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@pcttydabblcr
Indie Multimuse - OC and Canon - Semi-Selective - Private 15+ years experience - Written by Magpie Includes canon muses from;; Stranger Things, BBC Sherlock, BBC Ghosts, Marvel, The Owl House, Star Wars, Gravity Falls, Steven Universe and more!! And oc muses with the following themes;; Fantasy, superheroes, gods, aliens - also includes ocs based on Homestuck, The Owl House, Invader Zim and Sanders Sides!!
+ [MUSE LIST] - [RULES/ABOUT] - [NAVI] - [ASK] +
Gotta Stop Meeting Like This:
brooklynislandgirl:
“…’Course it is. If I no ‘t’ink highly of m’self’….who will?”
She lets him take that point as a victory because she doesn’t have the wherewithal to argue, but as far as she knew, she was that nice. She has to be, there’s not much choice otherwise. But he doesn’t need to know that, and she almost likes that he thinks she’s got a touch of fey about her, that she glitters with a danger she can’t make good on the threat of. Only there’s no promises between them, no strings that can be pulled later, the kind that rip out of you and leave gaping and bloody wounds that you can never heal. And for as long as she’s allowed, she’ll take John and run like she stole him.
“One of dese days mebbe ya realise dat maybe I do wan’ trouble. An’ ya da perfec’ kine f’it.” The words are shockingly honest. And it pulls back her curtain a little, exposing her innate sense of trust…of belief...in him. She doesn’t think he’d save her, and she doesn’t need him to, but there’s something about him that she can’t get out from under her skin.
But when he shuts her down, she can’t help but laugh, the kind that flushes her cheeks and scrunches her nose. “Abandon hope,” she tells him, quoting Dante Alighieri's ‘Inferno’. “I happen very much like sassin’ ya. Someone’s goddah keep ya in check.”
There’s a subtle shift in the undercurrent though, and for a moment she uncoils from where she’s curled up on him. She pins his hips with her knees, settles her hands on his shoulders. Her gaze flickered from the stubborn depths of his eyes down to his mouth, lingers there before trekking back. Then she leans in close, and whispers in his ear. “Mebbe. Why, where would dat get me?”
She decides to up the stakes, see if it makes him in any way uncomfortable, but she’s already got an exit strategy tucked away. She knows John’s fire and she’s not sure she actually wants to burn, even if she’s drawn.
❝-- S'pose y' right, s' always a good idea t' believe in y'self, god knows no other fucker will.❞
The words are spoken in a tone bordering on sardonic and amused. John Constantine knows there's a God, that Angels exist as does hell but he also knows they're all about as reliable as a paper umbrella in a rainstorm. Their belief in Humans lasts as long as their useful for Heaven's grand plan and once that is up, that's it. He doesn't doubt Beth's belief in herself, she's more confident than most of those he surrounds himself with but he also thinks her belief in higher powers is a weakness. There's no convincing her of that though, he knows already that it would be a fruitless endeavor, she's far too full of hope and faith in those things for someone like him to waver it.
❝-- I think y' half mad sweet'art but if you're intendin' on stickin' around, I ain't gonna keep fightin' you on it.❞
Even he knows when he's fighting a losing battle and she's clearly not going anywhere. It's a real surprise to him considering just how much she'd seen, how she'd momentarily withdrawn when she caught a glimpse of the kind of trouble he's in. Maybe she's just intent on saving his damned soul and if that's the case, he wishes her all the luck in the world to her for that one, she'll need it.
He's about to remark on her 'keeping him in check' when she suddenly moves position to straddle him, it's enough to silence the mage before he can offer any snark in kind and that is a feat all of its own. This isn't something he expects of Beth despite her comfort with invading his space but there's no denying the spike of arousal that sends a shiver down his spine when she leans in to whisper in his ear, it's enough to have his breath catch in his throat - if only for a moment.
❝-- Now that depends on what y' want, doesn't it?❞
John responds in a low mumble, his head bowing forward so that his breath is ghosting ever so slightly over the curve where neck meets shoulder, lips almost brushing against her skin. If this is just a game then he wants to know, he's happy to play with her as long as he knows the rules but if she expects MORE from him than that then he'll have to refuse. He can't give her anything more serious and he's not going to pretend otherwise, it's not worth losing her as a friend.
firestorm-heroes:
“what the fuck are you doing? What the actual fuck!” She cried, still pulling on him to force him further away from the body as she floated back.
“it’s a fucking zombie! It might fucking… Eat our brains or something! I swear to God, if you just started the Apocalypse, I’m throwing you to the wolves and won’t feel bad about it for a second!”
People were always so quick to dismiss him when he tried to explain magic but those very same people would then berate him or fear him for providing proof, he just couldn't win. Letting her pull him back he finally turned to look her in the eye.
❝-- Candle has gone out luv, means it's dead again. Waste of my supplies but I think I proved my point well enough. I ain't just some con man, I'm here t' do serious business. Now, y' gonna let me get back t' work so we can get outta here? Feels like I owe you a drink after all that.❞
He supposed that was the least he could do after scaring her half to death, plus it gave him an excuse to go get a drink himself - not that he really needed one.
Gotta Stop Meeting Like This:
brooklynislandgirl:
She hits dead-on, or so she thinks when his breath comes as a sharp retort, and she can see that she wasn’t as easily led as he might have hoped. But then, she wonders, why should she cave for John so quickly? If he wanted a sychopant there were dozens he could find in certain circles, and she thinks of herself better than that. And they shove at each other like mountains and clouds, neither giving ground, neither ultimately put into the place the other would prefer. It suits him, that stubbornness, and it will break her heart in the future, when the light he carries inside is snuffed out once and for all by his own self doubt. Her lashes lower until they are half-lidded and she searches the depths of his own and even she doesn’t know what it is she’s looking for.
It distracts her from the way his mouth moves, the sarcasm drawling his so-very-English-and-steel-wool voice.
“How ya know, I no am a favour from da universe? An’ how, John, would ya advise me be not nice? No have a single mean bone in m'body. I know. I looked.”
She grins at this cat-and-mouse game of theirs. Something about the man got under her skin and soaked deep in her flesh. It was as irresistible as it was dangerous and maybe that was what John meant. Seeing how close she could come to fire without being immolated by it.
If only she could guess at his thoughts, she’d mount a counter-argument that God was here, that He moved through people like John and Beth because to do otherwise would destroy the very creation he’s created. But the darkness she’s staring into doesn’t give up its secrets casually.
Slowly, the tip of her tongue glides over her lower lip as she considers answering his next round of questions. There’s a faint shade of pink that brims along her cheeks, her nose and brings to the forefront a constellation of little, pale freckles darker than her already tawny skin.
“Mebbe. Mebbe I jus’ like messin’ wi’ ya.” She laughs softly, plays with the words more than the man. “Define…trouble? An’ I nevah met an idea I no like.”
Silk strands curl around his finger as obedient as he pleases and a brow rises at the gesture, but what she feels is the slackening of the previous tension. Anxiety flowing out of his body and into the world, a sense of peace if only for a little while, taking up position in the emptying places.
“Oh no. Wha'evah am I gonna do?” If she hadn’t offered, the intrustion might have been unwanted, but again, if she hadn’t wanted John’s company, he would never have found her in the first place. She was also very good at hiding. “Naw, haole. Ya nevah see me try an’ handle ya. B'lieve me, we would no still be talkin’ story.”
John's gaze meets hers and for a moment he halts, wondering just what she's looking for, whether there's something she's seeing in him that he gave her no permission to view. It's that thought that has him looking away, looking downward before letting his eyelids fall closed altogether. Eyes are the window to the soul afterall and he doesn't wish for her to look at something so DAMNED, best not to take that chance. It isn't until she speaks again that he finally peers an eye open to regard her, one brow quirked in a slightly amused expression. The universe had done him no favours before, it wasn't like to start there and then.
But he doesn't say that. Instead a smirk spreads across his face before he makes his remark.
❝That's thinkin' a bit highly of y'self ain't it? -- Anyway, I 'm sure you could be mean if you really wanted to, y' just haven't been given the chance yet. No one is 100% nice.❞
As sweet as she may be, he knows all too well that even the nicest people had their limits and she was no different. No saint. Hell, even some of them were real pieces of work. She was a troublemaker at heart, he could see it in her eyes, that playful and almost childishly mischievous spark.
She is trouble, though not the sort he's warning about. She's the sort of trouble that will earns a smile, the sort that is lighthearted. - The good kind. It;s something he rarely gets to experience because most women like her, the troublemakers, expect too much from him. Attatchment, LOVE, safety. None of which he can or will provide She seems to expect nothing and that just makes easier for him to find fondness for her.
❝-- I get the feelin' y' do, y' really like messin' with me 'cause you ARE trouble. -- But I meant real dangerous trouble, sweetheart. The sort you don't want t' get caught up in.❞
His fingers curl through her hair idly, barely focused on what he's doing or the connotations such tender things often carry. It's a rare show of comfort. In fact, allowing her this close in the first place is a rare show of trust that few are given.
❝Y'gonna stop sassin' me, that's what.❞
Though not really, he's here as much for her snark as he is for her honesty, healing and companionship/ Only one of those is something he'll admit to if asked but he is Human, however much he tries to pretend otherwise,
❝-- Oh right. And how exactly would you handle me then sweetheart? Lots of battin' y' lashes and expectin' that t' get y' somewhere?❞
firestorm-heroes:
The sound Layla made would be very hard to reproduce if she tried, leaping up into the air before reaching out to yank him back away from the hole.
“What the fuck?! Fucking zombie?! Kill it! Again! Headshot! Something!” It’s like her fear of the cemetery in the first place finally happened and she had to deal with that fear and this asshole.
Laughing HEARTILY at her response, John clearly felt entirely satisfied by her reaction considering her lack of belief moments before. It was one thing to deal with pyromancers - which wasn't what he was at all - and something else entirely to deal with the dead. Of course he had no intention of causing harm and as soon as the flame extinguished, the corpse fell still once again.
❝-- No need t' get y'self so worked up, just provin' a point. Don't need you insultin' the dead by tryin' to kill them again.❞
Granted some would see it as an insult that he was digging up graves at all but it was necessary, so he had little concern for what the dead would think of his endeavors.
firestorm-heroes:
“oh, now we’re getting angels into this? Okay. Come on. We’re definitely making a stop at the hospital on the way in.” Layla pulled out a pair of handcuffs, brightly colored fuzzy handcuffs. “Let’s go ”
❝-- Been there an' done my time in an asylum luv, didn't really work for me 'cause my demons are more the literal sort.❞
Taking a step back, careful not to fall straight into the grave, he pulled his lighter from his pocket alongside one of the MANY trinkets he had on him. He'd really not thought he'd be wasting it on proving to some stranger that he wasn't insane but needs must. Lighting it, he dropped it into the grave and it only took a few moments for the corpse to show some signs of life - or, well, the closest thing to it considering the individual was long dead.
❝-- How about that? Clearly I'm just a madman, right?❞
Gotta Stop Meeting Like This:
brooklynislandgirl:
She makes a little face at him in light of his joke, neither offended nor surprised. Not really. Had she more of an ego, then there would be an issue, but fortunately, it all had been poured into her brother first, leaving very little by the time she was made. It didn’t hurt either that his lips curved in the shadow of a couple days worth of beard growth. She’s grown adept at looking for the little things about him, trying to piece John together like a jig-saw puzzle, in the dark, with a hand tied behind her back. She enjoys the challenge or she wouldn’t keep letting him in. Someday it’s all going to backfire, but someday isn’t now, and now is all she’s really concerned about. “An’ how much of ya come back when ya do?” It’s a serious question and there’s concern shimmering in the depths of her gaze. “Mebbe…mebbe is why we keep running in for each other. Mebbe ya need help an’ ya know da Universe. She stubborn, more'n both of us.” There comes a slight mocking tilt to the very corner of her mouth as if a smirk can’t decide whether it wants to sneak into existence, like Beth knows a secret she’s not telling. “Fire happens to be a play thing f'me, John. Didn’ ya know…all Hawaiians born from fire and sea, salt an’ air.” Now she’s deliberately discounting him, if only because there’s a fissure in her self-confidence, a tiny doubt that creeps in the longer he talks. But still, she hasn’t backed down yet, so she isn’t going to start now. Much as she didn’t want to, maybe she’s starting to care about John. Someone had to be on his side, because he certainly wasn’t. Her lashes drift shut as they curl up together in the chair, listens to his breath rise and fall in his chest, and she half smiles. Half purrs the answer. Because maybe she needs this too.
“Mm, ’s'at wha’ ya t'ink ya doin’? Handlin’ me? Kinda poor job, den, wen ya keep pushin’ away. But I forgive ya.”
Catching a glance of the face she pulls at his joke, he huffs a half-heartedly amused breath, though he's almost disappointed she didn't retort as that would've offered him ample space to change the direction of their conversation. HELP never worked for him, he'd learned from a pretty young age that the only person that could help him was himself, other people could lend a little hand here and there but he held his own fate in his hands. Her want to save him is probably just as ingrained in her as his self-destructive tendencies are in him. Unstoppable force meeting immovable object. It's likely it will lead nowhere good, if anywhere at all but perhaps it's just the pessimist in him that believes that. With everything he has seen, all the things he knows, there's very little room for true hope. Clinging to a precipice is as good as things get for him most days - always teetering just over that void.
❝-- I'm doin' well enough and as for the universe? Well, she ain't done me any favors, sweet'art, don't expect her t' start now. I think it's you that's the stubborn one in all this. Too nice for y' own good.❞
John doesn't blame the universe, it's a vast empty void that has no real way of dictating their lives but he certainly has a bone to pick with the guy who created it all. If he was so JUST and all powerful then why was he not here doing something? God helps those who help themselves, what a joke, seems to John that even the big guy needed a cop out for when he stopped caring enough to do anything.
❝-- That your way of callin' me your plaything, since y' said I'm a wildfire? Want t' be careful with ideas like that, you'll get y'self in trouble.❞
He's teasing, trying to brush off any of the previous conversation just as he does with most that deal with his FATE. It's not that he's accepted it, he'll fight tooth and nail to avoid hell but talking about it isn't going to do any good, it's not as though it's some menial relationship problem or anything of that nature that'll just be fixed with a nice chat. It's better to put them out of mind, then he can allow himself those small moments of happiness without them being overshadowed by his own mortality.
Fingers idly begin to toy with her hair as he too allows himself respite, letting all the anxious tension in his body go for just that fleeting moment. - The world isn't likely to end just because he wants an hour of rest, sometimes he has to remind himself of that fact.
❝-- Well even with that, y' still stuck right here with me aren't ya? So I'd call that a success in my book. Handlin' done right.❞
firestorm-heroes:
“No. You’re not doing anything else. You’re going to come with me because you’re trespassing along with disturbing a grave illegally.”
❝-- For fuck sake...❞
Huffing out a breath, he'd decidedly lost his patience with the nonsense back and forth they'd been going through. It wasn't as though he couldn't escape jail but getting booked in the first place was more of a hassle than he'd like to deal with. Throwing a glance upward, though not truly expecting anything, he decided to try his chances.
❝-- If a certain ANGEL would do me a favor, y'know, maybe come tell this woman that I'm not a nutjob, that'd be great!❞
And of course there was nothing. Bloody typical of Angels, never actually there when they're needed.
Gotta Stop Meeting Like This:
brooklynislandgirl:
“No would lie, John.”
While she hadn’t intended to say more than she already has, her observations were there for the asking. She’s sure he knows himself better than she can ever hope to and a part of her isn’t sure that she does. Hope, that is. She has certainly never met anyone like him, but he wasn’t exactly the kind that would make an honest go of sticking around. He’s dandelion seeds on a whispering wind but he makes what he does look spectacular. When he moves on, she knows that a piece of her will go with him. She’ll never get it back. But that was the kind of price you paid for the honour of knowing the feel of fire in your hands.
“No. I’m sayin’ ya dangerous close for exhaustin’ yaself. An’ wha’ happens when ya fire burns down? Are ya gonna be glowin’ coals, willin’ for keep fighting? Or are ya gonna be ashes, a ghost of yaself, faded by wind? What I’m sayin is…I worry about you. And you didn’t ask me to, I know. I half suspect just hearing that makes you want to run to the hills.”
Somehow she gives him what he asks for in thought if not word, that fey and fickle way she has and she slips into almost perfectly passable English. His bitterness poisons her well and she filters it out with care, she knows what it tastes like and how to find traces of it no matter how carefully he hides it. Every muscle seens to tense under her though he lets it go moments later and accepts her there.
John isn’t wrong when he thinks she isn’t like him, isn’t equipped to fight his fight. She’s not. From her first breath she was meant to heal. To offer succor to those who had none of it for themselves. Her touch closed wounds and soothed the spirit. Her arts which could cut both ways, woe and weal, she dulled their edge herself and strayed on the gentler paths. Everyone made their sacrifices and she knows her own. But she doesn’t mind any more than a tree minds being a tree.
She thinks he’s close to sleep when he slits an eye and she can’t read the sharp planes and angles of his expression and there’s a hint of suprise in the slow smile. She almost tells him a secret in exchange for the low rumble tripping off his lips. But it’s not hers to tell. They’ll meet some day if they are suppose to.
She draws herself smaller still and lowers her cheek to his shoulder, allowing his arm to drape almost casually around her. He needs this, and she’ll give until he doesn’t, or until they find that personal line she doesn’t cross.
“Yeah, bu’ tell me, haole, wha’ in ya life no is?”
❝-- 'Course you wouldn't, saints never lie, right?❞
His sarcasm is painfully obvious but not vicious, it's likely the most lighthearted he's been all night, the slight curve of a smirk gracing his lips if only for a few seconds. It doesn't take long for him to return to the previous somber attitude though, expression falling back to neutral apathy so fast that it's hard to tell whether the smile was at all sincere in the first place. So much of him is a front, just an act to keep people away but none of that has deterred Beth. She's as stubborn as he is and he equally respects and HATES that. It'll almost certainly get her hurt or killed one day and she deserves better than that.
❝Wouldn't be the first time I've burnt out luv, gotta take a break sometime but s' not like the universe is givin' me much of a chance for that at the moment, so I'll do what I have to. --❞
There's a pause for a moment, gaze flitting to meet hers and brows slightly furrowed in thought. She's not wrong, it does make him want to turn tail, it'd be safer for both of them not to find attachment in one another because then he has nothing to lose and she won't be lost but he gets the feeling it's already too late for that. He cares, even if he doesn't want to. That alone means she'll be used against him.
❝-- Nah. I just think y' got a screw loose or somethin' for openin' yourself up to get burned like that but you're a big girl, make your own choices and all that. I've been honest about the trouble it'll bring ya', s'all I can do.❞
In fact, he's been more honest to her about the dangers of being at his side than he is with most people, which he's sure will make the guilt of her demise (which he's certain is inevitable) a little less biting. Few people in his life have survived long and those that did weren't anything like her, they were either lucky enough to be kept alive by him -such as Chas- or they were smart enough to bail when things got serious - like everyone else. With the fate of the world somewhat rested on his shoulders he can't afford to look after her, not without bringing her directly into the fray and that's not something he's willing to chance.
Huffing out a breath, he drops that line of thought in favor of just enjoying this rare little moment of peace he's found for himself. It's a taste of normality, something he'd excluded himself from long ago in favor of chasing the unimaginable but maybe it's not at all as boring as he'd once believed it to be. Not that he'll ever admit such a thing.
❝-- Guess y' right, maybe that's why I can handle you, eh?❞
firestorm-heroes:
“if he’s dead and then starts doing anything but staying dead, it’s a zombie.” Layla muttered. “You know it’s really hard to trust guys you meet in a cemetery.”
❝-- While I'd love t' stand here all night arguin' whether he'd be a zombie or not, I do have other things t' do.❞
He'd been in the presence of REAL zombies, the flesh eating kind that were only driven by their need to consume - waking the dead for a chat was a little different.
❝-- Look, y' gonna let me work or not? It'll take a couple of minutes and then you can let me get what I came here for.❞
Gotta Stop Meeting Like This:
brooklynislandgirl:
She has to wonder if there’s any part of him that doesn’t put on a shabby coat of cynicism, but the smile softens the impact even if it doesn’t stay. It wakes something deep down and for a moment, she has the ill sense to actually reach out and touch the lines that develop around his mouth. A mere brush, hardly there, before her fingers fall away, back to his knee where she pushes herself up and off the floor. Something’s changed, tonight, all of his smoke and mirrors less illusion than they have been before. It leaves a filmy residue of itself inside of her that she’ll examine later. His gaze is hooded as he catalogs her, shadows swimming deep in their depths, heavy and pensive and she can almost guess what kind of turn the thoughts have taken. And maybe as a sign of her own self, she can’t help but chum the waters a little, can she? She’s under no delusion that she can fix what’s broken, to clean what is impure. John is both sea and island, and neither of those things give up their dead easily. “Ya know. I can almos’ hear wha’ ya t'inkin’.”
Whether this is true or not, it’s hard to tell especially when she walks away from him, back to her kitchen. “Ya know wha’s fascinatin’ about wildfire, John? In order for burn, needs t'ree kine. Fuel.” She vaguely gestured at the bottles of alcohol. “Heat source….” A distinct pause before she looked him dead in the eye. “An’ oxygen.” The heat source was clearly the mercurial power that she could all but see shimmering in his veins, the dark and the need that drove him on his endless quest for…whatever he was looking for, whatever he was missing. But John didn’t take moments to breath. Didn’t fill his lungs. And that maybe what was wearing him down, eroding him to his basest elements. But she hasn’t his secrets, only his stories. Ones from his own mouth, cautionary tales where he paints himself the villain, so she can reorder them somehow, and find a way to show him that he’s not. Not really. She has watched him from afar, her presence hidden, and witnessed his work. She’s said nothing about it. Not her place. The sycophants, the lazy hangers-on, those sicken her. They soak him up like sponges, hoping something about him brushes off on them, but they don’t care. If not John, then someone else. Her own interest in him is primordial. Old as the universe and just as unknowable. She hasn’t told him everything and he hasn’t asked, and maybe those are the rules they’ve silently chosen to play by. Her task is not an easy one. It is not glamourous and it isn’t the kind that will take the world by storm and change it to meet her expectations of it. All in all, she’s fine with it. There were worse things in the world than John Constantine. She trades coffee for wine as he explains what he’d meant, and she drinks that down as she does take a small sip from the glass. It isn’t long before she’s padding back to him. Her knees brush his as she tucks herself into his side. Her feet tuck around his calves as she makes perch of his thigh. Head rests on his shoulder.
There’s other chairs. There’s a lot of space in her apartment. Enough to fit in a small house. She doesn’t look up at him, doesn’t say anything else, but her eyes trail to the tall windows that let night in light by light from the city. She breathes.
John makes no attempt to move away as her hands come up to his face, ghosting a trail over the lines of his smile before drawing back, he has grown used to her very hands-on approach to interaction - and admittedly he's a tactile person despite the stand-offish nature he's developed over the years. While usually he's good at reading people, he finds it difficult to read Beth sometimes, at other times she's an open book through expression alone but this is not one of those latter times. He can't quite tell what she's thinking, what ruminations might be going on beneath the surface.
Perhaps she's trying to figure him out just the same, trying to understand what's going on in his head. There's a raised brow from the Mage as she finally speaks, head tilting slightly in a curious manner. She might think she understands him, just as many before have but he's not a simple creature. Rather one of contradictions, hypocrisy and bent morals. Some days, usually the worse ones, even he struggles to understand himself.
❝-- That so?❞
He doesn't bother to ask as it's obvious to him that she has no intention of clarifying, were he in a better state then he might've followed her and insisted to know what she thought was going through his mind. Instead he remained seated, fingers drumming lightly against the arm of the chair.
❝-- If you're tryin' to imply somethin' with that, you've lost me, luv. That you arguin' against the idea that I'm a wildfire?❞
Clearly there's SOME point to be made from that but Beth is a woman of riddles and poetry, two things he's never been all too fond of and he doesn't quite have the focus necessary to sit there figuring out just what she's trying to say. Too drunk, too tired or just plain not interested perhaps but he'd rather her be blunt than dance around the point she's trying to make.
Though he'd never say so to Beth, she has many personality traits he'd usually avoid if given half a chance to do so. Peppy, filled with that HOPE for the world that he found annoying more often than not and incessantly cryptic more often than not. Thing is, that isn't all she is. She's not blind to the bad in the world, even if she's never looked in directly in the eye as he has and she's not cryptic when it truly matters, just when she's toying with him. She is a likeable woman, resourceful, useful and able to deal with him better than some of even his closer friends.
His gaze is only turned away for a moment as she approaches but it's soon sets back on her as she suddenly situates herself in his lap, looking ever so slightly surprised by this choice. The occasional brush of fingers against skin is one thing, this familiarity is something entirely different -- but it takes only a moment for his shoulders to relax, arm curling around her shoulders as though to keep her there.
For a long few minutes he too remains silent, his eyes closed, the slight rise and fall of his chest as he takes calm breaths are the only movement. Then his eyes flick open and he regards her, silently appreciating her presence in his life. He knows not to get attached, she'll die if he does because that's what always happens but it's human nature to want someone close - despite evolution they are tribe animals and companionship is practically a necessity.
❝-- You're a strange one, y'know that?❞
The words are spoken fondly, or about as fond as John can manage with his limited capacity for showing sincere emotion and with a small shake of his head, he lets himself lay back.
firestorm-heroes:
“speak?” Layla repeated,voice cracking slightly. “The dead guy. As in, make a zombie”
❝-- I wouldn't say ZOMBIE, he wouldn't be cravin' brains or wanderin' about the place. Just sayin' hello.❞
The dead guy probably wouldn't be happy to be ripped from the afterlife just to prove a point but John wasn't really one for caring about such things, he'd done it countless times before.
firestorm-heroes:
“look, I’ve seen pyrotechnics done before and my brother is pyrokenetic. So a little fire dazzle isn’t proof enough of the weird.”
❝-- Kids these days.❞
John mutters with a huff, shaking his head to himself. He could try calling Manny down but he'd bet the feathery bastard wouldn't bother helping him if he TRULY needed it, much less with something so trivial.
❝-- Okay. Okay. I can get the dead guy in the coffin down there t' speak t' you, will that work?❞
Gotta Stop Meeting Like This:
brooklynislandgirl:
It takes her a moment and then another to find her footing again, to shake off the shroud of rapture that had been falling over her at the tone his voice had taken. The irony here, then, is that the very frailty in her he sees was possibly the thing that protects her when all was said and done. While she is a capable practitioner of healing arts, a very seed of creation, and while certain spirits came to her call, she will never be the name whispered and cursed in the same breath. She will never be a Constantine. Whatever powers look after their lot, those have drawn the young woman in front of him into a cloistered existence, which is all for the best really. It frees up time for her to go about quietly in life, supporting those destined for greater things. And she doesn’t know when it happened, but she’s chosen John’s horse in the race.
She has to admit though that John in this moment is rather scruffy and far too cynical for the brightness of his thread. Were she like some, she could easily draw him into a web so easily woven because she can guess at his own weaknesses, and he might never have noticed. The problem with that is Beth isn’t that kind of person and though she couldn’t say why, she actually likes him, despite or perhaps because of his flaws. He is the autumn wind that winnows through her long grasses and sets them to trembling even if the sickle cannot be far behind him. As the harvest yields to the reaper so does Beth give into the temptation to worry about him. Not just his physical wounds which take their toll on his body more than he’d care to admit, but the ones that are more subtle and arcane, the ones on his psyche. The ones in his blood.
She makes a note to herself to keep a sample from him that she might study what exactly it was that she feels in him.
“An’ some kine,” a pointed look down her nose, a half wry purse of perfect lips, “more salt den wood for dat fi'yah.”
She teases him beause it is easier than weeping and if she dwells on the mystery that is John for too long that is exactly where she will find herself. And then he’ll find some kind of guilt ~not that she thinks he bothers with such pettiness in himself~ and it will become another excuse, another crutch. His cynicism is his own problem and she can only do so much to talk him down from his self built ledges.
“Well… got some awful news f'yah, John.” One hand comes to rest on each knee and she pulls herself up or closer or some combination of the two. Enough for him to feel the way vitality shimmers through her, golden sunlight through dusty panes of glass. Close enough to see that throb of her pulse along her neck, the way her eyes ebb and flow between their two hues, the way she smiles at him.
She reaches into his chest with greedy intuition flexing and clutching, answering things that never come to his lips and ignoring or at the very least side-stepping the ones he’s spoken aloud.
“All dis radiance an’ glory all kneel here before ya? Stuck wi’ me now.” Humour drops away from her teeth and her tongue when she actually catches what he says. Those soft hands tighten. Genuine confusion knits her brows and there’s something that finally tastes like fear.
“Why I wan ya for do dat?”
There's a soft huffed laugh at her remark, a sardonic smirk slipping onto his expression for a fleeting moment before something more solemn once again takes its place. She's got wit, that much he can grant and it seems she's developed a lot since they first met, that along brings him to question just who is training her and whether they're safe but it's not the time to be asking that. Not yet. She has her secrets just as he has his own and he won't let himself grow more attached, more concerned about her wellbeing if he can't help it.
But realistically he knows he can't help it, he was doomed the moment they met and she'd not run the other way, even more so now that she's lingering even after everything that's been said. One would think self preservation would kick in at some point, finally make her see sense and understand that time spent with him is akin to drinking from a poisoned well. Some die from just a sip, others enjoy those waters for longer but all perish before their time. It isn't his fault others are drawn to him, be it through some misguided hope of making him 'better' or simply just due to the mystery that surrounds him, no matter what he tries he seems to draw people in even while pushing them away. Beth is just another indulging herself with those waters, seeing what they may offer but he knows she'll end up poisoned too.
❝-- Some. Not me. I'm just a permanent wildfire, luv.❞
He remarks quietly, not elaborating on how such a statement reflects on him personally. One could interpret as his passion, his power or just the knowing fact that he chaotically consumes everything in his path. All would be correct.
John has no qualms with her sudden closeness, hands resting on his knees and eyes looking up at him with an expression he can't quite discern. Usually he understands people fairly well, everyone has something they are motivated by, something they want but he can't quite peg what Beth gains from keeping him around. She hasn't asked for his secrets, only stories that are so well known among magic communities that he has no real reason to hide them and she hasn't tried to join him on one of his outings in some hope of earning reputation or just for the excitement. -- She's a bit of a mystery and he hates that he enjoys solving such mysteries as that means he's stuck with her as much as the reverse is true.
The concern and confusion that crosses her face when he mentions leaving is surprising, usually she plays off such emotions with ease but clearly he's stuck a nerve. Perhaps she doesn't want to be alone any more than he does. It's just human nature, isn't it? To want a friend, the presence of another in your life.
❝-- I'm not sayin' I'm leavin', just that you could tell me t' sod off f' good if y' wanted rid of me. I ain't exactly the safest nor best company to be keepin', figured you'd get that after everythin' I said but if y' still want me around then here I am.❞
Though he shouldn't be. He knows he should just leave, disappear and let her live her life without the threat that follows him around but he just can't bring himself to do that. Sometimes being Human is worst curse there is.
firestorm-heroes:
“not really. In all honesty my brother can do the same thing and then some guys in high school played with fire similar to that so..” Layla mused.
Staring at her a moment, the fireball still sitting in the palm of his hand, he huffed out a breath before finally extinguishing it. Honestly, people nowadays didn't appreciate real magick.
❝-- Look, short of summonin' a Demon, I get the feelin' you're not gonna believe me and I ain't lookin' to damn my soul any further.❞
Gotta Stop Meeting Like This:
brooklynislandgirl:
There is a list that evolves slowly, added to here and there. It’s everything they don’t talk about; John. Cassidy’s family. Her brother. His personal habits. These are the artificial boundaries that frame their unusual friendship.
There’s a moment when the slight smile freezes on her lips and she looks away, a moment where she’s out of time and in an alien landscape; he hits on something and stirs the waters of regret. Mostly because she knows, ultimately, that he isn’t wrong. It takes a moment for her to adress the comment and when she does, it’s butterfly winged whispers, as if she hasn’t the strength to deny his veracity.
“May be true, but I am not defenseless, John, far from it. Soft no means weak. Sweet no means dere’s a lack of steel when need be.”
She will never be a name spoken quickly and hushed in shadows, but she’d made an uneasy peace with it. But she listens to him, takes his words as they come. She hadn’t thought that she’d accused him–oh, but then maybe he’s peeling back the curtain of his psyche, allowing her the smallest glimpses behind. But for as much as his words reveal, his face hides away, his eyes giving nothing back but shadow-rimed blue.
“I’ve nevah found it so.”
And it’s a small truth. She could not live with herself if it wasn’t. And that was the secret of hate, the way it twisted even the best of hearts until they shrivelled, glutted itself on the pain, delighted in the consumption. But she couldn’t really speak for him. Despite their experiences, his were as valid as her own, and she could only wonder what it was that had hardened him in places where she’d seek softness.
“Have ya hurt someone, den?” Carefully probed tender places, that question, meant for him to answer if he would, or go unheard if he didn’t.
He catches her in the trap of his stare and she looks back plainly, neither afraid nor bold enough to pursue the depths therein. He weaves a spell of darker truths around her and her hand falls away from his face but at the last minute, just before she drowns in John, she catches herself on the cliff-edge of his knee and he looks away. She’s sure her cup with shatter from the pressure of his hands alone. Again she swallows down a new breath, and shakes herself of the rapt fascination he’d evoked. She knew John was dangerous, knew it from the first time they’d met, but she hadn’t realised the how and why of it.
She pries the cup from his fingers and sets it down and when she’s finished, she sits a little further away than before. The closeness was lethal and the rabbit hole he’s slipped down just begs her to follow, but she can’t quite make herself do so. Her sense of self-preservation might be withered, but it’s not completely absent.
And it’s then she realises what he’s taken from her.
She can say nothing in the face of his self-mocking soliloquy. She holds up her hands in her silence, and in that moment she is the spitting image of the Madonna, the lady of Grace.
“I…I don’t know…what I can say to you, that will make a difference, John. But you’re welcome to come find it.”
John doesn't doubt her ability to defend herself if need be for the most part, she's been nothing but capable since he met her and he's not one for underestimating others. No, it's more her unwavering kindness that gives him reason for concern, there are plenty of people out there willing to take advantage of such things, looking to manipulate and take what they can, she'd be the perfect target for such a thing. -- Hell, if he'd had any ill intent then he would've had multiple chances to hurt her or USE her.
Though that doesn't mean he's not at all worried about her getting physically injured too, it isn't just people that could hurt her, there were a lot of things out there looking for him and they'd have no qualms tearing her apart to make a point.
❝-- Never said that, wouldn't think it for a second. Everyone has a bit of fire in 'em if they need it.❞
As much as he could go on to defend what he'd first said, he decides to leave it at that, avoiding explaining his concerns regarding her safety. If she didn't accept the fact that he is bad news before, she's not any more likely to do so this time, he just has to accept that. There's only so much he can do to protect a person when they're willingly ignoring all his warnings, Beth's stubborness was her own problem and he'd do his best to convince himself he has no weight to shoulder as he tried his best to deter her from his life.
It doesn't surprise him that she doesn't hate easily, she's the sort that wants to see the best in people and that makes it damn difficult to see them for all their faults. He knows his explanation about his own faults, about why people would hate him just might lift that veil of optimism from her eyes but he's still too drunk to care all too much.
If she turns him away finally, if she can't be near him, that will likely save her life. He can convince himself he's telling her the truth for that very reason, rather than it being just another attempt of getting it all off his chest. -- It seems it works to a degree as she pries the mug from his hands and decides to instead keep her distance, that doesn't go unnoticed by the mage.
Finally, she's learning.
❝-- Ain't anythin' to say. I know what I am, the kind of person I am n' I know people are better off stayin' away from me but people like you are stubborn n' care too much, won't give up on me even when y' life is on the line.❞
He says nothing about the fact that he selfishly wants someone to stick around despite him trying to push them away, loneliness is just human nature and despite what some might think, he's still Human enough to feel it. It's being stuck between a rock and a hard place, either spend forever alone or make friends and let them perish.
❝-- If y' want me t' go, just say. I'll sod off for good.❞
firestorm-heroes:
When he pulled away Layla went on the defensive until he spoke, pausing.
“Just two minutes…” She agreed after hearing him out, hands lowering slightly.
Pulling his lighter from his pocket, he flicked it open to spark a flame before speaking the words of his spell out loud, one hand held over the heat of flame.
❝-- IGNIS IGNIUM!❞
Focus and the right hand movement was enough to channel the energy to his palm, it was far easier to control readily lit fire than summon some up by himself, took far less energy. Flicking the lighter out, ball of fire still swirling in his palm, he regarded her with a quirk of his brow.
❝-- That proof enough?❞
