to my never-ending frustration, i seem to have fucked up my arm somehow. as of yet i have no goddamn idea what is wrong with it, only that moving my arm at the elbow at all causes fucking pain. as you can imagine, this rather inhibits typing. as i’ve got a big courseload to power through under said conditions, i’m not going to be able to do rping until this gets fixed. 

tl;dr very angry temp hiatus because my arm is a fuck nugget. aaargh.


{ selina found herself chuckling at his words. this one… he was pretty interesting. nothing to steal though—sadly. } Mm. A drink sounds nice. As long as you’re paying, sugar. Beware, this yankee has a high tolerance.

[john clutched his heart, mock wounded] Ya doubt me chivalry, lass? [his playful mood would lend all the more fun to the bit of dine-and-dash he had in mind. synchronicity was dancing on the edge of petty theft and mischief tonight and john was more than happy to dance along

An’ I’d be careful about that tolerance, luv. Last woman that drunk me under the the table ended up me date, and I don’t fancy me man’d be too happy about that one.


John Constantine, action hero


You opposed to hotel minibars? If I’m buying, that is.

[[She says this with perfect naïveté, without any inkling of the implication being made here— not because Fi is some kind of Pollyanna (although she’s probably closer to than further away from that particular archetype) but simply because she doesn’t think of it as inviting a much (much, much, much) older man with an unsavory reputation to her hotel room. She’s thinking of it in terms of buying one of the most widely discussed and controversial figures in her field of interest a drink and taking a possible once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to interrogate him while he just might be lubricated enough to actually answer!]]

Chocolate, booze in wee little bottles, an’ no bartender to tell you to go slog it. A drunks dreams those are. [He lead the way to her room, it was his reputation on the line after all. Had to disillusion them about the craft without rubbing off his own shiny patina of mystery and power. He wasn’t the sort of man to give up the security of a weapon.] So what’s yer angle? 

evilbringsmentogether started following you

motoroilstains started following you

'nother Gotham bunch. What can I say, 'm fond 'f the place. Reminds me a home sweet cesspool. 

boston-theghost started following you

Fuck a duck, look what tha cat dragged in.

posted 9 months ago

.what ghosts in these walls

There is a glitter of gold that makes his teeth hum. Within the sparkling column an all-too-familiar man appears. “Eh? Hm. ‘t’s usually tha hobgoblin. Insufferable twat. I don’t care how ‘elpful ‘e was with that Shiva buisness, ‘e’s a poncy twat.” John ducked his failed attempt to stick his tea spoon in the drying ceiling paint. 

"Was half expectin’ the Doctor, truth told. ‘e was here the last time." 

posted 9 months ago


Howard’s smile faded at the mention of his demons. He wanted to take the help. Wanted to lean on someone else for a change and let them fix him. But the last time he’d relied on others he was made immortal and this. This was his mind. Where he was safe and in need of repair yet too afraid to ask. He wiped at the whiteboard and considered it. He stared into the white abyss before scrawling. You’d really want to help such an old man with that? Don’t have anything more pressing?? He chuckles to try and play it off as not a big deal, but it is to him. It is to him in so many ways he can’t even count how much he’ll owe if John does this for him.

He brings the board down quickly, wiping it away and just, trying to continue the previous convo. John didn’t have to do this. He didn’t owe him for the money. Howard wasn’t lying when he said it wasn’t a hole in his pocket. I’ve got a few staff that still wear the regalia. I can call them up for us to be at the air station in twenty. Your boyfriend sounds like a riot. We’ll just have to see when we get back, hm?

"Ye’ll love him. Gang up on me over wine or some bollucks I wager. An’ make that call, sweetmeat. ‘n tha meantime." 

John settled his hand on the back of Howard’s neck, the words bubbling like stick sweat warm cola over his lips. There’s a touch of acid about them that burns in his throat. Too much emotion for his normally stoic skin. “This thing ‘f mine, Ravenscar. I want ‘t fer a home. A place ta belong. ‘ll always be an English boy, a London boy an’ a scouser ‘till I get what’s comin’ ta me. I’m finally manin’ the fuck up and makin’ a place of me own in all of that.  A home. For Stanley, for me little girl an’ me.” A squeeze of Howard’s neck, the steady hand of a man who feels in control for all of the pain, who feels protective of the few good things that have stuck around in his life. 

"Yer a part of that, old man." For all he fears this man, as he fears the ghost of his own father and the men like him, there is an even fiercer affection. A need to save what he never got the chance to with Thomas. With both Thomases. "Me demon twhackin’ monkey wrench ‘s at yer disposal." 



Yeah, well—you know—fuck… Can’t understand a fuckin’ thing you just said but that accent of yours is a killer. Kitty likes.

[john laughed, streetlights glinting off his chipped and tobacco stained teeth] You yankee lasses. This is a proper Scouser accent, this is, that’s Liverpool. None of that received pronunciation through-yer-nose bullshit.

Me point is, how’d kitty like a drink to keep blatherin’ over?


Um, not generally, no. But then again, I generally don’t try for the soul-crushing either.

But hey, if you want gin, I can buy you gin— that is, if you’ll let me pick your brain a little, Mr. Constantine. 

[oh these are always fun. arranging a run-in with an arc angel, a fear demon or just throwing the greedy ingenuity back in the faces of those seekers that wanted at his lifetime of magic. who wanted some clue, some skip in a game that was all about the ante.

with a grin he flicks his cigarette over her shoulder and brushes by]

Gin first.