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John.

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♠ — GET TO KNOW THE MUN!

ALIAS. oxly! AGE. 27. ZODIAC. taurus, same as john. HEIGHT.  5'4", which i thiiink equates to 162 cm? HOBBIES. writing, reading, painting, learning to play bass guitar, singing, playing TTRPGs, watching '70s-80s horror & sci-fi movies, learning new languages, studying cultural & forensic anthropology, building my collection of star trek: tos books and john constantine comic appearances. FAVOURITE COLOUR.  tie between teal, purple, and neon green. FAVOURITE BOOKS.  inkheart - cornelia funke, the southern reach 'trilogy' (annihilation, acceptance, authority, absolution) - jeff vandermeer, the city on the edge of forever - harlan ellison, i, robot - isaac asimov, a study in sherlock anthology, hyperion - dan simmons, ranger's apprentice: the ruins of gorlan - john flanagan, frankenstein - mary shelley, macbeth & much ado about nothing - william shakespeare. LAST SONG. the chain - fleetwood mac. LAST MOVIE.  le samouraï, dir. jean-pierre melville. LAST SHOW. one piece, just reached thriller bark! RECENT READ.  coup de grâce - sofia ajram. FUN FACT. i love boogie boarding at the beach more than anything else in this world, and i'm obsessed with sharks!

tagged by: yoinked it tagging: everyone who reads this, tell me all!

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fucked up hurt/comfort. the person who stabbed you tends to your wound. the person who killed your loved one helps you grieve.

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(crushing up a handful of cigarettes into the taco meat) i always do this. fantastic umami taste

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been taking a mental health break this weekend, i'll get back to everyone on monday!!

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[Image ID, copied from Alt Text: A screenshot of some dialogue from Disco Elysium reading:

JOYCE MESSIER - "See? Everyone finds something worth holding onto in this world -- however wasted its opportunities."

/End ID]

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Ben Daniels as Daniel Larkin in CAPTIVE STATE (2019)

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"John Constantine + Disco Elysium (any interpretation)" prompt for @dcforgaza! Idk anything about Disco Elysium but I knew this was an excellent prompt. From what little I looked up on DE, I was able to translate some fun imagery with Hellblazer. And ghost twins because of course.

Send a silly or bespoke DC art/fic/vid edit prompt to this donor form before June 21st! And our epic team of creatives will create it for you.

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@whcwashe: i see what you’re doing. you’re avoiding having fun. — RANDOM PROMPTS

the pinched look he squints at her over the rim of his sunnies is trying for outrageously affronted, but only makes it as far as disgruntled. that would be the JET LAG finally hitting. ' balls. i'm 'avin' so much fun. would spin your head, the fun i'm 'avin'. '

right on cue, a gust off the sea cliffs whips the end of his tie loose from where he'd tossed it over his shoulder and smacks him in the cheek with it; though not before clipping his melting ice cream cone on its way and spattering soft serve all down his front, for added insult. yeah ... fun.

it's not like he means to rain on liv's parade; this whole excursion was just a terrible fucking idea to start with. they're back in england temporarily for the robbie williams concert — back home — and in a flash-paper instance of madness, john had remembered something she'd said once about a BEACH and VACATIONS and re-directed their cab driver to take them up to blackpool for the day. never mind that it's slightly too late in the season for the holiday resorts to have much of interest to offer, or that the sky overhead has curdled grey as ambergris with dappled flecks of sunlight clinging on like the trail-off to an uncertain promise, or that the cost of ice cream at the little shanty stand has gone up from pence to pounds since he was here last. ( could've thought this through a bit more, con job. )

still, they're here now. at the beach. and none of it seems to have cramped liv's style, since she's been gamboling over the rocks in search of starfish and come back pecking at him while he's trying to have a sulk. and he's already in his trunks, besides, so it wouldn't be too grand a sacrifice to wiggle his toes in the surf for a spell, would it? knowing his luck, never say never.

he peels himself up off his thinking boulder with a groan and a seismic cracking of joints, tossing away the remnants of his cone and plucking the laces of his solovairs loose enough to toe off his shoes entirely. ' know what i think would be fun? leavin' crisps on napping sunbathers and letting 'em wake up swarmin' with seagulls. got anything that would top that, our kid? '

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surely if i gnaw and worry at this old scar until it reopens and widens into an exit wound it'll finally allow the pain to escape and i'll be free. it's in the name innit. "exit" wound.

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@eladead: "What's your sin?" Lestat plucks a cigarette from his lips and blows weightless plumes aside. "I am not a confessionary, though. Just want to compare the worst things we've done."

' depends how you define sin, squire. biblical? social? original? '

it's a transparent attempt to stall — pointless enough to be cringeworthy, seeing as neither of them are going anywhere fast enough that stalling would change their circumstances. constantine can spot the difference between a sin-eater and a vulture when he's staring one or the other in the face, and this bloke doesn't seem like the type to cut his teeth on offering absolution. it makes him uneasy.

he trades smoke for smoke with a contemplative cant of his head, tapping his silk cut over the ashtray as he mulls over an answer. NEWCASTLE is always first of his sins to rise and last to bed, the damning nail in his cosmic coffin, but he doesn't give out newcastle to anyone. no matter how idly bloody curious they are.

' to tell the truth, mate, there's not a lot i haven't checked off me list of celestial faux pas by now. killed people, got people killed... damned me friends, scorned me lovers. fucked the fig leafs off adam and eve, f'you consider that a problem. what's "worst" is just a matter've perspective. '

he rolls his wrist like a dainty shrug, the cherry of his cigarette angling out toward lestat like a fencer's foil held en garde; one eyebrow raises inquisitively. ' might be i could better narrow down me sordid resumé to its juiciest line item if i 'ad an example to follow. quid pro quo, ennit? you show me yours, i'll show you mine. '

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5 songs that resonate with my muse. (that i haven't already referenced extensively.)

you gotta make it through the world — van morrison.

well, let them take you for a clown / and they're bound to bring you down / you gotta make it through the world if you can / think they're doing you wrong / but you got here on your own / you gotta make it through the world if you can.

dad's gonna kill me — richard thompson.

woo, dad's in a bad mood, dad's got the blues / it's someone else's mess that i didn't choose / at least we're winning on the fox evening news / nobody loves me here / nobody loves me here.

help i'm alive — metric.

if we're still alive, my regrets are few / if my life is mine, what shouldn't i do? / i get wherever i'm going, i get whatever i need / while my blood's still flowing and my heart still beats.

beat down — mister heavenly.

i want a beat down, just for the education / i want a three-way, just for the conversation / i want a clean fight with my own reflection in the mirror / i want to get lost but never found / a permanent defection from myself now. / i don't need no love! it ain't strong enough! / all i need now is a beat down / something i can feel, even if it never heals / i wanna break / something's gotta break.

through me (the flood) — hozier.

picture a man, seen like a speck out from this shore / swimming out beyond the breakers like he's done his life before / he feels a coming of the squall will drag him out a greater length / but knows his strength and tries to gather it.

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FINAL DESTINATION: BLOODLINES dir. Zach Lipovsky & Adam Stein, 2025

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@ohsunshine: there's no way i'm leaving you alone for a minute. / from roman >:)

if his smile strains any tighter across his face, the whole gala is like to hear tendons snapping; and although the rest of his face is still projecting mildly bored yet politely entertained, the eyes that turn with agonizing slowness to bore into the side roman's skull read a different message just as clearly: i will fucking get you for this.

he knows how he'd normally handle roman, if they weren't in the middle of a ballroom packed with upper-crusties to whom the faintest whiff of open non-conformity would be as welcome and noticeable as a fart in a church — one thoroughly satisfying KICK TO THE BALLS, signed, sealed, and wholeheartedly delivered. unfortunately, on this particular turf, constantine is the one with his balls in a vice: caught out where he's not supposed to be, playing at someone he isn't, too deep into a long con to afford bailing out and burning all the bridges he had to build to get here. and now at the questionable mercy of the single smuggest little spoon-fed toerag he's ever had the misfortune to be on the wrong foot of at the most inconvenient bloody time.

having to actually play nice with these wankers instead of faking it should count as a karmic bloody injustice.

'really enjoying this, are you? just can't help bein' the living, whinging proof that money don't buy class.' doesn't, con job, doesn't; watch your enunciation.

he sips from his champagne flute so no one will see him scowl, pretending it doesn't taste like expensive vinegar; trades a brief, distracted appraisal with a woman dripping factory diamonds off the arm of her much-older date. then, exasperated, aims his rictus-smiling glare back at roman, the source of his burgeoning reflux. no fucking chance he's getting anything useful done like this, not with the ghost of christmas fuck you prancing after his heels, so there's no use trying to ignore it, either.

'unless this bottle service of yours includes holding my willy when i go to take a piss, squire, sod off. i'm busy.' it's weak even to his own ears, especially in the fangless sterility of his genteel cover accent; they both know constantine lacks the leverage to threaten the roy boy in any real way. he can't even SWEAR in here properly without risking unwanted attention.

petty, he pretends to flick lint off the shoulder of roman's suit, clipping him hard. 'go away. do one. shoo. wear a lampshade for the tabloids, hump some aspiring socialite's leg. don't you 'ave — have — anything better to do than piss me off?'

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kinda sensitive, kinda heartless tbh

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In honor of Juneteenth, I compiled some great songs by black artists

I highlight genres other than rap/hip-hop, as I don't see them get enough love from non-black people. If the list seems overwhelming, I'd recommend picking a genre of your liking, or the songs marked blue, which are my personal favorites. Hopefully, you find some new music and add a couple of these to your playlists

Jazz: Lester Leaps in [Live at Carnegie Hall] by Charlie Parker (1949); The Star-Crossed Lovers (aka Pretty Girl) by Duke Ellington (1957); Springsville by Miles Davis (1957); Speak No Evil by Wayne Shorter (1966); The Black Messiah [Live at The Troubador] by Cannonball Adderley (1971)

Vocal Jazz: Unforgettable by Nat King Cole (1954); Autumn in New York by Ella Fitzgerald and Louis Armstrong (1957); Lover Man by Billie Holiday (1958); Don't Go To Strangers by Etta Jones (1960); Work Song by Nina Simone (1967)

Soul: I Say a Little Prayer by Aretha Franklin (1968); Tired of Being Alone by Al Green (1971); Grandma's Hands by Bill Withers (1971); Home Is Where The Hatred Is by Gil Scott-Heron (1971); Someday We'll All Be Free by Donny Hathaway (1973)

Funk: That Lady, Pts. 1 & 3 by The Isley Brothers (1973); Summer Madness by Kool & The Gang (1974); I Want You by Marvin Gaye (1976); Some Love by Chaka Khan (1978); Dreaming About You by The Blackbyrds (1994)

Disco: You Saved My Day by Cheryl Lynn (1978); Good Times by CHIC (1979); Hot Stuff by Donna Summer (1979); Give It To Me Baby by Rick James (1981); It Should Have Been You by Gwen Guthrie (1982)

R&B: Nights (Feel Like Gettin' Down) by Billy Ocean (1981); Outstanding by The Gap Band (1982); Sweet Love by Anita Baker (1986); Real Love by Mary J. Blige (1992); I Get Lonely by Janet Jackson (1997)

Neo Soul: Lady by D'Angelo (1995); Didn't Cha Know by Erykah Badu (2000); Locked Inside by Janelle Monáe (2010); Where Did I Go? by Jorja Smith (2018); Stay High by Brittany Howard (2019)

Alternative: Charcoal Baby by Blood Orange (2018); umbrellar by Dua Saleh (2020); All My Girls Like To Fight by Hope Tala (2020); Neptune by We Don't Ride Llamas (2022); Outta My Mind by chlothegod (2023)

Listen and support black musicians, and the black people around you, specially those close to you. Listening to music is not doing enough to support or boost black people's voices, so, please read and share what they have to say, particularly today, while also respecting and immersing yourself in their art and culture