order to write a maid tier list

@t-a-c never ask me for anything ever again (you may feel free to ask me for things in the future.)

I will be rating the maids that I know of on the following criteria, on a baseline scale of 1-10:

Are they actually a maid: A yes or no question. If they are not actually a maid then they are disqualified but will still get ratings anyway because it makes the list funnier.

Modesty: How reasonable their maid uniform is. The "sexier" the costume is, the lower the score.

Professionalism: How they behave while on the job. The more they flirt with/actively torment/etc their employer, the lower the score.

Competence: How good they actually are at performing domestic tasks, such as cooking and cleaning. The worse they are, the lower the score.

Combat proficiency: How effective they are in battle. The more of a liability they would be in a fight, the lower the score.

Devotion: How devoted they are to their employer. The more disinterested they are, the lower the score.

Extra input: A miscellaneous category that does not award points, but is more room for my own observations and extra opinions.

I will be going down the line from series that I know about. I do not actually actively seek out maid content - it mostly finds me. But I'm bored, so whatever. (Don't expect to see Rem on this list because I never watched Re:Zero.)

i am not inserting images as i’ve already spent two and a half hours on this fucking awful post like three people are going to read. find images yourself

PHANTASY STAR ONLINE 2 This game has at least one maid.

LUCOTTE IS A MAID: Yes MODESTY: 5/10 (despite being an android, she still expresses herself with a "sexy" maid-like design) PROFESSIONALISM: 8/10 (she is very serious about what she does but is a little eager to dote on others) COMPETENCE: 5/10 (seems decent enough at chores but will break brooms using them as weapons) COMBAT PROFICIENCY: 10/10 (trainer NPC for the Etoile class; helps all Etoiles grow stronger) DEVOTION: 10/10 (loves her friends and all her peers and will protect them with her life) OTHER NOTES: checked my vibes when we were introduced to her and basically made me admit that i do, in fact, like maids to some extent

THE AVERAGE ARKS MEMBER WEARING A MAID COSTUME IS A MAID: No MODESTY: Anywhere from 3-10 PROFESSIONALISM: Anywhere from 0-10 COMPETENCE: Anywhere from 0-10 COMBAT PROFICIENCY: Anywhere from 1-10 DEVOTION: Anywhere from 0-10 OTHER NOTES: putting on a frilly dress does not automatically make you a maid. spend money on your gear instead of trying to seduce others

==================

PUELLA MAGI MADOKA MAGICA Fuck you. Fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you god damn it son of a fucking bitch fuck you

MELISSA IS A MAID: Yes MODESTY: 10/10 (very tasteful uniform and magical girl costume) PROFESSIONALISM: 10/10 (she does maid things and treats everyone with respect) COMPETENCE: i don't remember. like at least a 8/10. it's been a while since event ran and i don't feel like reading it for this list COMBAT PROFICIENCY: 0/10 normally, 9/10 if contracted and transformed. her personal memoria implies she got darc killed at least once due to being on the front lines and not as a magical girl DEVOTION: 10/10 (she will take an arrow for darc without hesitation if she has to but darc would take the arrow first) OTHER NOTES: the first magireco event character i uncapped and four-slotted

KANAGI IZUMI IS A MAID: No (she works part-time in a maid cafe; otherwise is not a domestic worker.) MODESTY: 6/10 (as her work uniform is a "sexy" maid costume it scores lower than usual, but it could be much less modest) PROFESSIONALISM: 5/10 (she treats all customers with respect but does not behave in the cutesy bubbly way you'd expect a maid cafe employee to behave) COMPETENCE: 9/10 (excellent worker; but accidentally messed up a ketchup drawing once) COMBAT PROFICIENCY: 10/10 (is a veteran magical girl) DEVOTION: 0/10 (she does not put any love into anything she does and is only a part-time worker) OTHER NOTES: AABBC is a good disc loadout

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GRANBLUE FANTASY oh you know it has maids

DOROTHY IS A MAID: Yes MODESTY: 10/10 (wears an actual proper maid dress) PROFESSIONALISM: 8/10 (has a few... moments. professionalism drops to 2/10 when near MC) COMPETENCE: 10/10 (is very good at her job) COMBAT PROFICIENCY: (8/10; is only held back by game mechanics. 10/10 when paired with claudia) DEVOTION: 15/10 (she will kill a man for her employer) OTHER NOTES:

CLAUDIA IS A MAID: Yes MODESTY: 10/10 (also wears an actual proper maid dress similar to dorothy) PROFESSIONALISM: 7/10 (is fond of napping on the job. would be 8/10 but she loses one point for flashing her thigh during a combat tournament battle to distract and defeat her opponent.) COMPETENCE: 10/10 (is very good at her job) COMBAT PROFICIENCY: (7/10; is only held back by game mechanics. has a slightly worse kit than dorothy as her big damage skill can miss. 10/10 when paired with dorothy) DEVOTION: 10/10 (she will break a few legs for her employer if needed but is lacking in empathy for non-employers) OTHER NOTES: she scares me

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AZUR LANE whY ARE THERE SO MANY MAIDS IN THE ROYAL NAVY

BELFAST IS A MAID: Yes MODESTY: 5/10 (while her skirt is fine, her top is minuscule and requires copious amounts of fashion tape) PROFESSIONALISM: 2/10 (she sees the commander sleeping once and decides to move their head onto her lap so they awaken to a lap pillow, just to see how they react) COMPETENCE: 10/10 (despite everything, she is very good at her job) COMBAT PROFICIENCY: 10/10 (goes to 14/10 if equipped with a HE gun) DEVOTION: 10/10 OTHER NOTES: she is not as lusty as the fandom would like to make her out to be but she would still jump the commander's bones in a heartbeat if given consent to do so

EDINBURGH IS A MAID: Yes MODESTY: 7.5/10 (her maid uniform is more akin to a maid cafe costume than a proper domestic worker uniform, but isn't offensively alluring like SOME OTHER PEOPLE in this section of the list) PROFESSIONALISM: 6/10 (she's doing her best) COMPETENCE: 0/10 (do not trust her with actual tasks) COMBAT PROFICIENCY: 10/10 (goes to 13/10 if equipped with an AP gun) DEVOTION: 10/10 (she's doing her best) OTHER NOTES: she's doing her best

GLASGOW IS A MAID: Yes MODESTY: 8.5/10 (it's not perfectly modest but it's much more modest than SOME OTHER PEOPLE in this section) PROFESSIONALISM: 9/10 (she reads during active secretary work if she thinks nobody is around) COMPETENCE: 9/10 (seems good enough) COMBAT PROFICIENCY: 9/10 (is held back by lower stats due to lower card rarity) DEVOTION: 10/10 (even if she hates the commander, she will continue to do work just fine) OTHER NOTES: i do not know anything about this character and only just read her lines about five minutes ago as of the time of writing this assessment

GLOUCESTER IS A MAID: Yes MODESTY: 7/10 (while the majority of her uniform is fine, she loses three points for the strange underbust window in her blouse that seems to be entirely there to distract perverts) PROFESSIONALISM: 10/10 (she will scold the commander for staring at maids instead of focusing on their work) COMPETENCE: 10/10 (as expected of one of these maids at this point, i imagine) COMBAT PROFICIENCY: 10/10 (i am running out of witty comments. i will stop making them here unless i have something funny to say) DEVOTION: 10/10 (will continue to work even if she dislikes the commander but will refuse to speak to them) OTHER NOTES: did albert design her uniform or something

NEWCASTLE IS A MAID: Yes MODESTY: 6/10 (looks more akin to a maid cafe uniform than a domestic worker uniform) PROFESSIONALISM: 2/10 (very friendly and flirty. easy to get along with) COMPETENCE: 10/10 COMBAT PROFICIENCY: 8/10 (loses a point for rarity, another for having anti-air mode in her kit) DEVOTION: 10/10 OTHER NOTES: friend

SHEFFIELD IS A MAID: Yes MODESTY: 10/10 (finally a normal uniform) PROFESSIONALISM: 9/10 (while normally curt, she loses a point because of a distressingly weird scene in the anime where she nonchalantly flashes her peers during underwear discussion) COMPETENCE: 9/10 (loses one point due to being trigger happy) COMBAT PROFICIENCY: 10/10 DEVOTION: 0/10 (rises to 2/10 when oathed) OTHER NOTES: wow i don't trust her at all actually

SIRIUS IS A MAID: Yes MODESTY: 2/10 (this is just getting ridiculous) PROFESSIONALISM: 0/10 (it appears everything she knows about being a maid she learned from pornography) COMPETENCE: 7/10 (despite everything, she's still relatively good at her work) COMBAT PROFICIENCY: 10/10 DEVOTION: 15/10 (a little too devoted) OTHER NOTES: you have likely seen fanart and pornography of her without even knowing who she is

DIDO IS A MAID: Yes MODESTY: 1.5/10 (imagine albert designed a maid cafe uniform and you have dido) PROFESSIONALISM: 3/10 (she has severe anxiety issues that get in the way of her behavior but is at least not actively trying to jump the commander's bones) COMPETENCE: 9/10 (is good enough at her job that her anxiety makes her think she's being ignored because she isn't being watched all the time) COMBAT PROFICIENCY: 10/10 DEVOTION: 30/10 (this is fed into due to her anxiety and fear of being abandoned) OTHER NOTES: albert really should not be allowed to design outfits

CURACOA IS A MAID: Yes MODESTY: 8/10 (drops to 3/10 after retrofit) OTHER NOTES: it's incredible how little i seem to care about her and curlew

CURLEW IS A MAID: Yes MODESTY: 8/10 (drops to 2/10 after retrofit; lower score than curacoa as she is in a more seductive pose) OTHER NOTES: see curacoa and replace "curlew" with "curacoa"

HMS NEPTUNE (not to be mistaken with HDN NEPTUNE) IS A MAID: No (she is a waitress) MODESTY: 6.5/10 (her uniform is very flashy and alluring) PROFESSIONALISM: 0/10 (she will regularly ask the commander to get on their knees and beg to her for a good reward) COMPETENCE: ??/10 (she does not seem to actually do domestic tasks) COMBAT PROFICIENCY: 12/10 (rises to 17/10 if equipped with an AP gun) DEVOTION: 10/10 (she will devote herself to the commander but may also attempt to monopolize them; use extreme caution) OTHER NOTES: i'm fucking stupid. make of this comment what you will

==================

FIRE EMBLEM fire emblem fates was a mistake

FELICIA IS A MAID: Yes MODESTY: 7/10 (the nohrian maid outfit is nice but still a little fetishy with its short skirt and stockings making it resemble a cafe maid outfit more than a domestic worker uniform) PROFESSIONALISM: 6/10 (she's trying) COMPETENCE: 0/10 (not very effectively) COMBAT PROFICIENCY: 10/10 (while a bumbling fool in domestic chores, she's skilled martially) DEVOTION: 10/10 (she will follow you even if you decide to defect from nohr) OTHER NOTES: heroes introduced me to her and i bought conquest to have her hit things in a good game and also to marry her

FLORA IS A MAID: Yes MODESTY: 7/10 (see felicia) PROFESSIONALISM: 10/10 (much more curt) COMPETENCE: 10/10 (she tends to have to fix felicia's mistakes) COMBAT PROFICIENCY: 9/10 (skilled in battle but not as skilled as felicia is) DEVOTION: 10/10 (she normally would lose a point because she'd kill you if cornered but that's entirely garon's fault so she is excused) OTHER NOTES: i reinstalled heroes to roll for her and got her so i still have it installed

THE GENERIC NPC NOHRIAN MAID IS A MAID: Yes MODESTY: 7/10 (see felicia and flora) PROFESSIONALISM: ??/10 COMPETENCE: ??/10 COMBAT PROFICIENCY: anywhere from 5/10 to 15/10 depending on difficulty DEVOTION: 3/10 (if captured and bribed, they will join your army) OTHER NOTES: i'm stupid

ANY CHARACTER RECLASSED INTO A MAID IS A MAID: No OTHER NOTES: putting on a frilly dress does not automatically make you a maid

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LOVE LIVE god fucKING damn it

KOTORI MINAMI IS A MAID: No (works part-time at a maid cafe) MODESTY: 10/10 (finally. some proper fucking maid uniforms after all this weird fetish stuff) PROFESSIONALISM: 10/10 (falls to 0/10 if her peers are present) COMPETENCE: 10/10 (earned a nickname with "legendary" in the title due to how well she serves her customers) COMBAT PROFICIENCY: ??/10 (MIERNO "IDOLA" - VOLPHORNO playing loudly in the distance) DEVOTION: 9/10 (her customers usually come first but she loses a point for trying to flee work when discovered by her peers) OTHER NOTES: use extreme caution

EVERY OTHER CHARACTER IN THE SERIES THAT HAS A MAID-THEMED CARD IN THE MOBILE GAME(S) IS A MAID: No OTHER NOTES: SHUT UP DERX LEAVE ME ALONE

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TOUHOU PROJECT

RUUKOTO IS A MAID: Yes MODESTY: 10/10 PROFESSIONALISM: ??/10 (has no spoken dialogue nor personality to go off of) COMPETENCE: 0/10 (is noted to be bad at performing domestic tasks) COMBAT PROFICIENCY: ??/10 (is nuclear powered; while she could be harboring massive latent powers she poses a huge risk if she were to detonate) DEVOTION: 10/10 (is a good noodle) OTHER NOTES: she is probably my blog mascot in another timeline

SAKUYA IZAYOI IS A MAID: Yes MODESTY: 8/10 (while mostly fine, she still has a rather short skirt in the fighting games) PROFESSIONALISM: 10/10 COMPETENCE: 8/10 (loses a point for every time she lost to the mc during the events of eosd; gains a point for running the mc off if playing on easy) COMBAT PROFICIENCY: 10/10 DEVOTION: 10/10 OTHER NOTES: alice's quicksilver is more fun to use than marisa's thousand knives but is infinitely worse for speedrunning so you never see it

YUMEKO IS A MAID: Yes MODESTY: 10/10 PROFESSIONALISM: 10/10 COMPETENCE: 9/10 (loses a point for losing to the mc during the events of mystic square) COMBAT PROFICIENCY: 10/10 (throws swords) DEVOTION: 10/10 OTHER NOTES: superior maid

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HYPERDIMENSION NEPTUNIA

FINANCIER IS A MAID: No MODESTY: 10/10 PROFESSIONALISM: 10/10 COMPETENCE: ??/10 (is not actually a maid) COMBAT PROFICIENCY: ??/10 (has not been playable DEVOTION: ??/10 (i think she was evil in the original neptunia and then was good in the re:birth series) OTHER NOTES: cute

==================

HONORABLE MENTION AS I TYPED THIS UP AND REALIZED ANGEL MORT IS A RESTAURANT, NOT A MAID CAFE, BUT DO NOT WISH TO REMOVE THE WORK I PUT INTO THE SECTION:

HIGURASHI NO NAKU KORO NI SHION SONOZAKI IS A MAID: No (works part time at a maid cafe) MODESTY: 3/10 (this isn't even a maid costume anymore) PROFESSIONALISM: 10/10 COMPETENCE: 10/10 (is almost indistinguishable from mion when she tries) COMBAT PROFICIENCY: 10/10 (is trained in handling firearms due to her family connections) DEVOTION: 10/10 (she is a good noodle in a bad situation) OTHER NOTES: higurashi was among the first anime i watched and was a powerful formative experience on me

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izzy-b-hands · 4 years

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Dancer Chapter One

This is set in a Post-Golden Circle AU wherein nobody in Kingsman died (aka we still have Merlin, Roxy and JB, but we also got to meet the Statesman folks through...we’ll save that for when I eventually do my rewrite of Golden Circle lol.)

For now, the point is everyone is alive, and Eggsy has a very important mission he must undertake.

In booty shorts.

For the greater good (and because why couldn’t Rocketman and Kingsman share wardrobes you know. Why not. There is not reason why not is the answer.)

Warning, we get NSFW in this. A lot. Just. Be ready for that. Violence because spies, sex because of lots of things (emotions and other things, you’ll see when you read.) If that ain’t your cup of tea, maybe skip this one.

And yes, I did title it after the Queen song.

Shout out and my thanks to @bearkare for helping me figure out how to chop this up into chapters properly; I owe you one big time!!!

My love to all who read/like/reblog!

“These are...necessary?” Eggsy asked, and snapped the waistband of the golden shiny booty shorts.

“Absolutely,” Harry replied, and handed over another stack of similarly shiny clothing. “These should get you through the rest of the mission without needing any laundry done.”

“Are they all...”

“Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth,” Harry smiled. “Besides, these missions can be...fun. I quite enjoyed one I did, in the seventies, in a club where you could-”

“Oh, you could tell me about that later,” Eggsy interrupted, shoving the stack of multicolored booty shorts into his bag. “A reward for finishing the mission.”

“It was a swingers club, is what it was.”

“Aaah, you said it anyway,” Eggsy sighed. “And the tops are all-”

“Mesh,” Harry finished. “But there are also sweatshirts, in case you get cold.”

“Booty shorts and mesh shirts in December, how could I possibly get cold,” Eggsy murmured. “Sweatpants?”

“One pair that I could find, so be careful,” Harry answered, and handed over a pair of Juicy Couture sweats that read ‘Bitch’ in sparkling fake jewels on the back.

“...you found these?”

“I did.”

“So who previously used these here at Kingsman? Just...wondering. Or was that you, at the club? I presume you still go, since you’re keen to talk about it-”

Harry cut him off with the toss of a pair of heels.

“Male strippers don’t have to wear these, I thought?”

“Some do, some don’t,” Harry shrugged. “Most anyone can wear most anything. Give them a try. We’ve got platforms as well, if you’d prefer.”

“I would, I think. Might break an ankle either way,” Eggsy sighed, and handed back the heels in exchange for a pair of golden, shimmering, chunky platforms. “Shoes for after work?”

An extra pair of Adidas were the last thing he tossed into his bag for the mission, before taking a final look at himself in the mirror.

“I don’t know if I can do this.”

“Why not? You look fantastic, and the club we need you to infiltrate doesn’t even require you to strip every night. Hell, intel has revealed that some of the men that work there don’t even strip, they just work the floor and go about sitting in laps and whatnot. You could stick to that, whatever, so long as you find it.”

Harry’s confident words echoed as he stepped out and headed down the street to the waiting Kingsman cab. ‘It’ was a chemical formula, that the biochemical weapons dealing club owner was threatening to use to create what he called ‘the ultimate weapon.’ Whether that was really true they’d find out after, when they could see the formula and what it actually contained.

But that all came down to him.

The club was a four hour flight away, in Ibiza. Even on the Kingsman private plane, he was restless, plucking at the elastic edges of the shorts, pacing in the platforms to try and practice balancing in them.

“Where’s all this coming from?” Merlin asked from the pilot’s seat. “All I can hear is those damned shoes; on a regular plane, you know I’d have to make you sit down, right?”

“It’s nothing,” Eggsy muttered, even though it was indeed something. Tilde was less than pleased he’d been called in for a mission, and unhappier still that involved him working in a strip club. Never mind that they’d spent weeks arguing over how he could continue to complete his princely duties while staying out of the limelight and skipping public events. She wanted him to be able to show his face and be at her side, but couldn’t understand what it would mean.

Giving up Kingsman. Giving up the thing that had helped him become the man she loved.

Or that she might still love. Maybe. He wasn’t so sure anymore.

But he’d asked Roxy to stay with Tilde, so he could provide them both with mission updates (edited as needed to protect Tilde from the club owner and anyone he might send out should their communiques somehow be discovered) and he hoped she would see that as a sign of his love and care.

“I don’t believe that,” Merlin sighed. “But we’re nearly there. Have you got everything?”

‘Everything’ consisted of not just his bag of clothing, but one bag of regular make-up, eco-friendly glitter, pasties that he did not understand the point of his having, and another bag full of...’make-up.’

Eyeliner that could be used to essentially draw a fuse on a surface and lit on fire, perfume that was in a super-pressurized nozzle and contained a flesh eating toxin that acted as soon as it hit skin, eye shadows that if brushed on a finger and then dipped in a drink could knock out a bull elephant in a minute (what it would do to a human...well. Better not to think about that, and to use it only if absolutely necessary.)

That, plus the regular Kingsman kit, of course, carefully hidden in among all three bags, very carefully in the case of the pistols and ammunition.

All of it banged against his legs as he did his best to look...however he figured he was meant to look. Confident, and not like he was worried about whether or not this was a mission he could pull off, and not like he was worried he might come home to Tilde too upset to be consoled or worse.

“You!” the man that called out to him from the club’s doorway was a fierce-looking person, literally. A tiger with open mouth was tattooed on the front his neck, down onto his chest, with blood dripping from the fangs. “You’re fucking late! You know, in my day, when they sent a new boy, they sent him on time! No fucking respect for the show anymore, none at all.”

“I’m sorry, my flight ran late,” Eggsy tried. “But if you let me set my things down, I can get started right away, get out on the floor, serve some drinks, you know.”

The man scoffed, and pulled him into the doorway, nearly knocking him off his platforms. “Serve some drinks, pah. You’re tonight’s main entertainment. How else is the boss supposed to know if you’re worth the investment money? After all, your agency doesn’t get paid until we see how you work.”

He led Eggsy by the arm down a dark hall, and shoved open a door which led to a small green room. “And you should know...not many of you work out.”

“Then I’d be headed home, I suppose,” Eggsy replied as he stepped into the room, taking in the cracking paint on the walls, the cushions with stuffing coming out of them on the couch, and the filthy mirror on the make-up table.

The man laughed. “Home? Is that what they told you? I thought they weren’t going to lie anymore...ah well. Not my monkey, not my circus, as they say. Sure. You would be sent home, let’s say that. Just hurry the fuck up, get into something good, and when I knock, you take a left, then another left, and come out on stage. We’ll be waiting.”

Eggsy dropped his bags carefully by the couch, and as soon as the door was closed rifled through the clothing one to find the earpiece hidden in it.

“Merlin!”

“Eggsy! Safe and sound then, good to know. Now, I’ll be laying low around town, got myself a little set-up so I can assist you if needed and-”

“You can assist me by telling me why the fuck none of you warned me they’d want me to strip the first night. I literally just got here, and they want me on stage, now!” Eggsy spat.

“Okay, alright. Keep calm,” Merlin soothed. “This isn’t like you anyway; are you sure you’re alright?”

Eggsy sighed, and contemplated spilling his heart to Merlin now. But he couldn’t, not really. For his own sake, and for the sake of the mission.

“Just...I’m sorry. They made it fairly clear they kill any performer who doesn’t make the cut, so I’m a bit tense, is all.”

“...sure,” Merlin replied, and Eggsy could hear the disbelief in his voice. “We can talk later, perhaps? Just in case there would be anything else you aren’t telling me. Not that there is! But...if there were.”

“I’d like that,” Eggsy said softly. “So, any suggestions on...”

“The stripping? Oh Jesus, no. Could you imagine, me? Be like watching an Ent strip,” Merlin chuckled. “You’ve got this, you’ve done your research, I know you asked us not to watch you practice, but I do know you spent a good few hours in the studio space we rented for you. Just do what you’ve researched, put your heart into it, and you’ll be fine for the night, at least. From there...we’ll figure it out, alright?”

“Okay,” Eggsy muttered, and hid the earpiece back in its spot. From the bag he pulled a purple glittery mesh tank top, and a black thong that, as far as he could tell, was held together purely with wishes and will for as little material it was made of. Over that went a pair of black velvet booty shorts, and the top-

“Oh good, I caught you before you were all done,” a younger blonde man, his make-up bright gold and glittery with eyeliner winged sharp, in a black feathered mesh robe strode in. “Your agency said they weren’t sending your whole wardrobe, so here-”

He yanked open an apparently half-broken closet door at the side of the room that Eggsy hadn’t even noticed, to reveal a sea of bright colors and patterns on all variety of clothes. “What you have on looks fine, but he’ll want you to take off more layers than that. I’d say, this, this, and ooh! I bet you look handsome in a suit, so this as well.”

The man tossed a black T-shirt, a pair of loose tear-away joggers, and a suit jacket and pants towards Eggsy.

Eggsy stared. “Thanks. Do you-”

“Oh!” the young man laughed. “Not anymore. No, I oversee. Like a manager, but better, because I don’t have to fuck the boss anymore to keep my pole and my space in the club. Well, at least I said I was done with doing that now.”

Eggsy realized he must have made a face, because the man laughed again.

“Oh darling, bless you. How else do you think you keep your spot? Any other club would make you pay to rent the pole, the stage, right? Well, here at El Tigre, we don’t make you do that. You get paid to be here, to do your work. But, in order to stay...”

The man shrugged. “Life is dirty, and difficult. It could be just as bad anywhere else, so make a garden out of the mulch you’ve got, I say. I’m Evan, by the way.”

“You aren’t from here, I take it?”

Evan smiled. “No. I don’t think anyone who dances here is actually from Ibiza. No, the ladies and gentlemen who come in like their...imports, if you will. Even if that means us white-bread boys raised up on fish and chips, you know? And the boss has his tastes as well, and that’s the final say on it, really.”

Eggsy nodded. “Thank you. For the clothes, and the information. I didn’t realize they’d want me to dance right away, I mean I just got off the plane and made my way over here, and-”

Evan interrupted him with a hug. “It’s intimidating, I know. And ignore Tony, he’s an ass, but he only hurts people if ordered to. He’s loyal like that.”

“That man with the tiger on his neck?” Eggsy tried and failed to bite back a giggle. “His name is...Tony.”

Evan giggled right back. “He hates it, but yeah. We all call him Tony the tiger behind his back. Long as you don’t let him hear you say it, you’re safe. Now, you finish up. Oh, and match your shadow color to the color of your thong. Boss really goes for that.”

Evan was gone with a clack of his heels and a swish of his robe, and Eggsy wished he’d have stayed. Not even to gain more intel (though it was all good and needed), but just to not be alone in the moment.

But he managed it, and after choosing a new pair of platforms (shiny black vinyl with purple laces) he made it to the stage.

The club was empty, except for Evan, sitting on one side of the stage. Tony was on the other.

And at the end of the stage, dead center, was the man he needed to get close to, close enough to find and steal the chemical formula that might destroy thousands, millions, if sold to the wrong hands. The club owner, the “boss” as everyone apparently called him, Boniface Gagneux.

He wasn’t the stereotypical ‘club owner’ at least not in the way movies would show, to Eggsy’s memory. He was sharp-looking both in handsomeness and in the way a canine poked out just a bit from his top lip as he smiled at Eggsy, as though he’d bite if he got too close. His dark hair had just a touch of grey in it at the sides, and the dark suit he wore was beautifully tailored, sprinkled with sewn in tiny rhinestones on the shoulders, so he actually sparkled under the club lighting.

“Mr. Wyn Morris, we meet at last. I haven’t heard much about you, but-” Gagneux’s eyes traced him from top to bottom. “You look even better than your picture. Hopefully you dance as pretty as you look.”

Eggsy bit back a comment. That wasn’t what his character, Wyn, would say, not at all. Wyn was happy to be here, and happy to please, even if Gagneux’s glances made him feel sick to his stomach.

He simply nodded, and the music started.

The song he didn’t know, but it was something that seemed it would have fit only in setting like this, something about ‘being wanted at seventeen.’ The beat wasn’t too fast, nor too slow, but it took him a minute to find it nonetheless, to roll his hips the way he’d seen in every video lesson he could find online.

Even with practice, he still felt horribly out of it, and was sure he had to look ridiculous, as he tried to vamp it up, stripping off the suit jacket and tossing it to Evan, who blessedly gave him a smile.

Gagneux’s face was an imperceptible mask now, watching him with piercing blue eyes. Was he impressed, did he hate it, was he busy worrying if he’d accidentally left the stove on? There was no way to tell.

The suit pants were rip off just like the leggings beneath them, and those he tossed to Tony, who glared at him so sharply he almost looked for a stab wound.

Instead, he kept on, and bemoaned that they’d chosen such a long song. Actually spacing out when to rip everything else off was difficult with music he hadn’t used before (and Tilde, upset as she was, had refused to be a practice audience to help him get it right, though he’d begged her to do it, and had thought he might find it all funny.)

It felt too soon to shed the T-shirt as he strode on-beat further down the stage, but he did it anyway before dropping to his knees and rocking backwards on his haunches, hips gyrating the entire time. It fucking hurt, and he realized he should have used his time on the plane to stretch, not to worry.

He leaned forward, then crawled a bit further down, locking eyes with Gagneux. Still no change in expression though, not even when he ripped off the joggers and tossed them to a happily laughing Evan, who caught them and hugged them close. Evan was the hype man he desperately needed, and he made a mental note to thank him later for the help as he dropped again to his knees at the end of the stage.

Gagneux reached a hand forward, and plucked at the string of the thong, then raised an eyebrow at him.

There had been no mention of that, full frontal. But everything about the damn mission had been a surprise so far, why should this be any different?

He tossed his mesh tank top to Tony, then with a bit of effort, snapped the string of the thong, and handed it to Gagneux, who had leaned forward so close he could have pulled Eggsy off the stage.

He half thought that might be what would happen, but instead Gagneux just held the destroyed thong tight, and raised a hand to stop the music.

“Not bad. Go back, down the hall, and take a right.”

Eggsy nodded, and slowly stood. “I’ll be a just a moment, to grab some clothes.”

“No.” Gagneux said softly. “Come as you are.”

The DJ started up another song once he was off stage, and he could hear Evan chattering to Tony. He wished he could have another moment with him, to ask what to expect now. He had an idea, but hearing it from someone who’d actually been in the moment would have been better.

Instead, he did as he was told: down the hall, and to the right, into an office. It was elegant, all in black, a black marble desk and black velvet couch. The chair he when to sit on had a towel emblazoned with his fake name, also black, sitting on it. A blessing, he certainly wasn’t about to sit his bare ass on a chair that likely was meant for use by whoever came into Gagneux’s office day-to-day.

The song that was playing outside filtered in just before Gagneux walked in, then shut the door. The aggressive beat was just audible through it, but Eggsy had a sinking feeling not much else would be audible to anyone listening in on the office from the outside.

“Look at you,” Gagneux smirked, and ran a hand along Eggsy’s jawline. “Those thighs alone will earn you fans, but with the face? Forget it. You’ll have men and women coming in here begging for you.”

He sat behind the desk, and chuckled. “That means you’re in, if you weren’t sure.”

Eggsy laughed lightly. “Good. I’m glad to hear it. We set up a schedule now then, or?”

Gagneux smiled. “We’ll get to that. First, I need to know you won’t be swayed by any of those offers.”

“From patrons? No, of course not.”

“Good. Because, as Evan may have already mentioned, when you’re working for me, you’re mine. Is that understood? Dancing, and the club, and me-those are your three priorities,” Gagneux said, holding up a finger with each word.

“And myself?” Eggsy asked before he could stop himself.

But Gagneux just shook his head. “I look after you. Mutual caring: you look after the club and your work and our patrons, and I look after you.”

Eggsy could swear Gagneux had the DJ doing this on purpose, changing up the music to manipulate the moment, as a slower, but still bopping and more romantic song came on.

“Come here,” Gagneux stood and walked to the front of the desk, in front of Eggsy. “Stand up.”

He obeyed, and waited to shiver as Gagneux would presumably do something horrible, or god only knew what else and-

The kiss was soft. And sweet, and not at all what he was expecting. He didn’t mean to kiss back either, but it took him by such surprise, and it was just something else.

Gagneux pressed his forehead to Eggsy’s, a hand gently holding his chin. “I’m excited to work with you. Tomorrow, starting 22:00, we’ll have you just work the floor, to get used to the place when it’s full. I close completely the days I’m getting new talent in, so what you saw out there is far from the norm. Just lap dances and drinks on the floor. We’ll let you get your sea legs before putting you back onstage, though I don’t think that will take you long. Evan will walk you to your apartment; nobody leaves the club alone is one of my rules.”

He let go of Eggsy’s chin and moved away from him. “Have a good night, Wyn.”

Eggsy swallowed hard, and nodded. “You as well, Mr. Gagneux.”

“Boniface. No need for such formalities here,” Gagneux...or rather, Boniface, said, leaning back against the desk.

Eggsy nodded again, and picked up the towel before trotting back to the green room, his head spinning, and his heart beating entirely too fast for comfort.

#text post #LeeH writes #Kingsman fic

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thisbrutalbelle · 7 years

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self para mentioning @nuadxa, @ianncardero, @ephrampettaline and @monsterbyamile

bella takes her visiting french witch friend to tir na nog to experience the town, the snobbish girl slowly starts to open her mind to the small town location while bellamy explains the beginning of a book needing to be translated and confesses her fear that miles is not speaking to her because she hurt him too badly with her affection unaware of who has actually hurt him.

tw: rape culture ( not exactly but close enough i figure i should tag, she just feels bad she upset miles by rejecting him )

Alina Della Romana rested her long false nails against her cheek as she gazed over at her American friend. The two had spent the afternoon trying on dresses and playing with make-up until each was in something tight and flattering with glitter on their eyelids and expensive jewelry around their necks. Yet they were seated in a bar with people wearing jeans and t-shirts. Alina had expected the small town to be homely but she’d expected them to be homely in a heated European way where everyone wore sundresses with kitten heals or had their button down shirts open with loafers.

“If you had brought your books to Monte Carlo we could be laying out on a balcony with glistening women of ample chests feeding us strawberries,” the witch pouted. Like Bella, Alina had grown up wealthy but unlike Bellamy she had lived boundless in her wealth. A fact that usually would have bothered the currently blonde Bellamy but did not with her friends in Monte Carlo. They did not act like they were anything but what they were. They didn’t try to pretend they were people filled with kindness who gave themselves over to the greater good. They were shamelessly honest and that worked for Bella.

Bella who returned their pout with a scolding frown. “You’re a snob, a crude snob who is not being very appreciative of the fact I invited you to come and visit with me,” she told her back, the frown remaining. “Besides, this is my friend’s place and you’re focusing on the small town aspect not what she has created. You have to admit if we were in Monte Carlo there would also be an annoying level of people grinding up on us, making sexist comments or worse, and there would certainly not be as many people to actually talk to. Nuadia has made something special and you’re being very blind to what this town has to offer. Don’t cave to the stereotype of a French snob,” she accused.

“I’m Italian in my blood,” the witch retorted but allowed her wall to crumble a little. Her companion was right, the place certainly felt safer than anywhere she would have gone in Europe and it had a look about it that was very enticing. It helped that even though there were jean clad women and men there were also exceedingly gorgeous drag queens, women and men dressed up much like them and creatures of every species wandering together freely. Where they had met everyone created their own groups and protected themselves within it. The idea she could speak to anyone in there and be safe was...a relief and an excitement.

“I concede,” Alina stated and Bella’s frown removed itself easily. Alina’s own brows tightened as her eyes scanned the room for someone she could take home tonight and someone for the vampire as well. With everything going on in her life she had not had the time to speak to the French Italian witch about where she was with all that. The last Alina had spoken to her Bella had not even slept with the priest, she was still sleeping with her boy toy and the occasional other at bars. Bella knew the look though and her shoulders curled in to shield herself from eyes Alina might draw to them. “Are you going to help me though? I’ve agreed that your friend has done wonderfully but I can’t actually experience it’s wonder if you’re not going to join me in the evenings truest hunt.”

“No, come on, refocus, witch bitch,” Bellamy said, grabbing her hand and pulling it off her face, each of their hands hitting the table. “We came out to have fun together, why do we need to go home with anyone?” Bella asked her with a shake of her head. Truth be told she just wasn’t ready to explain how she was not hunting for people to sleep with anymore. It wasn’t like she was embarrassed but she knew that Alina would try and convince her to do something stupid, whatever came to her sordid little mind.

“Then maybe we should talk about these books,” Alina commented and Bella nodded in agreement. They were not translating them that night but that was because Bella knew it would be a big job. There were about twenty more journals picked up from the graveyard and Bellamy couldn’t understand more than half of what was in any of them. Occasionally her sire would write in English but all spells were in some weird kind of font she just didn’t understand and the rest was in European languages she did not know. That was why Alina was perfect for the job. Not only was she a witch but she was rather fluent in a lot of European languages.

“Honestly I don’t know where to start, I told you in my email about the witch summoning Valentin and Iann and I finding those books but I sort of wanted to leave out the rest,” she admitted, feeling safe enough to speak on personal things in Tir Na Nog. Whatever she said might end up outside, sure, but no one there was there to be spiteful. “Iann suspects my illness may...prolong my sanity, Valentin was jumping from body to body to keep his but he got weaker. We think maybe he needed me for more than a weapon but for his own personal cure,” Bella said. In a movie the words would have been said in a hushed and serious tone. Bellamy said them like she was telling her friend about the rude check out person at the local supermarket.

“You could remain for more than five hundred years?” Alina asked, looking to her side, clearly more worried about being overheard since she did not know the place as well. “If that’s true and he thought you could keep him sane he could have sold you as more than a weapon, a personal cure could turn into a global one quickly Belle, he didn’t tell anyone, right? I mean, you were kidnapped and almost even more times?” she pressed, wrapping her arms around themselves. It was easy to lose ones ego when faced with the worry of a friend.

“I don’t think so, if he did he likely knew he wasn’t strong enough to prevent me from being taken and, like I said, it’s just a theory. A theory you will hopefully be able to translate out,” Bella said back, watching as drinks were brought to their table but a handsome looking bartender with wood rimmed glasses. Each person who worked there Bella had seen at least once or twice so she smiled at him knowing she’d pay the tab on the way out. “Maybe you’ll even be able to help Iann and I. I know Iann was very interested in your metal magic, blood contains metal so,” she added with a shrug.

Alina was actually fairly excited to meet this Iann. Only two names had remained in Bella’s vocabulary for as long as she had known her. Ephram and Iann. Ephram seemed the most basic of male witches and Alina honestly had no preference to meeting him or not but Iann? A human who had so easily cemented himself into a supernatural world? She wondered what kind of skills he had, what kind of thought process must he be working with, to have done so well. “I will definitely show Iann my skills but another night. Come on, you really don’t want to go and hit on some people to get away from this life or death drama?” she asked.

Clearly Alina was going to keep pushing things so Bella would have to explain her celibacy, of sorts, and why she was so determined to keep it up. Eyeing Kit out of the corner of her eye Bellamy sighed, not because he was an unwanted sight but because she did not want her friends words to go back to Nuadia and hurt them. Nuadia was her closest of friends and telling Alina anything before them could seem not like a betrayed but like a distance, a distance that she did not want to create. Beyond that Bellamy had only told Nuadia of part of what had happened with Miles so far, certainly not what had happened since her birthday. The fact Miles had not contacted her since her birthday more importantly. She’d made sure he said he would see her in a few days. It had not been tremendously long but it had been more than that and Bella felt unsettled by it. Had her pushing him away really upset him that much? Bella was so very sure he had respected her feelings and understood even if she wanted him why she could not fall into that want.

“I don’t...I haven’t been doing that lately,” she admitted to Alina. “I have the man I told you Teddy found for me but I want more than sex with strangers so I am keeping it to him, someone I know I would never fall for.” The man definitely fit her physical type but his desperate want to be a vampire kept him from being truly attractive to her. Such a quality was low on her list of traits that enticed her. “Besides, I think I like someone,” she admitted.

Alina had heard Bellamy’s tales of liking men, she assumed it was a man. Even if she’d seen Bellamy kissing and bedding women in France all of her tales of love involved men. From everything Bella had said of her life growing up she could imagine why her romances leaned so heavily to one side. Still, Bella liking someone did not feel uncommon, even if it had taken a while. Alina just imagined that Bella would fuck him a few times before realising he was actually awful in some way.

“Then call him, we’ll take him home together,” she suggested but immediately saw Bella’s face scrunch up. Was the vampire ever able to lie about anything? The moment she didn’t like something it was as though she’d smelt old milk. “Or you two can go back alone. God, I did not realise I was so abhorrent to you,” Alina followed with sarcastically, Bella’s gaze falling back over to the fox and smiling gently at him. Perhaps it would be enough of a sign for him to know that what followed was not just for Alina but for Nuadia as well.

Exhaling she brought her eyes back. “I haven’t slept with him, in fact I refused to sleep with him because he’s...hung up on his ex-wife,” Bellamy stated, a fallen expression on her face. She sounded so pitiful to herself. Being sad over someone who didn’t really want her. He wanted her friendship and he wanted her physically but had made it clear anything more was impossible at that point. The ‘at that point’ part was what stopped her from completely abandoning the concept of him. Bella assured herself in her head she could have a crush on him as long as she knew nothing would happen now and if she did meet someone who was more open to her she would allow herself to move on. Still, even with that she felt rather pathetic, she should have merely accepted his friendship and never encouraged the physical side of things.

“All he’s doing now is sleeping with random women because it’s all he wants right now but I...I flirted with him a little too much and I thought we could just kiss but I messed things up and he thought I meant sex so when he began to undress I...rejected him, well, not rejected, momentarily declined?” she rambled, the habit ever evident. “I mean, I would sleep with him, if I didn’t think he’d be gone in the morning or treat me like a bird he’d wounded because he didn’t actually want to be with me.”

Inhaling hard she shook her head firmly. “I would have slept with him if I’d known he was going to ignore me anyway though. I told him to tell me he’d see me in a few days and he did but it’s been five and he hasn’t even text me. His brother is visiting this week and he told me I’d meet him. I ruined things. I know I...I know I had ever right to say no and have it be taken as a no but I also know that it doesn’t mean it’s easy for someone to be around someone they want. It’s not easy for me either but to be rejected by someone you want, especially when they tell you they want you too but you’re not enough for them? I worry I hurt him. I just...I didn’t think he’d be like this. I thought he’d appreciate that I cared more for him than to put him in a position where he’d know I’d be upset. I don’t ever actively want to be hurt...least not anymore.”

Alina listened but it was all rather confusing to her, missing a lot of the information. Apparently Bella liked a man who had a wife and was boning the town and now wasn’t speaking to her when she was meant to be speaking with his brother? It sounded like the drama that Bella could often bring into her life when it came to men but Alina kept that thought to herself. It wouldn’t help Bella. Alina knew how much Bella had tried to change and had even more so than when she was in France so to think that at least her drama came with the idea of her doing something to prevent her hurting herself it seemed a little better than most of her moments of affection.

“I even let my hair go back to blonde so he could see what I really look like,” Bella whined, picking up her glass of blood and vodka, finishing it in one long swig. “It’s been Marilyn blonde for two days now and I feel like an idiot that I actually imagined we’d remain friends after I did something so dumb.” Well...if that was the worst of it Alina did not think that it was too big of an issue. Certainly it seemed easily resolved.

“We’re going to dance,” Alina stated, getting off her stool and taking a step to Bella. The witch’s hands grabbed Bella’s once more and pulled at her to come off. “And drink and then I’m dropping you off at his house because unlike you I will be having sex in your apartment tonight so you may as well go somewhere you can work this shit out so no one else has to hear you be a total weirdo about it.” With that Bella laughed. Likely she would object a few times, refusing to go there but Alina could be convincing and Bellamy knew in the end a drunk Alina would be shoving Bella out of her own car.

#self para #self #headcanon #the witch alina #rape culture tw

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dapperfvck-arc · 7 years

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BASIC.

FULL NAME. John Constantine NICKNAME. officially, Conjob, mostly from his days on the punk scene. On the esoteric side of things he may be referred to “The Laughing Magician” or, more derisively “a petty dabbler”. BIRTHDAY. May 10 (by original Hellblazer canon, he was born in 1953, but I’ve taken it upon myself to adjust his birth year to some time in the early 70s give or take) ETHNIC GROUP. Caucasian NATIONALITY. English (with strongly implied deep Russian roots) LANGUAGE. English, basic grasp of most major European languages, profound fluency in dead/magical/infernal languages SEXUAL ORIENTATION. Bisexual af RELATIONSHIP STATUS. Verse/continuity dependent, though this blog is fairly heavily multi-ship. However, it should be noted that on the MCU continuity, John is in an exclusive, committed relationship with Matt Murdock ( @dcviltongued ) CLASS. Middle to lower class. Is very good at getting fast money (scams, gambling, dealing in magic artifacts/antiques of questionable quality and veracity) so may appear to be better off at certain times HOME TOWN / AREA. Liverpool, England, but has been living in London since leaving the family home at 17. CURRENT HOME. Heavily verse/continuity/thread dependent. John is a frequent traveller. PROFESSION. Somewhat verse/continuity dependent. Really it’s just a matter of whether or not he charges for exorcisms or magic rituals. My personal endgame for John is legitimacy. Like becoming a preternatural PI (and sometimes mundane) for hire or whatever. As a general rule though, his profession is con artist. He’s never worked a honest day’s work in his life. The closest he ever got was when he was a “rock star”. He could also be considered a professional gambler, patronizing horse tracks, underground card games, legal casinos, and I imagine can hustle at pool. Scams range from blackmail to using his reputation as an occultist to take advantage of people willing to pay for spell work.

PHYSICAL.

HAIR. Short and usually rather messy. He rocks bedhead pretty aggressively. May be shaved and very short on the sides and styled into a faux to actual mohawk. He’s very blonde despite not getting very much sun as a general. EYES. Electric blue, often almost fever bright. Deep and captivating, extremely intense straight on. NOSE. difficult to pin down due to the range of styles in which John have been drawn. Usually broad and more or less regular, occasionally somewhat crooked from being broken, though by and large, it’s portrayed as straight. Some artists, such as Moriat and Sean Murphy have drawn it as narrow and somewhat aquiline. I guess, I tend lean toward the former despite my deep love for Murphy’s interpretation of John, simply because I feel like my choice in FC is somewhat based on Tim Bradstreet and Leonardo Manco’s artistic interpretations of John, both of which I honestly adore just as well. FACE. Yet another loooong explanation here, I’m sorry. Artists tend to lean between giving him either a square face, classically handsome appearance (Steve Dillon, John Higgins, Ron Tiner, most of artists that have drawn him in the DC titles he’s appeared in), a broader, more every man appearance (Sean Phillips, Leonardo Manco to some degree, though later proved quite capable of drawing him stunningly handsome, and Tim Bradstreet), however still attractive but somewhat more haggard, stubbled, and/or slightly seedy in appearance, and finally a sharper, more diamond shape to his face featuring high cheekbones, a pointed chin and fine bone structure (Sean Murphy, Marcelo Frusin, and Moriat). Once more, in reference to my face claim for John, I suppose I tend to favour a more classically handsome appearance, simply because I like the idea of him having a pleasant, almost trustworthy face given that he is a con artist and considered an extremely good one (sometimes even the greatest con artist alive but idk whatever), and I feel like looking as dodgy as say, Frusin’s interpretation, I can’t imagine him being as successful as he is, you feel me? That guy looks like he’ll fuck you over for a corn chip. LIPS. Sensuous, faintly lined from his his smoking habit COMPLEXION. Like any good Englishman that tends to move about by night and quite a bit dressed, John’s very pale. I do think he has a faintly pronounced undertone of pink. This colour will get brighter when he gets drunk, aroused, angry, or the exceedingly rare instance that he’s embarrassed BLEMISHES. None SCARS. Aside from the scarification, which is better off detailed in the next section, and I ALWAYS FORGET TO MENTION THIS, he definitely has a long scar over one eye from a demon trying to cut it out with a blade. Since many magic rituals call for blood, I head canon that he also has faint scarring on his arms because he doesn’t practice human or animal sacrifice and his own blood instead.

TATTOOS. Arse tattoo of pine tree courtesy of Swamp Thing being a punk bitch, ritual tattoos faded into appearing as scarification. HEIGHT. 5′11 (184.34 cm) WEIGHT: prolly ranges between 150-160lbs (140 at his lightest) BUILD. Long legs, somewhat of a broad upper torso, can be a bit soft in the middle. In general, he’s rather thin but his musculature is not usually very defined. In other words, no big, sexy pecs or cut abs. If anything he’s more sleek lines and narrow planes. ALLERGIES. none USUAL HAIR STYLE. Freshly fucked USUAL CLOTHING. Dark suits, usually dark blue or black and trench coat, usually tan, has also been portrayed as black, yellow, or a mossy kinda green. In theory it could be said that these aren’t just differing interpretations from artists but that John owns coats in different colours, styles, and fabrics, but his favourite is the tan, longer style

PSYCHOLOGY.

FEAR. abandonment, amounting to nothing, not being able to protect those he cares about ASPIRATION. survival, making some kind of mark on this world, a measure of contentment POSITIVE TRAITS. Compassionate and determined, above all. Though not about to admit to it, he's still deeply idealistic. Strangely forgiving. He doesn’t really keep grudges. Loving, considerate, understanding, and rarely judgmental NEGATIVE TRAITS. Those good things up above? They’re encased in a shell of harsh cynicism and apathy. Depending on his mood or particular part of his life depends on how hard a shell he is to crack. He may also experience depressive periods where he doesn’t give a shit about anyone or anything and just wants to drink. VICE HABIT. Chain smokes, drinks, frequency dependent on what’s up in his life, though I do not believe he’s an alcoholic, sorry, because lol look, drinking a lot doesn’t mean you have a dependency. Indulges in drugs infrequently, mostly hallucinogens and weed, though I also tend to head canon that he flirted with a cocaine habit while fronting Mucous Membrane. FAITH. It’s complicated GHOSTS? Duh. He sees them plain as any living person AFTERLIFE? Yeah, but uh, he doesn’t consider them eternal respites. They’re just planes of existence that he can either enter, leave, or pull people out. REINCARNATION? Maybe? ALIENS? I meeeeaannn....technically in DCU he’s acquainted with the concept of aliens and may or may not have fucked Hal Jordan POLITICAL ALIGNMENT. Liberal ECONOMIC PREFERENCE. comfortable SOCIOPOLITICAL POSITION. working class warlock EDUCATION LEVEL. Predominately self-educated. His frightfully intelligent and has been cited as having genius level intellect. Although I’m not sure I’d go so far as confirm that, I do thing he’s extremely clever and pragmatic. School bored him to tears and he was the type of kid the counselors and teachers say “exceedingly bright but unwilling to apply himself”. He reads voraciously, has an eidetic memory, and isn’t afraid of putting himself in new situations.

FAMILY.

FATHER. Thomas (dead, murdered by the Family Man) MOTHER. Mary Anne (died in child birth) SIBLINGS. Cheryl (murdered by husband, currently residing in Hell), an unnamed twin brother referred to as the Golden Child or Boy, the true heir to the Laughing Magician (stillborn, soul was later absorbed by John in trippy magic ritual, only to be expelled later in life when it was revealed that...uh...he was influencing John’s destiny to be perpetually sabotaged. Hellblazer’s a weird comic, you guys) EXTENDED FAMILY. Gemma, his niece. They have a rather stormy relationship. Chas, his best mate. Lovers may also be included in this. NAME MEANING. John: Jehovah has been Gracious/Shown Favour (lmao) Constantine: Constant, steadfast, generally referred to as “The Constant One”

HISTORICAL CONNECTION. Is strongly implied that John’s related, if perhaps distantly, to Constantine the Great.

FAVOURITES.

BOOKS. Prefers non-fiction MUSIC. Rock music, most notably 70s and 80s era punk rock. Likes the Pogues. Given the stack of evidence that John skirts the edge of the Goth scene cos he likes the aesthetic on women, I have a feeling he’s adopted into his music tastes. The Cure, Smiths, and Cocteau Twins in reference to an 80s mixtape John might make. Which i question the Smiths heavily, but The Cure and Cocteau Twins seems fairly legit. I bet Kit loved the Cocteau Twins. In that same vein of thought, although I tend to think John doesn’t like electronic music, he may have adopted some industrial bands into his preferences but he’s not about to talk about ti any time soon. DEITY. Whichever one doesn’t hate him HOLIDAY. doesn’t care MONTH. same SEASON. Fall PLACE. London or New York, in the case of sentimentality that he will never be able to get back to, the years when he was bumming around Ireland with Brenden and Kit WEATHER. Overcast SOUND. He’s a city boy through and through, even if he may get frustrated with society on a whole, so he’s comforted by city sounds more than silence SCENT. A freshly poured pint, the first cigarette of the day, skin and sex sweat TASTE. Gin FEEL. He’s a sensualist. Body to body, breathing another person’s breath, his please, another person’s pleasure, his pleasure, all that good stuff. I also feel like he enjoys being drunk or stoned for the sake of having his thoughts dulled to a degree. He’s the sort of man who has lots of thoughts and situational observational input. John is basically perpetually mentally overstimulated and he likes the relief from that in inebriation. ANIMAL. Fox NUMBER. hahaha idea numerology man COLOUR. warm and neutral tones

EXTRA.

TALENTS. So many. He’s a jack of all trades in a lot of ways. He can pick a lock, displays some artistic talent in that he can draw very intricate magic circles and sigils, if you consider that John wrote Venus of the Hardsell, he’s clearly got some ability to express himself in lyrics and words, i like to think he can play guitar, is apparently good with delicate craftsmanship (he used to help Dani build furniture for her dollhouses. This is canon by the way), suppose you could say he can sort of sing, but that’s debatable, and of course he’s very manipulative and speaks very well, is educated enough to be able to bullshit through various situations. TURN ONS. Total ass man, loves a great ass on a man or woman, dark hair, dark eyes, strong men, he’s a switch, but loves being manhandled and dominated to a degree, by either gender, honestly, danger, open affection, being wanted, loved, and cherished. So many things, honestly. John Constantine is easy. TURN OFFS. Hardcore kink HOBBIES. Sleep, pub crawls, pretending he’s normal, reading TROPES. Con man with a heart of gold, charming bastard, unrepentant rogue, urban magician, supernatural detective, living legend AESTHETICS. smoke, chalk dust, wind and rain swept streets, London after midnight, narrow, dark alleys, haunted places, rumpled bed sheets, messy hair, dive bars, wicked smiles, deep kisses

FC INFO.

MAIN FC. Ewan McGregor // comic caps from various issues he’s appeared ALT FC. Keanu Reeves for my filmverse OLDER FC. Don’t have one as yet YOUNGER FC. Ewan McGregor VOICE CLAIM. Jason Stathem

Tagged by: @vamptrampbamf Tagging: lmao fuckin everyone.

#;about

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