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i dont believe in gender for real its just a fetish thing to me

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Hellblazer #295

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DAY 2 OF THE CRASHOUT! GIVE IT UP FOR DAY 2!!!

hold please for crashout :/

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hold please for crashout :/

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Edmund Joseph Sullivan (1869–1933)

“A Boy Rushed into the Hall”

illustration from ‘Sintram & his companions’ by Friedrich de La Motte Fouqué, 1908

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Wendell Berry, New Collected Poems; "Words"

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he and his suit 💙

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Time to go to bed

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sharing music as a form of intimacy

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John Constantine doodles (and one dream cameo)

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@unlore: i can smell your fear. / the lady :) — NIGHT OWL PROMPTS. (always accepting)

just the sort of shite you want to hear from someone towards whom the whole vast odegra of the synchronicity highway veers like magnetic filings to an MRI machine. he's never seen it do that before. his mouth is dry; even when he takes care to wet his lips, to surreptitiously work his tongue along the inside of his cheek and prise the tautened muscles loose, his voice still comes out stiff and sticky. ' be surprised if you couldn't, luv. it's all but run down me leg. '

( the fact that she can smell it on him just goes to show the fear is warranted. )

he pries his eyes away from the lady and turns his focus to the shuffling of cards, resisting the temptation to try and get a better look at her face; to see beyond the veil, as it were. it's... difficult. if you ask john constantine, the only experience in the sodding world which comes equal to the thrill of winning big with bad odds is the satisfaction of picking apart a MYSTERY, and getting lucky with a good guess doesn't fucking count; not when it's the satisfaction driving him to bet big on piss-poor odds like these. the lady is one such mystery. one worth going out on a limb for.

they're playing the old-fashioned way. not that there's many other options, if he wants a shot to figure her out — the synchronicity highway won't work for him tonight. as if every route he knows to reach the best probable odds in his favor has been immaculately overwritten, all the shortcuts he's used to taking abruptly shuttered from perception or redirected with the crook of a finger to rejoin the main drag; all that's left now is a straight path forward that ends in her, divvying up the infinite web of chance into 50-50 halves. red, black. win, lose. live, die.

'course he's fucking scared: when you hedge your bets on games of chance, you don't expect the dice to wink. if only being scared was any kind of deterrent to insatiable curiosity.

crisp, new-bought playing cards snap at the end of another perfunctory riffle. constantine tamps the edges of the stack down neat, ( palming his sweat off onto the tabletop, ) then extends the pack across the table, smiling like it's their little secret. a private game. AN OFFERING.

' fancy smelling us out a round of gin? en't as classic as chess, mind, but it plays a fuckload faster and you can bet on it, besides. and it's fun, which is more than i c'n say for bergman's bloody movie. ' two fingers slide the deck forward. the usual casino commotion of machine bells and exhortation are a tinny whistling in his ears, lappings of a far-off sea. fuck knows if he'll ever get back to shore. luck be a lady. ' i know my wager. what's yours? '

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♠ — mun dash game: pick 4 of your favorite characters from fandoms and let your mutuals decide which one you’re most like, as the mun!

tagged by: @n1cap thank youuu tagging: you! get in on this action, it's fun!

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John Constantine: Hellblazer - City of Demons | Spencer/Murphy

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additional excuses / alt takes as follows (he has Many)

john: i'm bisexual. y'know - flaming john: drank soda with mentos in it, now i'm fizzing john: i'm anemic and the holy spirit keeps taking my blood john: swallowed a condom. wanna know how? john: must've left the golden calf in my back pocket. my bad john: i'm. expecting

scene from a church (or other consecrated space).

sb: whoa, what's wrong with you?? you look sick??? john (sweating, shaking, vision blurring, nose starting to bleed, leaning on the walls to stay upright): yeah haha it's fine this happens all the time. sb: in church? why?? john (over audible sizzling sounds): i'm. a satanist.

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scene from a church (or other consecrated space).

sb: whoa, what's wrong with you?? you look sick??? john (sweating, shaking, vision blurring, nose starting to bleed, leaning on the walls to stay upright): yeah haha it's fine this happens all the time. sb: in church? why?? john (over audible sizzling sounds): i'm. a satanist.