occultsleuth @occultsleuth - Tumblr Blog

ind. VERTIGO rp blog for JOHN CONSTANTINE ( est. 2018, reboot. 2020 )

didnt realize how much time has passed since i was last here but honestly i just cannot be here while i get through this semester so im going on a temp hiatus

#( OOC. )#jsut grad school things #i have so much fucking writing and research its unending #only 2 months left and it still got me considering dropping out #its fine tho- anyway see u after august : )

john's birthday landing on mother's day he really is always going thru it

#( OOC. )#one day he will have a nice birthday that doesnt end in trauma... i believe #mother's day /

blackvelvetofnight

you're just mad that my presence is haunting and offputting and yours isn't

Something was hunting vampires which hadn't really struck Lestat as a problem until Antoinette had gone missing. He didn't consider himself part of the vampire community much anymore. They had little in common besides the need for blood and in his experience, other vampires could be territorial. That was fine, too, because New York city was huge, but Lestat mostly kept to himself and the few fellows he kept close for companionship and pleasure.

He enjoyed mortals, too, and most of the time he was responsible in not dropping bodies or leaving a trail. He was discreet. Younger vampires had read to much young adult fiction, and the older ones were so detached from humanity, there was no point in trying to carry on a conversation. That was one of the reasons he had turned Antoinette in the first place. Sure, he'd been bored and yes, she was good in bed, but frankly the idea of forever stretching out before him as a solitary existence was terrifying.

And now she was gone. She was a capable vampire because he'd taught her to be, though the weeks since she'd last checked in probably wouldn't have bothered him so much if it wasn't part of a pattern. Other vampires had gone missing, too. And there was a new drug on the scene, causing quite a stir. Half a dozen vampires and then Antoinette. Who could he go to? The cops? Human cops? No. And no one else seemed to be taking the whole thing seriously, which didn't inspire confidence.

But then, he'd heard a rumor from a friend of a friend, someone immersed in the occult scene, which was only tangentially adjacent to the vampire one but still a better lead than he'd had otherwise. John Constantine. Perhaps he could help, if he felt so inclined. Lestat could pay, or trade or however it was one went about employing this man. Lighting his third cigarette since arriving, he'd been told about a spot Constantine frequented, and gotten there himself some time early.

He sat there, drinking and smoking and waiting for this useful stranger to arrive, if he ever did at all. Of all his vampiric gifts, the mind reading would come in handy there. All he had to do was watch the door and give a little psychic poke to whoever walked in. If it worked, great. If it didn't, even better. Perhaps John had some great powers of his own, but Lestat would have to wait to find out.

starter for @occultsleuth

occultsleuth

WHEN JOHN CONSTANTINE FEELS NEW YORK CITY calling him, he doesn't question it—he never does, really. this city holds all the pull of a distant lover beckoning him for another taste - and who is john, without guilty pleasure?

from his flight to arrival, a magnetic pulse guides him across laylines laid out beneath the concrete jungle like london's reincarnation. it's a beautiful day, too; his leisurely stroll takes him through the park, past ladies with mango carts and youthful street performers, lets him enjoy a shitty hotdog with his trench coat hanging over his arm, and only by the time the sun starts setting does the spell of new york city spring loosen it's grip on him. the chatter of multi-lingual neighborhoods falls behind him, bright colors slipping away into the alleyways to make room for the night. and as darkness cloaks the sleepless skyline, he pulls himself inside the comfort of his trenchcoat once more and slinks forward where intuition guides him. the streetlights, blinking awake one by one, follow after as if trying to catch his shadow along the way.

it's either by desire or coincidence that john finally arrives at a definite destination: blarney stone's. this irish pub, with it's familiar green awning, sits on the cornerstone of nostalgia and welcomes him with all the fondness of an old photograph. he wonders how long it's been since he'd last been here for a pint, recalling blurry moments from over a decade ago, filled with faces long gone. his mind begins to swim in memories as he opens the door, ready to indulge the old good times, but the second his foot crosses the threshold, his mind is hit with a psychic pulse that leaves everything else in his mind rippling away like a drop in a pond. and while it's not a feeling he necessarily appreciates, it's undeniable that - whoever ( or whatever ) has called john constantine to new york city - is in this pub tonight.

with practiced ease, john moves to the counter to order a drink. he inconspicuously brings his pint to an empty table in the back and takes a seat.

#sanguisprince #sorry it took so long i couldnt rly make this reply sound as good im still warming up again-

started more replies today, they're drafted

#( OOC. )#slow bcz i need rest from the semester and ill have to be back on the grind in like a week

classicfilmblr

To Have and Have Not (1944) dir. Howard Hawks

#( MUSINGS. )

❛ don’t tell me you’re afraid of the dark. ❜

INBOX * @divineviclinist

THERE IS NO SOUND except the faint hiss of flame rising from john constantine's lighter. it flickers like a beacon among the thick midnight fog he'd previously been cloaked in. the halo of its glow stretches over the curve of his shoulder, connecting a harsh line of light outlining the profile of his face just as his footsteps slow to a leisurely stop.

no one else is here in this abandoned park - sometimes. except for the voices that seem to fade in passing. no bodies attached to them; simply air through the trees.

john angles his head, one visible eye glinting in knowing. he's hardly afraid of the dark, just always sickly curious about what's in it.

"can't a man see proper who's bumpin' 'im in the night? i've no luck with blind dates. 'least, not sober."

#divineviclinist #didnt know what kind of relationship u wanted so i left it vague #( INBOX. )

i know i havent been here but ill be done with finals after next week

#( OOC. )

eviefyres

PRE - ESTABLISHED RELATIONSHIP MEME .

send a ♡ and i’ll fill this out for our muses ! i’ll bold what i want for their relationship, italic what i could see and strike out what i don’t .

FRIENDS. childhood friends / work friends / family friends / recently friends / turning antagonistic / turning into something romantic / stable / falling apart / friendship of need / friendship of circumstance pen - pals or internet friends / coworkers / partners / other .

ROMANCE. childhood sweethearts / newly entered / soulmates / skinny love / unrequited from my muses side / unrequited from your muses side / friends with benefits / awkward / fading / turning toxic / toxic and destructive / other .

FAMILIAL BOND. sibling bond / older sibling figure to your muse / younger sibling figure to your muse / parental figure to your muse / parental figure to your muse / guardian figure / legal guardian / other .

ENEMIES. dangerous to themselves / dangerous to others / unpredictable / passionate / rivals / petty / developing into a sexual tension / developing into a romantic tension / based off family matters / based of circumstance / based of professional matters / based of misunderstandings or lies / other .

#( MEMES. )

i got a lot of vampire followers this past week!! and idk if any of you know anything about john irt to that so im gonna make a speed-run post about his relationship with them-

in hellblazer, there's a character known as the 'king of vampires' that has been around since the existance of the first human. he's traveled across worlds (having encourntered johns ancestors every now and then) and set up deep underground in the earth pits gathering allies/servants and essentially is the leader of vampires and other monsters and creatures until resurface. he hears of john, who has managed to defeat the first of the fallen (aka lucifer, and the second and third of the fallen) on his own when they tried to claim his soul, which put him on the map as one of the most powerful men.

naturally, this puts a big target on his back.

anyway the king of vampires wants to recruit him and turn him into a vampire to invite him into his court with status but john declines because he likes being human even if its a major cause of his suffering.

the king of vampires leaves him alone after he declined but comes back a year later and murderes his friend in retaliation then lunges for his neck. unbeknownst to him, john has demon blood mixed with his own, and as soon as he bit into his neck his face started getting eaten away. while weakened by this, john dragged him into the sunlight until he combusted into flames.

it doesn't matter to me if you want to make this pre-established knowledge/overheard rumor (and if you do, how your characters percieve that vampire guy), though i do think it makes things more seamless, to know or know of (as well as john).

my vampire knowledge of other media is limited, but different vampires having different circles doesn't seem far-fetched. it was never explained how this vampire character traveled to different worlds, its kind of implied that earth wasnt his first, but thats just the kind of inexplainable that happens in hellblazer. if youre big on timeline things, this happens in the early 90s so john is in his late 30s

i didnt want to spam the dash with excessive info that might be irrelevant so if you want to know more please feel free to hmu! : )

#what do i tag this as #( FAQ. )#also it has been a busy weekend for me but i will try to be useful soon

have you experienced any om̶̄en̷͋͛͝ͅs?

#comics rp #vertigo rp #horror rp #supernatural rp #occult rp #vampire rp #detective rp #( SELF PROMO. )

davisbette

Hollow Triumph — dir. Steve Sekely (1948)

#( AESTHETIC. )

arcticrime

continued from here

the call does not come the next day. nor the day after, or the day after that. when the call does come, one evening a little over a week later, it’s not from him. at least, not directly. the voice on the line is light and flat, accompanied by the tinny whistle of vehicles passing. boss wants to see you, it says, and provides @occultsleuth a time and a cross-street, before hanging up. when john arrives, there’s a town car idling at the corner, a woman with a long braid of red hair piled atop her head behind the wheel. another woman, her head shaved smooth, lounges in the backseat.

the car heads over the bridge, out of the city proper and onto narrow winding avenues lined with tall shrubs and branching trees that shelter the stately homes set behind them. eventually, it turns onto an unmarked lane near overgrown in places by the foliage, before cresting a gentle slope. the sharp peaked roof of an enormous house rises abruptly in front of them, the rest of it taking shape as they descend downward toward a circular gravel drive. the sun having set, the world is subsumed in lengthening blue shadow, and apart from the warm orange glow falling through a wide latticed window on the ground floor, the house is dark. when lark cuts the engine, the silence is so expansive it feels like a living thing. only the faint ticking of the car cooling and the trill of some nighttime bird dare intrude on it.

inside, the entrance hall is dim, lit by the edge of that same red-orange light as it pours through an open doorway. raven leads them through it, lark following close behind john’s shoulder. down the hallway, the stockinged leg of a maid disappears behind another door.

the light, as it happens, is being thrown from the fire blazing in a massive stone fireplace. it is near sufficient to illuminate the entire room, which appears to be a sort of study. over the fireplace, in a heavy mahogany frame, hangs an imitation of paolo uccello’s hunt in the forest. a pair of low, upholstered armchairs are set before it, though both are empty at present.

oswald is pacing in front of the fire, the jagged rhythm of his stride tempered somewhat by the iron poker in his hand, which he jabs into the wooden floorboards with each step. he’s facing away when they arrive, the slope of his shoulders hunched up, though he turns around when raven clears her throat. there’s an odd shininess to his face, as if of sweat, and a visible tension shadowing his jaw. with a nod and a wave of his hand, he dismisses the two women, who melt away out of sight.

❛ so, ❜ he advances on john, the tip of the poker striking the floor with a dull tap as he does so. ❛ a ‘petty dabbler,’ was it? ❜ in his other hand is a cigarette, burned down almost to the filter. he brings it to his lips. ❛ such humility. ❜ it isn’t a compliment. oswald swings away again to pace back toward the wall of bookshelves opposite. ❛ i think you undersell yourself. when last we spoke, you seemed quite confident you knew something about my painting. ❜ reaching the apex, he turns again. stops, to stare john dead in the eyes. ❛ i’d like you to tell me what it is you know. all of it. ❜

occultsleuth

FOR A MAN THAT DOES NOT KEEP TRACK OF THE DAYS AS MUCH AS HE STUMBLES INTO THEM, he hardly notices how long it takes for oswald to return his call. as long as there is a laughing magician, the wheel of coincidence will turn—happening always comes, eventually. so john arrives at the unidentified location, slides into the towncar, and lets little miss redhead escort him wherever outside of the city it is that they need to go.

it's a rather quiet ride on their drive to the estate. john lounges in the back with madame cueball, slouched comfortable into interior black leather, his eyes to the window. he makes note of the streets leading away from the skyline, england's influence leaves remnants of it's shadow in every winding curve of cobblestone roads, every tower manor, and collective shrubberies along the way. it will never be his precious london, but the lingering of her gloom pacifies his comfort like the passing scent of a lover's perfume.

when the car pulls into the driveway, john blends into the darkness seamlessly, as if he were woven from it. his steady footsteps click against the floor and echo in the empty space of the hallway like the second hand of a clock counting down to it's final hours. just this through the in-between of nothing but midnight blue, a maid's vanishing leg, and the orange pulsing glow of this residence's shallow life flickering in the distance.

john's footsteps slow and stop altogether when he finally crosses the threshold to the study. then there is silence. oswald, too—slick and shiny and constipated like a newborn bird ready to be kicked out of the nest. he grins at the idea of oswald burning in the fireplace behind him, swallowed up by the flames and feasted on by demons taking back the rewards of a man's greed... but the sickness of that grin is overshadowed by the contrast of the flames light—making john appear, at most, overly saccharine.

"o', ozzy," john drawls, cocking his just head a fraction as he gestures openly.

"surely, you'll at least 'ave us for dinner first?"

#arcticrime #hi : )

is it time.

#( OOC. )#this might have been the longest ive been away #but the slide back down still comes #curse of man

TRICK OR TREAT!!!

john sighs, tired blue eyes dragging down to the snot-nosed brat in front of him that, for whatever reason, thinks that a sketchy looking guy in the trench coat has candy of all things sitting in his pockets.

don't they make low-budget psa videos in school about this shite?

"you're about a fortnight too early for goin' around askin' strangers for treats, and i reckon y' won't quite like me tricks either, so best y' get on."

#( INBOX. )

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