occult detective

john constantine

[newcastles]

JOHN CONSTANTINE CHARACTER NAME/ALIAS: John Constantine AGE: 42 SPECIES: Human, homomagi

BIO

John Constantine is one of the most powerful magi currently alive. He was born lucky that way, with limitless potential and ability. All that power has led him to very little in the way of reward, instead it has marked his life with great tragedies. 

He studied under the best, lost some of his closest friends, and made enemies of others. He took magic more seriously than anything else and it cost him love multiple times. But he never stopped. He dedicated his life to studying more, collecting dangerous artifacts, setting spirits to rest, and doing anything he could to wipe the sins of his past by making a better future for someone else. It just seemed that every time he thought he was on the right track, he caused something horrible. Probably because his magic was channeled through demon blood. After the horror witnessing a child die because of a spell he cast improperly, John went into a tailspin. He underwent unethical treatment at a mental facility for the criminally insane, communed with the Dark Realm and had the demon blood torn from his body, had his magic cut down to nearly nothing by it, and had no friends left to turn to for help. So he put his head down, did what he did best, and tried to help people who had the misfortune of being affected by demons and ghosts.

Along the way, John found himself cursed by a demon to never return to London. Setting foot on the soil would cause his body to rapidly decay. Starting with sickness and then quickly turning to rot. Not to mention the issue of demon blood. It made the cost of black magic cheaper, something of a friends and family discount applied. But a horrible creature, part of the source of magic itself, ripped it out of his body at an exchange gone wrong. Maybe, if his life was a little slower paced and a little less haunted, he might even have noticed the news of Sokovia, but honestly, John didn’t even know it was happening. He was recovering in the House of Mystery in the realm of dreams from his encounter with the Dark Dimension, the loss of his demon blood, and lingering scars from his horrible time in Ravenscar.

He didn’t notice until the ISA was already marching their way across America to stop their den of vigilantes, and then he of course had to suddenly sober up and remember he was in New York because of the whole curse issue, and tuck tail to take the House somewhere else. He was quite content in hiding, popping out for cigarettes and the odd haunting problem until Zatanna reached out to him.

POTENTIAL CHARACTER ARCS: DEMONS: Wanda has a demon in her head, John has a need for demon blood, they have a chance to bond while healing their shared trauma over evil forces trying to use them. LONDON: John has been cursed not to return to London after a spell gone wrong. Typical. But he hasn’t actually managed to find a way to solve that problem. He has new allies here instead of working alone like he has been who might be able to help him break his curse without killing anyone, setting anything on fire, or just summoning the demon who did it to try and kill him. HAUNTINGS: Sokovia had a horrible tragedy fall on it, and that usually leads to the unrest of the dead. Hauntings are hardly unheard of near the site of these kinds of things and he only charges a small fee for charity work.

[newcastles]

redplanetblueplanet​:

It wasn’t Wanda whom M’gann had heard call it a dungeon, of course, but this was hardly a time for semantics. “Wanda built her own prison?” M’gann repeated, rather skeptical. “I understand that she is a woman trusted and loved by many, but doesn’t that seem… unwise? If she made this cage, surely she could escape it. Couldn’t Zatanna put something together that would be safer for everyone?” She clutched at her skirts, suddenly more concerned than she had been moments before.

“I’m afraid I don’t know much about Earth magic,” she said quietly, “but I’m a fast learner.” Now that was the truth. M’gann could pick up new skills on a dime. New understandings even if she couldn’t perform the power. She doubted very much that the magic of Earth was something that she could harness, but she knew that she was smart enough to learn a thing or two about it. 

M’gann gave that like cheers and then finished her small drink. She leaned on her elbow and let those sweet emotions wash over her like the current of a river that couldn’t make up its mind on where to flow. Love came in many shapes, but it was always distinct. Alas, though he was charming and she was longing for the touch of another, there would be no roll in the hay with Mr. Constantine. 

Still could flirt, though, even if there was less sport to it. 

She shook the thought from her head and listened closely. John Constantine had so much knowledge that M’gann hadn’t had before. So much that she’d been trying to learn. M’gann hung onto every word. Knowledge was power. 

M’gann thought for a long time before she spoke. Long enough that the pianist stopped playing and went on his break. The dancers, too, stepped backstage for a costume change. Finally, she turned her barstool to face Constantine entirely. 

“Please, do not discount me for I am far more than your average Martian. My abilities far and away surpass those of my species. I am not simply a Martian. I am a Martian superhero. I am an entity of focus and control. I am order incarnate. If I weren’t, none of this would exist. My other worlds would cease. I control every molecule of my being at all times and if I didn’t, I would dissipate into the air around us.” 

“Plus,” M’gann added with a sly little smile, “Although I am not familiar with Earth magic, I am certainly well-versed in Martian magic. Now that I know what the actual problem is, I can assure you that exorcism is well within my skill set. We just need a vessel to contain Chaos and bring it to its proverbial knees.”

...

“My honest opinion? No, she couldn’t. And Zee is probably the most powerful magi in the last hundred years. Which is why the whole thing is so bloody terrifying. Wanda has the potential to make anything she wants. What if what she wants isn’t just a mental version of an Old West saloon? She wants it in Mousehole. It’s there. She just has to think it hard enough. Decides you’re touching at something she dislikes in her mind? She might just have the power to unmake you.” He didn’t know if she’d put that together yet. Wanda had built her new home, her magic keys, her tea. She had gathered up her new little family and hidden away from the world. Seemed fascinated by her own new power. She hadn’t been pushed yet. Angry enough to want something gone. Well, if it was going to be anyone, it’d probably be John first.

He had no doubt that M’gann could be a quick study, but it was the confident student who fucked everything up. In his own experience anyway. How many deaths because Constantine misunderstood what he was doing? Because he didn’t ask the right question to the right person? He could name three without trying.

“I’ve no concerns about you being above average, love. But you’re not just talking about distractions, or demons, or evil. You’re talking about a thing who only understands destruction, undoing reality, it is not a thing to be reasoned with. You’d need bloody Pandora’s Box itself to hold it and an object that powerful and old is crafted by gods more powerful than just come wandering around Earth anymore. If we had something that could hold it, Zatanna could have done it in Wundagore.”

He paused to sigh. The room had lost it’s luster, the sun had sunk down low, and the candle light was flickering across the room and casting long shadows. The pretty girls had left and the card players were too drunk to keep going, mostly bickering about who had cheated.

“I don’t want you poking in to touch the thing. I don’t want anyone provoking it or Wanda for the time being. If Wanda has locked it up properly, if she’s in control, rattling the cage might just wake it up. But understanding how there is room for that inside of her. How her powers connect to these twins she says are her sons. How long it’s been inside her at all...” John let out a long sigh and wished he wasn’t with a Martian who couldn’t smoke for a moment. Just because nicotine would steady his nerves. “Just because we know what it is, doesn’t mean we actually know what its connection to Wanda is. We just know what it told her, and what she told us. If there’s one thing I know for a fact about all-powerful magical beings, they’re liars first and anything else second.”

[newcastles]

redplanetblueplanet​:

She raised an eyebrow. It was clear to the Martian that there was something weighing on her guest. Something dark and painful. If he wanted to speak to her about it, he would. This rowdy tavern, which appeared to be growing rowdier by the minute, was certainly not the place for her to pry. “Good,” M’gann said appreciatively. “It’s always nice having company. These dreamscapes really are meant to be shared.” 

M’gann tilted her head to the side a little at the mention of Wanda Maximoff. “I have met her, but only briefly. And it was before,” she waved a hand in the air in a sweeping gesture. “I’ve been hoping for more perspectives on what actually happened. It’s strange to leave with someone in your kitchen only to return to that same person locked in a dungeon.” M’gann ran her finger over the rim of her glass. If he were honest, she might even tell him about her hand in the matter. 

“Are you and Zatanna..?” It was a friendly little question. She even raised her glass in anticipation of giving him a ‘cheers.’ Zatanna was a fine woman. Powerful and courageous and passionate. Always had been. A little disappointing, as M’gann had been feeling some chemistry between the two of them, but she’d be delighted for Zatanna and Mr. Constantine if that were the case. 

“What is it that’s sealed inside of her?” M’gann leaned on her hands, weaving her fingers together. The need to actually visit Wanda seemed more pressing than ever. “I’d like to know everything you can spare.” She winced. “If you don’t mind.”

M’gann laughed at his frankness and responded in kind. He deserved that much. “I have these gifts, but I don’t get to use them to help people as much as I used to. It’s not just the Mousehole and the Nomads. I went into seclusion after the Chitauri Invasion, even deeper when the ISA became a thing.” M’gann smiled solemnly. “This mission was my first real outing as a hero in years. I want to do more. I want to be more, but…” 

The barkeep reached into his pocket to draw out a box of matches, but M’gann held him off. “Would you mind holding off?” She looked at Constantine sheepishly. “Smoke makes me a tad ill.” Practically green. Too much of the stuff choked her molecules and made her sputter and cough. If anyone paid too much attention to the air in the saloon, they would see that the cigarette smoke was a visual effect mingled with scent. Not real smoke at all.

...

“Nicest dungeon I’ve ever seen, if she’s calling it that. From what I understand, it’s of her own creation. Literally. I don’t know how much you know about magic, but making things, real things, that just exist forever; that’s a terrifying kind of power.” But, the oddest part of it was, creation was not something chaos magic could do. Elemental forces, yes, energy, destruction, illusion, but the act of making a beautiful tea cup came from order magic. Rarely were there skills one could not learn based on the type of magic they used, but that was one of them. More curious every day. Zatanna could do it. She was incredibly powerful, and incredibly powerful with a clear order magic. If he wanted to summon something he had to take it from somewhere else. He just wasn’t able to make.

Constantine almost missed her question about Zee while he was in his thoughts about magic of all types. What could possibly be happening inside Wanda’s mind. He took another gulp from his drink. “Oh, me and Zee are always something, just as much as we’re always nothing.”

It was vague and unhelpful, but John Constantine was not a man who fell out of love. He just stopped being in people’s lives. And Zatanna Zatara was no great exception to that. She was confident and beautiful and powerful and kind and adventurous and she made him feel alive in a way so few things in the world did. It was just his luck that he had a way of ruining everything.

“From what I could tell, and what Zee told me of the event in Wundagore, Wanda is vessel to an actual primordial force of Chaos itself. You could call it a god, but that usually implies worship. Things like that can’t exist in our plane, usually. They need something holding them in. Something about our Miss Maximoff is capable of containing it without it destroying her body or mind. Not unlike what I hear about Jean Gray and the Phoenix Force. Not something just anyone could do.” He downed the rest of his drink again, debating a third so quickly. He was feeling loose and relaxed. Another he could jabber on all night. But he’d also be much less useful.

“You may be able to help Wanda, but we don’t know how Martians respond to magical forces like that. Far as I know, you don’t have access to the source of magic, and if you brushed up against a chaos god... I’d shudder to see what you could do possessed by that. We don’t even know if it could jump from Wanda to someone else telepathically but it’s not a risk I’m eager to take. I like my brain a lumpy mass and not jelly, thank you much.”

He tucked the cigarette back into his pocket, though. He was a guest here, much as he wanted a smoke, if she didn’t want it he probably literally could not get one. “I just wouldn’t be too eager to throw myself into danger, if I were you. Not all it’s cracked up to be.”

[newcastles]

redplanetblueplanet

“Be my guest,” M’gann said, holding up a finger and nodding for the bartender to keep the drinks coming. “Just don’t be too surprised if these fine folk start taking their cue from you. They tend to liven up with guests around.” Sure enough, a plump man wearing suspenders and no jacket climbed up on a chair and ordered a round for the whole saloon. The can-can girls sang with enthusiasm. 

How someone could manage to find their way into her dream while looking for a way to commune with the dead, M’gann wondered if she would ever know. “I am sorry about that. Sometimes people just wander in here when they fall asleep.” Powerful people. She kept that in mind even as she spoke to Constantine. “If you’d like, I can let you out. It’ll be like none of this ever happened. You might even be fortunate enough not to wander right back in.”

M’gann appreciated his wardrobe. It wasn’t what she’d seen him wearing so often in the halls of the Mousehole, of course. The dream filled in the blanks for people. Taking their ideals for the situation and scrolling through a catalog of appropriate clothing before setting them, almost instantaneously, on their merry way. 

“New place, same pace,” M’gann mused. But she frowned slightly. “To be honest, I’ve actually been finding myself somewhat bored since my return from the Kuiper Belt.” She leaned back in her chair and flexed her bare shoulders. “I’ve been on plainclothes patrol for over a week. I’m beginning to feel a bit like the fine china.” M’gann tilted her head to glance at him once more. “Are there dark forces of evil here, Mr. Constantine? Is there ever a way to put a stop to them?” The question was very nearly a plea. A lifetime of catastrophe and persecution made a girl wonder. Made a girl dream. 

The pianist began to play Hard Times, at least until an unruly table of card players began to shout obscenities at him. He hastily switched to The Great Round-Up.

“Well, like I said, testing some new methods.” He could just tell the truth. Spill his bloody guts to her with what happened in New York. The Realm of Darkness. The horrible thing in it. The demon cursing him. The way his magic hadn’t felt the same ever since, it hurt him, took from him. Instead he chugged down his glass and slammed it onto the bar. “But nothing is wrong with a little liveliness among cow-folks. No need to send me on my way, may as well enjoy a night in an old classic.”

Constantine laughed, a short bark, as the barkeep filled his glass again. The man in suspenders gestured that he intended to pay for it. A girl in a feather hat sidled up beside him to get a second drink of her own. Good for her. “Have you had the pleasure yet, of meeting Wanda Maximoff? Resident host of a chaotic force that wants to destroy all creation. As chaos itself is wont to do. I came to help Zatanna, she isn’t one to admit she’s in over her head, so I figured it was worse than a wee bit annoying if she was reaching out to me. But--” Constantine paused, looking down at his drink. He took another gulp.

“To be honest, not sure there’s much I can do now. The thing is sealed inside of her. I could look into undoing it, but without a strong enough containing force, it’s already on the mortal material plane. I’d have to rip open a doorway to hell or the nether or where ever a thing like that comes from and that just opens up the risk of letting something else in. It’s mostly up to Wanda’s control. Suppose that’s all it ever is. Hoping other people have the good sense not to meddle with things they can’t handle.”

Heaven and hell both knew that John Constantine nearly exclusively meddled in things he couldn’t handle.

“But you’re pretty and young and capable of all this, what in the great galaxy could make you feel wrong footed, love?” The booze was certainly better than they would have really been able to brew it at the time. He appreciated that touch. Constantine reached into his pocket, allowing himself the total belief that he’d his pack of cigarettes there. He did forget to visualize a lighter.

“Got a light in here?”

[newcastles]

redplanetblueplanet​:

“I’m afraid you’re far from Rome and far from home, Mr. Constantine,” M’gann remarked. But she waved to the barkeep. She knelt to pull a silver dollar from behind the delighted sweep-boy’s ear and pressed a finger to her lips before taking John by the arm and walking him to the bar where a pint of deep, rich lager was waiting for him. 

A non-alcoholic mulled wine waited for M’gann. Even in her mindscapes, alcohol was plenty strong enough to take a susceptible mind from sober to tipsy to drunk and, though M’gann was certainly strong enough in the psychic department to overcome this, she was still full of regret after the last holiday party she’d attended and made it a habit to go without. “Watch out for the kick. It does surprise some of my less experienced guests.” 

“That’s me,” she chirped, taking a sip of her fruity drink. The can-can dancers started a showgirl line, tip-toe-teetering close enough to the edge of the stage to attract the attention of almost every man in the saloon. “It’s unusual to have a dream-walker swing by unintentionally, but not unheard of. Especially when it comes to those inclined to finding themselves in curious places.” Even M’gann knew John Constantine had a reputation for that. “And thank you. I’ve been working on this one for a few nights now. Feel free to have a look around.” M’gann fixed the feather in her hair. “I think you’ll like what you find.”

She was wearing a fine dress for the west. Perfect for anything from riding to attracting customers. Corseted, with a deep red ‘x’ visible along the bust and down to her hips. The front hiked up just high enough to show off her boots and her stockinged knees. And it was paying off. A gentleman came by the bar to buy her another round. 

“I swear, I don’t call on them to do that,” she winked, as the gentleman left. “What have you been up to these days?”

...

He allowed himself to be lead, winking at a can-can dancer over M’gann’s shoulder. The booze was a welcome addition. It was as real as reality was, room temperature glass and fermented notes hitting his nose as he lifted the pint up. “I doubt anyone would call me inexperienced with drink. But if I’m already on a vacation for the night, I may as well indulge, hm?”

Constantine laughed at her sheepishness when one of the card players abandoned his hand to come and flirt with her. Probably losing anyway. It was astounding how she could maintain all of it subconsciously, without any assistance maintaining the world. Were it not for the fact that Zatanna was likely asleep in the room across from him, in the real world, he might indulge in trying to seduce someone here just to play with how far and how realistic this world could be. He did have a streak a mile wide for an attraction to unusual powers.

“I was trying a new method to get into a trance to commune with the dead, looking for an old friend to get some advice from on a problem. Not used to doing that kind of thing with a telepath powerful enough to build all this as a hobby. The sound of old piano and smell of cheap cigars must have drawn me in.”

His dress was usually all the trappings of a working man. Business slacks, a button down, tie and loafers. But it was all cheap. Off the rack. Scratchy tie. Shoes so scuffed they may as well be work boots. It was the illusion of professionalism that got people to trust him long enough to give him a case or information before they noticed he was practically held together with off-color thread and a crushed pack of cigarettes. Now his pants were thick and sturdy. His button down a soft material with a patterned red vest sitting open and a matching bandana in place of his tie. Never too formal. They were protective, comfortable, and not anything he’d own and maintain in reality. It set him in a strange kind of mood not to be in his usual outfit. One did not live through a punk era without understanding how clothes could make someone feel themselves.

“Been in America. Needed a change of pace, but I suppose for people like us, the pace doesn’t really change. Just the same problems in a new place. Dark forces of evil attempting to corrupt the young and the innocent in New York same as they do in London. Same thing that brought me here.”

[newcastles]

redplanetblueplanet​:

@newcastles​

The pianist switched clumsily from You Are My Sunshine to O, My Darlin’ Clementine. He looked happy with the pennies he received for his song, but when the madam boxed his ear for taking too long between songs he scowled. As though she’d swatted a master composer instead of a boy barely old enough to grow blond stubble.

They were characters in M'gann’s latest mindscape. A wild wild western intended to blow her previous ones out of the water. The saloon was, indeed, a masterpiece. Men playing cards, two of them cheating. Dancing girls. An ornery barkeep who made it clear to anyone who came up for a drink that he was there to serve drinks, not to listen to their problems. 

It was already sunset outside. Five horses, including M'gann’s palomino, Sunrise, were hitched to the posts outside the saloon and the next door general store. Her original designs involved sand, but now that was almost all out of town and mud lined the street. It was filthy out there, though a broom-boy swept the buildings out far more often than in a real wild west city. 

M'gann was just preparing her can-can girls for their big number when a stranger stepped into the saloon. He fit in with the other guests, but M'gann knew right away that he wasn’t one of he’s. She whispered to the girls to hold on just a moment and stepped gingerly down the stage stairs, with the hand of an admiring cowboy to guide her. 

“John Constantine?” They had never spoken, but she had seen him before. She knew his telepathic signature as well as any. “M'gann M'orzz.” She held out a hand and with the other, she signaled the dancers to begin. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you.”

...

Constantine was no stranger to falling asleep at his work. Books open and spread out at his table, candles burning around him, half meditating while he read. He may enjoy a bit of theater with his magic, and looking like an effortless prick, but it took training and study to do what he did. He could be dedicated when he liked to be. He just hadn’t anticipated wandering into the dream realm, certainly not someone else’s. He had been aiming to commune with a specific spirit, seek some advice. But whoever’s mind he wandered into must be in the habit of answering those kinds of calls.

He didn’t realize it was a saloon he was walking to until he heard the sound of mud splashing up on his boots and felt the way his usual trench coat was heavier on his shoulders, split into a piece more fashionable for the era. The way of dreams to not notice until it was time to notice. “Well, when in Rome, may as well get a pint.”

The sweeper boy outside looked put upon as Constantine tracked mud up to the swinging doors. John tipped his ridiculous hat to him in an acknowledgement of the nuisance more than apology. If he was going to find the dream he wandered into, the person must be here, since he seemed so drawn to it, the rest of the world feeling less vibrant and alive than the sounds of old piano and chatter from here. He didn’t have to wait long.

“Miss M’orzz, I take it.” He took her hand but cut his eyes up to the dancers as they started, big skirt ruffles fluttering up and down. “Can’t say I meant to end up here, but you do put on a hell of a show, don’t you, love?”

It was easy to see now that he had spotted her how the whole saloon revolved around her. The dancers at her command, the card players watching her, the pianist seemed to be in tempo with her motion. Martians really were astounding, he shuddered to think what it might be like if one of them had access to the same magic as humans. Seemed to him, so far from his limited interactions with aliens, it wasn’t nearly so popular elsewhere.

[newcastles]

wondxrwoman​:

“She didn’t call you herself?” Diana asked curiously, cocking a hip against a countertop as she watched Constantine continue rifling. She might not have had to ask a couple years back, but ever since the Accords, well. She’d found herself terribly out of the loop when it came to vigilante gossip. So, naturally, she hadn’t been sure where John and Zatanna stood with each other.

And if she hadn’t called him, that meant that their little incident may have been even more noticeable than they’d feared. Hera help them if that were the case. 

“Well, in that case, you’re very welcome,” Diana replied, a reluctant smile threatening at her mouth for a moment before she smothered it. “I’ll consider this a pleasant surprise, as long as you drink from a glass rather than that bottle itself. I haven’t heard too much of you the past few years…?” she prodded, dangling the invitation to elucidate her further between them.

“Well. She emailed me for advice. I showed up instead. Really hate email.” He did go find himself a glass, pouring what had to be three shots into it before anything else. “Besides, not much advice I can give about a demon when I don’t know its name or intentions.”

He sipped at his drink, closing his eyes and relaxing his shoulders. “Oh, it’s been the usual, for me. New York really is a cesspool. You wouldn’t believe the kind of shite that gets stirred up in circles there in the underworld. Global chaos makes the supernatural world bold. Makes things a bit busy, chasing after all the teens who think they can summon a lesser demon and ghosts haunting night clubs.” Put a neat bow on connecting directly with the realm of darkness and getting blood ripped out of his body. “Well, it wasn’t all been pansies and roses. I suppose. But, hopefully only one demon to deal with and someone else cooking for me will make this feel like a proper holiday.”

[newcastles]

relentlessperplexity​:

“No.” Steve’s time had not been one for excess and so he couldn’t say he had ever had too much of anything. Not that he would say he’d been lacking anything either, but just walking into the kitchen had been enough to highlight the differences between now and then. Because it wasn’t just a matter of quantity, either, but the quality and variety, too. 

But for American soldiers? Perfect. Steve deposited his stockpile onto the nearest counter and reached for the can, its existence already making him suspicious about the taste. 

“I thought they stopped making these,” he murmured, fiddling with the pop top. But to answer the man’s question: “I have amnesia.” If he sounded unsure about it, that’s because it was still hard to fathom. For all the obvious changes surrounding him, Steve still didn’t feel like he was missing any time, let alone lifetimes of it. “And it … well, the last memory I have is from 1944. But yesterday I thought it was another few decades before that. And so if I sleep -” Steve made the mistake of trying the so-called energy drink. Immediately, he did a full body shudder. 

“Well, it’s not metallic.” He didn’t know what it was, but there was that, he supposed. He examined the can critically. “People drink this?”  

“Stopped making canned drinks? No, they’re pretty popular, I’d say.” Constantine picked up a packed of cookies from the pile that Steve abandoned on the counter. He ripped it open and split the cookie in half.

He bit into it and let the information sit. Amnesia? Well, not much he could do for that. There was plenty to do, he was sure. Doctors or something. Video messages. Detailed writing. In a way John could understand waking up every day and reliving being somewhere else. But he always remembered later. Not remembering it wasn’t the 1940′s must always be a shock.

“If you sleep, you might wake up not remembering where you are, or when. Hell, sounds unpleasant. Maybe just as unpleasant as drinking that. Plenty of people enjoy it, teens, app developers, pretty sure Batman would drink it if he thought it’d be good for a case.”

John popped the other half of the cookie into his mouth. “Got to be one hell of a way to get out of bed in the morning, waking up shocked about where you are.”

[newcastles]

riseofthewitch​:

Wanda stared at the man while he talked. Her nose scrunched up before she could stop it because he stank like cigarette smoke and stale alcohol. It wasn’t necessarily a bad smell, but it was strong. While he talked a hanging bowl of incense appeared on the wall and the sweet and musky scent of black opium curled around him while she guided the smoke to surround them. “Are you… the person Zatanna said she was getting to help me?” It was early enough in the day that he could be here without getting trapped inside with her without a key so she wasn’t as on edge as she was when people got closer to the hour. When people did visit early enough though it helped her feel less alone. Wanda rarely left now. When she did it was to creep around and try to avoid detection. She had too much shame to deal with being around the others unless they came to her where she could get the out and lock herself up if they were in danger.

She picked at the edges of the red shawl she was wearing around her shoulders while he talked. “You are him,” she confirmed for herself. “Come in. And no. No necromancy or seances. I don’t invite dark spirits with that kind of thing. They have no trouble finding me all on their own.” It was a dark joke but it was it what she felt like. 

“You must have questions?” she asked him while she led the way into her small kitchen. Before everything with Chthon she would have used her telepathy to float the pieces around, filling the kettle and putting it on the stove. She didn’t have to anymore. Tea appeared out of nowhere because she willed it to. It was so easy for her now. Creating things out of nothing was something she didn’t know before she opened the Darkholde. Even though Chthon had caused so much pain he also had pulled out what felt like a cork holding back her abilities. They were free and they were terrifyingly easy for her to use now. She wasn’t even sure what the limits of what she could do were. If she was afraid she could only imagine what everyone else thought. 

...

So it wasn’t an exaggeration. Not that he expected one from Zatanna, but it was hard to imagine someone summoning objects from seemingly nothing without so much as an incantation or a flick of the wrist. She was practically running on pure magic. That kind of power had driven lesser men mad in minutes. He set the cigarette in his mouth and strode to the source of the incense, watching it for signs of illusion or ripples of unstable magic. “Well, not all dark spirits are boogeymen. Some of ‘em can enjoy a good party or two.”

Constantine sat in a chair, appearing entirely comfortable in the space. He didn’t like to be intimidated if he could help it. So much of his life relied on bluffing. If there was one thing he could do it was sit in a room and not look scared shitless by the power one person held.

“I was going to say the same thing about you. From what I understand, you didn’t have a traditional upbringing around magic. No one taught you spells or channeling or deep breathing manifestations to keep strange occurrences under control?” He picked up the teacup. He couldn’t feel any remaining magic on it. He’d have to cast something to be certain about it, but this moment wasn’t for that. It wasn’t about inspecting her like a specimen. She was still a person. Terrified, if he believed what was behind her eyes, of hurting someone else. “See, my old man, may he rot in peace, always said I was hellspawn. Sent to make his life worse. But I always knew I could do magic. Could have made Criss Angel look like a bloody kids birthday clown if I wanted to. I always had access to books, knowledge of the occult.” 

He paused to sip at his tea. Earthy. “Sounds like you jumped into the deep end finding some of the kind of magic humans just aren’t meant to meddle in.”

[newcastles]

relentlessperplexity​:

A diary was a pretty decent idea actually. Maybe not in the way this man suggested, but if it came down to it, worst case scenario and all that, writing things down might help him hold onto any new memories, however surface-level. Right then, though, Steve was looking for the experience. Never again (hopefully) would he be able to try these foods with these memories or these taste buds. Only - Steve’s brow furrowed - there might be a good reason for that. 

“Coma?” He’d heard of a lot of things, but had never known food to induce such a serious medical event. In fact, as far as he knew, sugar did the opposite. And Steve wanted that energy for today, desperately needed it. Not only to stay awake as long as possible (the problems seemed to start when he slept), but also to ensure that he was ready for his appointment with Miss Diana’s friend. 

“What might you recommend for staying awake then?” There was so much to learn, so many new discoveries made in the interim.

“Yeah, never heard of getting sleepy from consuming nothing but fried food?” Constantine raised an eyebrow at him. He exhaling a long trail of smoke behind him as he strode over to the fridge. He’d seen some teens here, or twenty-somethings, too young for him to recognize. But where there were young people there was-- Yes. 

Monster Energy Drink. 

“Now, rumor has it, this little creature was invented in response to an act of war to keep American soldiers up all night. If you’re after a bit of energy, this is your prize. I think it tastes like shite, better off just drinking coffee, but young people love it and I’ve been known to use any means necessary to stay up on a job.”

John dangled the drink from his hand for the man to take. “Information for information, what are you looking to stay awake for? Not much to do around here but sit around with a thumb up your arse from what I’ve seen.”

[newcastles]

bdrakerising​:

Bobby let out a slight groan at those words and ran a hand over his face. “Again, sorry about that.” He sat up straighter now he wasn’t trying to nap. 

He watched him for a few moments, trying to figure out where he had seen this guy before and when he mentioned the X-Men that made him raise an eyebrow. “I am a mutant and one of the former original X-Men. It’s called Cryokinesis but that’s just scratching the surface. Who are you?”

...

“Can’t say I kept up much with that roster. Too American." He had dated a mutant once, though. John strode into the room now, set to take a break, put his feet up, and let the tension against his temples and behind his eyes relax. The room wasn’t entirely warmed but the cool air was at least soothing. He could use a break, anyway.

“John Constantine, detective for all matters occult and demonic, but, as you say, that’s just scratching the surface. They tried out one of those little pseudonyms on me, the Hellblazer. Sounded tacky, little too on the nose.” Considering he’d watched one of the greatest mentors of his life go up in a blaze of hellfire because of his own mistake in research. The name felt more like an insult. “I could do a bit of cryomancy, but certainly not turn a room into the Arctic in my sleep.”

[newcastles]

bdrakerising​:

Bobby had been drifting off when John came into the room and exclaimed how cold it was. “Oh sorry I just…” Then he drew all the cold back to himself, the room warming up again. 

“Clearly, I do.” he sat up on the sofa he had been trying to nap on. “I honestly don’t notice it until someone points it out.” It had been happening more and more recently. “No icicles this time?” 

...

Constantine blinked, eyes relaxing from the golden magical glow he had been using before. They weren’t seeing any magical trails or lines from the man drawing the chill into his own body. Mutant or meta then, not a magi. Good, too many magical types in one place was just a call for trouble. Someone always wanted to start a cult. “Not for lack of trying. My shoes nearly froze to the floor just walking in here.”

He flicked his coat around his body, still warming up to the sudden shift in temperature. Ugh, magic eyes always gave him a headache. Maybe a cigarette would ease the tension. “You one of those X-Men then? Since it’s not magic or a portal to the realm of the undead freezing out my damn balls and I don’t remember anyone on the Justice League or Avengers parading around in a snowsuit.”

[newcastles]

relentlessperplexity​:

open starter!

Then. 

In the cold frigid months of 1943, Lieutenant Steve Trevor was assigned a seemingly inconsequential mission where he took off with several officers and was expected to land with none after the completion of a HALO jump. Their exact mission? Lieutenant Trevor knew better than to ask questions. Unfortunately, it is suspected no jump was ever completed - like so many others, all aboard disappeared without a trace, soon to be presumed dead. 

This is not the story of what happened to them. 

Now. 

Steve went from fast asleep to wide awake in no time at all, squinting at his - his eyes narrowed further - not his watch, learning that he had slept later than he ever had before (in any of his lives). A quick (but obviously not thorough) survey of his surroundings told him that he was not in the expected cell, but a bedroom. Strange. But he wasted no time on why, clambering out of bed and toward the door. Unlocked. Both surprised and appropriately suspicious, Steve unplugged the nearest lamp, removed the shade, and promptly stomped on the freed bulb after placing it beneath the muffled safety of a pillow. Shade returned, he hesitated only briefly before picking up the biggest shard of glass, too, tucking it under his sleeve. Two weapons. Good. Finally, he ran.

Some hours later.

The Mousehole was loud. In that pleasant, people going about their lives kinda way but also in a way that made his head pound and had him flinching away from the (color!) television anytime something exploded (or the sound simply spiked). Don’t get him wrong, Steve still couldn’t believe his luck - yes, he mostly understood that he had an unusual case of amnesia and that this meant he had not actually done anything revolutionary like time-travel or resurrect, he didn’t even have immortality like Miss Diana. But he was alive, the War over. How could he not count his blessings. 

(This is what he told himself, anyway, when he thought of the friends and family he left behind and all the concerns that he might never develop new memories. Because things, he knew, could be so much worse.) 

Still, it wasn’t long before Steve decided he needed a break and he sought it - just a quick detour to the kitchen where he was inevitably caught for the second time that day with an armful of food.  He smiled, his most charming grin. “You only live -” Well, no, apparently that wasn’t true. For him anyway. And so he shrugged, just catching a wayward bag. “I might not remember to try them tomorrow.” Which really would be unfortunate.

Constantine stood, sleepy, cigarette dangling from his lips, burning more than being actively smoked. When did magic start feeling so exhausting? Rhetorical question. He had an answer. Either way, he could do with a full English. Unfortunately, he hadn’t timed his rising with whoever was here making food. So he’d be on his own. Really, he should try and improve his cooking beyond university student fare, but he wasn’t looking to start that experience today.

He pulled the cigarette from his mouth to keep from dropping it when the man rounded the pantry door with an armful of the very snacks John sought. Quite the specimen to be eating salt covered carbs and fats. “Ever heard of a diary? Might help you keep from going into a coma from all the processed sugars at once. Make a note to try them bits at a time. But who am I to judge? I was coming in for the same thing.” Constantine flashed a relaxed smile, reaching out to pluck the same bag barely dangling in the strangers arms. “These are all the European brands, though, wait till you try the same thing in America. Tastes totally different, they jam them full of who knows what.” 

[newcastles]

annatazarctaz​:

“Oh?” Zatanna arched a brow and wiggled her fingers in the air, sending her spoon into the pot of honey on her tea tray for a sizable dollop of viscous sweetener. “Is cyber possession a thing? I didn’t know there was a threat of a demonic computer virus; they only tell you about the phishing scams and fake foreign princes.” There was a time when Zatanna had been intrigued by dark magic. It was something all young magicians went through; the mystique of the forbidden was tempting to teenagers of all species. There was nothing quite like watching her only family die in a burst of flames to temper any curiosity in John’s specialty. It was, however, a necessary evil in their line of work. 

“I do know you,” she drizzled honey into her tea and then swirled her spoon in slow circles until it dissolved, “so I know that you aren’t prone to staying anywhere for a while.” They were alike in that way. She was a drifter, too; that was probably why they always drifted back together despite all logic screaming they were far better off apart. “So, I suppose  that means I’ll have to make the most of your Sokovian vacation while you’re here.” She paused and chewed on the inside of her cheek, “Wanda is a good person. She needs help…I need your help. I haven’t felt magic like that in a long time.” 

“Well, never know if your foreign prince looking for a quick cash out is actually a demon needing a little snack or two. Not to mention the number of rich arseholes who can hack an email and summon demons thinking they can make a deal for renown and even more fortune. Not entirely convinced that Musk character isn’t a lesser demon in a bad skin suit.” John didn’t have a problem staying in one place, per say. It was just that if he spent enough time in any one spot long enough, something horrible happened. And old Constantine could face a lot of pain, literal and emotional, but that didn’t mean he liked it.

He wondered how many phases of John Constantine that Zatanna had really met. If he would even be able to look at his cocky swagger, all façade for wanting to be impressive to a famous magician and his beautiful daughter. Now that swagger was about covering up how he was two steps away from having no idea what he was doing next. He watched her pick up that delicate tea cup. “I didn’t come to hurt anyone, love. Promise you that much at least, for all the good my word is worth. Saving people from demons is part of the one thing I almost get right most of the time and between your skills and mine, we might just be able to do something worthwhile. If you’ll trust me to do it.”

Heavy words, considering everything between them. Trust. Sure, they’d fall in bed over and over and he’d worship Zatanna. But working with him? Well, he took his tea black and she’d practically made herself a cup of herbal honey. It was some kind of fancy metaphor for their styles.

[newcastles]

wondxrwoman​:

Well. When she’d been alerted that a mysterious door had appeared out of nowhere, Diana had been justifiably concerned. But after seeing the door itself—well. That concern had changed into something far less urgent, though flirting with a headache. Diana resisted the urge to rub her temples where she stood in the main kitchen’s doorway, and settled for crossing her arms instead. “If I tell you, that defeats the purpose of your search,” she replied, stepping into the space. “Hello, John. I don’t remember you telling me you’d be coming by?” Though, with Zatanna in the area, and after everything with Wanda, it really had just been a matter of time. 

“Diana! My favorite princess of the Amazons. No I kept it hushed, telling you might spoil the surprise for Zee. You know how she gets when she knows I’m coming. No knowing if she’s going to hex me or want my help.” He wasn’t quite as drunk as he’d like to be to mingle with Diana. She was goodness personified, owning her own power and capacity for mercy without hesitation, and her confidence in her decisions when mercy was not appropriate. Constantine held a secret fear in his heart that she would see through him and deem him unworthy one day. Take that shiny lasso and drag him through the streets for crimes she had no knowledge of. It set him on edge around her.

“Besides, you won’t believe how far behind I am on my emails. Just now seeing you lot broke up the old Super Pals League. Thought I’d come see what your counter alliance was all about.” Yes, there was the whiskey. Practically empty, but he did find it.

[newcastles]

@riseofthewitch​

“So this is the famous Scarlet Witch I’ve heard so much about. Quite the little place you’ve made here. No small feat, creating all this. And quite the mess I hear about, not just from Zee. You let quite the famous beast out of a hell plane and into your little head. All the chatter among the lesser demons.” John swept around the room, inspecting the construction, eyes trained on hints of spellwork and magic. An unlit cigarette sat between his fingers. All his bluster was usually a mask for buying time. Stalling while his mind processed what he was seeing. Powerful magic, tapping right into a source. No wonder Zatanna was worried. This wasn’t just some magic artifact infecting someone’s mind that could be severed. Wanda herself was one of those few who had the kind of power that made nations tremble.

“Call me Constantine. For our purposes, one of the foremost experts on demons currently living. But if it tickles your fancy, I could always commune with someone who knows more but is dead.”

[newcastles]

@nomadcaptain​

“Oh no need for that look, Stars and Stripes. I’m being quite considerate, I think, dropping in to let you know I’ve parked my house here for a while. Better than I did in America, didn’t even give the government a note to let them know I’d hopped the pond. Evaded taxes for years. I assume you don’t charge a rental fee, considering the circumstances.” John leaned back in the office chair, propping his ankle up on his opposite knee and smoothing down his loose tie. “Better option than the bloody Sorcerer Supreme, at least. Zee told me that option was floating around. More likable too, I’m a real charmer.”

His office was clean, crisp. Very military sensibilities in the decoration. Not so much in the papers everywhere. Constantine could perhaps have done him the favor of not sitting in Steve’s chair to introduce himself, but he wasn’t really that much of a charmer.