#i am not constantine

[cuckoo-on-a-string]

I did not commit homicide.

And I deserve ice cream.

[korkiekenobiconfirmed]

damn netflix’s sandman killed it on the gay rep, there’s really something for everyone! they got

annoying gay

mean bisexual

overdramatic nb

Slutty gay

2000’s emo queer

[cursed4myhubris]

So, I remembered reading a fic where Danny Phantom and John Constantine hated each other because something something the Nightingale and Constantine family lines have beef.

And that just led me to think about how John would be a kinda inverse Vlad. Like, John meets the Fenton Parents pre-portal and Maddie is all happy to talk about hunting the supernatural with him. Meanwhile Jack Fenton-Nightingale Knows Things(tm) about the Constantine family and has instant beef with this random British man.

After a good-reveal Jack realizes his son is a powerful entity that people will try and summon to make deals with and he sits both his kids down and explains why you should never make a deal with a Constantine.

Danny is immediately on his dad's side because he has never seen his father this serious about anything or hate a living person this much. Jazz initially thinks having beef with a whole family line is stupid until she first lays eyes on John and instantly switches sides to start dunking on this man.

This all culminates when John needs to go to Fentonworks for JL stuff and whoever is with him just watches a very nice woman in a hazmat suit make them tea well the three other family members are very obviously attempting to poison it.

[the-witchhunter]

Main reason Danny doesn’t have to do anything about John’s soul situation

John met God in the form of a dog named Tom who cleared it up, Satan can’t take his soul

Yes this is real, yes this is Canon

[moderndaypandora]

The LAYERS needed in a modern/human Dreamling au.  Some level of Endless family dysfunction, obviously.  Hob's family can be be dead or not, it's all good. Are they old enough to have individually gained the awareness they are off-puttingly intense and should hide it a bit at first, or still in that "no, why would I need to Elsa this" stage?

Option A is both of them trying to play it cool, like "don't scare him off" except they so badly want to go from zero to sixty.

(Death and Desire have ruthlessly drilled Dream with flashcards about how to react appropriately in situations.

Desire: it's your one-month anniversary, what do you do?

Dream: [hesitantly] NOT propose?

Desire and Death, conferring, because that's technically correct but the delivery was suspect.

Death, encouragingly: Good start. And?


Dream: a nice dinner and maybe a walk?

Desire: well done!

Death: and for a three-month anniversary?


Dream: give them a key to my flat.

Desire: [airhorn] NO. RED CARD.)

Option B makes them the classic anecdotal "my grandparents got engaged within seven days of meeting each other and still are happy together".

(Death, rubbing her temples: so you met this guy--

Dream: Hob

Death: -- Hob, and within 1 day you gave notice to the Registrar's Office and figured out the best day to get married. And Hob agreed to this?

Dream: NO.

Death: oh thank go-

Dream: Hob SUGGESTED this.

Death: . . .

Dream: are you going to be a witness or not?

Death, 29 days later in the Registrar's Office, to Hob's witness: Is he sane?

Johanna Constantine, drinking heavily from a large flask: unfortunately yes, by all legal definitions.

Death: fuck

Johanna: [passing the flask over] if your brother's even a tenth as intense as Hob, they'll be fine. Probably.

Death, brightening: Is Hob that bad?


Johanna: You know how sometimes you meet somebody and think "oof, they're a bit much, best give them a wide berth"?


Death: yeah.

Johanna: Hob's like a camouflaged hole in the ground of muchness. Except he's done the hole up all nice and he knows that sometimes you just want to be left alone in the hole to sulk and rattle the spikes for a bit, and occasionally get a F&M hamper tossed in.

Death: [hmmmmmmm'ing approvingly]

Johanna, morose: the bastard.

In the background, Hob and Dream are pressing their foreheads together and basking in each other's presence)

[strong-with-the-sarcasm]

DP x DC prompt #5:

(Let’s completely skip over the fact that I never did #2, hm?)

After seeing a post somewhere about Jazz as Constantine’s daughter, becoming a Warlock, I had ideas:

Court Warlock Jazz

Kind of like a Court Mage, one that handles all things Magic and mystical where as everyone else has the mundane, but Jazz would be delegated to the background instead of the backup.

Jazz, with her focus in psychology and caring nature, much prefers not to be fighting anyways.

Nevertheless, thanks to her progenitor thinking his firstborn makes for wonderful currency when trading with the forces of hell, she has become a brilliant spellcaster with a particular focus in warding off those with evil intentions.

With the High King of the Infinite Realms as her Contracted Patron, Jazz might be safe from being traded off as currency by her progenitor, but part of her new duties as "Court Warlock" include being the delegation between Justice League/Dark and the Infinite Court.

Including the latest drama about some artifact belonging to the Heir of Constantine's bloodline stirring up some trouble in the Living Realm....

[kimodraw]

buffy fanart from the past few days,,,,catching up on the real hashtag classics first two are kind of mignola studies and the last ones are me enjoying oz and willow's puppy love :))

[augustheart]

[bongo-clash]

Peacock Au Part 1

Okay so Big Huge credit to @stealingyourbones for letting me do my own take on their amazing eldritch Danny idea!!!! This started out as me just doing a drawing but then I ended up with a whole DPxDC fic that I'll be posting the part two for at some point!!! Anyway, here's the vague designs:

And here's the part one of the fic under the cut!!! :D (Edit: Part 2 is Here!!)

There’s a Lazarus Pit forming underneath Gotham. Normally, this would not concern John Constantine at all, because it’s Gotham, therefore Bat territory therefore not his problem, and honestly he has his own things to worry about. Unfortunately for him, however, the infamous Dark Knight has somehow gotten it into his head that he can do something about it and, Hell, he’d said it would be a ‘big favour’, which meant the man really must be desperate; had to have been in the first place, he supposed, to have even bothered with John in the first place. 

Still, he’d almost kind of forgotten what a huge mess any kind of favour for Batman could be, and thus, he now holds possession of a book that is probably going to get him killed. 

Whether the actual book itself wants to kill him is up for debate, but Constantine has read the contents of this particular Book of Summonings and nothing in here seems remotely safe. He’s absolutely going to be hiding this away somewhere deep in the archives of the archives of the Justice League watchtower with an incredibly pointed ‘DO NOT TOUCH’ on it once he’s done with this, but for now, it’s the only thing he’s got in the way of sorting out this Pit problem. 

There’s an entity that exists, this book claims, that keeps the balance between realms. ‘Closes doors’, apparently, and the doors the pages depict certainly look like a Lazarus Pit. This is brilliant news, obviously, but the book doesn’t describe the entity itself at all beyond that; barely any of the other entries are as vague as this, and that plus some of the frankly bizarre sigils he’s having to draw to summon the damn thing are giving him no comfort. The only remotely comforting thing about it is that the ritual doesn’t require any blood- which either means the entity is benign, or it wants something more valuable than blood. 

…Okay, maybe not that comforting, actually. 

But, before he can consider that maybe this wasn’t his best idea and backing out would be for the best, the sigils flare with light, and Constantine squints to keep track of the way they activate, desperate for any indication of what he’s managed to summon with that stupid book. 

His feet feel feathery against the ground, like they’re barely tethered by gravity and just waiting to float away, and perhaps the seeming lack of atmosphere is fitting with how dust like stars lift from the summoning circle, bringing with them intercepting layers of purple-blue-pink-white, galaxies and nebulae being peeled off the floor. It comes with a sound- something whistling, almost. Seeming hollow, between a shriek and a bell ringing, or maybe more musical than that. It seems to change every moment he tries to focus on it, as if it’s something his ears can’t really hear but his brain is desperate to process, painful to try. 

And then, the entity begins to form. 

Unnoticeably at first, a white glow drifts forming in the centre. It congeals as Constantine’s gaze finally fixates on it, layers forming like jellyfish trails, or flowers, or peacock feathers with runic circles at the tips, fading smaller and smaller as they reach the centre, and a thing akin to a body unfolds into view at the front, a centrepiece. A child’s image of a shadow in opalescence, a strange curving feature where a neck might be, and searing-green spots of varying sizes scattered along the space where cheeks and eyes could’ve been, fading up and down across the lower-half of the ‘face’ and into the ‘hair’. He barely understands what he’s looking at, but maybe that’s the point. 

The sound of a thunderstorm rings across the room, and the curve of the neck unfolds, and it’s an eye, and the tips of a thousand twisted, cosmic peacock feathers become eyes as well, if they weren’t always. They move, wavering, either lashing or flickering from visibility. 

“And what is this?” The voice is a kaleidoscope, echoing off and from every corner of the room, and when they speak, infinite eyes become infinite mouths, too many teeth barely contained by the edges of what seem vaguely like frostbitten lips. To have something even remotely human suddenly etch itself onto the entity is somehow worse than the parts he can’t comprehend. “Who are you, to have summoned me, and seem so afraid?”

Constantine wishes, maybe for the first time, that it hadn’t been an obligation to do this alone; he’s never wanted Batman or one of the Light members with him more than now. It’s a difficult thing, almost impossible, to shake off the speechlessness. It’s a wonder that it’s possible at all, with how the room seems to have been twisted into a vacuum. “I was told you could- you could help with the pits?”

“The pits. There are many pits.”

God, this is creepy. “The Lazarus pits to, uh, to be specific. There’s a huge one cropping up under Gotham that’s not supposed to be there, and the local- I mean, the locals are getting antsy about it. …I heard you can take care of them.”

“I can smell its blood between the gaps of atmosphere, encircling. You, whose soul is bound in so many directions, who may be pulled apart like meat in time- can you sense it? Does it draw you?” John doesn’t know how this- this thing knows that, but he’s scared asking will invoke some kind of consequence, and more and more he’s wondering why the Hell he decided to do Batman this favour. He feels exposed. 

“Uh… no, I don’t think so. But can you fix it?”

“Yes.”

“…Will you fix it?”

The chill is getting to him. Goosebumps are running across his arms like a livewire, and he’s never doing anyone a favour ever again. The entity makes an approximation of a hum, his ears shriek with whale song and stars, and after a pause, everything switching up and down on itself, the peacock eyes form into huge, reaching hands. For a second, Constantine’s whole body freezes with terror, because he’s petrified the thing’s going to grab him, but then the arms tumble phasing into the ground, and the green spots on their ‘face’ flare with a supernova glow and they make another piercing noise, chiming or trilling. 

A long moment later, the hands slowly return to the entity’s back, and fade into the peacock feathers or jellyfish bells or whatever they were before, blinking at him. “It is gone.”

“Uh… cheers?”

“It will not return, but this place shall see its dead for some time. Try not to look.”

This is maybe the worst day of Constantine’s life. “Can I- uh, yeah, great advice. ‘Appreciate it. But, can I ask just, y’know, what you are? Or not.”

“That is up to you.” They say, and though the eyes that appear briefly between sentences bely or reveal no expression, it feels scrutinising. “What is it that closes doors? Is it alive?”

He hates riddles. He hates riddles and he hates cosmic horrors and he hates eldritch entities and he hates Batman for getting him to agree to this horrible favour. He wants to go back to the House of Mystery and pass out for long enough that this whole thing becomes a dream. “Fair enough! Forget I asked- cheers for sorting out that pit, though. Uh, don’t suppose you’ll just let me go on my way or anything now.”

“I know of your Bat.” 

Oh dear. Constantine’s stomach sinks like a shipwreck into the Mariana Trench, but the entity moves on like they’d never even said it. “I will recede, and find you in time, perhaps both. You will know when I am coming, and I will find my recompense.”

And just like that, their whole form shimmers into clouds and pearls and smoke and mirrors, and they fade back into the runes that summoned them like tap water down the drain. The galaxies they’d formulated within the confines of the room fold back in on themselves and turn to whispers and then nothing, but the feeling persists on his skin long after weight has settled back onto his bones. He hadn’t known a thing like that existed until now. He doesn’t know what it can do, doesn’t know how all-encompassing it truly is. 

And he owes it a favour. 

Crap. 

[artbribery]

Danny calling John Constantine a “discount, hyped-up voldemort wannabe” and complaining that “at least voldemort didn’t make that much paperwork for the ministry”

A list of why the insult is legit, maybe written by a spite fueled Danny, the soul tax collector, helped by Clockwork who wrote the file he’s getting his info from probably:

British

Magic

Manipulate, Mansplain, Manwhore

Bad habits

Soul splitting (!!!)

Involved in some weird shit

His house could kill you

Tax evasion

Mother dies and father resents him for reasons (in some version, or an orphan at some early point, either way)

Magical, special lineage connected to cunning

Dark arts knowledge

Met a lot of Ghosts but most don’t like him 

Dies?

But not really

Many contacts and connections everywhere

Killed people

People die around him (Different things)

Problems with the Government (mood but also >:( )

Grave robbing (implied? it has to have happened, i can’t believe otherwise)

...

You know what, a lot of crime in general, what the heck?

Asshole (should’ve been higher on the list honestly)

Gets a blood transfusion from an enemy and becomes stronger

Protected from mind control (Lucky)

Probably called you-know-who by someone at least once

Smart (???)

Changed his name and joined a band (So to speak)

[brucewaynehater101]

Y'all, I had a dream where John Constantine kept trying to facetime me on a JL communicator during a JL meeting so that he could show me Superman's ass. Two problems prevented that. One, I was too busy driving. Two, I'm ace, so I had zero interests in viewing his ass

[nelkcats]

Amity break the silence

What? what made this city so special?, the Justice League wanted to understand

After years of unsuccessful investigation, the Justice League managed to contact the reluctant people of Amity Park, who took themselves as independents, claiming that they did not need heroes since they had defended themselves long before the League existed and the government accepted their political independence in exchange of giving them nothing.

The League did not understand this, why were they forbidden to pass? Why did all their reconnaissance missions fail the second they entered? (Amity is a small town after all, they do recognize each other, this was never going to be helpful) after years of trying to ask the government itself the League was offered a bit of information.

The villagers invited them to see a tradition in the town, something private, just so they could understand a little what was happening. They forbade cameras and information release but they were advised to bring a magician and a curious enough member to the event, of course they were refused to interfere in everything that happened.

The League was surprised by this information but they agreed; when they got to the place Constantine was almost hysterical by the amount of death aura everywhere, the Amity Parker's denied and motioned for him not to say anything. This was directly the veil to the afterlife after all.

In the center of the city, 91-year-old Dash Baxter was smiling, and saying goodbye to his family, the League tensed at this, but the old man only dismissed their concern "It's my time" he whispered affectionately, and smiled at everyone who was reunited "I shouldn't keep him waiting so long."

Slowly and calmly, the old man sat down in one of the armchairs in the old park, right next to a flower-filled but nameless memorial grave, with a smirk he looked at the teenager who had appeared next to him the moment he moved closer to the grave "Did you finally come for my Fenturd?" He questioned mockingly.

The League was shocked at the suddenly emergence of a brilliant teenager, his appearance screaming "other world" but his demeanor calm and humane ; with a sad smile and a hand extended to the old man the boy spoke "We've had our good times Dash, but time always runs out, you're the last of us right?"

"Yeah, it was a good life you know? Even if I had to see Kwan and Pauli holding your hand first" the old man commented looking fondly towards his grandchildren, who were holding back tears "Do you know where I'll go now?"

"Well, I was hoping you'd tell me, but wherever you're going, I know I'll walk you there" the teenager stood up from the bench, taking the old man's hand gently.

"Yeah, I guess so, Kwan and Star are waiting on one side and Pauli on the other?" He questioned sadly, as if he was torn between impossible decisions, which he probably was.

"Yes, Paulina is beyond where I can reach her, will you go with her or will you come with us? Even if you decide to stay, you'll see her again when you fade away, so don't be so quick to decide, ¿eh? I know you're impatient."

"I don't know, it's still a pretty tough call, but before that" he looked at the League and then at the teen, assessing "I need to say, you're a good hero Phantom"

"Uh, that's something you haven't told me in years, back when you were a fan" the boy blushed a bright green, ignoring Dash's mutterings about remaining a devoted fan "Why bring it up now?"

"Because the new heroes need to learn that there are moments where it's not just about saving, but also saying goodbye, their circumstances aren't the same, but even they will have to say goodbye to their cities at some point" he sighed, his exhaustion was easily visible, reflecting in the old age of his face.

"You're being a bit harsh Dash" Phantom chided, though not entirely disagreeing "I was only given the privilege of accompanying you all, I don't think they will get the same treatment"

"Maybe I am, but you could have not done this you know? You always had the choice to run away from Amity, say goodbye, never look back; instead you stayed behind all the years, watching everyone you knew go extinct, how everyone ages while you continue the same until of your acquaintances only I remain, and even with the pain that everything causes you, you took the hand of each one of us, you accompanied us, you met our children, you were part of the lives of our grandchildren, always the first to arrive and the last to finish crying"

"Maybe it was out of selfishness, maybe I wanted to follow them to the other side too, hoping to find a peaceful end."

"Maybe, that doesn't mean that you never left Amity to her fate, even with all the threats to the world everywhere, you stayed here and I think that no one deserves a rest as much as you but you refuse to do so"

"Maybe Amity is all the world I need," Danny shrugged, "and rest would take it off my hands when I'm not ready to let go yet."

"Always the humble" the old man sneered "fine, have it your way"

Very few of the League guests could hear the conversation, but Superman seemed on the verge of tears as they watched as the old man closed his eyes satisfied with his last words, his breathing slowed and his heart stopped beating.

Slowly the teenager bent down to kiss the old man's forehead, keeping their hands together as a feeble spirit rose from the aging man, Phantom took the newly formed shadow's hand and motioned for it to come forward to his side, with an endearing expression in his face.

The last thing the heroes could see were the guiding lights illuminating Amity Park houses where both spirits were passing, until both simply faded from view.

"Oh" for the first time, Constantine seemed to be at a loss for words "That's why you didn't want us here" if anyone had paid attention, they would know how touched he was.

"That was Phantom" the old man's daughter smiled, wiping away the tears that had stubbornly remained in her eyes "Amity's first ghost, the only hero, who accompanies each one of us until the end"

"He lives in Amity?" Constantine questioned, still in shock.

"Yes, you could say, he lives in both Amity's" the woman replied with a small laugh "On the other side of the veil, where all the spirits that once inhabited this place are, and here, protecting us from everything, is a good boy"

"But, he's just a boy" Flash whispered, wanting to deny the existence of anything like ghosts, but Constantine's sad appearance or Zatanna's gaze didn't help his case.

"Don't let his appearance fool you" denied a girl next to the woman "Phantom has existed long before the League, when heroes were dangers and children dreamed of reaching Mars, did you want to know why we stay here? Why did the government agree to leave us alone?" She pointed to the spot where Phantom and the spirit vanished "For him, they put a bounty on his head long ago, so when they begged for help with their strongest threats, he refused."

"Why would they ask him for help?"

"Because he was the first hero, but he preferred to save Amity before the world" pride could be heard in the girl's voice "He made a deal with the government more or less, they leave us alone and in exchange if a universe level threat falls right here, he will take care of it"

"I don't know how helpful a kid would be," Flash muttered, still hesitating, but he was heard.

"Don't underestimate it, your strongest enemies are nothing more than mindless thieves to us" a boy from the crowd crossed his arms "to him, they are like children playing with plastic weapons"

"I understand" Constantine ended the conversation "thank you, for letting us see- all this, it's beautiful; someday do you think he will also take hands with someone from out of town?"

"I don't know, but if you die here after staying with us for a while, well, maybe he'll agree to accompany you too" the old man's daughter spoke again, the woman's eyes were warm, gentle even to him, a damned soul. "He already thinks you are good guys, or the barrier wouldn't have let you in"

"Was there a barrier?" Zatanna was in shock, she hadn't even felt a bit of it, it was impossible.

"Yes, all over the city, but that doesn't matter, are you satisfied with your information?"

"We are, we'll stay away from Amity" Constantine nodded, paying no attention to the protests from the paranoid heroes behind his back or the complaints about having more help on planetary threats.

"Thank you, and Constantine? You're one of the good guys too, remember not to forget that; when the time comes for the veil to part for you, I'm sure the Ghost King will pray for a peaceful end to your soul."

[sculptorofcrimson]

Smokefields

Synopsis: Valdor bathes his lord

Relationships: Valdor x female Emperor Shard

Warnings: Bathroom sex, minorly dubious consent, vaginal fingering, nsfw

Wordcount: 3057 Possible continuation of Snowfields! Had another free 20 minutes to write, enjoy!

It wasn’t a calculated move.

Valdor had carried her into the baths, she still clinging onto him, bleary and half-conscious and half-asleep from the drugs the medicae had given her. Curiously, she seemed to have taken no damage from the lightning at all. Most of the damage inflicted had been sustained while recovering her. She had no doubt Valdor had already laid waste to all that upon that mission, if there were any other than himself, but she no longer found it in herself to despair.

It was simply a rite of Valdor. The price for ruling the world, if it may even be called that. 

He had settled her into the warm water with the carefulness of a man caretaking a particularly fragile piece of china, gently lowering her inch by inch, and prying off her hands. She hadn’t even realized when he had stripped her, or if he had ever done so. Valdor seemed to have no concept of shame, humiliation or dishonor, none that he could fathom in any clearly defined way anyways. He was simply here to clean the blood from her frame, there was nothing else in that broken, ironclad mind of his. 

She had startled when he had approached her, even while she was lying limply in that bath, head cocked to one side. The Custodian knelt down, soapy sponge in hand, gently reaching out to grasp one of her arms. His grip had tightened when she tried to yank it away. Rhythmically, he had begun to scrub at the skin, firm but gentle. She had watched him continue for a few moments, until he moved lower, until he was working at her stomach, and then her abdomen, and then her thighs. And that was when she had moved.

Valdor had lifted one of her thighs - gently of course - and began to scrub over the skin. The water was warm, his movements swift, and the scent of soap soft and light. He passed over her limbs without even a hint of recognizing this as anything more than a habitual practice, a way of cleaning the filth off a precious piece of jewelry perhaps. She had caught his hand when he tried to move away, and pressed it against her. Something had come undone, something vicious and broken and keening. Something that howled so pitifully out into the encroaching dark, begging for someone, anyone, to listen to her, even if they were her jailer, and his love just as cold as his wrath. 

“Constantin.” she had rasped. Her voice was shaky. She didn’t remember what words he had spoken then. Perhaps one more of his habitual declarations of loyalty as he had tilted his head, and waited for her command. 

“Yes, my lord?” 

Her command was as curt as it was direct. “Bed me.” Something had broken inside of her, alright. Something that had once cared, and was now charred to ashes. Ashes, what an ugly word. It was almost as ugly as “immortal”.

Valdor's reply didn't even change his usual cadence. "Absolutely not, my lord. Your current state-”

She no longer cared enough to fear the consequences of interrupting him. “Surely you know alternatives. Your fingers.” she nodded at him. “I command you to, Constantin.”

He could not resist a direct command. For a moment, Valdor was silent, the sponge held in one loose grip. Then he gave a nod, and set it down, turning to face her entirely.

“Do you remember the first time you had me, my lord?” his question was stated more like a declaration than an actual question. His gaze was eerie. For one, he didn’t seem to be in need of blinking. For another, she felt as if this was an interrogation, even if he had smiled - surprisingly genuine - when he had asked it. It was not a gloating smile, but there was triumph in it anyways, a bitter, victorious smile of a madman that had finally been vindicated in his delusions. 

She didn’t know what came over her then. What spiteful, ancient entity had latched onto her limbs and forced open her mouth. 

“Constantin.” she spoke. Her voice resonated dully, and instinctively she felt herself raising her chin, straightening her spine, looking him dead in the eye even if her stomach coiled itself into knots at the mere thought of looking into that dreaded, insane gaze. 

Valdor was staring back at her with the same fervour of a man that had grovelled in the icefields for centuries, who had finally seen the flame, and was now willing to burn for it.  “Yes, my lord?”

She didn’t know what possessed her then, what cruel, vengeful part had snapped out to command him. “Be quiet.” she hissed. 

Valdor stalled. He looked at her, as if gauging the seriousness of her command. She spoke nothing, simply calmly held his gaze with one of her own, and impatiently bucked her hips. She had no intentions of hearing him. She would enjoy herself, even if this was the only way she would accept it. 

“Be quiet.” she repeated. Then, she grasped his hand, and pressed it against her, and impatiently waved at him to continue. 

Valdor simply gave a short nod to show he understood and slipped a finger into her, slow and gentle and without rush. 

She inhaled sharply, arching her back as his fingers found her bud and flicked at it. Valdor’s strokes slowed, as if calculating how to approach a particularly complex problem, his grip tightening and pressing down upon her hip until she grumbled in frustration and leaned back down. 

He only waited until her movements slowed, then leaned forwards with that maddening grace, as delicate as a dancer performing a pirouette. Valdor lapped gentle kisses against her neck, whispering half-audible words of loyalty she no longer cared for as he freely and gently teased against the wetness of her folds.

“More.” she whispered, gasping. Her shoulders - so thin compared to his bulk - shook in the warm water. Desperately wanting to feel full, desperately wanting to feel loved, to forget the weight of the storm and the snow. Valdor obeys with only a cold smile, something close to satisfaction igniting in his gaze as he traces her entrance with a light touch, brushing against her folds. 

A finger, calloused from weaponry and thicker than any mortal man’s digit, gently probes against her one last time, slipping inside with a gentle pressure, curling just to hit the spot that made her mewl and hiss. He strokes her with a slow, wave-like rhythm, holding her against him with a gentle, almost lazy touch. She clenches, feeling Valdor shift with her movements, and rocks her hips back against him. 

She was mewling, hissing, clawing at him now. Water splashed around her, droplets sinking into the finery of his robe as she dragged at him, never seeming to make a single difference against his silk. Here he would be, perfect, elegant, without flaw, without even a droplet of water upon his immaculate features. She dragged at him, pulling him closer until she could tilt her head up and kiss him. 

The angle was wrong. He was too tall, too large, and he was holding her too tightly to allow for any proper manuveering. Stubbornly, she persists, mouthing against his jawline and dragging at him until he returns it. There was no passion from him, no corresponding joy as he reciprocates. It was as if she had been kissing a corpse. No. Worse. Even corpses can be loved. It was as if she was kissing a statue, one without a heart and without a mind to care.

There was no passion in this. No love. Simply the movements of a primal dance He had beaten out of Valdor long ago, the emotions behind it lost forever, but the movements still remain. He was as utterly obedient as a machine would be, without complaint, and without even resistance. It was, in some horrible, twisted way, submission. 

His free hand was no longer wandering through her hair. It had instead braced itself against her hip to steady her. She exalted softly as he slipped another finger inside of her, the movement so damnably gentle. Valdor was a large man, and yet he always took such care in bed. Growling, she reached for him again, seeking to kiss him again. Again, his lips on hers. Cold, mechanical, without passion. He simply opened his lips and let her explore as she wished, he let her taste the taste of incense and parchment and gold and blood upon his tongue, he let her trace his insides without protest. He simply hummed around her tongue, hunching over so that he could reach her, letting her explore the sharp tips of his canines carefully. He pulled away first, right at the edge when she was about to run out of air. He was still there, resolute, his chest barely even moving as she gasped and writhed as his fingers curled up to hit just the right spot. When he felt her relax around him again, he resumed his moments. 

She cried out as his fingers found her clit, pumping slowly, gently, yet with that dreaded assurance. The pleasure was almost too much to handle. He wasn’t smiling, not quite, but there was that careful, attentive zeal in those eyes again, dark and calculating as he wrung cry after moan from her, his fingers moving with the same efficiency and grace he had displayed in combat. One moment rubbing against her inner walls, another moving against her clit in a hypnotic pattern.

His hands. Carefully manicured nails, surprisingly slender and graceful fingers, calloused from years of weaponary but still gentle. Those hands. He had killed a man with those hands. Slit his throat and watched him die. She couldn’t divorce the image from her mind, even as she keened and squirmed and danced beneath his grip. His fingers kept their quick rhythm in and out of her cunt, making no other sound except for the skin against skin as he honed in with brutal efficiency upon that spot that made her tremble. She keened at a particularly sharp thrust of his hand, sharper than his normal movements, but not enough to hurt her. His fingers were much thicker than a mortal’s man’s, but so infinitely gentle, even as he relentlessly targeted the spot that made her scream. 

She bucked against his grip, sobbing out moans of lust and overwhelming emotion combined, knowing she was in his grasp, knowing he had his free hand holding her down. Smelling that incense, feeling his terrible, murderous presence, and knowing she couldn’t escape as her weeping cunt was fucked with that slow, gentle, yet ruthless pace. 

He could have her moaning in minutes. His fingertip, teasingly this time, curls against that sensitive spot. Desperately, she clamps down, rolling her hips as she chases the high. Water splashes from around her as she grasps onto his shoulders, clawing at his robes, trying to find something - anything - to grab onto.

His finger curls against that spot again. She growled a groan of pure lust as he resumes pumping, rubbing against her walls, and her breath was stolen away in a sharp pitched whine. He had been so perfectly trained, so calm and collected even as his grip shifts to rub against her clit. He had been so utterly built to satisfy any purpose, it was inconceivable how he could fail. Hungrily, she clenched around his hand, accepting the only touch he would offer her. Still obedient from her earlier command, Valdor purrs, and moves close. Uncaring of the water now soaking into his robes, he gently spreads her thighs so his hands could have greater room to work. His strokes were faster now, tracing against her walls, leaving her a squirming, writhing mess, the pleasure rising and ebbing like a wave. That sight of him, his hands fisted around a dying man’s neck, was all but forgotten now, beneath that ache, the lust building and rearing until it was nearly unbearable. She squirms, her hips pumping and buckling against him, even as he lets her move as she desires, never letting go nor forcing her still, simply silent and obedient and somehow mechanical. It’s cold, it’s freezing and passionless and heartless, but it’s perfect , as if he had been trained to every cell of her body, programmed to please every inch of her.

“Con…Constantin!” she gasps. The sound was nearly lost over the sloshing of water, and the rhythm of his fingers through her cunt. 

He was not yet commanded to speak. Instead, Valdor only tilts his head, like a curious dog listening in. He knows. Of course. He could smell weakness like blood on the water. The movements of his fingers are faster now, her walls clenching and unclenching around him, working her with a simple, brutal efficiency.

Her hands had tangled against his back, tracking small handprints of water. In the places where the water touched, fabric hung dark over his tall frame, draping over lean muscle and perfectly gene-carved tissue. Valdor still holds himself with that perfect, immaculate, dancer's grace, even half-hunched over, his face without even a trace of expression as he works at her, without pause and without hesitation, his eyes occasionally roaming over her flesh as if to verify she was still there, and not a creation of bone or metal. She shudders, and closes her eyes, and loses herself in the mechanical sensation of his fingers. She could feel herself nearing, her walls clenching around his fingers, so close to the edge, hips pumping up and down against him as his movements never pause, guiding her over it with the same, insistent gentleness he had always shown.

She cries out when she comes, the waves both intense and shattering. It crashes over her, raw and brutal like a wave of frost, shockwaves reverberating through her core and her abdomen. For a moment the world dissolves, the scent of incense fading, as her mind fades to nothing but sobs and screams. Valdor works her throughout, strokes slowing down so as not to overstimulate her. 

She returns slowly, through blurry eyes, hips still dully rocking as she rides his fingers, waiting for the aftershocks of her orgasm to fade. Valdor’s hand had slowed, free hand now petting her thigh, as if waiting for her to appraise his performance.

Just another dance for him, just another dance. She comes back to herself in pieces, surfacing from the afterglow with a sensation almost like dread as the world refocuses itself with jarring clarity. She could feel the weight of the laurel on her head, the scent of incense from his robes, and the mechanical way he was waiting at rest. She was still clinging to him, her hands having tracked trails of droplets over his robes.

She shudders, and turns away from him. She retreats back into the water, the hot waves lapping gently at her shoulders as she sinks down, facing away from him. He was holding the sponge again, carefully reaching over to bathe her hair, continuing on as if nothing had changed.

Mutely, Valdor tilts his head. He did not have many expressions, and there was nothing except the usual neutral expression he wore while caring for her, as if this was no more important than a routine inspection of a machine for him. He was questioning her, she gathered. Waiting desperately for her approval, or her dissatisfaction.

She closes her eyes, and sinks into the warmth of the bath. Nothing had changed. Nothing had changed at all, utterly nothing at all. She was still under his grasp, except she felt so tired, as if the weight of the world had crushed her down and shattered what remained of her. 

Valdor’s fingers were brushing past her face now. He held her gently, yet with insistence, waiting for her to open her eyes. When she did, he was staring back at her, sponge held in one perfectly maintained hand. 

“Was that satisfactory, my lord?” He brushes her hair with an air of careful reverence, before stepping back and waiting for her response. Streaks of wetness were already drying on his robe, leaving not even the semblance of a blemish nor scar against him. He was immortal, wasn’t he? Immortal, and utterly without change.

She resisted the urge to snort a laugh. Instead, she smiled, tired and exhausted and having all the fight broken out of her.

“Yes, Constantin.” 

Valdor smiles coldly, as if those were the words he had scripted beforehand, as if this was a performance, and he had taken a bow after a particularly trying dance. There was nothing behind that smile, nothing but a mind that did not know how to love. 

“Thank you, my lord.”

When Valdor returned to his ministrations as if nothing had changed, she closed her eyes. She couldn’t bear to gaze upon him, or to feel his cold, appraising gaze upon hers. And she was tired.

So tired. So utterly tired. The water was warm around her naked form, Valdor’s movements slow and soothing as he continued the bath, but she was cold. So utterly cold, and so utterly tired, as if the heart beating inside of her had burst and revealed nothing but gold inside. For a moment she understood what the Thunder Warrior Primarch must have felt, feeling the lifeforce bleed from him but not even bothering to stem the blood dripping from his slit throat, no longer having the strength to fight but still helm turned up, still snarling at an empty sky, mouth twisted into a fading growl. He hadn’t died then, not yet, but the years he spent in purgatory after the betrayal must have been no better. Waiting, seething, decaying in his own misery and loss, nothing but shadow now, nothing but decaying, waiting, and watching, simply waiting to die. A prisoner just hoping his gallows could be constructed even a day earlier. A corpse. That’s what they both were. They were the dead, taking part in the future only as handfuls of ash and splinters of bone. 

She was already dead, even the ship knew it, even the world itself knew it, even she herself knew it, it was only Valdor who refused to confess to that. 

Pinglist: @nonus-secundus @badbobdooley @bleedingichorhearts @starfrost740 @katie-faye1 @sigtamds @troylovesdoomguy @the-pure-angel @metronix36-blog @krynnmeridia @distantmoonbeam @futuristicchaospoetry @liar-anubiass-blog @subtle-like-a-brick-to-the-face @squishyowl @slaanesh @absent-still @sharenadraculea @idonotknowhowtochoosenames @kit-williams

[basement-mirror]

rake at the gates of hell.png

[peeledstrawberry]

I'd like to imagine that Danny finds John Constantine absolutely delightful and Constantine is just like "dang it it's this worm-off-the-string dude again :/"

Danny's all "wowow it's the cool magic man who found a loophole for immortality! He has a cool magic house too"

And Connie is just "does it LOOK like I'm running a daycare?? Go home"

I also want Vlad to be enamored with him and Ellie is just like "yea that's my wet cat of a father figure. Neat"

[acesw]

Uniforms and Emblem Customs in the Foundation

The St. Pavlov Foundation & SPDM both have uniforms that are representing of the goals of the Foundation and tend to have different variations. Some officials would have customized uniforms while some do not. Every official in the Foundation, including late stage SPDM students, wear insignias that look akin to angels.

Now, this post will serve as a documentation of the uniform/uniform variations we have now, as well as exploring the possible symbolism behind them.

Insignia

The Foundation uniform is notable for having an insignia that serves as a telltale sign that the person is from the Foundation. Every official is required to wear one and it has to be visible. However, there is no say on how it can be worn for certain people.

The insignia itself is a golden emblem, with its centerpiece being an angel with its arms held out. Variations of this insignia are found everywhere, including brooches, medals, buttons, and pins.

In SPDM, once a student has reached Academic Year 6 (10-11), they will receive their own insignias, which are worn around the neck. Interestingly, they wear a cloth around the middle of the emblem. covering the head/torso area of the centerpiece. This can symbolize that the student is still training to serve for peace and humanity.

It's only when they graduate that the cloth is abandoned, which then symbolizes that they're ready for the world that they're tasked to serve for.

Such a custom is also applied to students in the School of Discipline, I think. Since Jessica wears the insignia in her graduation uniform. But because she's in Vertin's team, this requisite is excused.

(look at her, she's so <3)

Anyway, speaking of Vertin, she—alongside other arcanists in her team—are not required to wear the insignia. Why? This can be because of Vertin's status as the timekeeper. As the timekeeper, she's required to be outside a lot, and to only observe and document with no growing suspicion.

This can mean that she has to be undercover in some tasks, resulting in her not wearing the insignia on her uniform. And because the arcanists under her wing are not taking direct orders from the Foundation, they are not required to wear them as well. In a storytelling perspective, this might be for creating a distinction between Vertin's team and the Foundation; that Vertin and the suitcase arcanists are not completely on their side.

The only other exceptions to this rule is Tooth Fairy and Mesmer Jr. Tooth Fairy only works part-time as the school physician, while Mesmer currently works at Laplace, which does not make wearing the emblem a requirement.

Now that this is out of the way, I will go into the uniforms.

Main Elements

The main elements in the Foundation uniforms are that they follow a monotone color pattern (black, grey, white) while having a checkered diamond pattern. The standout colors are gold, purple/violet, blue, and occasionally the afflatus colors. (I'll show why later down)

There are also some occasional gold patterns found on the uniforms like the crowns on collars and stars on the grey sleeves.

The reason we find checkered patterns everywhere is because it symbolizes the duality of existence, balance of two sides (good and evil or light and dark). The Foundation prides itself of being the beacon of balance between humans and arcanists. Clearly, it's not like that and there is an imbalance at play.

Update: Upon further research, I found that the crossed laces are found to be also a symbol. Based on Ms. Moissan's "Foundation Heeled" boots, the crossed laces symbolize obedience.

Uniforms - SPDM

There are two variations of the SPDM Uniform that we see in game. One is where Vertin and Sonetto were around 8-9, and the next is seen throughout the rest of Chapter 3.

Students are required to wear fully white uniforms, but they vary between the stages that they are in. In early stage, they wear a collared shirt or dress with a hint of gold underneath the collar. Meanwhile, for late stage/work immersion students, they wear a long-sleeved shirt under a tunic, alongside their covered insignias.  The boys are wearing shorts while the girls are wearing a skirt or a dress altogether.

When its winter, they wear black cloaks with the hood being in its checkered pattern inside. It's held together by the insignia as well.

The students have a bit of freedom when it comes to their hair as well as (in very restricted fashion) the accessories that they wear. Sonetto and Mesmer wear a headband (which was carried after graduation), The Ring wears a giant bangle around his head and a chain of rings on his belt, Isabella wears two brown clips on her hair as well as a checkered scrunchie around her wrist.

Otherwise, this is the standard uniform that's expected to be worn with modesty and cleanliness.

For the Instructors, they're expected to wear a brown coat with the insignia. Meanwhile, for monitor assistants, they wear a grey uniform with hints of red. The insignia is worn as a badge with two red tags on it.

Foundation Guards

Guards wear varying uniforms that would tend to go by functionality and tactical-ness, and the main colors tend to go with the usual color palette alongside the insignia and colors that match an afflatus. Some wear jackets, and some wear capes depending on rank. There are also patrol defenders, security guards (SPDM), and general officers who all wear additional headgear.

In 4-21 (Good Weather), the Guard Leader boss is wearing an additional suit with equipment coming from Laplace. It continues to serve the point of the practicality needed for all situations.

Investigators

Investigators from the Foundation wear a grey and white uniform that covers most of their body, and wearing a headdress that obscures the entirety of their head. The headdress of female investigators would have an additional veil at the back of their heads, while the male investigators wear a cape. The insignia is also worn around the neck.

The only person that has a variation of this uniform is Sonetto. Since she is a squad leader and thus higher ranked, she has a bit of liberty in modifications to the uniform. So with it, she abandons the headdress and wears a cape that's adorned with her merit medals. She also wears a few accessories. Truly one of the best of the best.

Foundation Staff

The Foundation staff in headquarters and the offices wear varying uniforms, especially the politicians. But we can start off with the normal staff.

The normal staff wear a standard office suit, with either a jacket or a coat to compliment it. They also wear headgear that is smaller in size compared to ones worn by investigators. The checkered pattern is more prominent, found in ties or garments worn over the dress shirt.

(These two are investigators named Adolf and Angie, I'd see them having lunch together as friends :) )

Horropedia, also being higher ranked and coming from a different investigative unit, wears a variation of this uniform. The cuffs are checkered and he wears a light grey vest. Additionally, a green clip is donned on his tie. While semi-compliant, Horropedia stands out for his wits and his eccentric-ness with his love for horror. He prides himself on his knowledge and wants to show that now that he has a taste of the little freedom he has now.

Meanwhile, as the Timekeeper, Vertin wears a different outfit entirely. She wears a suit with a color palette of indigo, purple, cyan, and black; Complimented with a cravat with an indigo gem, and a purple top hat with a cyan ribbon. On the cuff of her right forearm, there is a nixie tube watch timer that helps her foretell the storm's countdown easier. Once again, this creates her distinction from the rest of the Foundation. Indigo amongst black and white. And Indigo conveys integrity and deep sincerity. - Empowered by Color (the text is linked!)

(bonus vernetto crumbs for the gays)

Government Officials

Now, for the politicians in the Foundation. The politicians wear varying uniforms, but they are meant to be relatively the same as any other professional suit. Most of them wear coats and/or vests that are in the same monotone colors. Many wear the insignia on the left side of their chest, with the exception of Constantine and Madam Z, who wear it in the middle.

The politicians can wear formal suits for debates just like with the one between Delegate Mark Hal and Committee Member Pedra Rosa. Mark had a green and orange color palette for his formal suit, which made him stand out quite a bit. Meanwhile, Pedra wore standard blues and greys.

Now, the people that stand out to me personally are Madam Z, Constantine, Pedra, and Bernard. The reason for this is how distinct Z and Constantine's uniforms are, while Pedra and Bernard have colors that stand out amongst the monotone colors.

Madam Z wears a collared dress with a style similar to the one that the female investigators wear. She has a grey and white coat and its sleeves are pushed up by black gloves. The insignia is found to be worn as a centerpiece for a tie. She looks like she could be an investigator herself, really. As if she were one with her colleagues of lower rankings for that matter.

Constantine wears a suit with ridiculously large collar and odd-looking sleeves. Donning a grey vest and wearing the insignia as some kind of necklace. There are also a garments worn under the suit, showing the checkered pattern once again, and the diamond accessories. This really makes the distinction of her being the Vice President, no?

For Pedra and Bernard's case, they're the only people that we know so far that integrate the navy blue in their outfits. I can see it representing their power as humans, in a way. It evokes the conservative and authoritative traits that they have across the Foundation and the world by extension.

There's a lot to ponder about the Foundation and the uniforms. Even with its plain colors, the game manages to bring so much depth in the Foundation's uniforms and the people who wear it. There's so many characteristics that show through the modifications our Foundation characters have, and it makes them stand out amongst the sea of black, white, and gold. Hopefully there might be more modifications in the future now that we're back in the Foundation. For now, this is all I can find about the topic at hand. Thanks for reaching the bottom here and feel free to add/ask about this. :)